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SARA

“ Y ou okay?” Logan’s hand brushes the hair from my face. “What’s the safe word if you get uncomfortable at any point?”

“Marshmallow.” I offer a wobbly smile. “I’m okay.”

Okay is a relative term.

I’m sprawled on my back on a round, padded table that Logan set up here this morning. It’s some sort of sex furniture, I think.

My feet rest in stirrups and I’m wearing a flimsy white skirt with a little white crop top that has lace on the bottom. Beneath that, I’m sweating through silky white panties and a lacy white bra with a bow on the front.

“I feel like a virgin sacrifice.” I force out a laugh, but it sounds a bit shaky. “I guess that’s the goal, huh?”

“The goal is whatever you want, Sara.” Logan kisses my temple and gives me a smile that’s probably singed the panties off many a jilted bride. “You’re calling the shots.”

That’s the reason I’m doing this, honestly.

For so many years, I’ve felt controlled by the notion of virginity. How long to hold onto it, when I should lose it, to whom I should give it like it’s some sort of weird wedding gift .

It’s the yardstick by which my worth has been measured, with a strange set of rules I’ve never been sure of. Did touching each other through clothes count against me? What if my top came off, or even my panties? Did oral sex count?

I’ve had girlfriends from church who think regular sex before marriage is a sin, but anal is fine as a virginity workaround. Or what about just the tip of his penis, slipping inside for a whisper of a second? If it’s only the tip, does it really count?

I didn’t play most of those games. I erred on the far side of caution, allowing some petting and orgasms delivered through clothing.

Even those moments were few and far between.

Living in two separate cities like Trent and I have made restraint a little bit easier.

There wasn’t much risk of going too far while he was deployed overseas.

It simplified the steps for being a good little girl, so chaste and pure and pristine.

Fuck that.

“Fuck me.” I grin as I say it out loud, glancing at Logan with a self-conscious buzz in my belly. “Should that be my opening line, or?—”

A knock at the door shuts me up. “He’s here,” I whisper. “Oh, God.”

Logan whispers right back. “You don’t have to go through with it if you don’t want to. I’m here if you need me, but you’re in control, Sara.”

“Okay.” My heart’s beating fast, hitting my ribs like a bird trapped inside me.

“Say it,” Logan urges as the knock comes again.

“I’m in control.”

“That’s right.” He tucks a stray shock of hair behind my ear. “Remember that, okay? Everything that’s about to happen is about you and what you want. What you need from this experience.”

“Got it.” It’s the pep talk I needed, so I take a deep breath and call out to Trent. “Come in! ”

It comes out sounding less sultry and more like an invite to a third-grader’s playdate. But the door to my room swings open and Trent takes two steps forward before he freezes. He stares with his mouth hanging open.

“Holy fuck.” He breathes it like a prayer, gaping at me for a few breathless seconds.

Clamping his mouth shut, he eases the door shut behind him. He doesn’t stop staring, looking unsure what to do with his hands. They clench and unclench as his eyes dart to Logan.

Logan, who stands at the head of the table with his rugged arms braced on each side of my body. His stance is equal parts protective and inviting.

To what?

That’s the question I see playing over Trent’s face.

“What the hell is going on here?”

I’m propped on my elbows, peering over my boobs as they peek from the lacy scooped neck of my top. There’s more pushup to this bra than I’d normally choose, and the flash in Trent’s eyes says he likes what he sees.

“Sara?” He drags a hand over his head. “I’m not sure what’s happening, but I feel like I’ve walked into some kind of dream.”

At least he didn’t say nightmare . That gives me courage to deliver my speech.

“Here’s the thing, Trent.” My voice wobbles a little, but I still sound calmer than I feel. More in control, which is the whole damn point of this exercise.

“I want you to fuck me, right here, right now.” I open my knees just a little, watching his eyes drop to the thin scrap of satin at my center. “I want Logan holding me down with his hands on my tits, telling me what a good girl I am for taking your cock.”

Holy shit.

I just said that out loud.

Part of me wants to leap off the table and call Camille. When she told me to ask for what I want, I’m sure she never imagined those words would spring out of me.

Trent stares like he’s sure I’m possessed by the devil. Maybe I am, but there are worse ways to lose my virginity.

Not lose.

Reclaim.

That’s what I’m doing right now.

His muscular arms flex at his sides, big hands twitching with the urge to form fists. Or maybe to touch me? He’s wrestling with something, and I think I know what.

“This is wrong.” He says it a little uncertainly.

“According to whom?” I fire back.

“Sara—”

“Show me the passage that says, ‘thou shalt not deflower the virgin you jilted while a man she paid to go down on her touches her tits.’” I’m probably going to Hell for that, but so what? “I’m waiting, Trent. Where did you read that?”

His stubborn jaw clenches. “This is crazy.”

At least he’s moved on from calling it wrong.

My heart pounds against my ribcage as I summon my words for rebuttal. After so many years, this is the hill I’m willing to die on.

“Building up chastity as some kind of holy grail was crazy.” My voice sounds stronger now, more certain.

“Believing the fast-track to Heaven hinged on whether you touched me over or under my panties was crazy. Not discussing our desires in ten years together was crazy.” I open my knees just a little bit more, letting the skirt slide up my thighs.

His eyes go wide as I lick my lips. “Doing this now is the first sensible thing I’ve done in a long time. ”

Trent darts a quick glance at Logan. “Why does he have to be here?”

“Because that’s what I want.” I don’t look at Logan, but his arms are still braced on the table behind me. “This is my fantasy, Trent. My virginity, not yours.” Not since he told me that ship sailed years ago.

I lower my voice so he knows just how serious I am. That what I’m proposing isn’t up for debate. “This is how I want this to happen, Trent. Take it or leave it.”

Logan doesn’t speak, sensing, perhaps, this part of the chat is best had with only the two of us. I watch Trent’s fingers twitch at his sides. His eyes dart to Logan like he’s looking for threats. When they drop back to me, he gives one, curt, quiet nod.

“You’re right.” His throat bobs as he swallows, his gaze raking over my body. “I owe you whatever you want.”

“This isn’t about anyone owing anyone.” I should feel embarrassed, having this chat while spread-eagled on a table, but I don’t. “It’s about recognizing desire as normal and human and perfectly healthy to pursue, no matter how different it is from what we grew up believing it was okay to want.”

There’s a flash in his eyes, a bright blaze of need as something snaps inside him. Closing his eyes for a second, he draws one, deep, shaky breath. When he opens his eyes, a different Trent takes his place.

He charges toward me, golden eyes blazing. As he passes the couch, he snatches a blanket from the back of it. I expect him to toss it over my body. To cover me up and insist I can’t possibly know what I want.

But when he reaches the end of the table, he doesn’t look pious at all. That isn’t shame that’s making his eyes blaze.

It’s desire, hot and hungry, and it freezes the breath in my lungs.

Holy shit.

“Spread your legs wider,” Trent commands, dropping the blanket on the floor at the foot of the table. “Before I fuck you, I want to taste what’s tempted me all this time.”

I gasp as he falls to his knees, his broad shoulders pressing me open. This is no clumsy virgin. Not the young boy who fumbled my bra in the back of his car after my junior year homecoming. This version of Trent is commanding and certain.

This Trent knows what he’s doing.

He presses his mouth to the satiny patch that’s hiding my sex. “Oh my God.” I gasp as his breath stirs my arousal. He’s kissing me there— there —through my panties.

It’s further than we’ve ever gone before.

“Jesus,” he breathes, nuzzling my sex through the satin. He brushes his lips over that tight little bud, eyes lifting to mine as he gauges my response.

“Holy fuck.” My response is to bow up beneath him, craving more of this contact, even as part of me wonders how he’s so good at this. Who he learned to touch this way.

I’m clawing the table, writhing under the warmth of his breath, as small bursts of jealousy flare in my chest.

But envy gets pushed to the side by the pleasure of how good this feels. My brain plays a filmstrip of Trent dragging his nose up the seam of another girl’s sex through the sopping-wet lace of her panties. It’s crazy how much I love it. Not just this feeling, but the pictures that play in my brain.

Is this one of my kinks?

Logan’s hands glide up my arms. “That’s it,” he murmurs, stroking his way to the top of my breasts. “Lay back and enjoy.”

I am, and my God —this feels exquisite. Trent already knows how to stir me to simmering without even touching my pussy directly.

But this time, the man has a license to take things beyond that. We’re not stopping this time, and both of us know it. The space around us crackles with static, with the dim electric hum of what’s about to happen.

He tears off my panties, tossing them over his shoulder as he dives in and slides his hot tongue through my seam. I arch off the table and whimper .

“Oh my God.” I’m spiraling, soaring, sailing into orbit. “That feels good.”

“Ankles wrapped behind my neck, Sara.” He sounds bossy and rough, and I love it. “Do it now.”