Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
I snuggle more deeply into bed, bringing the covers up over me. I feel my mind begin to wander, and let my eyes gently close. If I could do better, who would I want to be with?
Maybe Devon, the hot jock from school with the crooked grin. Or maybe Luke, the sensitive type who writes poems in the back of class. (He once put one in Kara’s locker.) Maybe even Billy, the class clown…
Maybe Christopher Maddox.
My eyes fly open. What am I even thinking? Chris Maddox is my dad’s best friend, I remind myself for the millionth time. He’s way too old for me. And way too rich. And way too sexy…
I can’t help it: I let my eyes close again, and conjure up an image of Mr. Maddox himself. He’s tall, with the body of a god, well-built and well-maintained. His hair is dark and slightly wavy; his eyes are just as blue as the movie star Christopher Owen’s – maybe even bluer. I begin to imagine the soft curve of his lips, the strength in his big arms, the way he would crush me to his strong chest and kiss me until I grow dizzy.
I press my hands to my flushed face and groan. I have to be better about this. There’s no way I’m allowed to think this way about my dad’s best friend. They both would be mortified if they knew, and I’d be humiliated for life.
And there’s no way that it would ever happen, anyways.
2
Bailey
Donnie’s mouth is on mine, his ever-sweaty hands slowly lifting up my shirt, when I ask, “Do you want to do it?”
Donnie rears back as if I’ve slapped him. His muddy brown eyes are open wider than I’ve ever seen them.
“A-are you sure?” my boyfriend stutters, after a moment of silence studded by the steady ticking of the living room clock.
I somehow refrain from rolling my eyes. I eventually lured him to my house, after a not-too-subtle text: Want to come over? My dad’s not going to be home.
That did the trick. We spent the first part of the evening snuggled on the couch and watching TV--or I, at least, had been watching TV. Donnie had been texting his friends about some new video game that had just been released.
After about an hour, I grew impatient, and made my move. We’ve been making out now for about ten minutes. Inevitably we’ll progress into some neck-kissing, a gentle nip or two on the collarbone, and some tentative petting. But tonight, after Kara’s reprimand, I’m ready to go all the way.
I adopt my sultriest grin, tucking a curl behind my ear.
“I’m so sure,” I whisper as seductively as possible. “I can’t wait.”
The timing couldn’t be better. My dad works as an ER doctor and won’t be back until the wee hours of the morning. Besides, after my daydreaming about Christopher Maddox, I’m so horny that I yearn for something--someone--to ease my frantic longing.
I nearly jump Donnie the second the TV show was over, tackling him to the leather couch with my lips planted on his. I’m wearing my shortest shorts, a tiny tank top, and my black push-up bra (that my father has no idea I own). The only way Donnie would be able to resist me is if he were blind.
Donnie swallows, hard, as I bite my bottom lip for extra effect. “Here?” he croaks.
I finish the job he started and remove my tank top, revealing my breasts spilling out of the black satin bra cups. I toss the shirt carelessly onto the floor.
“Right here,” I whisper into his ear, and kiss his neck. “Come on, loverboy.”
Donnie shivers, and I feel secretly proud of myself. I love the wordless confirmation that I’m turning him on, even if I’m not as into him as I want to be. I pull back to smile reassuringly at him. Beads of sweat dot his upper lip; I try not to wrinkle my nose.
“Wouldn’t you rather, um, maybe go in your room…?”
I slowly shake my head at his protests.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper, and begin to tug at his shirt. After a moment, he relents, and together we pull his shirt over his head. Our lips meet again. His tongue swipes past my lips, and as I open my mouth, our teeth knock painfully together. I wince, as discreetly as possible. This is going to be great, I think to myself, although I’m unsure if I’m being genuine or sarcastic.
Nevertheless, our kisses build into a frenzy of movement and moaning. I eventually wriggle out of my bra and too-tight shorts; he undoes his belt and takes off his pants. We giggle nervously as he wrestles with his socks.
My heart flutters like the wings of an anxious hummingbird. For years, I’ve wondered what losing my virginity would be like. On the couch, with an acne-speckled nerd, wasn’t quite what I had in mind, to be honest. But I’m excited, anyways. So excited that I nearly tear his boxers off of him.