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“You’re blushing,” he murmurs, breaking my sinful thoughts.
“I’m just hot.”
Not missing a beat, he replies, “You’re not wrong about that.” His crystal blue eyes stare into my brown ones and a shimmer of something unusual, a feeling I’ve never felt before, sends warmth between my thighs straight through my core.
I jest with him to deflect how much he’s piqued my interest. “Is that the line you use on all the ladies? I bet it works every time.” I snicker because it almost worked with me. If he asked me to strip naked for him, I probably would. I want to.
What is happening to me? And why now with him? I don’t need a man in my life. I have a new job, two to be precise, and I’m in Edmonton to work my ass off, get the promotions I want, and pay off my college loans. Oh, and save for a home. And start up my own wedding planning business.
I have big dreams I want to achieve.
I don’t need any distractions.
And this has never happened before. These sexual thoughts.
It’s official. I’m losing it. I think I’m on the brink of mental burnout. That’s the only reason I’d be having these thoughts about a total stranger. My sister did say that’s what would happen if I didn’t slow down.
Not responding to my last question, he remains quiet while I finish cleaning him up. I lean in closer again, accidentally pushing my hips against his and that’s when I feel how thick and long his cock is.
An audible gasp leaves me. Mid-wipe, I freeze, then my hand falls to my side.
I've never been this close to someone so big and so hard. I've never felt a man’s cock. Ever. I’ve never wanted to before.
But I’ve officially changed my mind. I want to feel his.
Now.
We stare at one another. He’s gorgeous. The sexiest guy I’ve ever seen. I’m deeply attracted to him and really want him to kiss me. The handful of guys I’ve kissed previously feel like they were practice, but this guy feels like game on.
And all the guys from college who were into me were never my type, although I don’t quite know what my type is since I've never had a boyfriend. But they were jocks, with huge egos, preferring to take selfies of themselves rather than the girl on their arm, or who slept around and wore it like a badge of honor. No thanks. Not for me, and that’s why at the age of twenty-two, I’m still a virgin. I’ve been saving myself for the one. Well, that’s what I keep telling myself, but the truth is, I've never liked anyone enough that I would go all the way with. Unlike my best friend from college, Zoey, who had an endless stream of boys in and out of her bed.
Zoey loved to lay it on thick, telling me I was missing out and that it was just sex. How amazing and different orgasms felt with a guy compared to getting off with my sex toy friend she named Buzzworth.
I miss Zoey so much already. I’m envious of the career she’s continuing to pursue in New York as a marketing assistant at one of the largest women’s magazines in the world, Majestic. Although I don’t miss bumping into random guys she’d brought home for the night.
I couldn’t think of anything worse.
Sex for me is more than sex. It’s about connection and giving part of yourself away. I want it to be special. It has to feel right with a guy.
It never has before.
Rooted to the spot, and for some reason, right now, in a restroom, on the wrong floor of a conference facility, in a country I didn’t plan to return to, only knowing one person in the city, my manager from the coffeehouse, this, right here where I am standing, with him, feels… right.
Lifting one hand, he pushes a loose tendril of hair that’s fallen across my eye. He then tips my chin up so I’m looking straight at him. “You lost your mom?” His unexpected question catches me off guard.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip as tears well in the corners of my eyes, making them sting.
Nodding slowly, a tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. “Eight weeks ago. She had a heart attack.” My bottom lip trembles. The pain is unbearable some days.
Grizzly bear guy wipes it away with his calloused thumb. “It gets better.”
“It hurts.” In a moment of vulnerability, I share my innermost feelings with this stranger.
“I know,” he replies as if he has first-hand knowledge and when I search his face for an answer, he says, “My dad. Two years ago.”
“It sucks.” More tears run down my face.
“With time, it becomes more manageable. I promise.” Compassion bounces off him and I feel grateful that he understands.
