She’d been a fucking virgin. He was torn between an uncharacteristic bout of guilt and the searing, slow burn of regret one might feel after knocking back expensive bourbon in one swallow because you’d been under the illusion it was cheap. Not that he’d ever imagined Sarah was cheap. It was part of the triumph he felt when she’d gone down on her knees in front of him, ready to obey his every command. But if he would’ve known he was the first man? He would’ve gone slower. Not for her, for him. He would have savored that. Even now, satisfied from the explosive release he just had, he felt himself getting hard again. The hot water from the shower sluiced over his skin, his hands following the trail, his own touch turning him on when coupled with the thoughts that were rioting through his head. He’d never screwed a virgin before. Not because of any moral scruples, but because virgins didn’t come looking for guys like him. At least, not usually. This one had been standing in the entry of a mansion, waiting for him like a beautifully wrapped gift.
