The Virgin and the Beast (Stud Ranch 1)

In the bathroom, my entire body shakes as I slip off my Gucci pantsuit and underclothes, then pull on the hospital gown. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror while I try to awkwardly tie the little tie behind my back and neck.

The wooden floor is cool underneath my feet. The bathroom is clean and what probably passes for high class around here—a marble topped counter with brass fixtures. An abstract watercolor painting of a cowboy riding a bucking bull hangs right behind the toilet.

So now I know.

Hell is cowboy chic.

Awesome.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight and then clutch the material at the small of my back. No way to stop your ass from hanging out of these stupid robes.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Ten hours ago I was waking up and heading into what I thought was just another ordinary day of work.

And now I’m…

God, I can’t even think about my current situation too closely. Not if I want to make it through this and not freak the hell out.

I open my eyes and don’t let myself consider it any longer. I walk back out to the other room, hand still firmly holding my gown closed behind me.

The giant is still standing right outside the doorway—that’s the first thing I notice when I get back in the room. He’s hovering just outside the sphere of light. I hope he’s far enough away he doesn’t notice the shiver that goes up and down my body. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Maybe the exam will take the rest of the afternoon. Or rather, evening. I glance out the window at the setting sun.

Just how late is it? If it’s nighttime, does that mean he’ll expect… like, right away?

“When was the date of your last period?” the doctor asks, either totally ignorant of my obvious freak-out or doing a great job of pretending not to notice.

She continues with the preliminaries like this is any other check-up. Are my periods regular? Have I noticed any other irregularities or do I have any concerns I’d like to discuss with her?

The talking part is over far too quickly and then she’s onto the exam. Just my luck, she’s fast and efficient.

Her pronouncement echoes throughout the room while the speculum is still inside me.

“She’s a virgin.”

Even from the bed where I’m lying, my legs spread like the Thanksgiving turkey, I can hear his quick, heavy exhalation.

Relief? Surprise?

Mr. Owens said earlier that I was the perfect candidate. Was being a virgin part of the client’s requirements? And if it was, how the hell did they know?

It’s not like I wear a sign on my forehead, no penises have tread here. I’m a successful twenty-six-year-old woman. I work out, keep trim, and I get hit on plenty. At my age, it’s weird to still be a virgin without, you know, religious reasons for it.

But all growing up, I’d watched my mother use her sex appeal like a weapon, luring in one man after another. She played up the stereotype of sexy Latina woman to the hilt, wearing tight, revealing clothing that highlighted her ample assets.

I hated it. Hated the admiring glances the boys in my classes shot her way on the few instances she actually showed up at my school functions. Hated the way my father was still broken-hearted over her years after she’d left him.

And I especially hated the fact that since I was her spitting image, everyone expected me to turn out just the same.

As soon as my breasts began developing, I started wearing the baggiest, most unsexy clothing I could find. I cut my thick, glossy brown hair short. I studied hard and focused on grades and avoided boys and parties like the plague.

When I got to college, I chilled out a little. I had hormones just like any other girl. Sure, I was curious. Touching and getting myself off took care of that a little bit, but I wasn’t immune to romantic dreams.

My sophomore year, I got my first serious boyfriend. I met Brian in my Principals of Financial Accounting class. He seemed like a sweet, funny guy.

Until we were alone and all he wanted to do was reach under my oversized shirt to grab my boobs, which, in his words, he “couldn’t stop thinking about titty-fucking.”

Yeah, me and Brian didn’t last long. I tried one more time, with a guy named Jeremy who was part of the group of friends me and my roommate hung out with. I told him up front I wanted to take things slowly. He said that was totally fine with him. We dated for several months. Which was when I walked in on him screwing my roommate.