21. Lily
Lily
I bite my cheek to stop from smiling.
Within twelve days of turning twenty-one—and within thirty-two hours of landing in LA—I’m officially a woman.
Sexy Gage Hollingsworth punched my V card.
He was the perfect man for mission Bursting Lily’s Cherry .
Nads is going to die.
Gage made me feel so desired, and I wanted him so much, I didn’t care if it was going to hurt. The burning lust in his eyes was my undoing.
I’ve had it bad for him since the first time I laid eyes on him.
I wasn’t prepared for his massive cock. Long, thick, pulsing, and lined with veins. I guess I should’ve known from his impressive height, large hands, and long feet.
I’m not Lily the innocent virgin who’d never seen a cock in her life until an hour ago, but I’ve never gone all the way.
The only other cock I’ve seen was half of Gage’s size, and the man it belonged to wasn’t a strapping hunk who stands at least six-four.
Gage’s cock is so eye-popping huge, I’m surprised I didn’t run out of the bathroom when he dropped his boxer briefs .
Holy enormous appendage.
The first few thrusts were so painful, it was a struggle to breathe. It was like being impaled by a tree trunk, but in no time, pain gave into pleasure.
Ohmygod, sex is a beautiful thing.
After a shower in the luxurious spa-like bathroom, Gage and I are both draped in the hotel’s silky-soft white bathrobes, sitting at the round table in the living area, enjoying a lip-smacking meal.
“On a scale from one to ten, that was a solid seven,” I say, meeting wintergreen eyes.
His gaze drops to his sandwich before lifting to meet mine. His perplexed expression is priceless.
The midnight menu at the Pompadour is irreproachable. All the meals I’ve enjoyed since I arrived, have been. Gage recommended the lip-smacking pulled pork sandwich. It’s out of this world phenomenal. He’s devouring his second one. I’m still working on my first.
The trimmings are also commendable—frites with shaved grana Padano, drizzled with truffle oil and the hotel’s signature Seriously Good Coleslaw. For dessert, I did a mental happy dance when I saw English raspberry trifle on the menu.
“This is one of the best pulled pork sandwiches I’ve ever eaten,” Gage says. “Seven out of ten? The Konigs will be disappointed. Heck, they might end up firing the chef.”
Uh, oh. This game isn’t going like I intended. “I wasn’t talking about the food. I was talking about my first time.”
His head jerks back. “A seven?”
“Yes.” It’s a struggle to keep a straight face.
He narrows his eyes. “I can put you flat on your back on this table and turn that failing grade into a ten in a New York minute. ”
“I was pulling your leg. That was a solid one hundred.” Not that I have anything to compare it to, but I’m certain it was.
He drops his half-eaten sandwich on his plate, wipes his messy fingers with the napkin before lifting his eyes to meet mine. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your first time?”
I let out along sigh and mimic him. “Why is that so important?”
“A bed would’ve been a good idea?—”
“I thought you didn’t do predictable.”
“Lily.” He purses his lips.
“What?” I feign innocence.
“That was a little intense for the first time.”
I reach out for his hand. “It wouldn’t have been as raunchy on a bed. It would’ve been like so many other first times. So boring. So déjà vu .”
“How do you know, if it was your first time?”
I read a lot of spicy romance books. “Girls talk.”
He nods. “Are you on the birth control?”
I grimace.
“I’m going to take that as a no.”
“I would’ve requested we use a condom,” I say.
He considers me for a thoughtful moment.
I can’t read his expression.
How many women has he been with?
Has he been fucking half of LA?
I give myself a slap upside the head.
Silly Lily.
He’s not a monk. No doubt, the drop-dead gorgeous, powerful, billionaire mogul has been with his fair share of women. Men like that wear condoms.
“I hope I didn’t disappoint you.” The words come flying out of my mouth before I can catch them.
His eyebrows knit together, his lips turning down into a frown.
I grow more and more worried under his stare, wiggling in my chair in discomfort. “I’m sure you’re used to women with so much more experience than me. Being with a silly virgin must be a downgrade for you.”
“I can’t fake an erection. Neither can I fake coming.”
I hope he’s not surgarcoating it. “Okay.”
“I’m not bullshitting you.”
Is he telling me the truth?
My inexperience is shining brighter than a neon sign.
“I haven’t been with anyone in a long time, and I wanted you so damn much from the moment I saw you yesterday.”
My eyes grow wide. “Oh.”
“What happened between us tonight wasn’t about ending the evening with a woman, it was about ending the evening with you . Since yesterday, I’ve been obsessed with kissing you. I didn’t expect I’d need to devour the rest of you. The thing is, once our lives crossed, I couldn’t put the brakes on.”
I blink.
Mother of God.
The man who spent most of our first encounter growling at me, just pulled the rug from under my feet. I’m not stupid enough to think it’s a love declaration, but his confession tugs at something inside me. Gage Hollingsworth is a man of few words, but when he speaks, hold on to your fascinator.
“To answer your question,” he says, “I’m not disappointed at all.” He leans into me. Something dangerous veils his green eyes. “Not only are you a hot little thing, but now, your tight pussy has been perfectly molded for my cock.”
Did the temperature in the room go up by a hundred degrees?
“Next time, I won’t be as gentle. ”
Holy Jesus.
“But before I fuck you again, I need to know why you didn’t warn me? What’s your story, Lily Schuyler?”
He deserves an explanation.
“Dating is an interesting topic,” I say.
“After boarding school, I went to the University of Paris. When I arrived in the City of Light, my father had a long list of potential suitors––sons of his business connections. Some were Parisians. Others were like me, studying in Paris. I didn’t connect with any of them, and the idea of dating someone my father dictated was unappealing.
I told him I wanted to focus on my studies. Miracle of miracles, he didn’t push.”
“I’m surprised.”
“That makes two of us. My father is a bulldozer when he’s on a mission, which is often.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Is that how you ended up becoming my bodyguard?” Why else would a powerful mogul agree to be my babysitter?
“Yes.” He nods. “But I’m glad I agreed.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to prevent the smile threatening to part my lips in a huge grin.
“For once, hanging out with one of my father-imposed companions wasn’t an excruciating exercise.”
“Glad to be of service.”
We stare at each other for a beat, the electricity crackling between us.
I discovered what sex was a New York minute ago. How can I crave it again so soon?
I shake my head, hoping to dissipate the hedonistic haze engulfing me.
Bad girl. Bad girl.
I continue my story. “I was having lunch at Les Deux Magots Café in the Saint-Germain-des-Prés neighborhood, when a distinguished Frenchman asked me if he could sit at my table. He had a short window for lunch, and all the tables were occupied. I accepted. My French wasn’t great at the time––I’m still not fluent, but I speak it better now than I did back then––so, I didn’t expect much conversation.
My lunch companion surprised me. Jean-Philippe Dutronc had studied in London, so his English was decent.
Lunch came and went, and we sat there talking, drinking coffee, and eating pastries.
Eventually, he had to go. He asked to see me again.
We had a great connection. He wasn’t a pretty boy, and he wasn’t tall—he was only five-seven.
Yet, he had that irresistible je ne sais quoi so many Frenchmen have.
He was twenty-six and one of the youngest literature professors at the Sorbonne University?—”
“How old were you?”
“I was nineteen.”
He nods.
“Jean-Philippe was well-traveled and a charmer. I was upfront about wanting to take things slow. He agreed. So, we dated, kissed, and fooled around. Eight months into our relationship, I felt I was ready. He’d been so patient.
I figured going all the way would be the ultimate birthday gift for a guy.
Well… that’s what an article in a girly magazine told me. ”
“You got cold feet?”
“No.” I close my eyes, reliving the humiliating events.
Gage places a hand on my knee, and my eyes pop open.
“What did the fucker do?”
“After we savored a catered meal at my place, Jean-Philippe suggested a sexy shower to ease me into it. As we were stepping out of the shower, his phone rang. He apologized, wrapped a towel around his waist, and rushed out of the bathroom to silence it. I was taking my time drying my body, thinking he’d come back to join me.
After a while, I got worried. When I stepped into my bedroom, he was getting dressed. ”
“What happened?”
“He had to go.”
“Why?”
“I inquired to find out if a family member got in an accident, had suffered from a heart attack, or worse, died.”
“It was none of the above?”
“It was the last thing I ever imagined.”
“I’m not even going to try to guess.”
“His wife’s waters broke—she went into labor early?—”
“Wife?”
“Yup,” I nod. “His sister-in-law was rushing her to the hospital. He had to scamper off so he could be present for the arrival of his son.”
“What the fuck?”
“Yes. Jean-Philippe was married.”
“He never told you?”
“No. I asked him if he had a girlfriend, and he assured me, I was his only girlfriend.”
“He never wore a wedding ring?”
I shake my head. “No. That would’ve sent me running the other way.”
“Motherfucker.”
“To my horror and dismay, the guy I’d been seeing was leading a double life,” I say. “Apparently, it’s the French way.”
“The French way? What the fuck?”