My first, My last

My First,
My Last

by Lacey Silks

Kobo Edition

Copyright 2012 © Lacey Silks

Kobo
License Notes

This ebook is
licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or
given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.
If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased
for your use only, then please return to Kobobooks.com and purchase your own
copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Publisher’s Note

This book is a work
of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the
author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be
constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events,
locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights are
reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the
publisher and author.

Warning: the
unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
Criminal copyright infringement, influding infringement without monetary gain,
is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a
fine of $250,000.

This book is for
sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains sexually explicit scenes which may be
considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot
be accessed by minors.

ISBN-978-0-9878772-8-4

Widowed two years ago, Rose is ready for a new relationship.
She’s considered following her heart to look for the man she made love to for
the first time but her ex’s frivolous lifestyle has kept her from finding Jake
in Venice. When she opened her front door, he was the last person she expected.
Now, as he stands on her doorstep Rose needs to decide whether to give the man
who took her virginity a chance at a life together. While her mind tells her to
be careful, her body longs to be taken by him once again.

There’s nothing more that Rose wants than for her first
lover to be her last.

My First, My Last is an Erotic Romance short story,
approximately 5300 words (250 words/page). Contains adult content and graphic
sex scenes.

CONTENTS

Beginning

Middle

End

About the Author

More
work by Lacey Silks

Connect
with me online

To all our firsts

***

The full moon shone through the black
leaves above our heads. The aroma of apples in the orchard wafted on the light
breeze. I knew it must be after ten because I’d left my aunt’s house at a
quarter to, and the walk took just under fifteen minutes. We’d been standing in
an embrace for longer than that. Meeting Jake every day was a necessity. Any
minute away from my boyfriend was a wasted one. I needed him like I needed air.
Each morning, I ran through the yellow grain field to meet him right after
breakfast. A last kiss goodnight stolen in the evening meant I’d sleep well,
dreaming of him.

My aunt wouldn’t be upset if I missed my ten o’clock curfew,
so I continued to enjoy Jake’s warm embrace, letting my head rest against his
steady chest. Only two weeks of our summer vacation remained before I would fly
back home overseas with a heartache, more than four thousand miles away from
Jake. For the next ten months, I’d write him letters, telling him about school,
my friends, how much I missed him and loved him; and most importantly, how many
days remained until I saw him in July. This was our second summer together—out
of many more, I hoped.

My heart pounded. I took a deep breath and lifted my head.

“I want you to be my first,” I whispered against Jake’s lips.
The apple tree gave enough shadow from the moonlight to cover my heated cheeks.

He pulled away just enough for the moon to light his face. His
mouth curved up with an innocence of a sixteen-year-old boy. I knew my decision
meant as much to Jake as it did to me. Jake loved me, and there was no one else
I would ever love more than him. Ever. This was it.

“Really? Are you sure about this?” He took me by my shoulders.

“I’ve thought about it for ten months. It’ll happen
eventually, and I want it to be you. At least I know you love me.” The
confidence in my voice surprised even me.

“Of course I love you. I’ll love you until I die. You just
made me the happiest man on earth.” He pressed his lips hard against mine. His
shorts filled at their front as he glided his hands to the small of my back,
pulling my pelvis toward him. The bark of the apple tree scraped my neck, and I
arched my back toward him.

“Tomorrow night. Meet me here at nine thirty. I know the
perfect spot.” He nuzzled his nose into my hair.

We kissed for another fifteen minutes before I ran off
toward my aunt’s house. Jake followed me, as he always did when we returned
from the orchard, like a gentleman. One last kiss goodnight and I snuck up the
stone stairs. I looked back just before Jake’s highlighted hair disappeared
around the corner, then leaned back against the wall to calm my heavy breaths.

Yes, Jake would be my first.

Twenty years later

I had imagined this moment for more than twenty years, even
secretly while I was married. The boy with blond highlights and a loop through his
left earlobe hadn’t left my mind for over two decades. But now that Jake stood
at my doorstep holding two dozen roses—not a boy but a man—I didn’t know what
to say. I let my experienced eyes scan him from bottom up without him noticing.
The washed-out jeans and new black sweater suited his physique. His subtle
cologne didn’t completely cover the smell of the store’s fresh clothing. My
thoughts became lewd and dirty in an instant, but that’s because I’d had them
about the first man I’d made love to for twenty years.

It seems like yesterday.
I swallowed through my dry
throat.

But I had only known him as a teenage boy, not as a man. I
often wondered whether his kisses would be as tender as they were when we were
teens. Did I want them tender, or as rough as I’d imagined, ones that would
penetrate my core and satisfy me for hours? I doubted I could get enough of Jake.
If his teenage inexperience was any indication of his future sexual abilities,
then I was sure Jake could satisfy my needs and desires.

We locked our gaze for a few minutes. I’d never forgotten the
way those blue eyes pierced my soul. He was clean-shaven, but I pondered
whether the day-old stubble would tickle me when he roamed my body. The
roughness of his jaw line and defined cheekbones made my mouth dry up even
more. Perhaps it was because I was no longer a girl and had unsatisfied needs.
A shiver flew through me when I recalled my lustful dreams of us together, as a
man and a woman, and I finally got the courage to speak.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I’m sorry to hear about your loss.” He handed me the
bouquet. The deeper tone sent another wave of jitters through my body.

“Thank you.” I stared, wishing I’d worn something sexier
than sweat pants and a tank top. “What loss?”

“Your husband. May I come in, Rose?” he asked.

The sound of crickets chimed in the distance.

“Yes, of course.” I gestured for him to enter. The way my
name rolled off his tongue brought back memories from the orchard. When his
back was turned to me, I tugged at my ponytail and pulled the elastic off my
hair. It fell to my shoulders, cradling my cheeks. After locking the door I turned
on my heel to face him again. “Jake, it’s been two years since my husband
passed.”

“I needed to see you.”

Needed.

“You did?” The memory of the girl in the orchard rushed
through me. Vulnerable and open to anything he’d suggest. If Jake were to throw
me on the hall floor and had his way with me now, I’d be in heaven. My knees felt
as weak as cotton balls. I bit my bottom lip and knew my eyes had softened.

Jake looked as good as I had always remembered. A little
taller than the last time I’d seen him, his arms muscular and chest high. The
ruffled hair suited him much better than the mullet he used to wear.

It’d be fun to run my fingers through his hair, maybe
pull on it a little.

I felt a lump in my throat, and my breath quickened. I
hadn’t been with a man in three months. At my age, sexual needs drove me to the
brink of a breakdown. When they said women in their thirties were in their
prime, they weren’t lying. There was only so much that my fingers and a
vibrator could accomplish. My body was starving, but I couldn’t imagine a man
from twenty years ago filling the need that tickled me between the legs and wet
my underwear, could I? Of course I could! Making love to Jake would be exactly
that, because I had never stopped loving him.

I shook my head to get back to reality. What was I thinking?
Why had seeing him created such an overwhelming rush of emotions?

I crossed my arms over my chest, realizing I hadn’t put on a
bra this morning and that with the thoughts that were running through my mind,
my nipples had ripened to their fullest. Thankfully Jake had turned away.

“Is this a good place to talk?” He pointed to the table in
the dinette.

“Let’s go to the back.” I gestured toward the patio door
that led to the private back yard. The house was set on six acres of land, secluded
in a clearing of a forest just outside of town.

Jake must have jumped the front gate.

We stepped out to the back. The wicker patio set included a
double lounge. I’d pictured us on that mattress several times in the past few
months. My wanton thoughts always wandered back to Jake, especially in the past
three months of torturous abstinence. I wasn’t ready to give in to my new
boyfriend, the first serious one since my husband’s death – or perhaps I didn’t
want to. Secretly, I’d wanted to make a trip to Venice before making any
commitments, so I could perhaps run into Jake. But I hadn’t spoken with him
since my husband’s passing and didn’t even know whether he still lived there.
Rushing off to see an ex-boyfriend just after my husband’s passing might have rubbed
my family the wrong way.

“Please, have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?” I asked,
noting my glass of red wine on the patio table. The dozen candles scattered
around the patio glowed in the night.

“No. I’ll try to make it quick.” His brisk tone surprised me.

Quick? You just got here!

“Why? Are you in a hurry?”

“No. But I’m afraid that if I don’t say what I should have
said twenty years ago, I’ll lose my nerve and lose you again.”

“Oh.” I plopped down in the chair beside him. Yes, I was
brave enough to be this close to Jake. I didn’t want to lose him either. The
moment I opened the door, I knew I wouldn’t let him leave. Though I hadn’t seen
him for twenty years, my heart beat as strongly in Jake’s presence as it had
the day we parted. My feelings for him had never changed.

“Do you live here now?” I asked. Jake and I had been on
different continents most of our lives. It’s what had kept me away from him: distance.
Should it have? Should we have worked harder to be together? With my legs curled
under me, I sat crossed-legged. The cool air felt liberating when I opened my
legs. The tingling had become unbearable, and a bit more freedom would cool
down the urge below my navel. Or so I hoped.

“No. I’m still in Venice.” We had corresponded before my
husband’s death, as good friends. He’d given me advice, and I’d helped him
through his divorce. I had always felt guilty during my marriage for keeping in
touch with a man who owned a piece of my heart, but there was no other way.
Jake would forever be in my life, no matter whom I was with.

I’d had a happy and fulfilling marriage, and a wonderful
career—but the heart doesn’t lie. Of course I loved my husband. But once a girl’s
heart is stolen, it’s never returned. Jake possessed a piece of my heart, and
he knew it. Was I still in his as well? Was there a chance his feelings for me
remained, as mine had for him?

“Are you here on business then?” My chest tightened as if a stone
were sitting on top of my lungs every second.

“No, Rose. I’m here to see you.” He locked his gaze with
mine again. The clear eyes mesmerised me, and I wanted to get lost in them. I
wanted him to be lost within me. I let my full breath out, feeling the tingle
between my legs increase. Each word he spoke sent a shock through my body,
right down to my sex.

Oh. He flew from Venice to see me...

“I shouldn’t have let you go. I lost years thinking about
you and only you and how stupid I was to let you go.”

“It was a mutual decision. We were young. It wasn’t your
fault,” I tried to explain.

He looked relieved. Was this really happening? The rational
part of my brain argued that I didn’t know him. He was a man, not the boy I’d
known.

I recalled our decision when I was sixteen to see other
people. Our long-distance relationship had lasted more than two years, but
being away for the next ten months proved difficult. And we didn’t know whether
I could travel to Europe to see him the next summer. University was two years
away. I had to work to save money for school. And so we’d decided to see how it
went. See other people. Try to be teenagers on two different continents.