Chapter 7

7

PRESLEY

A judge's robe and a graduation gown weren't all that different.

That's what I was thinking as I threw the robe over my head and looked around for a mirror. When I couldn't find one, instinct had me looking for my phone, only to remember I'd left it in my tote bag, which was out there with the man who was going to take my virginity.

"Presley?"

The sound of Trace's voice as he searched the halls for me sent my heart rate into overdrive. I climbed up on the edge of the desk in this small room that had a nameplate on the door, clearly marking it as belonging to the judge. It was an office. Did this qualify as the judge's chambers? If so, losing my virginity in here would be extra hot.

"In here!" I yelled, crossing my legs and looking down.

There was nothing sexy about this robe. I thought about hiking it up to my thighs, but then Trace might not know exactly what it was. No, I'd save that for once he got a look at me.

I half-expected him to call out, saying he still wasn't sure where I was, but a few seconds later, I heard a click and then the doorknob turned. Slowly, it opened and he peeked in, those gorgeous eyes widening when he got a look at what I was up to.

"Is that Judge Odom's robe?" Trace asked, closing the door behind him and leaning against it.

No man had ever looked at me the way Trace was looking at me right now. The heat in his stare went straight to the warm, tingly area between my legs. I knew there was a name for that body part, but even thinking that word made me blush.

I uncrossed and recrossed my legs as I lifted the hem slightly. "I'm wearing nothing under here. Do you think he'll mind?"

"She," Trace said.

I tilted my head, confused. "The judge?"

He nodded. "Judge Odom is a woman."

Whoa. Why had I assumed the judge was a man? The robe was on the smallish side, so it made sense it was a woman's.

"Do you think she'll mind?" I asked.

"Hopefully she'll never know, but we have to take it off before we get anything on it."

Bodily fluids. That's what he was assuming we'd get on it. I looked down at the robe, mostly to avoid blushing and showing just how much of an amateur I was.

"You go first," I said. "If I lift this over my head, I'll be completely naked."

My face felt warm. I was blushing, and I was looking right at him this time. So much for downplaying my amateur status.

"You've got it."

As he said the words, he'd already pushed away from the door and was unbuttoning the dress shirt he'd worn. It didn't seem like his normal attire. I wondered if he'd dressed up for me.

All coherent thought went by the wayside as soon as I got a look at what was going on under that shirt. Muscles. Pecs and abs and biceps. With each inch of his bare body he revealed, my body temperature increased by a degree or two. I might even have to start fanning myself soon.

And then he reached for the fastening on his pants and that unmentionable area of my body contracted a little. Was that normal? I was warm and wet, but I hadn't expected things to move down there.

He dropped the pants and kicked off his shoes to remove them. That left him wearing navy blue underwear with a gray waistband. But what I couldn't stop staring at was the bulge behind the material. I knew that meant he had an erection, but it was much bigger than I expected.

Did that mean his penis was big?

"Have you ever seen a man naked?" he asked.

I shook my head, my eyes wide. "Not in person."

"Really?" he asked. "You've seen a penis before, though."

I nodded, almost a little embarrassed to admit it. "I've watched porn."

He had his hands in the elastic waistband, but my words froze his movements. "Did you touch yourself while you watched it?"

I started to say no. If anyone else had asked me that question, that was exactly what I would have said. But I could open up to this guy. It would turn him on to know the truth.

"I tried," I said. "I never could make it happen."

His eyebrows rose. "Make what happen?"

"You know."

He shook his head. "No, I don't know."

"An orgasm. It was embarrassing, really. I looked up online exactly what to do. I tried and tried. But it was like there was some sort of mental block. There are some women who can't orgasm. I might be one of them."

He'd see that as a challenge. He was a guy—of course, he would. He'd say he was sure he could make me come. And then I'd feel pressured to make it happen, and I might even have that same mental block all over again.

"Show me," he said.

I'd been so sure of how he'd react, the two words threw me. "Show you what?"

"Show me how you touch yourself."

"I only tried a couple of times. I'm sure I was doing it wrong."

"Show me," he repeated. "I want to see."

"With the robe on?"

"Whatever makes you comfortable."

Earlier, he mentioned taking it off to avoid getting something on it. That was probably a wise idea now, but it acted like a security blanket of sorts.

So I struck a compromise. I wiggled around, pulling it up above my hips, leaving it covering the top half while I bared the bottom half of my body to him.

I should feel terrified at the prospect of a man seeing that part of me. I'd never even seen it—not the way he would. But instead, I was exhilarated. Maybe I was more adventurous sexually than I imagined I'd be.

"Now uncross your legs," he said, leaning against the door again.

He had a slight smile on his face. And it was the sexiest sight I'd ever seen. Biting my lip, I did exactly as he commanded by uncrossing my legs, but I still kept them close together.

I knew that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted me to show him what was between my legs.

But he didn't say that. He just watched me, not even speaking at all.

And suddenly I knew what would make this easier. "I want to watch you," I said.

"Watch me?" he asked.

"Touch yourself."

This time, I didn't blush as I said the words. Was that progress? I hoped so.

His smile widened as he pushed away from the door again and returned his thumbs to the elastic waistband of his underwear. This time, he didn't freeze in that position. He lowered the underwear and tossed it over on his pile of clothes, then straightened as I struggled to remember how to breathe.

He leaned back against the door again and wrapped his hand around his erection. He didn't move it, though, just holding it in place as though waiting for something.

He was waiting for my next move. And I knew what it had to be.

Keeping my eyes on his groin area, I parted my legs. I moved my left hand behind me, palm flattened on the desk to prop myself up as my right hand slid between my legs. When my finger touched down on that little nub I knew was called a clit, my eyes shuttered closed. Not because it felt good, but because I didn't want to think about being watched while doing this. It made me too self-conscious.

So I pretended I was alone in my bedroom, in my bed, under the sheets, in the dark. No one could see me. No one would know.

"Do you think it's bad to touch yourself?" Trace asked. "Did someone tell you it was wrong?"

My eyes popped open, and my finger froze. I shook my head.

"It was something we didn't discuss in my house," I said. "We went to church every Sunday, where we were taught that if we wanted to get to heaven, we had to be good. We had to try to avoid sin and ask for forgiveness if we did the wrong thing."

"So you think it's a sin?" he asked.

I thought about that a long moment. "Not really. I just feel like someone's watching me, and I'm not talking about you. In general. Like someone above is watching me do this and it's putting me on a bad list."

Trace narrowed his eyes at me, and in that moment, I knew I was safe here. He wasn't judging me. And that was why I could be more honest than I'd ever been with anyone.

"It's a perfectly normal thing," he said. "Everyone does it. Okay, maybe not everyone, but a lot of people. Probably most of the women you know. I plan to give you orgasms every day for the rest of your life if you want them. But I also want to teach you to pleasure yourself if I'm not around to do it for you."

I heard one part of what he'd just said. He planned to give me an orgasm every day for the rest of my life. That meant he saw a future with me, right?

"Move your finger over your clit," he said. "Start slowly."

That was exactly what I was doing. I wasn't sure how I could go any slower. But I did make my movements more deliberate as he watched.

"Are you wet?" he asked.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat and nodded. "Yes."

The word came out sounding like a croak. I might be wet down there, but my mouth felt like it was filled with cotton.

"Close your eyes," he said. "Picture my tongue moving over your clit as I stroke myself. I'm so hard for you, I'm having a hard time holding out. But I know soon enough, I'll slide my cock into that sweet, sweet pussy."

A sound escaped my throat then, but I didn't care. My body was warming up, especially in that area. It felt like electricity was shooting through me from head to toe.

"I can't wait to come inside you," he said. "I can't wait to feel your tight pussy."

"Oh!"

That time I cried out, but it sounded like it came from somewhere far away. My entire world was focused on the sensations rolling through my body. My pussy began contracting again, this time throbbing as adrenaline pumped through me.

When it was over, all I could do was smile. I'd had my first orgasm. And I'd done it while he was watching me.

I opened my eyes to see Trace stroking himself. He pushed away from the door and started toward me, his eyes on my face. This was it. We were going to make love. Nothing could stop us.

"I'll be right back," he said, coming to a sudden stop, then starting to walk backward. "Don't move."