Taking His Virgin (An Older Man Younger Woman Romance) Read online

  I can feel his cock jerk as he cums, my body tensing and relaxing around his cock as he finds his release. He collapses and rolls to my side, and I turn with him, sharing one breath, heart pounding as he gently strokes my shoulder. I’ m not ready to let him pull out, and neither is he.

  “That was incredible,” I whisper softly. “Better than I could ever imagine.”

  He pulls me to him, so I can hear the beat of his heart. I close my eyes. I feel weightless, like I’m floating on sunshine. His rough hand rests on my back, and I feel small and delicate in his arms. As if he can protect me from anything as long as I stay in his embrace. As I settle back down on earth, I try hard not to think about what we just did. About what it would mean for us, and for my family.

  James

  “Okay Bill. Let’s go over the books.”

  “Now?” he asks in surprise.

  We’re in the living room. The furniture, meant for a much bigger room, makes it hard to move around the space. I have to almost walk over the arms of the chairs rather than between them. Bill’s sunk down in a brown leather recliner, flipping through the channels.

  “I don’t see why not. It’s your day off, which means we have time, and the sooner we figure out where we stand, the better, don’t you think?”

  I omit the fact that it’s also a good time because Sandra is busy. I don’t know how much Bill keeps from his wife, but I suspect it’s quite a bit. He works as an accountant, and it seems like Sandra’s pushed the business side of things onto his plate. Not that I’m to judge how responsibilities get divided, but the fact that he wanted me to keep quiet about all my reasons for coming is troubling.

  Bill sighs.

  “If you don’t feel comfortable having me look-”

  “No, no. You’re right,” he says at last, pushing himself out of the recliner. “Let’s do this.”

  He leads the way, through the wooden doors, and through the door behind the checkin desk. The office is small and tidy, everything filed away and all the boxes labeled. Ava is on her phone in the back, and when she sees me, she flushes adorably. She’s wearing a silky looking blouse and a pencil skirt that hugs all the right places. My cock gives an appreciative throb, and I wish I knew she was here all along. I’d rather bend her over the desk than go over business accounts any day.

  “We need to use the office Ava,” Bill says. “Can you leave us alone for a while?”

  “Sure,” she says, flying by us.

  Bill closes the door and takes the chair in front of the computer. I pull up a swivel chair as he opens up the ledger.

  “So how are things,” I ask.

  “Technically, things are good. Our bookings are on track for last year. But… we aren’t growing. The original plan was for me to quit and run the B and B with Sandra. That still hasn’t happened, as you can see. I don’t have full time work so I can take care of things here, it’s true, but it’s far from ideal. And with the resort being built next year, I just don’t feel secure. People just aren’t traveling as much it seems.”

  My friend suddenly seems a lot older and wearier.

  “Or they are, and you’re just not reaching them. Do you do any advertising?”

  He pauses, and I realize that we’ve hit on it.

  “I don’t want to spend a lot of money on that stuff when there’s so much to do on the B and B here,” he starts.

  “Bill, that’s not how it works. I know it seems hard to spend money, but there’s no point in renovating if nobody is going to come and enjoy it,” I say. “And how do you propose you pay for all of the renovations? I know you’re taking a loan, but if profits don’t grow, you’ll have to take on even more work to pay it off.”

  His jaw sets and he shakes his head.

  “We’re doing good by word of mouth. I just don’t feel comfortable about spending a fortune on advertising. I mean, how do I know I’m going to get my money back?”

  “You don’t. But what you’re doing now clearly isn’t working. About how much of your clientele are new versus returning?”

  Bill doesn’t have that information either. In fact, he’s pretty much in the dark as far as the business is concerned. The numbers he knows, from being an accountant. But everything else about the business seems to be inherited from the old owners. Who had to sell because their business couldn’t weather the recession? It seems more and more like Bill and Sandra are floating along, more out of luck than anything else.

  “This isn’t good,” I say, leaning forward. “You can’t run a business if you don’t know what’s going on.”

  “I know. This is why I need your help. You have to promise not to tell Sandra though.”

  Oh boy. Bill is definitely in over his head. But he is my friend, and I dutifully promise. Bill opens up everything and gets up.

  “I’ll grab you some coffee while you look things over,” he says.

  It takes longer than a cup of coffee to go over all the spreadsheets, the tax returns and the ledgers. My biggest focus is on the profits and expenditures. Bill is right when he says they aren’t growing. Though profit is limited by how many rooms the B and B has, most of the time, bookings were at 50% year round. They should be reaching capacity at peak travel times in the summer or during Valentine’s Day for example. I also go back further, to before Bill and Sandra took over. I notice immediately that there are bigger bookings too-wedding parties in particular. It makes sense, considering the B and B has a romantic past, a beautiful view of the ocean, the perfect number of rooms for a wedding party.

  When I ask Bill though, he shrugs.

  “Sandra thought it would be too much to do,” he says. “Selkirk House had gotten rid of its wedding packages during the recession, and she didn’t know how to bring it back.”

  “You didn’t think to look through the old files here? It details a bakery, a florist, a caterer. I’d bet you that at least one of them are still around. And what you can’t do, you can research. Look up another hotel that does something similar, see the rates and what they offer, and try to do the same. It’s not rocket science Bill. Big bookings like these will fill your rooms.”

  Bill sits back and rubs his face.

  “This is a headache,” he groans. “Can’t you do this sort of thing?”

  “No, I cannot,” I say sharply. “This is your business Bill. You have to be the one with the hunger to make it happen. You or Sandra. Now I know there are magazines you can write to, travel magazines, that will hopefully spark some interest. I bet there are shows too. Brochures you can make up. And of course you have to get yourself on social media. Claim your business on travel advisor, so that you know what your guests are saying when they leave reviews. And you need information. Your guests should be writing up some stuff at registration. How they found out about you, whether they’re new or returning, that sort of thing. Offer them a discount at their next booking. Or a discount for one of the local restaurants in town. That always helps. In this day and age, data is king. I know everything about my business. Where every cent is going. How much I profit. Comps in the area for comparable properties. You need to do the same.”

  “Okay, okay,” he says, lifting up his hands. “I get it. We’ve been doing it all wrong.”

  “You’ve been coasting. And it’s worked so far, but it won’t if changes are coming.”

  I lean back in my chair. I’m frustrated at Bill, but the harsh words had to be said. I wouldn’t be a friend to him otherwise.

  “I’m not done either,” I continue. “We can do more than just wedding packages. From what I see here, there’s a lot of great money to be made. We don’t have to do more than direct customers to local businesses. In return, we get a commission, say 10-15% of money, just for recommending them. We can set up fishing trips for example, or cooking weekends. And we should develop ties to a good restaurant in the area that could help us out for food. We don’t want to make it, but guests need to eat. Breakfast, dinner, why not build a mutually beneficial relationship with a place i
n town? And conferences would be perfect for a place like the B and B. A place where they sort of disconnect with the outer world to focus. Yoga is all the rage, and you’ve got a perfect front lawn for it. Businesses who want to do group building is another.”

  Bill’s head looks like it’s spinning. It is a lot to absorb all at once. I lean forward and clap a hand on his shoulder.

  “Listen, why don’t I write up a proposal for you? List things out so you can talk them over with Sandra. I can’t do your job for you, but hopefully this will be the start you need to really make changes.”

  “That would be fantastic James,” he says with relief. “You’re right. We’ve been lucky so far. Thank you for doing this for us.”

  “No problem buddy,” I say. “That’s what friends are for right?”

  Bill stands up and heads out. As soon as he does, I pull out my phone and open Facebook. I stare at the picture of Ava, debating with myself. I can still stop this, I think. And then I open up my messages and begin to type.

  Ava

  When I wake up the next morning, I can’t stop grinning like an idiot. I have the early shift, which means that I have to get up early to make breakfast for the guests, but even that doesn’t get me down. I hum happily as I take my shower, touching myself the way that James touched me. The man’s fingers are like magic. He wants me. More than that, he likes me, I think as I lather up with soap. I’m still a little sore from how much sex we had, but it’s a good kind of sore. I take extra time to blow dry my hair real nice, and then it’s into the kitchen. We’ve got enough rooms full that I can set out the buffet.

  First things first, I have to fill up the urn of coffee. It’s huge and heavy, but I’ve devised a method where instead of lugging it around, I take a big pitcher of hot water. It’s a pain, but I’m just not strong enough. I roll out the cart for dirty dishes, and set out the clean ones too. Then I fire up the heating trays, and head into the kitchen and get the oatmeal going. We also offer toast, bacon and eggs. It’s not a very fancy breakfast, but guests seem happy enough with it. On days when there’s not enough people to set out so much food, we do orders. Those are a pain in the butt, because then I have to hang around and wait to see if people will order food. And there’s always one or two that wait until nine-thirty to come strolling in asking for something fancy.

  “Hello dear,” a wavery voice greets me as I bring the pot of oatmeal out to the dining room.

  An old couple are standing in the doorway, right when breakfast starts at seven a.m. The woman has a cap of snow white hair and a gorgeous pastel pantsuit, while the old man is wearing a hat that matched his bowtie and suspenders. They look straight out of an old vintage film.

  “Hi Mr. And Mrs. DeVries,” I call out cheerfully. “How was your night?”

  The DeVries are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. They got married on the beach not far from here, so they like to come every few years. I’ve gotten to know them a bit. It’s one of the perks of working at a B and B. Last time, Mrs. DeVries even brought her wedding album so I could see what the place looked like back then. I loved spending an afternoon looking at the photos, talking with her and reminiscing. There were even a few color photos. I snapped a few pictures to use as inspiration for decorating too. In fact, the living room wallpaper was a replica based off one of Mrs. DeVries’ pictures. Despite their old age, the two of them still like to travel around a lot. Apparently, they’re making a trip down the whole Eastern Seaboard this time around.

  “Oh, it was so lovely,” Mrs. DeVries says, putting a plump hand on me. “You gave us the best room in the house this time, didn’t you?”

  “It’s my favorite one,” I agree. “I sometimes sneak up there to lie down and read on the chaise.”

  “What a marvelous idea. You look lovely today dear. Positively glowing,” she adds.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” I say with a blush. I can’t tell old Mrs. DeVries the real reason. She’d probably faint from shock. Although she has six children of her own, so maybe she won’t be that surprised.

  Mr. DeVries passes his wife a plate, then begins to load up on fluffy eggs and bacon.

  “Not so much bacon dear. You know what your doctor says,” Mrs. DeVries chides gently. I get the feeling she probably has said this many, many times.

  “I don’t trust that doctor,” he says. “I’ve eaten this way for fifty years, and I’m still fit as a fiddle!”

  Which is true. Mr. DeVries is wiry and thin, unlike my own dad. Sometimes I worry that he’s going to have a heart attack, what with his size and the stress he’s been feeling lately. The two of them grab their breakfast, and then, holding hands, they move to a table by the window. I smile as I watch them. Mr. DeVries holds out the chair for his wife, who slowly eases into it. The care and love he feels her is obvious. Fifty years of marriage, I think. That’s pretty rare in this day and age. I wonder if I’ll experience love like that someday.

  I leave Mr. And Mrs. DeVries to their breakfast and head over to the checkin desk. There’ll be messages to take down, and I believe at least two rooms will be checking out. And I’m not going to lie, I’m hoping to get a moment with James when he comes down hopefully. I pick up the phone and pull out a pen and paper.

  Unfortunately for me, James comes down right as I’m busing checking out a family. They have twins, and they’re running around, throwing goldfish at each other. The mother is yelling at them, and I’m already dreading what the room must look like. Still, I manage to forget it all for a moment when I see him. His hair is a bit tousled, like he just got out of a shower, and he’s got on a v neck sweater and jeans. He gives me a knowing smile that makes my stomach all fizzy feeling. I watch him walk through the doors to our private quarters, probably to talk to my dad. It’s not until the door swings shut that I snap back to my job.

  “I think that’s everything all taken care of,” I say, my mood instantly a hundred times better than what it was before.

  “Great,” the mom says. “I’m so sorry about the goldfish.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I can sweep it up.”

  I hate sweeping, but it’s impossible to be in a bad mood when you’ve been smiled at by a man as hot as James. Once I’ve got the goldfish taken care of (though I just know I’ll find some a week later), I go into the back to file away the receipt. My dad has tried to get me involved in the business side of things, but I honestly have no interest in it. Numbers and I don’t really get along. I take after my mom in that respect.

  The door to the office opens and my dad and James step in. I pause uncertainly. Dad doesn’t look very happy, and I have a moment of panic where I wonder if James told dad or something? My fears are unfounded though.

  “We need to use the office Ava,” my dad says curtly. “Could you leave us alone for a while?”

  “Sure,” I say with relief. I quickly skirt past them, careful not to touch James. I don’t want to betray how I feel.

  The door closes behind me. Whatever they’re doing, it must be serious. I hop onto Facebook, but there aren’t any messages from James. I did get a text from Nikki reminding me that we have a nail appointment. I almost think about canceling, but I decide against it. Things have happened so quickly that I really need someone to talk to about this. I know what James and I are doing could ruin things after all, and that makes me feel awful. I head to the laundry room, where my mom is busy sorting a load of sheets.

  “Hey mom, do you mind if Nikki and I go out for a mani-pedi this morning?” I ask. “She’s only going to be here a week and I’d like to catch up with her some.”

  “Sure thing,” my mom says. “Just keep your phone on you in case your brother skips school again.”

  My mom looks so sad about it that I almost feel bad for putting more stress on her shoulders by refusing to go to college still. I know she’s worried about me, but I honestly don’t think two years is going to make that much of a difference. I mean, Macy’s mom only went to college a few years ago, and she’s
my mom’s age. So why hurry when I don’t feel it’s right for me?

  “I’m sorry things have been so hard lately mom,” I say quietly. “Maybe it’s just a phase Gary’s going through.”

  “Yeah, but who knows how much destruction this phase is going to wreck. I never thought I’d see the day where I think ‘at least one of my kids has managed to graduate high school’,” she says sarcastically.

  She shakes out another sheet and begins to match up the corners. I don’t have anything to say, so I help her out instead. Once we’re done, I call up Nikki and she drives over. Her house is out here on the beach road too, so she’s here in less than five minutes. I give the office a quick glance, and then head out to meet my friend.

  Nikki drives a beat up Ford Taurus given to her when her parents decided to get a new family car. It’s beige, and dented, and dusty, but hey, at least she’s got a pair of wheels. I climb into the passenger side, slamming the door hard so that it actually closes. There’s been more than a few times where she’ll start driving and it flies open.

  “So how was your birthday? I’m sorry I had to bail,” I say, giving her a hug.

  “Don’t worry about it. I heard what Ken was doing. I’d have left too,” Nikki says. She carefully maneuvers past the guests’ cars and we head into town. I take the time to look at my friend. College has definitely changed her a bit. She’s wearing way more eyeliner, and her hair is streaked with pink, something I couldn’t see in the dark.

  “You look different,” I comment.

  “Sure do. What do you think of the pink?”

  “It’s cooler than brown, that’s for sure. I guess we won’t be called the triplets anymore.”

  “No,” she says, giving me a smile. “But we’ll still be best friends.”

  Montrose is only made up of three big streets and the six that cross them, so it doesn’t take long for us to get to the nail salon. I’m dying to tell her all about James, but I can’t risk someone overhearing our talk and telling my parents, so it’s not until afterwards, when we grab some coffee that I have the time to tell her. We pick a table in the corner of the cafe that’s nice and private.