The Virgin

“Nine,” she answered.

“Nine. Nine is very rough.”

“If nine is too much for you, take the car and drive yourself home. I don’t like having my time wasted.”

She flicked the keys at him and he caught them easily. But after he caught them, he dropped them on the ground.

“Trust me,” he said, taking a step forward and clapping a hand on her throat. He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I won’t waste your time.”

Now. Finally.

Kingsley was back in his element.

14

KINGSLEY’S HAND WAS on Juliette’s throat and his mouth was at her ear.

“You’ll do everything I tell you to do,” he said, an order, not a question. “Yes?” Oui?

“Yes” Juliette said, breathlessly.

“I won’t cut you or burn you or choke you. But once we’re in that room, everything else is possible. Every act, every hole,” he said. “You understand?”

Juliette swallowed hard. He felt her throat moving under his hand.

“I’ll use condoms,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“You have any requests of me?” he asked.

“Yes. Open the door already,” she said. Kingsley smiled. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to fall in love with this woman.

As requested, he opened the door.

He’d expected a bedroom and it was a bedroom. But not a man’s bedroom or a woman’s even. Not a guest room or a hotel room.

It was a child’s room.

He looked down into Juliette’s face.

“It’s the one room he’s never had me in,” she whispered.

The look on her face—almost embarrassed—touched his heart. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, that she wanted him in a room without memories of another man.

Only a single lamp burned on a small round white table but even in the low light it was unmistakably the bedroom of a young girl. The bedroom of the daughter of Juliette’s lover, no doubt, still decorated in the fashion of a child even though she’d long ago grown up and moved out. The bed was small, no more than a full size. The sheets were an innocent shade of white and the rug on the floor a pale pink and blue. Mosquito netting hung down over the bed and a window onto the garden let in a cool rush of ocean air. The night was all around them and even in these strange surroundings, Kingsley burned to be inside her. He hadn’t fucked in the bedroom of a teenager since he’d been a teenager. But it didn’t matter. As hard as he was right now, any horizontal surface would do.

Kingsley kicked the door shut behind him and locked the door. With one arm he swept Juliette to him, meeting her face-to-face, eye-to-eye. She put her hands against his chest, not to push him away but to steady herself. An unnecessary precaution. He had no plans on letting her go until morning.

Juliette looked into his eyes. He saw no fear in them, only desire. She lifted her hand to his face and then swept her fingers through his hair. When she reached the end of a lock she brought it to her lips. No woman had ever kissed his hair before like that, as if it was an act of worship more than affection.

“Will you kiss me?” she asked. Not a humble request, merely a question.

“When you’ve earned it.”

She nodded. “Let me earn it then.”

Far rougher than necessary, Kingsley grasped the fabric of her dress and pulled it down and off her body. Her spine stiffened as he stripped her, but she made no protest. When she was naked but for her woven hemp sandals, he took a step away from her.

“My turn,” he said. He stared at her body, grazing it with his eyes from ankle to neck. She kept her chin high, her eyes forward, and she didn’t try to cover herself in any way. She was beautiful, with a body that could only be described in superlatives—exquisite, striking. Lean, long muscular legs, full hips, a slim waist, large high breasts and shapely shoulders. His dream woman. In spite of her nakedness or perhaps because of it, she looked regal, almost imperious, and definitely defiant. She dared him with her eyes to find fault in what he saw.

There was no fault to be found.

He reached for her and gripped her hard by the back of the neck. She’d asked him to be rough and it was good that she had. Scalding hot desire had burned all the gentleness out of him tonight. He swept the white diaphanous mosquito netting aside and pushed her onto her back at the center of the bed. Kneeling over her, he shoved her legs wide and pried her inner lips apart with brutal fingers. He stared at the opening to her body, red and wet already. His chest heaved, his heart contracted. Juliette lay there with her thighs wide and her eyes half shut. They watched him, her eyes did, from under the veil of her lush eyelashes. Without warning he shoved two fingers into her, as deep as he could go. Juliette’s back arched hard off the bed, her vagina clenched his fingers.

Without mercy, he pulled back and shoved in again, even deeper. Her body opened to him more and he pushed in a third finger. Her wetness coated his hand and she let out a groan in the back of her throat.

Another minute would be a minute too much for him. Kingsley pulled his hand out, yanked his shirt off and opened his pants. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her toward him. Once the condom was on, he wasted no time entering her body. He thrust in deep and she took every inch. It must have hurt. He could tell from the tension in her body that taking so much into her hurt. But he could also tell—from the moan that escaped her lips and the way she raised her hips to take even more of him—that she liked that it hurt.