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Yet he thinks it’s still a game.

This is what happens when you’re young and rich, and seemingly don’t have a care in the world. You pretend that life is one giant game and you’re in it to win it.

Spence doesn’t even realize that I’ve already lost. I’m taking one last thing just for me before I have to settle for my consolation prize.

“You ever have a girl show up on your doorstep, wearing just a coat and nothing else?” I lie back on my elbows, grateful for the long, wide counters in his kitchen, a gasp escaping me when he ducks down and puts his mouth on me.

I close my eyes on a moan and reach for his head, sinking my fingers into his thick, soft hair and holding him to me as he licks every inch of my pussy. He teases my hole with his tongue. Laps at my clit, circling it, flicking it.

Driving me out of my mind.

His hands settle on my hips, pulling me forward as he lifts away from me, my fingers slipping from his hair. “Can’t say that I have.”

I don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore, but it doesn’t matter. When he returns his attention to my pussy, I revel in the rhythm of his tongue, his hands tugging on my hips, moving me with him. Blindly, I reach out, my hand accidentally slapping at one of the discarded champagne glasses and it rolls off the counter, falling onto the floor in a delicate tinkle of glass.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” I whisper, hoping the glass didn’t hit him.

He doesn’t say a word. Only murmurs against my flesh, the sensation driving me wild. I buck against his seeking mouth, rising up to grip his hair with both hands, staring down at him while he gazes up at me.

The look in his eyes is what does it for me. His mouth on my pussy, his fingers pressed deep. The wave rises, washing over me so suddenly, I shout his name, screaming my pleasure as I ride it out on his face.

His beautiful, beloved face.

When it’s over, he gathers me in his arms and carries me out of the kitchen, sidestepping any glass. He takes me to his bedroom, depositing me in the center of the mattress. I lie there like a heap of bones, still breathless, my gaze never leaving him as he strips himself of his clothes. Until he’s just as naked as me. Erect and huge.

All for me.

He approaches the bed, crawling on it from the bottom like a predatory animal, until he’s right over me, caging me in. I stare up at him, curling my finger around the thin gold chain he always wears, tugging him down until his mouth is barely brushing mine. The rich, earthy scent of my pussy still clings to his mouth and chin, and I lick at his skin, savoring the taste.

“You’re going to fuck me for real this time,” I whisper. “Do you understand?”

I’ve always been the one who pushed him away at the last second, too afraid to go on. Once I got my period, Mother spoke of my virginity as a precious gift you give to the man you’re to marry, and no one else.

Did I want to be a slut?She would ask me that question often.Did I want to spread my legs and give it up to every man who said I was pretty?

No ma’am, I would always respond, my voice quivering.

I guarded my virginity with my very being, not that anyone wanted me like that. For the longest time, I wasn’t in school enough for any boy to be interested in me.

Until Spencer. From the moment we locked eyes, I knew.

Iknew.

I’ve done so many things. So many other things than actual sex with Spence. Oh, I’ve kissed a few other boys too. Let a couple of them feel me up even. But most every sexual encounter I’ve had has been with Spencer.

Except for this one thing.

When your mother has you go in for regular examinations to ensure your virginity is still provable, you do what she wants. I’ve never believed I’ve ever had an option. Despite my being an adult, I still have a difficult time leaving my mother. A small part of me needs her.

How twisted is that?

Marrying me off to someone she chose reminds me that I don’t belong to myself. I never really have. My virginity is no longer mine to guard, and I’m giving it away, consequences be damned, despite me being promised to another.

And it’s not this man who currently hovers over me, his thick cock resting against my belly, leaving a wet streak. Proof of his desire for me. With my other hand, I reach for him, my fingertips brushing against the head, making it twitch.

He exhales raggedly and hangs his head, breathing deep. As if he needs to regain some sort of control. “You don’t really want this.”

Now he’s the one who pushes me away. I’ve had his cock in my mouth, his hands all over me. Yet he’s rejecting me because he knows how much this—my precious virginity—means to me.


Tags: Monica Murphy Romance