by Ruby Steele
He gives me a concerned look. “You okay there?” he asks, a hand at my elbow, his other holding two glasses.
I nod. “I think just a bit of vertigo.” I reach for the vodka tonic he made and take a quick sip, hoping the cool liquid will help.
“You sure?” he says again. I don’t miss the look in his eyes. The one that says he thinks I might be drunk. Tipsy? Maybe. But not drunk. Sober enough to see that he’s gentlemen enough not to claim his winning bet if he thinks I am.
“Perfectly fine,” I murmur, clinking my glass to his. “Though I’ll be a lot better if you get back to, what was it you said? Making me come with your mouth?” I flash a wicked grin.
“Something like that.” His eyes flare with heat, and he takes a quick sip of his whiskey before grabbing my head and yanking me flush against him.
It takes me by surprise, but I melt right into him, tilting my face to his as his mouth descends on mine, hungry, hard, and demanding. I feel my knees go weak—who knew that was really a thing?—as his tongue explores my mouth. The sharp whiskey flavor only makes me crave him more.
I moan into his mouth, and the hand not holding my drink seems to have a mind of its own, because next thing I know I’m tugging at his belt, fumbling in my one-handed attempt. I give up and reach further down to cup him.
“Christ, Olivia,” he hisses, breaking the kiss and dropping his head back on a groan.
I start to rub my hand up and down his length, and holy hard-on, Batman! The guy is packing some serious heat. And not in the is that a gun in your pocket sense. No, he is long and thick, and for a minute I pause, wondering how in the hell that thing is going to fit.
But when he looks back at me, eyes so hot they’re like molten metal, I don’t care. I want him in every way.
Grabbing my drink, Aiden leads me back to the sofa and sets both drinks on the table. Then he reaches behind my neck and undoes the clasp of my halter dress. Tortuously slowly, he lowers the straps, revealing my chest inch by inch. I gasp as the cool air hits my sensitive skin, bringing my already pebbled nipples to tightened nubs.
I lick my lips and watch as he bends down and grabs an ice cube from my drink. When he stands up and winks at me, I have no idea what to expect next. And with my lack of experience, I couldn’t have imagined it if I tried.
Cupping a breast in one hand, he squeezes, kneading the sensitive tissue. My breath picks up, and I feel a tingle of anticipation in my clit. Then he places the ice cube against my throat, trailing it through the hollow dip and further, down my chest. When he gets to my breast, he circles just outside my nipple. My skin is on fire, and I feel the cold liquid melting on contact, running down my body. When he touches the ice to my nipple, it hardens even more, a taut peak begging for attention.
“Aiden,” I breathe, watching as he continues to tease my nipple with the ice. Once it’s completely melted, he pinches it, rolling the bud between his thumb and fingers. I cry out at the sensation. “More,” I plead, shamelessly.
“Feel good, baby?” He grabs another ice cube, but before repeating the treatment on my other breast, he captures my rock-hard nipple in his teeth and tugs. I feel the pull all they way to my core, an aching, needy throb deep in my pussy that begs to be satisfied.
When he fastens his lips onto my breast and sucks, simultaneously teasing the other nipple with the ice, the contrast of hot and cold sensations rockets me through the stratosphere.
“Where have you been all my life?” I say, not even caring what words are falling from my lips as long as he never stops.
He chuckles, then brings his lips back to mine in an erotic kiss. He thrusts his tongue in and out of my mouth, mimicking the act I’ve yet to experience, and I can’t help myself. “Fuck me,” I beg. “Now.”
He grips my hips and yanks me against him. Hard.
“Yes,” I moan, feeling as if the entire world is spinning out of control. I’m losing myself in the moment. In Aiden. Both growing impatient, needy, he tugs my dress down, letting it fall to the floor, and I stand completely naked before him, in nothing but bright red four-inch heels.
He presses his lips together, his eyes glittering dangerously. “This look is fucking good on you, Olivia.”
“Your turn.” I reach for his belt and make quick work of disposing of it, then get to work on unbuttoning his pants. Suddenly my hands are shaking, and I can’t seem to make them work.
Aiden grabs my wrists gently. “It’s still your turn. Let’s go to bed.”
He starts to guide me from the room, and my stomach starts jumping, doing flips and cartwheels and somersaults all at the same time. This is it. I’m about to hand in my v-card. It’s what I want. I know it is. That doesn’t mean I’m not shy. I look down at the table, seeing the rest of my vodka tonic, and grab it, tossing the rest of it back in a couple of huge gulps.
Aiden quirks a brow, but says nothing, leading me into his bedroom. The decor reflects the rest of the penthouse, modern and a bit masculine, but the bed. Oh my god, the bed. It’s huge. And fluffy. Beckoning me to climb aboard and get ready for the ride of my life.
Wrapping his arms around me, Aiden walks me backward until the back of my knees hit the bed. Then he lifts me gently and sets me on the edge, nudging my legs apart with his. I feel self-conscious exposing myself to him this way, but as my knees fall open, revealing my damp and aching pussy, the sigh of appreciation that leaves his lips puts me oddly at ease. I know he’s going to make me feel good. I lie back, ready.
But when he doesn’t join me on the bed after a moment, I prop myself up on my elbows to see what’s wrong. What I find is Aiden on his knees at the edge of the bed, his face between my legs as he takes me in with his eyes. The look on his face can only be described as ravenous.
He meets my eyes briefly, giving me a lascivious smirk that only makes me wetter, before running his hands up the top of my thighs. When he reaches the top, he squeezes and wraps his hands around behind me until they’re cupping my ass, then he yanks me down until I’m at the edge of the bed too, my pussy inches from his face, his warm breath making me ready to beg.
Trailing his fingers up my inner thighs, he pushes my legs apart even further, then sensations I never knew existed assault my body as he caresses my most intimate parts with his tongue. I fall back on the bed, enraptured. I clench the fluffy duvet in my fists, writhing and tossing my head side to side as I try to make sense of the intense shots of pleasure rocketing through my body.
Pinpricks of light flash behind my eyelids, and jolts of electric currents race along my spine, down my arms and legs, out through my fingertips, then coalesce again into my body, building into a burning, pulsing pressure in my very core, ready to combust at a moment’s notice.
Aiden continues to torture me in the headiest, most intoxicating way possible, licking me, sucking me, nipping at me. Incomprehensible words flow from my mouth as I take it all in. I want to shy away from the intensity of the sensations taking over me, while at the same time beg him never to stop.
When I think I can’t take it any longer, the pressure building to its highest point, I detonate. My hips rise up off the bed, I tear at the blankets, I scream out his name like it’s a prayer. Millions of colors dance behind my eyelids as wave after wave of pleasure pulses through my body.
If I thought I was boneless before, I’m surely dead now. How anyone could experience what I just did and live to tell about it is beyond me. I lie there, feeling as if I’m drifting on a cloud. I’m definitely floating this time, and Aiden’s voice comes to me as if very far away.
I want to answer him, but I can’t make the words come out, so I just lift my hand and crook my finger at him. The bed shifts, and I feel him next to me, placing soft kisses all along my arms, my stomach, my neck.
“That good?” he whispers in my ear, and I can hear the smile in his voice. All I can do is nod. “Then get ready, baby. You know what comes next.”
I manage to smile and turn toward him, but my eyes are still closed
as the next words slip out of my zero-filter brain, so I have no idea what he thinks.
“Go easy on me. It’s my first time.”
6
Aiden
I’m so caught up in Olivia and the way she totally gave herself over to that experience that I almost miss what she says. Then I think I misheard.
“What was that?” I ask, softly, so as not to make her think her words have just metaphorically knocked me on my ass.
She doesn’t respond, and I’m not sure if she didn’t hear me, or if she’s still drifting in the afterglow, so I wait a minute. I sit up and run my hands through my hair, then drag them down over my face. I know what she said. I just don’t want to admit it myself.
My first time.
She’s a virgin. I don’t know whether to congratulate myself on my good fortune or be horrified. Both make me feel like a prick. I should have known. Everything was perfect. She was so responsive to even the slightest touch. Her body craved it. Everything was new to her. And here I thought I was some sex god or something.
I scoff at myself. Then I remember how fully she gave herself to me. How vulnerable she was. How open she was with what she liked. No pretense, no faking. Just Olivia, bared to me. Like an addict, I need more of that. I need more of her. I don’t know if I can ever get enough of it.
But she’s a virgin, asshole. That’s where the horrified comes in. I was getting ready to fuck her, and hard. I could have hurt her. And that is the last thing I’d want to do. I remember how tight she felt with just one finger inside of her, and I have to remind myself that’s not a good thing, despite every primitive instinct telling me, oh yes, it is. Distract myself from imagining how fucking good it would feel to sink inside that tight pussy. To be the only man that’s ever known her in that way. Yeah, like I said. Asshole.
So I do the only thing I can do. The only thing that will prove to myself and her that I am, in fact, more evolved than a caveman. That I value her as more than just a place to put my dick.
I decide to take the longest, coldest shower in the history of the world, then camp out on the couch. Looking down at her, I notice her breathing has evened out, is coming slow and steady. She’s asleep. Or, more accurately, passed out. Great job, Aiden. Not only did you almost take her virginity, but she was drunk on top of it. Jesus. I drag my hand through my hair again, appalled at what I’d come so close to doing.
I watch her for a moment, brushing her wild golden waves from her face. In her sleep, she looks even younger than she did earlier. Unable to resist, I press a soft kiss to her forehead, her nose, her lips.
Then I turn down the bed and move her gently up onto the pillows, pulling the duvet up over her. With a sigh and a semi-disbelieving shake of my head, I head for that shower. The cold water and my newfound knowledge do nothing to curb my boner. It points up at me accusingly, and I growl in frustration.
I resign myself to the fact that there’s only one way to take care of this. It’s almost humorous. The fucking hottest woman I’ve ever met is lying naked in my bed, and I’m jerking off in the shower. But as I stroke myself, images of her face as she came fill my mind. In what must be a record, I feel a tingle at the base of my spine as my balls tighten, and I come really fucking hard to the memory of what it really did feel like to have her legs wrapped around my head as she screamed my name.
7
Olivia
The shrill sound of my phone dinging repeatedly is about to make me scream. It feels like each ping reverberates through my brain like a gong being pounded against my ear. Maybe if I hide my head under the pillow, it will go away and I can sleep for another eight hundred years. Because that’s about how long it might take to sleep off this hangover.
When the chimes only become more insistent, I growl and toss the pillow aside, groping around the nightstand for my phone with my eyes closed. After a solid minute of not being able to locate it, I realize I’m going to have to pry my eyes open.
“Damn you, Becca,” I mutter, clutching my head in an attempt to relieve the pressure I know will accompany the light assaulting my eyeballs. “Can’t you just open the damn door?”
Why she feels the need to wake me with incessant text messages when we’re sharing the same fucking room is beyond me.
I push myself to a sitting position and scowl, blinking my eyes against the light streaming through the window. It takes me a minute to adjust and scan my surroundings.
Only then do I realize that not only can I not find my phone, but I don’t even recognize where I am. Not a single part of this room is remotely familiar. Slightly panicked, I look down and realize I’m completely naked.
What the fuckity fuck?
Then it all comes back to me. The casino, the blackjack game, the sexy as fuck man to whom I bet my virginity. Him bringing me back to his penthouse and giving me the most insane series of orgasms of my life.
It’s all there in blindingly painful images, causing my head to pound in double-time. Well, almost all of it. There’s one thing that’s glaringly absent.
What came right after he showed me exactly why tongues truly exist. That’s right. I can’t remember actually losing my virginity. The one thing I want to remember above all else and… I’m drawing a complete blank. I struggle to put together the pieces of the night, but my efforts are interrupted by the texts from hell, still pinging away from…somewhere.
Straining to listen for any sounds coming from the rest of Aiden’s penthouse and finding none, I gingerly climb from the bed, searching for my clothes and my phone. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, I turn the knob on the door and open it a tiny crack, peering through it. No sign of Aiden.
Breathing a sigh of relief because I’m not sure I’m ready to face him yet, if ever, I open the door more and spot my dress folded neatly on a table just outside the bedroom, my heels, purse, and phone sitting right beside them. No underwear. I do remember him ripping them off of me. And just how hot it was. Rolling my eyes at my own inability to be reasonable, I grab my stuff and retreat to the bedroom, locking the door before looking at my phone.
Thirty-one new messages from Becca. Seriously?
I swipe my hand across the screen and scroll through the messages. What starts as teasing, with a series of how does it feel to wake up a new woman, was he as amazing in bed as he looked, and oh my god I’m so jealous texts quickly devolves into when are you coming back, let’s get breakfast, and finally, are you alive, I’m starting to worry, should I call the cops?
I type out a response as quickly as possible: No!
She responds with a winky face emoji. Just kidding. Just trying to get a response Sorry to interrupt your morning-after sex.
My head hurts way to badly to deal with this right now.
I get another text. Meet me downstairs for breakfast. They have a mimosa fountain. Unless you’re too busy??? Another winky emoji.
From the looks of it, Aiden has no intention of dealing with the morning after. Or that breakfast he owes me. Not that I can blame him. If I was so drunk I can’t remember doing the deed, who knows what kind of fool I made of myself. I don’t even want to think about that humiliation. It’s too soon.
Give me ten, I reply.
I suddenly can’t get out of there fast enough. The rush of adrenaline supersedes the hangover from hell, and I take the fastest shower known to man and throw my clothes from the night before back on and finger comb my damp hair. At least my natural waves will look like I put in a slight effort. If I have to do the walk of shame, at least I’ll look slightly better than death warmed over doing it.
Giving the room a last once-over to make sure I didn’t leave anything behind—because God knows I won’t be coming back for it—I make a mad dash from the room. Relief wars with disappointment over not seeing Aiden.
Despite the fact that I can’t remember anything past him licking me to the most intense orgasm of my (very limited) sexual life, part of me knows that those moments I do remember will be branded into my brain. Probab
ly forever. I don’t know how I’ll manage to not compare every other man to him for the rest of my life. It was that incredible.
As I shut the door to the penthouse behind me, I can’t help feeling a little regret. Not over the things I did last night. But over the fact that I can’t remember them. And that I don’t get a do-over.
***
If this girl sitting next to me doesn’t shut up, I swear I’m going to stab her in the eye with my pencil. I glance at my watch again, hoping the professor will arrive and put me out of my misery.
“I have to say,” she babbles on, looking at the lecture hall full of males, “I can’t believe we’re the only two girls in this class. Usually, there are tons of girls in Dr. Hawthorne’s classes.”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe you’re thinking of one of his introductory courses. This is Theory of Partial Differential Equations.” An upper-level course.
She frowns for a minute, then shrugs. “Oh well. I was planning on failing the class anyway. I only got in here because my adviser is willing to put in work after-hours, if you know what I mean.” She winks in a way that is both ridiculous and amusing. “How did you get in here, anyway?”
The look on her face is suddenly suspicious, as if she thinks I might now exactly what kind of after-hours work her adviser likes. God, she really is as dumb as she sounds.
“I’m on a full scholarship as a math major,” I reply, barely keeping the irritation out of my voice. “And what do you mean, you were planning on failing?”
She sighs as if I’m the idiot for not understanding. “Have you seen Dr. Hawthorne?”
I shake my head. This is my first semester taking one of his classes. I glance at my watch again, wondering if he’s going to show up for the first day of class or not.
“Well that explains it,” she says, as if maybe I’m not as stupid as she thought. “All the girls try to take his math classes. He’s totally fuckable. Every girl wants to see if they can be the one to seduce him.” She looks at me again and narrows her eyes, like I’m her competition or something. “I’m going to fail so I can get some after-hours help in his office.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “I heard he banged one of his students in his office last semester. This semester, I want to be that girl.”
