I don't know how I ever let Tay talk me into going home with a complete stranger for casual sex, but I'm starting to feel glad I did.

Yes, Grant makes me feel small. But despite his good looks, despite the years he has on me, despite how he teases me to an easy flush, he's a perfect gentleman.

His hand rests on mine the whole short ride through the darkness, and past his tall gate. When we park, he tells me to wait, and walks to my door to help me out. The gate we've just driven through, before circling the neat stone driveway to a stop, whirs shut behind us as I step out. I smile, slipping my hand into his, wondering why it feels so natural there.

Good manners come with the high class, I suppose. It's nothing new to me, but it's reassuring.

I've grown up around men like him my whole life. They haven't stopped kissing up to my father, hoping they'll earn a few crumbs off his wealth and prestige. When I first saw Grant's car, I expected a high paid hothead pretending to be rich, and desperate to be for real.

His cabin tells me he actually is.

The tall mansion with the old world stone walls and the mahogany trim looks like a castle from a fairy tale, if the prince had a time machine to pack his royal abode to the gills with modern conveniences. Grant escorts me into the huge living room with the plush rug in front of his leather sofa. There's about as much money in here as my family's second home in Florida. I'm not sure whether I'm charmed to be with a man in my class, or worried.

“Have a seat, beautiful,” he tells me, laying his hand on my shoulder. “I'll bring us a treat from the wine cellar. Maine Moscato all right?”

“Good pick. I love them,” I say, hiding my latest blush. He must have an uncanny ability to read my mind because a good local moscato is my favorite.

Yes, it's cheap. It's simple. It's worlds apart from the five figure cabernets and tongue tickling champagnes flowing like water at dad's fancy dinners. I'm only twenty-one, and I've already had my fill of the gaudy, class status waving liquid gold flowing down millionaires' throats.

My respect for him just went up because he doesn't need to impress me with the exotic, hard to pronounce rarities no doubt stashed in his huge wine cellar. I'm excited.

Maybe too much.

Breathe, I tell myself, as soon as he treads down the hall, leaving me a few minutes to collect myself.

Tay brought me up here to get laid. Her mission, she said, especially with that creepy French guy dad brings around every week when we're both home. He wants us to date.

His business associate from overseas, Ethan, is everything I told myself I didn't want. Entitled, disgustingly rich, and totally awkward when he tries to put the moves on. I rarely give him a chance, finding any excuse to get away from him. Anything to save myself from another cringe-worthy poodle hug with his gross, clammy hands wandering around my waist.

His only endearing quality is helping me figure out what makes me wrinkle my nose in a man. Ethan is wrong on so many levels, but tonight, it seems like all the reasons why are being thrown into a blender and scrambled.

This beautiful lumberjack looking bastard raised Tay's eyebrows instantly when she caught me looking his way.

“Really, girl? He's got the lumbersexual thing down pat, but isn't he a little old?” I remember her first words. They had me blushing before he even came to our table, took the spot next to me like he owned it, and swallowed me up in his bright blue eyes.

Yes, those eyes. Good God.

They're as dangerous as they are beautiful. Ocean hued gems. The finishing touch in a sculpted work of art. They give life to the square jaw covered in soft, well groomed hair, his broad shoulders, arms so big they look like they could tear a man in half without causing him to break a sweat.

Sure, he's a complete stranger. Exactly how it should be, according to Tay. What little I know about him, I like.

I know Grant is rich.

I know he's at least a decade older.

I know he's as smooth as this soft leather sofa.

He's a messy, intriguing, walking contradiction. If the reckless wild and sleek sophistication were given a shotgun wedding, they'd be him to a tee.

What I don't know is, why the hell can't I stop blushing every minute he's around? Why am I wet every time his hand slips into mine?

A man like him wasn't supposed to catch my eye. He definitely wasn't supposed to get Tay's approval. But she warned me I'd found my 'cherry breaker,' her words, and I'd better not screw it up, as soon as she pulled me into the bathroom after our first encounter.

“Don't go chicken shit on me, Bekah,” she told me in her usual blunt way. “If we can't get you laid before starting your new job, we're at least gonna do it before daddy dearest makes you marry Monsieur Creep-o.”

“If it ever comes to that, please put me out of my misery!” I laugh when she uses our code name for Ethan.

“Bekah...” She narrows her eyes, too well aware when I'm trying to change the subject.

“Okay, okay, but how do I even know if he likes me?”

I'll never forget her pose. Hand on her hips, head cocked, her mascara eyebrows up like I just asked if the sky is blue. “Really, Bekah? Have you seen the way he looks at you? I know a boy who's fixed on plucking the cherry off his sundae!”

As if I could un-see Grant's baby blue eyes. They've been burned into my brain the whole night.

They're in my head, and then some. I can't stop seeing them.

Every time he catches my eyes. Every time he stares just a little too long to be friendly. Every time those looks get longer, pinning me down harder, ripping through my clothes and telling me in no uncertain terms that, yes, baby, it's on tonight.

I'm desperate to turn in my V-card, but I'm no fool. Grant does eye-fucking like some men do music. His look down inside me, massages every muscle until I think I'm numb with want, and promises a release that's bound to make me scream when the tension building between us finally pops.

Yes, pops!

I jump halfway out of my seat when I hear the cork fly off behind me. I do a turn, just as a chubby grey-blue cat jumps down from his perch on the fireplace mantle, startled by the sound.

Grant stands beside me, grinning as he watches me with my hand fluttering over my heart, two glasses and a newly opened wine bottle in hand. “I see you've met Jack,” he says, taking the empty seat on the love sofa next to me.

“Jesus! I thought he was a statue.”

“Sorry, babe. Didn't mean to scare you pale. Here, this'll restore the color in no time.” He pushes a crystal glass into my hand and pours the wine. Rich vineyard scents kiss my nose, soothing after the latest shock, which has my cheeks steaming.

“Try it,” he says, laying his eyes on me while I take a nice, long sip. He fills his own glass as I close my eyes. When I open them again, he's smiling. The beautiful bastard's grin has no business being so warm and likable when it also makes me ache. “To new friends, good wine, and getaways.”

No disagreements there. We clink glasses. I try to get more comfortable, kicking off my shoes as I curl up on the couch, savoring the heat of his shoulder against my cheek. “How long have you had the kitty?”

“Going on three years. He showed up a stray looking for a meal and a warm bed, and we hit it off. He's good company, when he'll hang around instead of hunting in the woods. Never was a cat person before. Jack changed my mind.”

“You must do a lot of that to have all this. Changing minds, I mean. Nobody ever got rich being crap at sales.” Tonight's drinks are making me nosy. This isn't a date, I keep telling myself. Thank God, too, because what little dating I've done never served me well.

But is it too much to ask what he does before the clothes come off? Do people have normal conversations before hookups? My inner virgin blushes.

Again, I'm reminded how deep I'm in to uncharted territory. I don't know the rules when it comes to indulging these no-strings flings. I'm not Tay.

“Very true. I've done well for myself. Took a lot of convincing and closing deals to reap the rewards, but I can't take full credit. I had a leg up from the family trust when I started. Seed money grew tall and plentiful.”

“Family,” I repeat, sipping my wine, loving the burgundy sweetness. It hides the bitter thoughts that always come when I hear the word. “Where's that?”

“Chicago, born and raised. Didn't head east until a few years after I finished business school. My dad ran his dad's real estate empire back in the Windy City, and now it's in my brother's hands. Housing and commercial was too slow. I like turbo. Wall Street delivers.”

“Hang on, I'm good at this. Let me guess...” I put the edge of the glass against my forehead, doing my best impression of a psychic channeler. “All brothers. Two of them. One boxer growing up, or maybe a bulldog. Distant father. Carefree mother who enjoys one too many drinks.”

I open my eyes, and his face has gone very serious. “My mom's deceased. Plane crash took her when I was young, about eight years old. You nailed the rest. Cold, alcoholic father, two younger brothers, minus the dog I always wished I had. Boxers are great. My old man never let us have animals around the house.”

Crap. I feel like an idiot for letting the wine make me talk like one. I set my drink down and sit up straight, struggling to meet to his eyes. “Sorry. I didn't mean to get so personal.”

He smiles, a reassuring crinkle at the corners of his eyes. It's one more subtle reminder there are years between us, and it's gorgeous. “Forget it, oh wise one. Even the best mediums needed practice to get it right. For your next trick, how about you tell me what color the sheets are on my bed upstairs? We'll see if you're accurate before we find out.”

He sips his wine while I try to form an answer. Thinking about his bed instantly makes me think about having those hands on me again, this time wherever they want to be.

His hands. His bed. His big, broad shouldered, twenty-first century Viking body. This is really happening, isn't it?

God. I think I need more wine.

“Red, maybe?” I try avoiding his eyes, imagining his weight pressing me deep into the tacky, crayon red sheets I've made up.

His smile is gone when he pulls his glass down. Something hotter and more feral replaces the inviting warmth on his face. “Guess again. Two more tries, Bekah.”

Two more? And then what?

Sweet Jesus. I'm not drunk enough for this yet!

I'm so flustered when I reach for the bottle I don't see the cat brushing up against it. I reach without looking. Meanwhile, chubby Jack snuck over to check out the source of his scare with the cork. He lets out a meowl as his tail catches weirdly around the glass' stem.

It throws off the balance when I pull my glass away. I try to catch it between two fingers before it slips, spins, and goes crashing down in the middle of my lap.

“Jack!” Grant bellows, shaking a finger at the panicked cat, who's left in such a hurried retreat he turns up the corner of a Turkish rug.

Décor and pets are his problems. Mine is the huge splash of red moscato all over my lime green skirt. Shame heats my face. I look up, staring into his bemused face. “At least I guessed the color I'd be by the end of the night right.”

The tension on his face melts. He bursts out in the deepest, richest chuckle my ears have ever had the pleasure hearing. His laugh goes on too long.

“What's so damned funny?” I fold my arms, looking him dead in the eye.

“You think that's as red as I'm letting you get tonight, Bekah? Really?”

Mission accomplished. New heat rushes into my cheeks, lashing them brighter. I'm hot, angry, and flustered, but I'm also turned on. My eyes go to his chest, rising and falling as he quiets down. It's impossible to avoid thinking it's a lot like it'll look when he's on top of me, thrusting deep and steady, his lungs pumping as hard as the rest of him before my pussy squeezes, and I hear him curse his release.

“I don't know, Mr. Billionaire,” I say. His wealth doesn't scare me, and neither do his rogue good looks. “How many shades of red exist? I never paid much attention in art class.”

He reaches over, grabbing my wrist, a move so electric I struggle not to gasp. “Plenty. Jack's also given me the perfect excuse to get your clothes off, seeing how the wine must've soaked your panties by now. Knew I kept that boy around for something.”

Red, red, and redder. I think my face is nearly the color of a fire hydrant when I look away.

I need my eyes gone. Anywhere except on this gorgeous giant with words like a whip.

His mischievous cat prances into the room now that the excitement is over, brushing against our legs.

Softie that I am, I can't resist reaching down and scratching his head, even if he's cost me my dignity. He purrs, pleased with himself for pleasing his master. I wonder if it's always like this with the girls he brings home?

“Any last minute worries I can wipe before we do this thing?” Grant asks, his hand brushing over mine as we stroke Jack together. The cat sniffs at our hands, showing his enjoyment in soft, brisk purrs.

“Age? There's a noticeable gap between us.” My eyes search his, wondering what kind of bear I'm poking by stating the obvious. “That's not a problem, I guess, if it's okay with you.”

“Okay? Bekah, it's hot, and there's an easy solution to make it feel right.” This time, he grabs both my hands, helping me up, while Jack retreats to his place on the fireplace again. He quirks an eyebrow, as if I should already know the answer. “Don't tell me you've never called a man sir before?”

“Called him what?! Ew.”

Ew is right. Sir is supposed to be for kinky people into spanking and blindfolds. It's not for a girl having her first time with an older man, who just might be conspiring with the entire universe to get her naked.

Ew is what my mouth says, but when the word registers in the part of my lizard brain turning my panties into a sopping wet mess, I'm intrigued. Okay, perhaps I'm a little hot for it even, because it seems wrong.

“Open your mind, my little moscato.” His palm circles my spine, adding just the right pressure, bringing me closer to him. My nipples throb, hungry and titillated when they go flush against his hard chest. “You're young, you're beautiful, and we have the whole night to ourselves. You'll call me sir by the time we're done, and you'll love it.”

“Oh, I wouldn't go that far.” Lies. Filthy, rotten lies.

“I would, and I will. I'll lead you wherever I damned well please, moscato.”

My hands flatten against his chest, giving my breasts some much needed breathing space. If they spend another second pressed up against him, I swear I'll lose it in the middle of his living room.

“Are we through spilling wine out here and eye-fucking each other blind?” He waits until I give him the tiniest of nods. “Good. Follow me.”

I obey. Not just my body, but my heart. It strums so hard in my ribcage I'm afraid it'll stop. My footsteps land in his as we move through his enormous house, heading up the spiraling staircase, which goes up several floors. His master suite is at the top, hidden behind a thick double door with intricate flourishes carved into it. Almost like a secret passage. I feel like it's the entrance to Aladdin's cave, rather than a rich man's bedroom.

When his hand is on the huge iron knob, he stops, staring into my eyes. “You never did use up your guesses on the sheets,” he says.

“I'll stick with red,” I tell him, even though I'm sure that's wrong.

It's the last thing I'm able to say as a sane woman, before he opens the door and brings me into his storm.

* * *

His sheets are actually ivory white. I notice them as soon as he's backed me against the wall and ripped down my skirt, cupping my pussy through soaked lace, squeezing like he already owns it.

Twisted desire curdles my blood, and I still can't pull my eyes off his sheets. They're probably Egyptian cotton with ten thousand stitches, the kind I've slept on a couple times in the fancy jets my father flies out to bring me home from my water work in Latin America.

It's a stunning, pure choice for a man with nothing pure about him as soon as he unbuttons his shirt. My hands reach in, fingertips dancing on his skin, nervous and delicate. He takes my wrists with a growl, pushes my fingers against him harder, brushing his shirt aside.

“Touch me, beautiful,” he whispers. “It's yours tonight.”

My eyes look on the wonder I'm being loaned. My jaw drops when I see what he's hiding.

Tattoos galore. Dark, rich ink lines his whole chest and races down to his abs, a long axe with the word BASTARD written on its blade. Intricate lines race out around it, lightning and fire. His shoulders are flanked by a skull mounted on wings. A killer angel, fierce as his muscles.

So, the Viking aesthetic is everywhere. Maybe down to his soul. He could've walked in straight from the middle ages with his demon ink and irresistible beard.

It's a little ridiculous on the surface, and totally over-the-top. This strong, gentle businessman with his buttoned down shirts, hiding a scary freak underneath. But I can't deny its power to get me wetter than I ever imagined.

“You're shaking,” he says, pulling me closer by the wrists. His hot breath drifts against my lips, dangerously close to a first kiss.

“Why bastard? Why the skull? I'm not sleeping with an ex-con, am I?”

He grins. “Old work name. Haven't dealt with blue collar criminals since I got out of my old man's real estate business. Now, all the assholes I haunt wear suits and ties. Enough with the Q and A, love. Your pussy's begging for my tongue almost as bad as your lips.”

Our lips connect.

Correction: they demolish each other.

His kiss comes hard and crisp and all kinds of sweet. Fire in every tongue flick, pouring into me, lit by the delicious friction of his tongue on mine.

I'm not a total angel. I've kissed other boys plenty of times, but never with this carnal intent braising every nerve in my body.

Oh, it's on. Finally. Completely.

Tay's mission is about to be accomplished. I'll lose my V-card, and possibly win so many orgasms in the hours to come that my legs start trembling just thinking about it.

Grant's hot breath slurs into a growl. His teeth dig into my bottom lip: rough, possessive, merciless.

The air leaves my lungs and spills into a moan, filling his mouth. If I was quivering before, then I'm a hot mess now. I can't hide what he's doing to me.

“You okay, moscato?” he asks, pulling away, bringing his free hand to cup my cheek. “What's wrong?”

“You,” I whisper, taking a second to swallow the bashful stone in my throat. “You're too good, and I have a confession to make.”

“Confession?”

“I have to be honest.” His eyes lock onto mine while I take a deep breath, letting out a sigh before I spill it. “I've never done this before.”

“You've never...? Oh. Oh, shit.”

I hope I haven't made a huge mistake. For a second, his fingers stiffen on my skin, warmer and sterner than before. Sweat beads on my brow.

Have I said too much?

“I meant to tell you sooner. Tay brought me up here for more than an ordinary get away. She thought I'd find a man to take my worries away, to help me get laid. It's long overdue. I swear, I'm ready. There's a first time for everything...right?” I stop right there, recognizing how pathetic I sound.

His palm slides against my cheek, tracing my jaw down and then up again, keeping me in suspense. I'm about to grab my skirt and walk the fuck out when he gives me the smirk I'm learning is near impossible to resist. “Always, Bekah. Always a first time for everything. I've never had a virgin call me daddy before, but fuck, I want to.”

Nice recovery, even if it's crude. Very nice when his lips crash back into mine, angrier than before, kissing me with the same fierce intent his hand makes when it slides between my thighs.

He brings me a little closer to the huge, angel white bed with every kiss. Its thin curtains hang down like something from an old Victorian film. They caress my back softly when I'm at the edge, one gentle push away from entering a world guaranteed to change me forever.

“Fuck, Bekah, you taste so sweet. So warm. So wet for me. So fucking ready to be owned by your sir. More, moscato. Give me more.”

If the wine analogies are getting old, my brain doesn't realize it yet. I don't think my extremities could be more ready. They pulse violently every time he touches me. His hands go around my waist, and he brings himself in close, dragging the rock hard length hiding in his trousers against my panties.

Surprise number two: he's huge.

Nobody ever said this V-card punching was going to be easy. Still, I'm game, ready to wrap him in the pink, tender parts of me craving every inch. Ready to be his, and yes, maybe to call him that dreaded, stupid, kind of irresistible S-word.

Goodbye, cardigan. My fingers go to the spaghetti straps of my tank top, and I'm peeling it off, when he grabs both my wrists. “Not so fast. Let me help.”

His thick, deliciously rough fingers replace mine. They undress me with a master's skill, starting at my top, lifting it over my head. It hits the floor, and his palms roam my breasts, bringing a tender heat to my nipples. My toes can't curl fast enough.

“God,” I whisper, eyes rolling to the heavens. I barely notice when his hands move behind me again, taking my bra clasp, freeing my breasts from their lacy restraints.

I recover just in time to see Grant fall to his knees. He backs me into the bed, eases my ass against it for support, and throws one arm around my waist. Then his face moves to my aching nipples, each soft bud calling for his bristle, his heat, his feral tongue.

I whimper. I can't do anything else every time his stubble grazes my untouched skin. His tongue circles my left nipple, and I count, wondering how long it'll be before numbers stop making sense.

One.

Two.

Sweet Jesus. Three!

I'm a goner.

He rolls. He sucks. His licks deepen, pulling my flesh between his teeth. Intense, delirious torture.

It's the best and worst a man can offer. A tease and a deep, satisfying scratch. It's fire and ice and all the good things in between, written in carnal truth even a virgin can understand.

Holy hell. I'm on fire.

My fingers twitch, reaching for the source of this vicious delight. They curl against the back of his head, digging into his skull through his short brown hair, begging him to take me harder. “Please,“ I whisper, staring down at him, too red with need and heat to say more.

He closes his eyes. One big hand reaches up, cups my other breast, seeking my nipple between his fingers. It closes slowly while his mouth sucks its twin in deeper.

Oh! Oh, Fuck! My knees buckle.

I throw my hands on his shoulders. If it weren't for the bed behind me, alongside his steady arm, I'd flop down in a sexy mess on the mattress. He growls, moving his bristle against my cleavage, pushing his face into my breasts, taking over everything I've given him.

He takes possession. He takes control. He seizes my mind, and makes my writhing hips beg, shamefully and not-so-secretly hidden behind the frantic heat sweeping me.

I didn't know it was possible to feel so helpless, and also so enchanted. Grant takes my wrist in his free hand, holding me onto him, the better to suck my soft, pulsing buds harder, deeper, faster.

I'm moaning. What's left of my panties are so drenched they're pulling on my thighs, soaked in lust and need.

BASTARD, the tattoo on him says. My eyes flick to it every time I manage to force them open between new wild lashes from his tongue.

It isn't wrong. I couldn't have picked a bigger bastard to surrender my innocence to.

And tonight, he's my bastard. My sweet, bearded beast. My dark angel, sent to fuck me senseless.

I'm melting faster by the second, my legs shaking softly against his. He rises. Taking both my hands in his, he squeezes them, capturing me in his blue fire eyes.

“Lay the fuck down. These are coming off. Can't go on listening to you whimper while I suck your tits a second longer,” he tells me, pushing his hard-on into my panties. I feel his want, and oh baby, mine thickens. Doubles in no time, seething in my blood like molten steel. “Moscato, you've lived too long, holding onto these screams. I'll make you sing every damned second my tongue fills your sweet cunt.”

One push, his knees on mine. I fall backwards through the veil around his bed, bouncing on the softest mattress I've ever laid on. I'm grateful I'll be comfortable for the filthy things he's promised. I'm breathing so hard my body shakes each time I exhale, watching as he peels off his clothes, and joins me behind the silk curtain seconds later, naked and glorious.

The dim moonlight spills in, reflecting brightly off something attached to his cock. Something metallic that shouldn't be there...should it?

I do a double take, scampering up on the pillows when we lock eyes again. “Whoa, wait, what? Grant, what is that thing you're...wearing?”

I'm not sure it's the right word. He crawls on top of me, and lays down another kiss. He refuses to answer until his warmth, his heat, obliterates any second thoughts. His strength, his ink, his godly muscles remind me I don't care if his dick is half-machine.

“Guess you've never heard of a Prince Albert,” he says, grabbing his cock in a fist and crouching. “Go ahead. Touch it.”

“Prince Albert? You're royalty?”

He chuckles. “Sure. King Silas' long lost brother, specially flown in to fuck you tonight, princess. It's a thousand year old blue blood tradition.”

I'm quiet. He can't be serious. He's screwing with me, or the world's biggest play boy prince has a flaming hot twin nobody ever heard of.

“That's a joke, and this is a piercing, moscato. God, you're easy,” he growls, taking my hand, wrapping it around him. “Touch it. Feels nice against your fingertips, doesn't it? Nothing compared to how you'll feel once it's in, of course, but we'll take this nice and slow. Ample time to realize how good you're about to be fucked.”

Sweet Jesus. For a second, I'd forgotten I'm supposed to take this strange, beautiful flesh inside me. My fingers glide across the two metal beads attached to his swollen head, drifting down his very sizable length. He's so thick it's hard to even get my whole hand around it.

“I didn't know people did this,” I say, stroking him very slowly while my eyes drift back to his.

The way his dark pupils glow tells me he's enjoying it. He nods, urging me on, bringing his head closer.

“They do when they're dirty. And newsflash, little girl, I don't do it any other way.” Grant presses his forehead into mine, teasing my lips with his hot breath. He buries me in another sultry kiss before he speaks. “You've got a lot to learn about fucking, Bekah. It's adorable, frankly, and I'm a world class teacher.” He pulls away and smiles, leaving me to bristle.

Little girl? Teacher? I can't tell if I'm offended or excited, but there's adrenaline in my blood, and only one obvious way to calm it.

“I'm not clueless,” I lie. “I'm no angel. I've read things, seen them on the web...”

He smiles straight through my BS and pushes my hand off his throbbing cock. “Sure. Like watching another broad get bent over and pounded is the same as doing it.”

He rolls his eyes once. My cheeks are about to burst into flames.

“You're right about playing Ms. Innocent, though. I see right through it. You're a little tease, love, and that has a stiff fucking penalty with me. You'll pay my fine in screams. A good girl wouldn't distract me from eating her pussy to the moon and back.”

Grant reaches between my legs, stuffs his fingers in my panties, and his smile disappears. “Open wide for sir,” he orders, jerking my bottoms down so fast the force lifts my butt in the air.

Sir again! I don't know whether to be disgusted, or turned on as he buries his face against my soft belly a second later, throwing my legs over his shoulders, and pinning them down with his arms.

He's right about one thing: there's a lot I don't know about the world he's thrown open the door to. But I have a feeling by the time this weekend is over, this rich freak with the beard will give me the grand tour.

I roll my head, trying to relax when his tongue goes to work. He kisses down my belly, a slow and steady trail to my inner thighs, lower and lower before he heads back up.

Sugary anticipation runs up my spine. His breath hits my steaming folds, electric and inspired, calling fire to my clit.

Holy...mother...yes!

He doesn't take it just yet. Oh, no.

This man doesn't call me moscato for nothing. He savors me sweetly, gradually, only applying the full strength of his mouth when he's located the trigger points causing me to squirm and ache and whine for more.

I can't keep my legs shut. The instant my thighs drift too close to his head, or wriggle too much for his liking, Grant snarls, rips them open, and locks them around his head.

Exquisite agony makes need in my womb. His tongue dashes through my folds, a little deeper with every lick, slow and steady and hellbent on bringing me off whenever he chooses.

Sir isn't so crazy at all. He's in complete control.

My body belongs to him. Every raw sensation warms my blood several more degrees, sends me a little closer to the merciful release every muscle begs for, louder with every lick.

His growls fade in the desperate sounds leaving me. My moans become shrieks, and I say the same word over and over when my pleasure doused brain remembers how, so shrill it doesn't even sound like please!

Begging doesn't help. There's no reprieve until he's good and ready, on his own terms.

Eventually, he's had his fun. Grant moves to my swollen clit, draws it into his mouth, and holds it for his tongue to spank again and again.

I'm ruined when the ecstasy builds, breaks, and comes in a deluge.

Ten minutes ago – or however many it's been – I didn't know a thing about what a man could do to me.

Every calculated stroke of his tongue brings a new lesson, makes my body his willing pupil.

Now, I'm his canvass, his instrument, his other half to mold. Prey at the most primal level, and it feels so fucking good to let go when the heat surging in me ruptures.

“Grant!” His name comes in a hot flash whimper as his tongue work quickens. My clit burns, and my hips drag themselves against his face, desperately grinding their way to nirvana.

His fingers tighten on my thighs. His face pushes into me, so deep and undaunted I don't know how he's still breathing.

He's pleasure incarnate every second my O approaches. My totality. Okay, maybe even sir.

His beard and tongue become one with my oozing flesh. Fire singes nerves in my pussy I didn't know I had. My clit twitches beneath his circling tongue, smothered in the pleasure that's like a key, opening the door to climax with two, three, four more rampant licks.

Yes, yes, and fuck, yes!

I always thought my first O with a man would be like falling down a waterfall, tingling sweetness touching me from every side.

This is more like becoming the waterfall itself.

I'm too breathless. Too smitten. Too fucking gone to even scream.

Muscles tense, twitch, and blaze in my pelvis, forcing every other part of my body to mirror them.

Sweat beads out of me in a humid, streaming mess.

Coming! My O is a roar, a fire, a ruthless bearded wave owning every inch of me for the next several minutes.

Nothing distracts him from his job. He's a growling, relentless, tongue-fucking animal, and he doesn't stop before my vision goes white. He's lightning, and my heart pounds like a heavy axe hitting wood the entire time.

The high lifts me up, slams me down, and brings me back to Earth like I'm riding a stray feather when the gods of ecstasy decide I've had more than any virgin should get her very first time. They send me home to him, into his strong arms, which close around me in a protective shell. A thick hand guides my cheek to his chest when I'm still halfway outside my body.

We lay together. He licks the last of my cream off his face. The bed smells like sex and the last musky embers of a fire. And, oh, his pierced cock is still rock hard, jutting up between his legs, leaking pre-come down his shaft in several sticky translucent trails.

In case I'd forgotten, it's far from over. I'm not really a woman until I've had him up inside me.

“You come like a goddamned rocket, moscato.” He laces his fingers through my hair, smoothing it against my head, bringing a new blush to my face when I imagine what a mess I must be. “Do I have to fuel you up for the rest of our trip?”

His lips brush mine. Moaning, I kiss him back harder, amazed I want more after that white lightning. “Worry about fueling this,” I say, reaching below the tight valley of his abs, grabbing his length.

He growls into our next kiss when I stroke him. Thick fluid spills out of him, flowing between my fingers, coating the silvery beads attached to his flesh like a well oiled machine. “Careful. You don't know what you're doing when you tease me like that,” he says. His eyes are ice blue and serious when he gazes into me.

“Show me, sir,” I purr, smiling.

For half a second, he bares his teeth. I'm reminded how rough and animalistic sex can be when his hands return to my body, helping himself to virgin flesh as he moves between my legs, shoving his throbbing cock to my wet entrance.

His fingers play while his lips take mine. His kisses come in waves, perfectly tuned to the rhythm of his hands tweaking my nipples. One hand glides between my legs. He tests my wetness, spreads my labia, and my breath catches hard in my lungs.

“That pretty little mind, moscato? I'll blow it. You'll feel every inch, baby girl. You'll enjoy it. You'll fucking come for me over and over and over. Do you understand how completely you're mine, as long as I want you to be?” He waits for my nervous nod because I'm too stunned to speak. Butterfly lust numbs me again. “Christ, I almost forgot...”

He lifts off me just long enough to reach through the curtain around the bed. The drawer to his nightstand opens, and he returns with a condom in hand, tearing the foil corner with his teeth.

“Roll it on me. Nice and easy,” he says, pushing the slim rubber into my hand. I tilt my head and watch, holding my hot little fingers to his cock. His hand goes around mine, guiding me down his smooth length.

I don't know why it's so hot. This intimate gesture floods my blood with fire. I think I'm panting when he takes his position between my legs again, tilting my chin up with two fingers so I meet his eyes.

“When I take your cherry, you look at me. One good, long look, moscato. I'm not some clumsy fucking kid sneaking into your dorm room to get his rocks off and pass out. I'm a man. I'm your sir. And you'll remember me for the rest of your life after I've torn you up.”

Bold words. Bold, and so true I feel their weight in my bones.

I'm not scared when we lock eyes. I'm admiring him the same way a woman sees once-in-a-lifetime art or a wonderfully assembled delicacy before a chef's tasting. Grant takes my hands, brings them high over my head, and holds them there, slipping my fingers through his.

“On three, beautiful,” he says, letting me know it's coming. Just one hard thrust away from what I came here for. “One...”

“Two,” I say softly, closing my eyes.

“Three.” The last word, we count together.

Then his hips edge mine. His thick cock slides into me, and keeps on going, so long it seems like it's going to go on forever before he hits the end, just short of my womb.

Some say pain is the other side of pleasure. With losing it for the first time, I think they're right. There's a sharp tearing sensation, the remnants of my virginity stripped away, and then a duller, angrier heat as my pussy stretches to welcome his size.

Sweet agony. There's a pleasure behind the pain, a strange, wanton desire that says keep going, even when it aches, and my fingers pinch his so hard I think they'll break.

“You okay?” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine, holding himself in me until I nod.

“Please, Grant. Fuck me,” I whisper, channeling my lust. It helps me survive the next sixty seconds while his huge, pierced cock glides out of me and then plunges in again. This time, deeper.

He stifles my desperate moan with a kiss. I brush my tongue across his, feeding his hunger.

We work for our rhythm. My hips move, timed to his next few thrusts.

It isn't long before pleasure dominates all sensations. I wonder if it could be any other way when there's a man this gorgeous between my legs, holding me tight, telling me I'm sexy, secure, and entirely his every time he strokes to my depths.

Faster. Harder. Deeper.

Oh, momma.

My eyelids flutter shut. His hands move over me when they're not pinning me down by the wrists.

We caress. We fuck. We find each other in every stroke, every kiss, every tangle of our limbs.

His cock lifts me high and throws me down again, harder every time. His hips crash into mine, quickening as he grunts his pleasure. Another fireball deep inside me rises up, catches my throat, and leaves me panting.

His thrusts own my every breath. His shadow engulfs me, swallows me in, as deep as my body pulls him into me. I'm almost undone.

“Come for me, moscato,” he says. “Come on this cock. Let sir suck your little screams down his throat.”

His mouth rules mine. I can't hold on, can't keep up, can't resist this fresh kiss of ownership.

The tension builds. Craving, wanting, needing release.

It races through my veins, electrifies my nerves, sticks in my throat. New pleasure cries roll off my tongue and onto his when my second O comes, harder than the first.

Yeah, fuck, yeah, he mouths, sweeping his tongue over mine. His pubic bone dives low, creating a delicious friction on my clit. Moans become screams as my pussy hugs his cock, pulling him into me, begging his cock to join me in messy release.

No. He isn't through with me yet.

When my eyes stop rolling and ecstasy releases its hold, I'm eye-to-eye with him again, taking in the sultry sight of his huge chest bulging. Whole landscapes come alive on his chest, guardians and demons in ink, each fighting for a chance to own me tonight. His lungs pump harder, seeking precious oxygen, all the better to fuck me harder, longer, delivering more.

More. My body shouldn't want it, but it does. It's like he's cast a spell over me, and now I can't stop, crashing back into him with a ferocious swing of my hips each time he puts his full length into me.

If he meant to teach me lust – frenzied, desperate, all consuming need – he's succeeded several times over.

“Moscato, you're burning up,” he says, slowing his strokes when I'm about to give up another climax, laying his palm on my cheek. “You want my come this much? Every drop for your parched little cunt?”

“Yes!” I hiss, barely recognizing my own voice. “Please. Come with me!”

His eyes dive into mine, narrowing, considering the plea. His hands move to my ass, picking me up, bringing me down on his cock. I've seen this position a hundred times in the old Karma Sutra books I used to sneak peeks at in our library, whenever our servants weren't looking.

Who the hell knew it felt so natural? So good?

He rests me on his lap, fingers digging into my ass, guiding me up and down.

Up, down, everywhere on his obscene cock. It isn't hard for a man his size to move me. His soft beard scrapes my neck, dives to my cleavage. He kisses his way up my throat, jerking himself off with my whole body.

I'm on the verge when he slows his hips, reaches up, fists my hair, and twists my neck so my eyes beam into his. “Say the magic word if you don't want to come alone this time,” he growls.

“What word?” I'm playing dumb, but I already know it.

His cock moves in me again, shallower strokes, more insistent than before. His eyebrows quirk in a warning, and the unthinkable is on the end of my tongue, something I swore I'd never consider.

“Please. Please, Grant,” I try. No, not good enough. My eyelids pinch shut, his thrusts achingly close to carrying me to bliss again. “Sir, please!”

“Fuck!” His curse rumbles low as his thrusts pick up.

My pussy tenses, squeezes his whole length, and I'm almost swept away before I notice how he stiffens, how he swells deep inside me. He's coming.

Grant fills me with such a furious heat I swear I feel it through the condom.

What started as another rough O becomes fuller. Becomes divine.

It's fire, it's passion, it's everything screaming to every last extremity.

Nerves crackle. Hearts pound. Muscles twitch.

Grant brings me off intense and raw. We share the best of ourselves in a beautiful moment. One I'm scared I won't have again – how could it possibly get better than this?

The last thing I see before I collapse in his arms is the axe on his chest, swaying from his heavy breathing. If he's a BASTARD like the tattoo says, then he's a beautiful one, and he's mine.

Mine, as I am his.

Virgin and beast. Sir's moscato. Bound to him as long as we share this bed, and he holds me in the moment. And I don't have to worry about how ridiculous this sounds, or how short-lived it'll be when the time comes to uncouple my poor heart.

Tears sting the corners of my eyes when he softens, and I feel him moving in for another kiss.

Fuck you, emotions. I promise myself there won't be any weakness when his mouth takes mine.

It's only tonight. It isn't love. It isn't anything. I'm here to lose my virginity, enjoy it, and scram. Easy-peasy, just like Tay said.

This isn't meant to last.

It's not forever.

It may well be the best sex of my life, but that's all it can be.

One, two, or half a dozen romps. Wham, bam, and see ya, madam.

I told myself I was ready. I said it wouldn't be a problem. I went through it in my mind over and over, before we got in the car and drove up here, ever since Tay first floated the scheme a few months ago, and I finally broke down and told her I'd follow through last week.

But I didn't bet on the way my pulse changes every time we kiss. It's more than mere lust. More than a virgin's zeal. More than feeling like an adult for the first time in my life.

If I'm being honest, it's more, and it damned well shouldn't be. The fact more is even in my head when I wrap my hands around his neck, savoring his heat, fighting loose tears, tells me this is trouble with a flashing neon T.

Men like Grant don't date. He's a man-whore in his natural heartbreaker habitat if there ever was one.

I'm no fool. I've seen too many womanizing, high octane sharks from my father's deals and high society to know better. He's also a total stranger, even if he doesn't feel like it, and even if I've called him the big S-I-R.

“Don't tell me you're getting sleepy now, moscato,” he whispers, running his thumb along my cheek, tracing my jawline like we're star-crossed lovers in the world's raunchiest Romeo and Juliet parody.

“Need you to wake me up,” I say, smiling for emphasis, regaining control. I open my lidded eyes when I'm sure the tears won't slip.

When he kisses me again, everything that shouldn't be real suddenly is.

Careful, I tell myself, and then I repeat it a few more times while our lips mingle.

He took my virginity like we agreed. I enjoyed it. But I'm flirting with a major red line with no mystery on the other side.

I can see the hurt already if I slip up. It's there, savage and waiting, if I get too comfortable, too close, and I let him run away with my heart.

* * *

So, it's more than one night.

It's three whole days sleeping in late, walking the rocky beach behind his lodge hand-in-hand, and petting his lovely friend, Jack, while our dinners digest with some of the best wine I've ever had.

Grant says a lot without giving away everything. He tells me about his brothers, Hayden and Luke, a real estate mogul and a Hollywood actor respectively. I laugh and blush when I find out his youngest brother played the infamous Mr. Black, every woman's secret heartthrob since Bare hit the silver screen. It's the biggest erotic thriller since...well, maybe ever.

Honestly, though, I don't think there's anyone in Hollywood worth comparing to the man I've given everything.

“You're lucky you know my last name,” he says on our last day, watching the sunset off the private balcony attached to his master suite, a new moscato in our glasses. “I come up here to get away from it all. New York is a great place for business and fast entertainment, but I'd fucking crack without nature, quiet, and women.”

I smile, sipping my wine, trying to pretend I'm the only woman he means. He probably has a harem waiting in Chandlersport, and plenty other towns across New England. “Tell me about it. This is my last getaway, too, before I start the new job.”

“Which firm?” he asks, taking a pull from his wine.

I shrug. “Don't know, and can't say I care. Some crappy, stuffy place dad says I need to work at so I can 'do something serious with my life,' as he says. Never mind how he thinks I'm heading for the gutter if I choose to live without the private jet someday.”

Grant smiles, reaching for my hand. God, his fingers feel good in mine. I don't want this to end, but the sunset reminds me it will.

It's inevitable as the moon in the next few hours. Our weekend enters its terminal stage, passing in one last burst of orange glory as the high summer sun slips behind the tall trees, spilling its last light on the Atlantic coast.

“Say no more. I know family pressure. My old man practically strangled all three of us before we started making coin. Gave my little brother, Luke, all kinds of shit when he decided to go his own way.”

“Well, you've done very well for yourself. You must've made your family proud,” I say quietly.

His eyes darken. “Sure. My family wasn't exactly what you'd call close knit.” He holds his cards so close to his chest, draining the last of his wine, his grip on my hand tightening before he catches himself. “No more past. I'm here for the present, Bekah, and I know you are, too.”

“You're right.” I nod, catching up to him as I throw back the last few gulps of my wine. “So, sir, since this is our last night, we'd better make it a good one, no?”

“Fuck yeah.” He stands, taking me by the hand, leading me to his bed again.

We take our time enjoying each other for the next few hours, until we collapse sometime after midnight. He fucks with a passion I'll never forget. It's steady, hard, and always hungry, even when he's come in me at least three times, always finding his release with a feral snarl and a grind of his hips. It never fails to carry me to ecstasy.

I thought the last few nights left me sore. Tomorrow, my legs will punish me more when I'm driving home with Tay, both of us taking our turns at the wheel. I'm guessing I won't be the only one, seeing how I've barely heard from her since she hooked up with the beach bum at the bar.

I don't care.

I'm wearing a sad, longing smile drifting off, but it's also happy. He sleeps with his face turned toward me, peaceful and strong as a well rested lion greeting his dreams. The heat of his skin on my cheek draws my fingers. I stroke his tattooed chest in delicate circles, wishing I had fifty more years to admire this, to know it, to love it the way it deserves.

I'll show myself out before he's up, just like I told him. It's how it has to be if I want to get away for good without showing him the tears I've held in every night. I don't need the man I call sir thinking I'm nothing except a stupid, emotional little girl who can't handle a casual fling.

I'm all grown up thanks to him.

I'm used to life's disappointments, and its boundaries. They're the only certainties I've known, growing up a Corbin.

Even now, I feel his presence, when I should just shut it out. My father would probably lock me away in a convent if he knew what I did tonight.

Not the sex, necessarily, but taking life into my own hands. Living for me, instead of the fortune he's dedicated his life to. Always disappointed when he sees the same desire he's tried to nurture in me failing, and failing hard.

Tomorrow, everything I hate returns with a vengeance. I'll barely have an evening to rest at home before I have to show up bright and early to work for his latest business ass-ociate.

I take another long glance at Grant before sleep finds me, burning his beautiful body and the gentle-but-firm smile framed in his beard into my brain.

I'll need it. A woman in my position needs her happy places.

They're rare.

As I shut my eyes and try to forget the bad, I don't know when I'll be this happy again.