ECassChoosesPikachu: Dear losers who stole my PM card: you may take my EX but you’ll never take my FREEDOM!
SeanCassinova to ECassChoosesPikachu: What does PM stand for? Prime Minister?
ECassChoosesPikachu to SeanCassinova: Pokémon of course
SeanCassinova to ECassChoosesPikachu: How old are you? 10?
I’m a smart girl.
If you'd asked me prior to last night whether I believed in love at first sight, I would’ve replied with an emphatic no.
Maybe even a hell no.
I was not immune to the male form, or drooling over the male form, or even fantasizing about the male form. I’d had celebrity crushes over the years, posters of hot guys hanging on my wall. I may have recorded men’s swimming during the Summer Olympics so I could ogle big-shouldered, thick-thighed specimens of fineness.
But I was not and never had been a romantic sort with stars in my eyes and a happily ever after on my mind. The term life partner sounded like a life sentence. Perhaps it was due to my time at an all-female Catholic boarding school. My two best friends saw a cute boy and would lose their minds.
Whereas all boys I’d met reminded me of my brothers. And my brothers were all stuffy arseholes who’d married for money and stature. For that matter, so were my brothers-in-law.
With the exception of my one cousin who I considered more of a brother than any of my own, I’d never met a man under sixty who I truly respected. Especially not one worthy of the giggling, swooning ridiculousness my classmates and girlfriends back at school bestowed on these creatures. I wasn’t asexual. It’s just that no opportunity—or drool-worthy man—had ever presented himself.
That was before last night.
Before I’d met Bryan Leech, in person. His poster had graced my walls since I was thirteen. Adolescent admiration for his form and skill had transformed into womanly appreciation for his . . . form and skill. It had happened sometime over the last six years. I’d been excited to meet him, because he was a brilliant rugby player and also—just being honest here—extremely hot. I hadn’t thought in a million years he’d be interested in me.
But he was.
He was interested.
And his interest went straight to my head.
I’d even giggled at one point . . . the horror!
And then I’d danced with his thick thighs and his big shoulders under the influence of candlelight and champagne. He’d compared me to a rose and gazed at me as though I was flawless. He’d kissed me dizzy in the gardens. He’d spread my legs and worshipped me with his lips and tongue, seducing me beneath a blanket of stars. He’d taken me to his suite and made love to me.
And I’d lost my virginity.
No. I didn’t lose it. I gave it to him.
But now it was the next morning, after the most wonderful, most meaningful, most amazing night of my life, and I was completely and helplessly in love.
I awoke with a start, disoriented at first, wondering if it had been a dream. But then I saw Bryan and felt a twinge of soreness between my legs. My heart slowed, then skipped, relief and wistful warmth spreading through my veins and limbs. He was still asleep, his long body curled around a pillow.
I couldn’t help it. I exhaled a dreamy sigh and smiled, suppressing my desire to reach out and smooth his tousled hair. He looked so perfect bathed in the soft light of morning.
God! He was so gorgeous. It wasn’t just his perfect athletic body, or the strong line of his jaw, or the mesmerizing jade green of his eyes. It was everything. He was everything.
I’d become what I’d scorned in the past. But now I got it. Oh boy, did I get it.
How he looked at me like I was the only woman in the world. How he’d asked me questions and listened—really listened—to me.
I’d tried to pretend I was sophisticated, telling him, Don’t be afraid to be rough. I’m tougher than I look. But he saw through the act. How he touched me and watched my response with bated breath, like he couldn’t get enough. How patient he’d been the night before, how skilled and tender. How he’d made my first time perfect.
How he’d kissed and held me after, told me he loved me, told me I was flawless.
How could I resist?
I was having the oddest, most fanciful notions. His soul was my missing piece. Our hearts found a home in each other. He was my other half. He was meant for me.
Clearly, one night together had sent me on a careening spiral of ridiculous romanticism. I could admit that, but I loved how alive I’d felt in his arms. Who knew a man’s touch and attentions could make the world a brighter, better place?
Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for him to wake up. I wanted to see myself reflected in his eyes, see a mirror of the love I could barely contain.
I rested my hand on his shoulder and smoothed it down the length of his impressive bicep. He was so strong. Touching him made me shiver, made my happy heart do a little dance.
Bryan flinched, inhaling a deep breath, then blinked his eyes open.
I grinned. “Good morning.”
My smile widened at the sound of my words, this being the first time I’d greeted a lover. I sounded husky. I sounded older, more like a woman. At nineteen, I knew I’d already been a woman before the events of the prior evening. But I liked the way sex sounded in my voice.
Out of everything that happened last night, sex had been the most surprising. All of my girlfriends who’d lost their virginity said it hurt like hell the first time. But it hadn’t hurt for me. It had been wonderful.