Virgin Wanted

By: Sierra Cole

I turn my focus to my face and hair, hoping to God that my makeup hasn’t smudged or my hair hasn’t decided to defy the straightening I put it through this morning and spring up at some crazy angle. But no, as far as I can see, everything is still remaining nicely in place – my hair staying straight and glossy, and my big brown eyes shown off pretty nicely with the cat-flick eyeliner technique I diligently followed to the letter this morning on YouTube...

Just then, the elevator pings loudly to announce that it’s reached its destination, and the brushed chrome doors glide open with a swish to reveal a long, empty corridor with a set of imposing frosted glass double doors waiting for me at the far end.

That must be Mr Whitelaw’s office, I think nervously as I begin to walk slowly towards them. And as I walk, I wonder just what kind of a guy could want to spend a crazy amount of money on flying virgins in from all around the country just to interview them for ... what exactly?

I feel another sharp stab of worry, as it dawns on me all over again that I don’t even know what the hell he wants me for. I need to make sure I don’t get my hopes up here. Because he’s most likely gonna be some creepy, ugly old guy with more money than sense, who will no doubt will want me to do something really disgusting and gross ...

I’ve reached the set of doors by now – they’re just frosted enough that I can’t quite see through them, with a simple nameplate attached that reads: Marcus Whitelaw, CEO.

I pause.

Do I knock?

Or do I just push them open and stride inside?

In the end, I decide on the first option, reaching out a shaky fist and knocking timidly, three times, on the cold hard glass.

“Come in,” a voice calls back – a surprisingly deep and sonorous voice, with just a hint of an accent that I can’t quite put my finger on.

I gather my nerves, my heart hammering hard in my chest now, as I push open the doors and step inside.

But even with every option I’ve considered so far, there’s one fact that I’m just not at all prepared for when I push open those doors ...


Marcus Whitelaw is gorgeous, and I’m not one to use that word lightly. I’m talking the heart-stopping, panty-melting, unable-to-stop-myself-from-immediately-imagining-him-naked kind of gorgeous.

When I first step inside the office, he’s standing with his back to me, gazing out on the sprawling city skyline below us that’s shown off impressively through the amazing floor-to-ceiling windows that make up three of the four walls of his office, but the moment he turns around to look at me? Well, let’s just say that his beauty hits me with the full force of a steamroller, knocking all the air from my lungs and all sensible thoughts from my head.

He’s tall – way over six foot – and the immaculately tailored lines of his beautiful navy suit tell me that underneath that sumptuous blue cloth, he’s built too.

But the absolute jewel in the crown is his face. It’s perfect, flawless (and did I mention gorgeous already?!). His big grey eyes pin me firmly in place the moment they set upon me and I actually feel myself getting sucked into them – like he’s sending out some kind of crazy traction beam. Meanwhile his thick, sensuous lips curl into the faint suggestion of a smile, lighting up his perfectly symmetrical face, which is framed exquisitely by thick blonde hair and the most chiseled, sculpted jawline I’ve ever seen before on man or woman, not to mention the most beautiful cheekbones, too -- cheekbones that would be the envy of any model. Even the dusting of light brown stubble that flecks his tanned, honey-colored skin only adds to the appeal, along with the way his collar is a little rumpled, and his tie is pulled open, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of his thick manly neck.

And you know what’s weirdest of all?

I feel my body responding to him – in a way it never does. You see, I guess part of the reason I’ve remained a virgin my whole twenty-one years of existence, is that I’ve just never found guys that attractive – certainly not the way all my girlfriends did back in college seemed to do, gushing and cooing over ‘cute’ boys and so forth. I just couldn’t ever quite see what all the fuss was about.

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