Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“What’s your name?” he panted.
“I thought . . . it didn’t . . . matter.” I lifted my hips to meet his thrusts, finding my own rhythm in this.
“I want to know.”
“Adeline.”
“Adeline. Adeline. Adeline.” He used it as a chant with each thrust, as if he needed to remember who it was he was fucking, and when he flipped us over so I was on top, I made sure to make it so he’d remember this chant tomorrow when I was far away from this place and he was attending another one of these parties.
He brought his hands up to my breasts and squeezed my nipples, making my back arch on its own accord. My orgasm took me by surprise, the sensation crawling through me all at once until it felt like I would explode from the inside. I felt when he found his own ecstasy, his well-formed abs clenching beneath my fingertips as he pumped inside me and growled my name once more. I never once said his. I didn’t know what to say if I wanted to. It was better that way. I knew I’d remain completely unattached if I had no face to his name and no name to every other part of him. We lay beside each other, breathing hard, covered in sweat, and I wondered if I should get dressed and leave now. Etienne was probably still upstairs. I’d left my phone at home, knowing they’d take it away from me if I brought it, so it wasn’t like he had any way to reach me.
My answer came when the man beside me began to snore lightly. I pushed the sheets away and went to the bathroom. That was when I noticed tiny trickles of blood. I didn’t think he’d broken my hymen. I was pretty sure gymnastics and horseback riding had done that, but now I wasn’t so sure. My thoughts raced. Were the sheets bloodied? No. This was too little blood to begin with. I flushed, washed my hands, and dressed quickly, placing the mask back on my face before making my way to the door. I glanced at him one last time. The sheet was covering just the right parts, as if it had purposely been draped over him for a photograph. I sighed as I opened the door and closed it quietly behind me. A part of me felt the loss the moment I stepped out of that room. I’d never given my virginity much importance until that moment when I no longer had it.
By the time I got to the floor that the party was taking place, I was smiling again. It hadn’t been a fairy-tale experience with rose petals and candles, but it had been perfect nonetheless. I found Etienne, standing near the back door with his hands on his hips, and I knew he was looking for me. When I reached him, he shook his head.
“I’ve been looking everywhere. I even walked to your house thinking you were home.”
“No man left behind, remember?” I arched an eyebrow.
“Where were you?”
“Around.” I shrugged. “Didn’t you tell me to have fun?”
“How much fun did you have?” He eyed me closely, a smile tugging on his lips.
“More than I’ve ever had.”
“Adeline Sofia Isabella Bouchard!”
“Etienne Pierre Bellerose,” I said in a mocking tone.
“We are leaving this party right now.” He grabbed my arm and led me outside with a laugh. “Your father will murder me if he finds out this happened under my watch.”
“Oh please. As if he doesn’t know your reputation.”
“Still.” He yanked his mask over his head as we walked over to my parents’ villa. “Who was he?”
“I don’t know.” I pulled my mask off as we reached the door.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I don’t. He was . . . dreamy. Gorgeous. So, so hot.” I sighed. “But I didn’t get his name. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Today,” he said, glancing at the big-faced watch on his wrist. “Your flight is in four hours. You need to finish packing and we need to go.”
“Shit.” I practically ran inside the house.
I showered, changed, and finished packing quickly as Etienne sat in the living room, telling me about the woman he was talking to at the party. My parents were gone for the weekend, which was why Etienne was staying with me. He’d been my best friend since I was born. Our mothers were best friends and their wish was that we’d end up together. Unfortunately for them, we weren’t each other’s types. Etienne was an artist and his type was model-thin, with more issues than Vogue. The kind of woman he could try to fix and take care of. My type was . . . well, probably the man I’d just lost my virginity to and would never see again. We talked quickly and about everything as he drove me to the airport. He spent an hour trying to figure out every single man at the party and who it could have been that I slept with. I let him because I was curious and also because watching Etienne decipher anything was a comedy in itself.