Virgin Wanted
By: Sierra ColeBut right now?
Right this moment, staring into the eyes of this absolutely flawless, gorgeous man?
Well, suddenly it’s like all those dormant hormones have kicked in at once.
I can feel my nipples tightening beneath the cups of my bra, and my clit starting to throb in my panties, almost painfully.
“Miss Adams?” he says, in that beautifully rich, low voice of his, the maddening trace of an accent making me wonder just where in the world he comes from, and I nod, unable to speak, still rooted firmly to the spot by his beautiful eyes. “Please, take a seat.”
He gestures to the sumptuous tan leather chair that faces onto his large mahogany desk, while he casually strides around it and sits down facing me. And when I finally begin to walk again on my now-unsteady legs, sure enough I feel an embarrassing dampness in my panties.
“Thank you so much for taking the time to come and see me, Miss Adams,” he continues, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk as he threads his long tanned fingers together, the glinting flash of his Rolex watch almost dazzling me for a moment as a beam of sunlight that’s cascading through the glass walls of this office strikes it dead-on. “I hope it hasn’t been too much of an inconvenience for you to travel all the way here from ... Where was it, Philadelphia?”
Damn, I think, trying to ignore the weird ways my body is crying out to him, even the way he speaks is hot.
There’s just something so damn sexy about how formal he is – how businesslike and polite.
“I, uh, I’ve never been to New York,” I stutter awkwardly in reply, cursing myself at how clueless and small-town I sound right now. “So it’s been really fun just visiting somewhere new. Thank you for the opportunity ...”
And I know I should just shut up here and let him do all the talking; explain exactly what the ‘job’ he’s advertising for entails. But for some reason I just keep on talking, feeling my mouth running on regardless.
“It must have cost you quite a bit of money to do this. I mean, I can’t be the only girl you’ve paid to fly out here, right?”
At this he smiles enigmatically and raises one thick, perfect eyebrow, resting his sculpted, stubble-flecked chin on his interlaced fingers.
“Actually?” he says in that strange, captivating accent. “You’d be surprised, Alisha, by just how few girls there are in your ... position ...”
The moment he says my name, I feel a shiver run down my spine. It’s crazy. The way my body’s responding, it’s like he’s hypnotized me.
“So how many other girls have applied?” I continue, suddenly desperate to know the answer, even though I still don’t know what exactly it is he even wants me for.
“I should admit there have been a few,” he admits. “But none as beautiful, none as perfect as you.”
I feel another deep pang of embarrassment, my face flushing with heat as he says this.
Is this guy for real?
I don’t know what to do or say with a flat out compliment like that, and find myself just wishing I could somehow change the subject.
“This is, um, an amazing office you have here ...” I offer meekly.
He laughs, once again pinning me with his smoldering grey-blue eyes.
“I’m guessing that nobody has ever told you how beautiful you are,” he says, slowly, deliberately, that deep voice of his resonating right through me.
I shake my head, shifting uncomfortably in my chair, my clit throbbing even harder despite myself.
“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” he continues.
I feel my heart begin to drum, too. Is this kind of questioning really necessary?
“Uh-uh,” I say quietly, shaking my head again, deciding to tell the truth.
“And why is that, exactly?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, hearing the trembling nerves in my voice now, just wishing to God he’d change the damn subject. “I guess I’ve just never been that into boys ...”
Before now, I think. But Marcus Whitelaw isn’t a ‘boy’ is he? He’s a man ... The most beautiful, gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Shit.
I need to keep it together here. I still don’t even know what the hell he wants from me ...
