Barely Legal, Breeding, and Virgin
Word Count:
5,469
Parents, what a drag.
I’m done with high school and suddenly I’m expected to pack up and ship out to some Ivy League college, to compete with eggheads and boring blabber mouths. A whole bunch of dull try-hards. Sounds like hell, if you ask me.
But my parents didn’t ask me. Okay, well they did. But for once they didn’t listen. And so here I am, facing the prospect of flying across the country to do yet more school work in just a couple months.
I couldn’t imagine a bigger downer for my summer vacation.
And that was how I managed to get a simple vacation out of them.
Somewhere nice, somewhere hot, somewhere Caribbean.
Mom and dad were both busy with business meetings all summer, so they couldn’t take me. That meant that they would only agree to let me go on my own, if it was somewhere safe, and I got a full time tour guide. I agreed — reluctantly! — but when they said they were sending me to Cuba because it was so safe, I didn’t know what to make of it. Isn’t that where communist terrorists come from or something?
Well, if it was, it sure didn’t stop it from being beautiful. Because from the moment I started flying over it, I was impressed. And I don’t easily impress, trust me.
Landing down and going through customs was a bore, but then on my way out of the airport… there he was.
You see, my parents insisted on a full time tour guide, but I got to pick him myself. And I looked around online, and found the perfect one.
Romy.
Pictures didn’t do the man justice. And neither did the endless reams of gushing — frankly fangirling — reviews left by countless women for him. It was easy to see why such a massive hunk was so popular.
The heat when I arrived was intense, but Romy stood there in a white button down shirt, gently flowing in the breeze, with a pair of khakis on. Simple, right? Except that white shirt was practically see-through, and what was there to see was worth it. Bulging pecs and abs, a hard body to just die for. With dark hair, and handsome good looks like out of a movie, Romy trampled all expectations.
“Miss Julia?” he said, his voice tinged with such a delightful accent as he flipped his sunglasses up and revealed his sparkling, dark eyes. “I am Romy, your personal guide.”
I’d originally looked for someone who didn’t speak English — better to be seen than heard, right? — but with his reviews, well, I figured I could shut him up easily enough.
Though now I didn’t want him to stop.
“That’s me!” I said with a flirty flip of my hair that I knew drove guys wild. I had a nickname in school, one no one dared call me to my face, but I knew it anyways.
Cocktease.
I actually loved it.
It was what I was.
What I still am.
Romy had a way of making even the most adamant cocktease want to give in though.
“More lovely than mere pixels can convey,” he said, reaching out to take my hand in both of his, the smooth hard skin of his fingerpads so delightfully well-kept yet masculine. The smell of some sort of coconut-y aftershave upon him, but oh so light.
“I hope your flight was pleasant. Or at least as pleasant as flights can be,” he remarked, his voice husky and deep, but so beautifully lyrical in that Caribbean accent of his.
I couldn’t have been more pleased with my choice, especially as he pressed his plush lips to the back of my hand.
He was a few years older than me, but definitely in his prime.
He had no idea what I had in store for him.