When his address appears in my text messages at seven, I stare at it for far too long. This is really happening. I’m losing my virginity to Carson Slate tonight, in an hour.
It’s an excruciating amount of time to wait.
But finally, at eight o’clock, I arrive at the door to Carson’s apartment, shaky and scared and excited and practically vibrating off his front step with the confluence of emotions. My heart races as I hear him walk to the door, and feels like it stops completely when he answers it.
“Astrid,” he says, that arrogant smirk pulling at his lips. He’s showered after practice, and I can smell the sharp scent of shaving cream on his skin even from here. He steps to the side and allows me into the apartment.
He’s from a wealthy family and he’s a successful football player, so I shouldn’t be surprised that he has a remarkably big one-bedroom apartment to himself rather than cramming in with suite mates. I am, however, surprised at how neat it is. There’s nothing on the walls and no real decor to speak of, but there’s a tidy futon that even has throw pillows, a two-person dining room table, and a decent kitchen. It screams “I’m never actually here”, but it also screams “I don’t trash it when I am”. Carson shuts the door behind me and I jump; he lifts an eyebrow in amusement.
“Relax,” he says, shaking his head and stepping toward me. He cups my face in his hands and lowers his lips to mine, kissing me soothingly. It doesn’t totally abate my nerves, but I do feel some of the tension slipping away. I lean into Carson, part my lips a bit, and he slips his tongue lightly into my mouth before pulling away. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to,” he says.
“I know. I’m just a little scared,” I answer, blushing.
“Of me?” he asks.
“No. I’ve heard horror stories and I just…I don’t know what to expect,” I admit. “You’re…you’re a lot bigger than me.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. Trust me.” He kisses me again, and then sweeps me into his arms in a single motion. I startle, but then lean into the feeling of his body carrying me, how strong his arms feel beneath me. I drop my purse and my lips find his neck as he carries me into the back— to his bedroom. He lowers me to the made bed gently, and turns on a tiny bedside lamp that’s the only source of light in the space. The shades are already pulled, and the room smells like him. I sit stiffly on the edge of the bed, ankles crossed, unsure what to do next.
Carson steps back and looks at me, letting his eyes drag up and down my body without restraint. “You’re perfect, you know,” he mutters, stepping forward, brushing a piece of hair over my shoulders. He runs his fingertips down the side of my neck, then drags them underneath my right breast. I inhale at the sensation, and bite my lip. “I’m going to go so slowly, Astrid. So slowly. I don’t want to forget anything about this, and don’t want you to either.”
“Okay,” I say breathlessly.
“Relax,” he tells me again.
“I’m trying,” I argue.
He nods. “Maybe— wait here,” he says, and then walks to his closet. He returns a half second later holding a neck tie, one I recognize as the color the football team wears out to formal occasions. I sit perfectly still as he props a knee on the bed beside me, then lays the tie over my eyes.
“Carson, I want to see—“
“You will,” he promises, words a hot whisper in my ear. “You just need to relax a little first, Astrid. I promise—you’ll be looking in my eyes when I fuck you for the first time.”
“Okay,” I stammer as he knots the tie around the back of my head. It’s smooth and cool— silk, I think— and I have to admit, not being able to see forces my shivering to subside a bit.
Carson never takes his hands away from me entirely, so I always know where he is. He smooths my hair down, slides his palms down my arms, drags his fingers across my legs, playing at the hem of my skirt as he goes. I know he’s staring hungrily at me— I can feel it, even through the blindfold— and I like it. I find my lips curving into a smile as he drags his hands further down and gets off the bed to carefully unclasp my shoes, one at a time. He kisses the side of my foot, then my ankle, my calves, up and up and up until he’s at the hem of my skirt once again.
“Perfect,” he mutters again, and then lifts my skirt the tiniest bit to kiss me there. I expect him to repeat this, but instead he moves back up, and lifts me a little bit to push me farther back onto the bed, so I’m lying flat on my back. I cross my feet again, instinctively I suppose, as Carson positions himself at my side. He must be kneeling, because one hand strokes my cheek while the other begins to creep up my inner thigh, urging my legs to uncross. I obey, and then spread them a bit to give him better access. “That’s right,” he says, then brings his lips down to mine, kissing me slowly and passionately. I lift my arms, wanting to wrap them around his neck, but then he pulls away. For a moment, I’m not sure what he plans— but then I feel his breath on my thigh.