Lilith Stone never expected to be staring into her father's eyes when she lost her virginity.
But she was quite pleased. At first.
The early autumn evening was the perfect setting for John Alastair Stone's annual Beacon Hill event, the party that would fuel the society pages of newspapers within one hundred miles for weeks to come. Though Stone now lived in Toronto with his wife, Anna, and daughters, Lilith and Julia, he'd been born, raised, and machine-honed by the Mayflower pedrigreed family that had lived on Beacon Hill for generations.
The Harvard-Boston Aero Meet was the topic of choice, as most of the party's guests had attended the airplane show. President Taft had been in town, and John Stone had met with him, a fact he worked into every handshake, each conversation, and any offhand comment he could. Former Mayor Fitzgerald monopolized as much of Stone's attention as possible, discussing a business venture with the billionaire. Lilith gratefully took the opportunity, out from under her father's surveillance, to achieve her goal.
That night, Lilith positioned herself with Jack Reed, her father's new lawyer, and flirted until he knew exactly how to get her.
And then she let herself be caught.
The gardens were lush with ripe, turned Japanese maples and oak trees pregnant and laboring to drop their gold, pumpkin and adobe leaves on the New Hampshire granite stone floor. A bundle of mature hostas under a small maple tree provided ample ground cover and shade for Lilith and Jack.
“Are you sure?” he murmured into her lips, his mouth a buffet of red wine and garlic.
“Of course,” she purred, irritated by the question. She was done with her maidenhead, ready to discard it like a broken pen or an old, torn towel. It did her no good, and at twenty-eight was a nasty reminder that she'd held onto her virginity for all the wrong reasons. In the beginning she was a good girl and stayed pure because her mother insisted. After a few years, though, she found that remaining a virgin was easy; finding a man worth sleeping with was the hard part.
No man met her standards.
And now her hymen was a niggling bother, something that she'd likely lost years ago riding horses at Daddy's country estate, but whether the actual membrane was intact did not matter to Lilith. The symbolism was critical.
She needed to free herself from the straightjacket of her untouched vagina.
Jack seemed nice enough. A social-climbing lawyer, she knew he'd view this as a conquest but would, if need be, remain discreet. She also knew that she would not be discreet, and that she could trigger her father's temper with one careful whisper hissed within hearing distance of the worst Boston gossips.
Having a twenty-eight year old, unmarried daughter was a source of great embarrassment to John Stone. Knowing she'd given herself up to a lawyer, a near servant in her father's eyes, would be unforgiveable.
Lilith smiled through another sloppy kiss. Jack took it as encouragement and a slow hand slid up her ribcage, searching for a breast. His other hand slid up her leg, past the garter clasp and under her panty line to find her already wet.
He groaned and she threw herself into the kiss, less from passion and more as an object lesson. This is how you kiss someone when you make love. This is how it feels when his hand caresses your inner thigh. This is how it feels when he places your hand on his clothed bulge. This is how you grasp an erect –
And then he was in her. Her thoughts stopped as she hitched, her maidenhead suddenly reporting in, nerve endings screaming as something deep inside her tore. The pain brought tears to her eyes. Lilith hadn't cried in years, but this was a keening pain.
So slight and light, like a bird, that he could hold her against the tiny tree trunk and enter her, then withdraw slowly, then enter again, Lilith's body tensed under his command. Which wasn't much of a mastery, really, but more the practiced hand of a man used to drunken encounters at parties. He seemed to know what he was doing, though her panties chafed against the joint of her groin and now his grunts quickened. She knew, from reading and talking with female friends, that he'd be done soon.
And then her father's voice boomed into the open air above their heads.
Now she began to enjoy herself.
“What a lovely night for a party, Fitzgerald.” A voice replied, its tone accented with an Irish lilt, but Lilith couldn't make out the words.
“What's the return on investment, then?” her father asked, his voice conspiratorial and cunning.
He paused, then his tone changed, a smile coming through his words as the sound of his voice pitched downward. “And, apparently, young love is in bloom, even in this late autumn!” They were caught.
His baritone laugh carried through the garden and Jack froze, deep inside Lilith, holding one hip in his hand, helping to widen her.
She pulled back and Jack's face made her laugh, his features a mask of horror, a guttural, yet silent, scream trying to come out. If her father, the richest man in Toronto and one of the richest in Boston, learned he'd slept with his daughter, not only would Jack lose his job, he'd likely be blackballed forever.
“Lilith!” he hissed.
“Kiss me,” she said, shifting her head to the right, the light from a gas lap on the upper balcony spilling over her forehead and eyes.
Jack stayed still.
Lilith looked up, her head bent back, and met her father's eyes.
She wiped the smile off his face. Saw red coals of anger ignite in his eyes. Watched him whip around and stomp off the balcony.
Regret flooded her veins just as instantly as the triumph had flushed through them.
Jack pulled out of her and began tucking himself back into his pants. “Your father! He heard us. What was I thinking? What were you thinking? I was drunk. You, you...tricked me!” Jack hastily made up his clothing, buttons half done and jacket askew. He wouldn't meet her eyes and she hardened.
“How did I trick you? Did I cast a spell and force you to place your penis inside my vagina?” She arched one eyebrow and now viewed him with disdain. For all she'd thought she would feel about losing her virginity, she'd not expected to find the man she'd slept with to be so mousy.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Sample from "Unfinished Business," the prequel to Legs
It's #SampleSunday on Twitter, and that means serving up some fun for readers. I'm working furiously on Legs' prequel, whose working title is Unfinished Business: