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“I’ve never done this with anyone before,” I whispered to him right before he slid inside of me. “I’m a virgin.”
And then he was fucking into me, his thick cock spreading me wide, and I sure as hell wasn’t a virgin anymore.
1
Cal
I felt a little surreal standing in a gallery on a Wednesday. As a general rule, I opened my shows on Thursdays, but tomorrow being what it was, we were opening today instead. Then people could get a taste for my art before Black Friday two days from now, when everyone would be looking to buy—especially people hoping to get someone a special something for Christmas.
“You seem lost in thought,” Jordan said, walking up to me.
I sipped my wine. “Just thinking about the fact that we’re opening a day early. Feels a little off.”
“I know what you mean.” Jordan was the gallery owner. “But Thanksgiving’s a big day. Pretty much the only holiday that literally everyone celebrates.”
“True enough.” I’d never really gone in for Thanksgivings. Or any other family holiday. That sort of happened when you had no family to speak of. I’d tried, when I’d been married to Kate. That had been… Jesus, twenty-five years ago now. I was fifty, how did time fly like that?
I’d tried with Kate, and I knew that she’d tried with me, but we just hadn’t been right for each other. And that was all in the past, now. Hard to imagine myself then, thinking about myself now. I never would’ve guessed that I’d end up like this.
Except… now…
“Penny for your thoughts?” Jordan asked.
There was no way I was telling him my thoughts, no matter how much he paid me. I wasn’t the kind of guy to kiss and tell in general but especially not in this particular case. But truth be told, not a year when by where I didn’t think about Maggie Simpson.
“Ah, just wondering if that woman in the corner is going to actually go for it and buy the painting or talk herself out of it again,” I said, nodding towards the woman in question.
Jordan chuckled. “I’ll go see what a little charm can do for her.”
“I should hope so, seeing as it’s your job.”
Jordan playfully flipped me off and then went to talk to the potential customer, leaving me blissfully alone with my thoughts. Thank God. I was really out of it tonight, and it was the fault of one person, and a person I hadn’t even seen in five years at that: Maggie.
I hadn’t seen her since that night on her Thanksgiving break. I’d wanted to, of course I had, but I’d also been ashamed of facing Mark after that. How could I look my best friend in the eye after I’d fucked his daughter?
And God, what a fucking it had been. Maggie had been—
“Mr. Monroe!”
I made nice with another fan, smiled, told some jokes, but it all felt off. Dammit. I was really off my game tonight.
I got out of there early, which nobody seemed to mind. It was the night before a holiday, and I don’t think anyone questioned why I might want to make an escape. They probably assumed I had some family to get to, but honestly, I just wanted to get home and allow my sinful thoughts to stew in peace.
Generally, I wasn’t one to go into the whole sin thing. But I had slept with the daughter of my best friend—and for her first time, while I was at it, like I’d been trying to bat a thousand on the ‘being a dick’ scale.
My house felt emptier than usual as I stepped into it, and I didn’t turn on any lights until I got to the bathroom and stripped down for a shower. For the hundredth time, I asked myself how I could’ve given into temptation like that.
Maggie probably thought I was a cad, never seeing her again. Not that she hadn’t done her fair share of avoiding me too, or so it felt like. I hadn’t seen her since that night and the next few days she’d been busy studying, spending time with her family. After that she’d gone back to college and I hadn’t heard from her since. Her parents talked about her all the time, of course. They were immensely proud of her. But I’d honestly had no clue how to deal with the aftermath. I couldn’t date her, not with circumstances being what they were. Mark would’ve killed me. But I would’ve been even more of an asshole if I’d seen her and pretending nothing had happened, or like she was something to be ashamed of. Not speaking to her at all had felt like the best choice at the time.
Now, five years later and still unable to stop thinking about her, I had to wonder if I’d made the right choice.
