Virgin Wanted

By: Sierra Cole


“I’m guessing this is all very different from your real life then?” he replies gently.

“Tell me about it,” I laugh.

I’m about to say more when I realize that a man in a dark red suit has appeared in the corner of the room, as if from nowhere. I watch Marcus’s eyes flick across to him and then back to me.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man announces, as if he was addressing a room of fifty people or more. “Tonight’s meal is Kobe beef served with mustard gravy and a selection of seasonal vegetables.”

Marcus leans in across the table. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I can have the chef make you anything you want if that doesn’t sound good? I mean, just say the word and we can have cheeseburgers and fries ...”

“No,” I reply with a smile. “That sounds absolutely delicious.”

“Very good,” Marcus says, giving the man a quick nod.

And quickly and silently the man slips away again into a back room somewhere, once more leaving us alone together. Marcus plucks the bottle of red wine from its spot in the center of the table and asks, “Wine?”

I nod, and he pours a little into the absolutely huge glass set out in front of me. I take a sip, just enough to swirl it on my tongue. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever actually tasted red wine before, and I don’t want to have to do something as unladylike as spit it out if it’s gross ...

“Wow, that’s amazing!” I blurt out as the delicious liquid totally overwhelms my senses. It’s way, way better than I was expecting, and I have to hold myself back from just gulping it all back in one.

“It’s a Chateau Margaux, 2009,” he explains. “And let’s just say it wasn’t cheap so I’m glad you can appreciate it’s fineries. But anyway, I believe you were about to tell me about yourself ...”

I shake my head. “Honestly?” I offer. “There’s really not that much to tell.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” he smiles back, lifting his wine glass and taking a sip, the ruby liquid sparkling on his full lips, forcing me to imagine what it might feel like to have those amazing lips touch against my own. “Where did you go to school?”

“Oh, just a crappy public high school,” I say with a sigh.

“And what were your hobbies?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, wishing we could change the damn subject. You see, for some reason I’ve always found focus on me kind of uncomfortable and awkward; I don’t know why. “The same as anyone I guess? Hanging out with my friends, watching TV, going to the mall. Seriously, I’m really kind of boring.”

He smiles and nods to himself, as if he’s made some amazing discovery. But I can’t for the life of me think what it could be.

“You’re determined not to stand out form the crowd in any way, aren’t you?” he says quietly. “But I just know there’s more to you, Alisha Adams. And by the end of the week, my dear, I promise you I’ll find out what it is.”

“Your accent,” I begin. “It’s so strange. Where are you from?”

But just then, the silent butler in his dazzling red suit comes back into the room, carrying our plates, bursting the bubble on our conversation just as it was starting to get interesting.

He sets mine down in front of me, then walks around to Marcus’s side of the table and does the same. Marcus gives him the smallest of nods in acknowledgement, and then as before the waiter slips out of the room so quickly and silently you could almost forget he was there.

I look down at my plate; it looks a-mazing. I cut of a tentative sliver of the tenderly cooked meat, then lift it to my mouth.

Ohmyfreakinggod!

It’s totally and utterly divine. By far the best food I’ve ever tasted.

“You like?” Marcus says.

I nod emphatically, my mouth full.

“Good,” he says softly. “Because I want you to understand, Alisha, that it’s your pleasure that I’m intent on uncovering this week. You see, that’s what turns me on – watching you enjoy yourself ...”

The suggestive tone of what he’s saying seeps through me, making it a little difficult to swallow my food. And I get the feeling that as soon as this meal is over, he’s going to have something other than food on his mind ...

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