The Virgin Gift Page 9

  I didn’t need to write a long reply.

  All he needed was one word. And one word was all I gave. It said everything.

  Nina: Yes.

  Today the woman wore white. Stockings, garters, white lace panties, and a demi-cup bra.

  “You look like an angel,” I told Melanie, who’d arranged the shoot as a surprise gift for her bride-to-be.

  “I feel so awkward,” my client confessed as she sat rigidly on the lush cranberry-colored velvet lounge in my studio.

  “I know that feeling well,” I said with a soft smile. “But this is a safe place. You look beautiful, and I want you to feel beautiful for your shoot. So, we can do that a couple of ways. One is wine.”

  She laughed. “I like wine, but it is only ten in the morning.”

  “True, wine o’clock doesn’t usually start till after noon. So here’s the other.” I stepped away from the couch, headed for the nightstand in my studio, and reached into a drawer. I took out a photo album. I kept it here for this very reason—when clients had a crisis of confidence.

  “What do you have there?” Her curiosity was piqued.

  “I’ll show you,” I said, returning to the lounge, where I flipped it open for her.

  She brought her hand to her mouth and laughed at the first page.

  “Exactly. Let it all out,” I said, encouraging her.

  “I’m sorry, but that’s so funny.”

  “That’s why I included it.”

  I looked down at the page and the pictures of myself in a red bra and panty set. They were self-portraits, shots of me trying to look sexy and failing miserably. All the shots that would never see the light of day were in here. The ones where I squinted or made duck lips, or where my sexy pose looked more like a crab walk.

  “This is the clay. The rough, unmade clay.”

  She nodded as I moved through the pages, shot after unusable shot. “I see where you’re going.”

  “We need the clay to make the sculpture.” I flipped to the final one.

  The pièce de résistance.

  Me, stretched out on this very couch, my head leaning back, my hair tumbling over the pillow. My back arched. Breasts perking up. Skin shimmering. A look of bliss in my eyes.

  Just like how I felt this morning on the table with Adam.

  A faint shudder ran through me as I remembered posing like this for him. With that memory front and center, I saw my self-portrait in a new light. I understood intrinsically the expression on my own face. I knew what it was like to want and to want so powerfully it was written in your eyes.

  I wanted like that woman in the photo.

  And I’d had.

  Tonight, I would have even more. I’d have it all.

  Melanie’s laughter faded, replaced by a sort of wonder as she gazed at the shot. “That’s what I want Josie to feel when she looks at the pictures. This is how she makes me feel,” she said reverently, running a hand over the image.

  “She’s going to be enthralled. And so are you. And if I have to take five hundred shots to get the perfect one, I will.”

  She shot me the most grateful grin. “Thank you.” Her eyes returned to my photo. “When you took this photo of yourself, what was going through your mind? What were you thinking of?”

  I had no idea. But I had every idea too.

  “I was imagining what it felt like to want someone desperately. To want to experience every bit of bliss with that person,” I said, speaking the full truth now, and it felt fantastic. Another taste of freedom.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” she said.

  She was ready.

  She didn’t transform into a runway model, but she settled into her body, enjoying the attention, imagining the camera was Josie, I suspected, as she let all her desires play in her eyes.

  She was gorgeous, and I was the lucky photographer who captured it.

  Even more so, for the first time, I understood how she felt.

  When Melanie was finished and dressed in her slacks and a pretty white blouse, I walked her to the door and out into the hall. “I’ll send you edits soon. You’re going to love it, and she’s going to be over the moon.”

  “Thank you. I can’t imagine anyone else taking those shots of me. You made that all possible.”

  “You did,” I corrected her.

  After Melanie stepped into the waiting elevator that whisked her downstairs, I walked toward my condo. Before I reached the door, a smoky, sexy voice called out.

  “You are a tech wizard.”

  I laughed at the sound of Miss Sheridan and swiveled around. “I better get a wizard hat, then.”

  She beamed, patting her platinum-blonde hair and shaking her hips. The showgirl in her ran strong. “My last video was so popular I had thousands of new views this morning alone.”

  “No one does yoga better than you.”

  She walked in my direction, with the confidence of her stage days enrobing her. “But that’s not why I popped out to see you,” she said, her eyes dancing with mischief.

  Uh-oh.

  “I saw Adam pick up a package this morning.”

  My jaw threatened to drop. Please, dear God, let the vibrator not have arrived in Joy Delivered packaging.

  “I don’t know what was in the package,” she added, and I contained the naughty grin that threatened to appear. I knew what was in the package, and it had already been in me.

  “But the look on his face . . .” she said, trailing off.

  Oh my. I bet he was indeed pleased with his ordering skills.

  “He seemed quite happy,” she continued, wiggling her brows as she reached me.

  Keeping our battery-assisted secrets to myself, I answered with a polite “He’s a happy guy.”

  She patted my shoulder. “You kids today. Do I just need to call a spade a spade? He seemed happy in the way that a man does after . . .”

  Had she heard us? The walls were insulated. Was I that loud?

  She seemed to sense my worries.

  “Sweetheart, I don’t know what happens behind your closed door. I don’t know what was in that package. I didn’t hear anything, but I don’t have to. I can tell there’s something between the two of you, and I think it’s fantastic. I love seeing young people get together. It’s why I love this city. So many people coming together.”

  Butterflies fluttered in my chest, and for a split second, I imagined an us. Adam and me. Possibilities beyond my list dared to flash before my eyes. Breakfasts and dinners and nights out.

  Where were these errant thoughts coming from?

  They were as invasive as the thoughts of sex had been yesterday morning.

  And they were a real risk too.

  That was precisely what I needed to avoid—catching feelings. Getting ahead of the list.

  “Nothing is happening,” I assured her, and then I vowed to assure myself of that all day long.

  Because the butterflies I felt at her mere suggestion were never going to be set free.

  15

  Nina

  That afternoon, I met my girlfriends at our favorite coffee shop and ordered my usual.

  Kate had finished work early for the day, and Lily was taking a break from a story she’d been chasing on a new rookie quarterback. She was an award-winning and nationally recognized reporter for a sports network. As for Kate, her job remained cloaked in mystery. Well, to others. I understood it perfectly, but we treated it as if she worked at the CIA.

  Don’t ask, don’t tell.

  “So all is well at corporate headquarters with your super-secret new missions?” I asked my friend with the chestnut hair and hazel eyes.

  Kate shrugged playfully. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  Lily laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re such a clandestine operative.”

  “That’s me,” Kate added, then brought her finger to her lips. “All of Vegas’s deepest nighttime secrets are safe with me.”

  “Unless we can ply them out of y
ou with drinks this weekend,” I added playfully.

  “Speaking of this weekend, I heard Brandon is coming to town and we’re all going out,” Lily remarked, flicking a strand of blonde hair off her shoulder. “Finn had lunch with Jake and Adam, and the plans came up.”

  “And we also have Adam’s new deals to celebrate,” Kate added.

  Lily snapped her gaze to Kate. “How did you know?”

  I wanted to ask the same question, so I was glad Lily had pounced first.

  “I heard it from Jake,” Kate said, looking away, my normally confident friend betraying the slightest bit of guilt. Did she have a secret thing going with Jake?

  “You two have become awfully chatty.” Lily jumped on that nugget, a satisfied grin on her face as she brought her latte to her lips.

  Kate stared at her pointedly. “You need to stop reading something into every little thing.”

  Lily laughed. “But that’s what a good reporter does. Picks up on clues, and you’ve been dropping them for a long time. You and Jake just have this vibe between you.”

  I cleared my throat. “It’s hardly a vibe. It’s more like a heatwave of sexual tension, so thick you could bottle it.” I whipped out my phone and showed them a shot I’d taken of Kate and Jake dancing at Lily’s recent wedding. The best man and the maid of honor. Even though he held her at arm’s length, and even though the shot wasn’t a close-up, it was impossible to miss the smolder in his eyes as he stared at the brunette beauty.

  Kate waved a hand dismissively, taking a drink of her coffee. “I assure you there is nothing brewing between us. But speaking of brewing,” she said, turning to me, “how is it living with sexy, charming, better-than-the-boy-next-door Adam?”

  Those damn butterflies had the audacity to sweep through me once more.

  At the mere mention of Adam’s name.

  Lily leaned forward and batted her lids, getting in on the fun. “Yes, do tell. I’m sure it’s sooo easy to spend your nights and mornings with that handsome man who treats you like a queen.”

  My face heated. Why was I so transparent?

  Maybe because Lily and Kate were right. Adam was all those things.

  And so much more, as I’d learned last night.

  Last night.

  It had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d found my list, and already I’d experienced an inordinate amount of morning-after tingles and far too many chest flutters. This had to stop. I had to keep everything on the sex-and-only-sex level.

  And the sex so far had been better than my wildest fantasies, and my fantasies were lawless.

  “He’s great, and it’s fun,” I said in a cheery voice, squaring my shoulders.

  Lily hummed, a doubtful sound. “And your eyes say otherwise.”

  “What do they say?”

  Kate shrugged, a grin on her face. “You tell us.”

  And the thing was, I wanted to tell them. They were my best friends. They knew me. They understood my choices. They respected my decisions. They never pressured me to go after a guy or to try to shed my virginity with just anyone simply for the sake of losing it once and for all. All the guys I’d dated were not the right ones, and they never pushed me over cosmos or a girls’ night out to ditch my V card.

  Now I was twenty-four. The risks my sister had faced and surmounted weren’t risks for me. I had a degree, a business, and a home I owned. That didn’t mean I wanted a baby, but the teenage-pregnancy specter was long gone. And I was religious with protection. Radically religious.

  But that wasn’t what tonight would be about.

  It wasn’t about the choices I’d made back when I was in high school. It was about the freedom to make a new round of choices as a grown woman.

  I was in full control of my life.

  And I wanted to be in full control of my sexuality.

  To own it completely.

  I was ready.

  And I was ready for something else.

  To tell my friends, as Adam had sensed I’d want to do. He was right. I wanted to share this huge step with my girls.

  I downed some of my Earl Grey latte, then took a deep breath. “Have you heard of Ask Aphrodite?”

  They shook their heads.

  I took out my phone and clicked on the episode I’d listened to this morning, giving one AirPod to Lily and one to Kate.

  A listener asked a seemingly simple question, but the more I mulled it over, the more I realized it wasn’t simple at all.

  The question begins like this: “How do I know when I’m ready? Truly ready to try something new? I think about kinky things all the time. I wonder what it’ll feel like to explore naughtier shores. To try all sorts of risqué and daring acts. But what if I don’t like it when I do?”

  This is an excellent question.

  Life is full of what-ifs. You don’t know if you’re going to like a massage before you go, and maybe you like a certain masseuse but not another. Perhaps you try a new restaurant that has rave reviews, and it falls short. Or the opposite occurs.

  Sex is the same. You might love giving fellatio to one man and not to another.

  Or maybe a certain lover can bring you to orgasm in ways no one else has. In places on your body you never imagined you’d want to be touched.

  How do you know?

  You don’t know. Until you try.

  And when you try, don’t think of sex as failing or succeeding. Think of it as the journey to discovery.

  To discovering everything you like.

  As wiser people than me have said—it’s not about the destination, but the journey. And enjoying the ride to your heart’s and body’s content.

  They removed the AirPods.

  Kate raised a brow, and Lily gave me a what does this mean look.

  I drew another breath and took another step on my personal journey. “I’m sleeping with Adam tonight. We made a deal. I’m giving him my virginity because I trust him. Because I’m ready. Because it’s time. And when we’re done, we’ll walk away as friends.”

  Lily choked on her latte.

  Kate nearly dropped her coffee. “What? Why?”

  Lily set down her drink, collecting herself before she added, “Be careful, Nina.”

  “I’m on protection,” I said, reminding her. “You know that.”

  “No. I mean be careful with this.” Lily tapped her heart.

  But how could I be anything but careful? I knew the score.

  All I had to do was keep my head on straight about the final destination—friendship.

  That way, the journey would be filled only with pleasure.

  Starting in a few more hours.

  16

  Nina

  His text arrived shortly before seven as I emailed some shots to Marco and Evangeline. My phone vibrated next to me on my desk. I grabbed it, eager.

  Adam: I’ll be home in thirty minutes. On the dot. Be on your knees in the living room, waiting for me. Wear what you had on when you were on your hands and knees in bed the other night riding your toy while I slept quietly a room away.

  With the phone in hand, I practically sprinted to my bedroom, yanking open the drawer with my sleep clothes. Sleep shorts and tanks, like I wore the other night. But I’d taken off the shorts and the panties. I grabbed a white tank, tossed it on the bed, then took a quick shower. When I was done, I spread cherry lotion on my legs, dusted some blush on my cheeks, and slicked on some lip gloss.

  I set my glasses in their case and popped in a pair of contacts.

  I checked the time.

  Fifteen more minutes. I grabbed my tablet, clicking to some of my favorite photographers’ pages, checking out their new work. I was always on the hunt for inspiration, whether it was new angles or styles and colors. I bookmarked a few images I liked, stopping briefly at a shot of a couple on a bed. A man kissed the hollow of a woman’s throat, while she seemed to gaze knowingly at the camera. I imagined what came next, pictured them stripping each other, and saw the camera capturing it all.
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  But when I looked at the image again, I didn’t see some unknown couple. I saw Adam and me, and I gasped then moaned.

  Yes.

  I wanted that.

  All of that.

  And I wanted him to know how much.

  I checked the clock. Ten more minutes. Just enough time to give him a surprise gift.

  I turned off my tablet and pulled on the white tank. It was a cropped top—it landed at my midriff. I wore nothing else. Quickly, I walked to my studio, grabbed a tripod, and returned to my living room.

  I set up my phone and its camera timer, kneeled, and took a self-portrait in just the position he’d requested.

  One shot. One chance. I rose and peered at the image.

  Yes.

  He should be pulling into the garage right now.

  In one of my most daring acts ever, I sent the photo, and a wave of satisfaction rolled through me from what I’d just done.

  I couldn’t wait for him to walk through the door.

  17

  Adam

  Control was my thing.

  In business school, I’d studied its value. He who keeps his composure negotiates best, and he who negotiates best gets what he wants.

  At the gym every day, I practiced that control too, working out, following a regimen. Never breaking.

  Tonight I’d stuck to my workout plan, weights and the treadmill. I didn’t need to go soft, not when I’d be spending plenty of time in my birthday suit with the prettiest woman I’d ever known.

  When I finished my routine, I sent her a text letting her know I’d be home in thirty minutes.

  After a quick shower, I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and headed to our building. As the elevator rose, my phone dinged with a reply. I slid my thumb over the screen. A multimedia image was loading, and the caption read: I’m a good dirty girl, waiting for you like you asked.

  My mouth went dry. My chest heated.