There’s not much in the way of furniture. Just a few things brought over from the old apartment. Half the fun is going to be decorating this place. There are six bedrooms upstairs, one for each of us to have a private place. They all have bathrooms, so no more fighting over the showers. Downstairs are four more bedrooms. One is converted into an office, two of them are for guests, and the other is locked.
I jiggle the handle. “Why is this one locked?” I ask.
Jason laughs. “This here is the best room in the house. You’re key, my lady,” he says, bowing like a dork. He’s so cute and nerdy, I can’t help but giggle.
But inside the room is no laughing matter.
“Oh. My. God,” I say, spinning around to get the whole picture.
It’s a sex room. The one he’d always wanted. There are shelves full of sex toys. Contraptions that look like medieval torture devices. A Sybian sex machine. There is a wall dedicated to different types and flavors of lube. In the center there’s a bed with handcuffs dangling from a post. There are different tools for spanking and other kinks. I have a feeling we’re going to get a lot of use out of this room.
When I glance at my boys they have that hungry look in their eyes I’ve become accustomed to.
“Shall we break in the new place?” I ask.
They practically tackle me to the bed, and I couldn’t possibly be happier than I am in this moment.
THE END
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VIRGIN IN THE MIDDLE
Copyright © 2017 Penny Wylder
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.
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One
I stand outside my new home for the next year—an intimidatingly tall brick building, already teeming with life on this the first day of our freshman year. There are a few dozen people streaming in and out, some of them hugging their parents, others rolling their eyes as their moms cry and their dads lecture. I spot more than a few people I recognize from the orientation week slides that I’ve spent the last month poring over. Call me a nerd, but I like to know who—and what—I’m getting into in any new situation.
And what situation could be more important to prep for than college?
This is my first time out on my own. I made my parents leave my stuff on the curb before I bid them farewell because I want to move in on my own. The same way that I want to approach this year. It’s all on me now—to succeed, to finish my biology degree, hopefully at the top of the class the way I was in high school. After that, it’ll be a master’s program, and then a research position at one of the top labs in the country. I’ve already mapped out which one I want to wind up in. There are pictures of the building taped to my vision board to remind me to keep my head in the game.
I’m not going to fall prey to any of the usual freshman year dilemmas. Not me. I am here to get my degree, not to party or drink or hook-up.
Afte
r all, I’m still a virgin, so it won’t be hard for me to avoid that particular temptation. You can’t miss what you haven’t tried—and I sure as hell don’t think I’m missing out on random hook-ups. There’s no way I will let myself lose my focus (not to mention my mind) over some guy.
I smile and scoop up my bags, shouldering the first of what will be several rounds of lifting. But that’s fine by me. It’s good exercise.
Of course, when I find out my room is seven flights up, and the elevators are stuffed with people lugging furniture and TVs, I start to regret my choice to tell Mom and Dad they could go home early.
I’m sweaty and panting by the time I reach the top of the stairs, and I know there’s still at least 2 more loads of my crap waiting downstairs for me to carry up. Why, oh why, did I think I needed to bring so many clothes? Surely I could’ve made do with just one bag of sweatpants and a couple of hoodies. Why did I add professional dresses and pant suits into the mix?
Ridiculous, Cassidy, I scold myself as I stagger down the hallway to my room and fit the key into the lock. I shoulder it open, groaning as I heave my bag across the threshold. What a great first impression I’ll make on my new roommates. I wonder what the girls will be like as the door swings inward. After all, the school checked with me to be sure I’d be all right with a triple room, and I said, of course, I’m up for living with anyone. I wanted to play the roommate lottery, see who they picked for me because this year is also about expanding my own network. I want to meet other badass girls like me, working their way through this highly-acclaimed university.
So I paste a broad smile on my face in spite of my sweaty, tired posture, as the door finishes swinging open.
Then I freeze in place.
No.