Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I take a deep breath and pour us both a lot of wine. Assuming we’re not going out to eat, we might as well have sex. Then, if it’s as bad as I suspect it might very well be, I’ll break up with him. We can still stay friends, because that’s what we really are anyway. Or, if the way he’s looking at me as I approach is any indication, he might break up with me. I can’t help but grin. He is going to break up with me.
Oh, where is Cher when I need her? I should have listened to her. She warned me this isn’t typical, in quotes, “Straight guy behavior.”
Still, he’s so sweet and smart, and not that he was ever buff, but at least he looked healthy last time I saw him. Now he looks like he might fall over if a gust of wind blows on him.
“Here.” I hand him the wine and completely invade his space because I saved myself for him, and I’m going to get drunk and get this albatross of my virginity off my neck.
“Thanks.” He grins, and my heart picks up. He does have a nice smile: straight, white teeth and full lips.
“To tonight,” I say brazenly and don’t wait for him. I just clink my glass with his and start chugging.
Brody watches, but must sense that I’m not backing down, so he also starts to drink. Thank God his dad has good taste in wine. This is a delicious Bordeaux. It’s like a thick mouthful of flavor. I think I taste oak, maybe chocolate or berries. All I know is it went down way too easy, my head already feels better, and Brody’s skin is starting to have some color.
“Shall we sit?” I smile and lick my sweet-tasting lips.
He nods. His eyes dip to my breasts, and I almost scream to the ceiling, Thank you, God.
I don’t. Instead, I take his hand, he grabs the bottle of wine as we pass the island, and we walk out into the main room that’s now pretty much dark.
Little glittering lights from outside spill in. Otherwise, we’re all alone in our own cocoon of dark red wine and us.
I set my glass down and reach to take the bottle from him. He quickly drinks the rest of his wine, then grabs me and shoves his tongue down my throat.
I almost gag, but I’m so happy he’s taking the initiative that I moan and pull back enough so our tongues are twisting together, rather than having his be like a swab that tests you for strep throat.
His hands move to my ass, and he pulls me closer. We’re both thin, though, and I twist slightly so our hip bones aren’t touching. Screw it, might as well get this going. I slide my hand to cup his dick and start to rub. Again, I almost say a prayer of gratitude to the big man, and I’m not religious, but Brody Moore is definitely hard.
And all I can think of is it’s finally happening. I’m going to get laid. It might not be fantastic, but what first time is? And it’s with Brody. He’s gonna be gentle and sweet, which I assume will mean less pain. To be honest, I simply don’t want to be a forty-year-old virgin, and at the rate I’m going, I can see it happening.
“Raven?” My eyes pop open and I stare up at Brody. Shit, how long have I been drifting, not responding?
“Yeah?” I moan.
“Can I… can I go down on… you?” His voice trails off, and I decide right now that I hate when guys ask. My next boyfriend will not be an asker, that’s for sure.
“Yeah.” Trying to sound sexy, confident, I reach for the bottle and pour us some more wine. He takes his and downs it like a shot, then smiles.
I smile and follow. In the back of my head, I can’t help but think we’re kind of pathetic. I’m nineteen and he’s twenty-one, and we need a bottle of wine to give us enough courage.
I shake my head, mostly to clear those thoughts, but also to entice him as I pull down one strap of my slip dress, then the other, letting it shimmy down to my boots.
Then I stand, waiting for him to touch me. He doesn’t. In fact, he stares, so I step out of the dress, dramatically kick it aside, and drop down onto the white couch, absently wondering if we should go upstairs. I mean, this couch is really white. What if I bleed? But the comforter and sheets on my bed are also white… Jesus, Raven, focus. He’s still standing there.
“Brody…” Again, I moan. That seems to be working, so why change it up? He nods and nervously rubs his hands up and down his jeans.