Valentine's Day Virgin

"Oh, thanks," I say, laughing. "I'm sure the great Eric Marshall has much better moves than I do."

"I never said that. I'd probably cast a neon spotlight from here to Paris if I started to dance."

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Oh, it is.” A pause. "I wasn't expecting someone like you," Eric says suddenly.

I take a sip from my glass, and it's empty and I place it down. Within a minute it's seamlessly replaced with another one and I barely notice them appear. But that drink is too good not to have more. "I'm not sure what that means.”

He laughs. “My sister has tried to set me up before. Usually with one of her friends. I’ve gone along with it, and let’s just say that it hasn’t worked out. We don’t usually have the same priorities.”

“So how do you know I’m different?”

“For starters,” he says, smiling into his glass, “you didn’t ask to be set up with me.”

“True. I only nearly killed your sister.”

Now he laughs again, a real laugh this time. “I still can’t believe th

at happened.”

“Neither can I. Not my finest moment. But I’m still not sure that’s a positive point in how I’m different from your sister’s friends.”

Eric reaches across the space between us and takes my hand gently. “You just told me you said yes because you wanted to have a date on Valentine’s Day. You didn’t know who I was, you just wanted some genuine human connection. In general, I’ve found that Bianca’s friends don’t always see me as a human connection. They see me as dollar signs.”

“Oh.” I blush, because it’s true. I had no idea who he was.

I’m very aware of his skin on mine. “Happy to be of service.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” his fingers brush against my skin. “All I expected it to be was a service. But then you seemed different. I wasn’t planning on taking this mysterious girl out. But I couldn’t stop myself.”

Oh my God. Iris was right. I don’t know what to say. I think my mouth is open. Shut your mouth. Say something. Anything. “That’s flattering.” Eric laughs and I quickly take another drink. “I’m bad at this, as you can see, which is why I’m always single on Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t think you’re nearly as bad as you think you are,” he says. “I’m enjoying myself.”

I look away from his gaze because it feels more intimate than I’m ready for. But oh, I want to be ready for it. "Well, at least I'll be in good company with my bad dancing," I say, drinking deeply from my glass. "Who knows, you probably saved that creep a horrible fate by not letting me step on his feet."

"He would have had it coming," Eric says seriously. "But I'll take my chances."

"With what?"

Standing, he reaches out a hand. "Of dying from bloody toes."

"You want to dance with me?"

There's fire in his eyes. "I do."

I know that we were kidding, but actually I am a terrible dancer and there is a small chance that I could kill him. "I really am terrible."

His mouth tips up into that little half-smile again. "I'm not."

What the hell. This can be one of the details that I give Iris tomorrow, because I might not have a chance to dance with Eric Marshall again, and I'd be an idiot to pass this up. I finish the rest of my drink in one sip, placing it on the table before I take his hand. He weaves his fingers with mine and guides me back to the dance floor. The music is pulsing, and I realize that we're not going to be doing a whole lot of talking. And I also realize by looking around, that we're not going to be doing the kind of dancing that I imagined either. People are pressed up against one another, moving in sync, hips locked together in a way that only suggests one thing, and suddenly my body is on fire.

He pulls me into the dancers with him, and this time it doesn't feel as overwhelming, and yet it does. Because now we're here to dance. This song has a medium beat and a thrumming bass, and for a second, I can almost pretend that I have rhythm. But Eric didn't lie, because as he pulls me against him, he seems to move effortlessly with the music. He spins me under his arm and my skirt whirls out around me before he pulls me back to him.

I'm so small compared to him, I have to look up to see his face, and when I do, the raw need there makes me shudder. His hands are on my waist, and I can feel the heat of his hands through my thin dress. I'm suddenly very aware that I'm not wearing any underwear. No bra because it would show and no panties because Iris convinced me they would be seen and ruin the line of the dress.

I feel naked.

Eric spins me again, this time pulling me in so that my back is against his chest, and I’m cradled against him. This feels all-encompassing and safe and sexy and I can’t breathe. The way we’re pressed against each other, my brain is dizzy with it, and I’m just letting him guide me because I can’t think about anything else.

I don’t think that I’ve ever had such a sudden and deep attraction to anyone. And certainly not on a sexual level. I’m inexperienced, so I like to get my bearings and make sure that everything’s okay before I go for it. But right now, I think that I’d let Eric strip off my clothes in the middle of the dance floor and I’d give it my best shot. My whole body wants him.

The two drinks I had are suddenly swimming in my head and I feel good. Not gone, but in that perfect place where I’m tipsy enough not to care that I’m a bad dancer and to let go. That place where I can press myself back into Eric and try to be sexy without worrying if I’m embarrassing myself. I want him, and I want to see if he wants me.

I twirl around with my hands in the air, and Eric catches me around the waist and pulls me back to him, locks our hips together as we move to the music. The song changes to something deeper and sultry, and I relax into it with him.

He’s hard against me. I can feel it, and it makes me smile. Makes me wet. Makes me need more than I can put voice to. Eric’s hands are on my body, stroking from my shoulders and down my arms to my waist where he pulls my back against his chest again, lips falling to the skin where my shoulder meets my neck. I’m glad the sound of the club and the music masks my moan to everyone else.

It doesn’t to him.

I turn and look him in the eyes, dark and deep and reflecting my own desire back at me. And I let him kiss me. It takes my breath away. Every sensation increases and brightens and deepens and I am swept on the current of its power.

This is not my first kiss, but it might as well be. Nothing I've ever felt has been like this, and I don't know if it's the drinks or the lights or the music or if it's just him and me, but I want more of it.

Eric's tongue brushes mine, and I think I can feel it everywhere, heat and something deeper rippling out and down, and I'm so aware of everywhere he's touching me and how it doesn't feel like it's enough. How I'd gladly let this feeling consume me entirely. He pulls back for a second, and I'm gasping for breath. We've stopped dead in the middle of the dance floor, staring at each other. There's no mistaking that that kiss hit him just as hard as it hit me. The moment hangs in the air, like time has stopped.

And then I see him smile, and we start to dance again. If this can be called dancing. There's not a time when we're not touching. Not a time when some part of him isn’t entwined with some part of me. We kiss again and spin apart, moving with the music and on this new instinct that seems to be floating between us. Somehow our mouths always seem to find their ways back to each other. Every time increasing the heat in my body, that longing that I don't know how to put into words.

I'm not sure how long we dance. It feels like forever and not long enough. Then Eric's mouth falls on mine again, more insistent, almost desperate, and he pulls me off the dance floor. We're in a dark hallway, and I see an exit to the back of the club seconds before Eric has me up against the wall and is kissing me again. There's a low sound in his throat, and I shudder, kissing him back.

His hands are on my hips, the heat of his fingers sinking through my dress. I can feel his erection, the way he's pulling us together is not accidental. God, he feels big. What if I can’t take him? Are we going to do that now? I don't know.

I shut the thoughts off in my brain as he moves his lips to my jaw and kisses along my neck. I don't need to have my brain ruining one of the best moments of my life right now, thank you very much. The feeling of his lips on my skin is driving me crazy, and I lean into it, because no guy I've ever been with has made me feel like this. And I can't miss it. I can't ruin another chance by scaring him away.

Eric pulls my skirt up, bunching the fabric in his hands so he can touch my legs, and I move them apart. My body is clearly on board with this, moving with an instinct that hasn't caught up with my mind yet, and I can't breathe. His fingers drift across my thighs, and suddenly he's there, touching me. And he freezes. "Fuck, Sally." His voice is hot and dark in my ear. "If I'd known you were bare under here I might have left the dance floor sooner."

"I'm not wearing a bra either."

He pulls back far enough to look at me, and look significantly down at my breasts. "God that's sexy."

r />   I gasp as he moves his fingers from barely brushing me to drawing them across my pussy and feeling the fact that I'm wet. That my inner thighs are soaked from him turning me on while we danced. And I'm shaking with nerves because this is the first time that someone else has touched me there. I can feel myself turning bright red with embarrassment, but it's dark enough that he won't be able to see.

Why am I embarrassed? I shouldn't be. This is something that feels good, and God, the way he's touching me feels fucking amazing. But I'm still overwhelmed with the sensation and it freezes in my chest and I seize up. And then he slips a finger inside me. So strange and different than when you do it to yourself. This has intent. You're sexy, fuckable, and I'm so wet that the pleasure of it ricochets through my body, making my back arch and my head tip back to the wall with a moan. But I can't do this.

I grab his arms, his shoulders, and take a breath. "Eric, wait."

His hands freeze on me and he immediately looks at me. "Is this all right?"

I clench down on his finger instinctually, and prep for the knife he's about to plunge into my chest. "Yes," I say, "but I need to tell you that I'm a virgin."

Eric doesn't move, doesn't breathe. It's like he's completely turned to stone. There's a slight hardening in his features and I think that I've fucked up. I didn't expect him to be angry—didn't think about the fact that maybe he thinks I tricked him.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I should have said something. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to walk away right now. It's something that it's not easy to be honest about because it tends to make people run. And that's okay. I know that's not what were you looking for. You just wanted a date for the party." I realize that I'm just talking, babbling to fill his stunned silence and I think that he's going to move now. That he's going to disappear into the crowd of dancers and disappear. But then I look up at him, and I see in the dimness that same hunger from the dance floor. A deep and nameless need, and he kisses me.

I'm not ready for it, the overwhelming power of that kiss. There's hunger and passion and this doesn't feel like goodbye. This feels like building and growing and pleasure. "I can't imagine anyone running away from someone like you," he says.