Page 11 of Bred Winner

“The guys don’t even know this.”

A million ideas run through my head, but I quickly whittle them down to a few, as I can’t think of much the guys keep from each other. STI? Maybe, but I can’t imagine Oakley would have agreed to this arrangement if that was the case. None of the guys would ever put me at risk. Genital deformity? No. The guys would know that. Penis piercings? The thought alone has me slightly turned on and suppressing giggles.

“I’m a virgin.”

Of all the things he could’ve told me, that wasn’t even on the list. “What? That’s not possible. I thought you’ve dated women with the guys? I mean, you guys have never told me details, but I got the impression you’ve all had sex with the same woman.”

“Yeah, we kind of have. We’ve tried to date the same woman, much like we’re dating you now, individually but openly. And there’s been once or twice where we’ve shared a woman in some type of configuration, but I’ve never actually penetrated a woman.”

I lean back, wishing we had more light so I could see the nuances of the thoughts and emotions crossing his face. “What have you done?”

“I’ve received oral. A lot. I’ve gotten a ton of hand jobs and blowjobs, but when it came time to, uh, I couldn’t do it. I wanted to wait… for you.”

“I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Dammit. I was afraid it would be a giant turn off.”

I run my hands aggressively up his thighs, sliding my thumbs against the bulge in his jeans. “I think it might be the most romantic thing a man has ever said to me. You knew, at nineteen years old—fifteen years ago—that you wanted me to be your first? And yet you stood back and waited for me to realize you were my future all along? I can’t believe you made that kind of sacrifice for me, Oakley. I can’t believe you saved yourself for me.”

“So, you’re not turned off because I’m a virgin?”

“Quite the contrary. Now I can’t wait to take you home and make you mine.”

5

OAKLEY

Instead of making out in the parking lot, Alora insists I take her home. Part of me is scared to death what thirty-five minutes inside her head might do after my admission. I know a lot of women would be turned off by a thirty-four-year-old virgin, and I guess I understand. Women like men who know what they’re doing in bed.

Hell, they like us to know what we’re doing in life.

While I might be a virgin, I’m no prude. I may not have been great in school, but I’ve been studying for this test since I was ten years old, and I always knew my first time would be with the woman I love. Just so happens, I fell in love for the first time at nineteen and never fell again.

“Do you want something to drink?” Alora asks from the cocktail bar she has set up in the corner of her living room.

“No. I’m good,” I say as I take off my leather coat.

“Take your boots off, I’ll be right back.” Alora places a chaste kiss against my lips and saunters her fine ass down the hallway into her bedroom. The water comes on in her bathroom. At the same time, I take my heavy leather boots off and put them next to the front door.

It’s only as I wait for her in the living room that I realize I am a little nervous. Not because I’m about to have sex for the first time, but because I’m about to have her. Alora’s all I’ve ever wanted, the only woman to instantly and consistently take up residence in my heart.

I walk over to her small bar, grab a shot glass and the bottle of Belvedere. Pouring myself a half shot, I shoot it down, the liquid setting fire to my throat as it slides its way down to my belly.

From behind me, Alora says, “Will you pour me one of those?”

I pour a half shot and turn around to find the woman of my dreams standing in a baby blue lace nightie that hits just below her panty line. I’m pretty sure when she turns around I’m going to see the delectable curve of her ass cheeks, which really makes me want to ask her to walk away instead of toward me.

“Holy hell, Alora.”

“Do you like it?”

“You’re breathtaking. I’ve seen you in a bathing suit before, but I don’t think I’ve ever—”

“When I was in a bathing suit, it wasn’t for you, but in this moment, this—” she motions to her outfit “—is for you.”

I hand her the shot glass, and she takes a sip before setting it on the bar. She slides her fingers into my belt and walks backwards towards the couch, dragging me with her. Well, not dragging. It’s not like I’m unwilling to follow her wherever she goes.

“Kiss me, Oakley.”

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