Buying The Virgin Part 1-3 novel Chapter 75

I ponder Michael’s words. “You said, You and James can afford…?’ I thought….”

“You thought…. what? He’s the one with all the money?”

“Um, yes.”

“I’m not without. He just talks about it more than I do.”

“Oh… I didn’t realise.”

“Well, you never asked. In fact, I’ll admit that your complete lack of interest in money, apart from the pressing problem of paying for your college fees, is quite refreshing. If more women were like that, I might not have lived the happy life of the bachelor free for so long…”

“I don’t like taking money from you. It feels like…”

He looks at me from the side of his eyes. “Charlotte, we’re getting married. You’re entitled to take money from me.”

I digest this. “You’ve had women after you for your money?”

“There’s been a few.” He grins at me.

The grin is infectious. “Er, one of them wouldn’t have been Marcie by any chance?”

He laughs. “And she hits the gold! Yes, Marcie took a shot at me. That was before Steve of course…. and quite a few others for that matter….” He shudders. “Oh, my God, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Marcie, man’s living nightmare. It makes me itch just thinking about her.” He squeezes my shoulders, still laughing.

“I felt just like that, about that Steve of hers, but you’d better be careful. With Steve knocked out of the running, she might be after you again.”

He snorts. “Charlotte, not if she were the last woman on Earth, would I stick my cock inside Marcie.” He shudders as he chuckles.

I laugh, and he smiles at me, tracing my face with his fingers. “It’s good to see you smile.” I lean into his touch as he strokes my face, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

A breeze springs up and I goose-pimple. Michael feels me shiver. “Want to walk again? Warm up a bit? Perhaps down to the lake?”

We stroll down grassy slopes, the turf sheep-clipped short. At the water’s edge, dragonflies zigzag, lilies spread their green pads across the shallows, framing oyster-pink flowers, seemingly carved from wax. A little way along, old willows line the edge, straddling grassy banks that drop to the narrow gravelly shoreline.

Michael looks around, scanning the landscape.

“What are you looking for?”

He smiles, “Privacy.”

There is no-one about, only the two of us. He leads me by the hand. Under the cover of the trees, in an enclosed bower formed from the weeping of the willow, the air is still and warm, the light dappled green and gold.

He stands before me, my Golden Lover, brushing back errant locks from my face, my hair as rebellious as ever. A hand on either cheek, he bends, brushing his lips against mine; a soft, fleeting touch, utterly sensual, utterly tender.

Even in my current state of mind, my body responds to him, a tingle running through me, smooth and warm. My lips parting, I slip fingers through his hair, drawing him closer.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too.”

“Don’t just say the words,” he says. “When I hear it, I want it to be because you mean it, not because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“Michael, I….”

He presses a finger to my lips, then casts around, looking at the ground. He takes off his jacket, spreading it over the grass. “Lie down,” he murmurs.

Holding me with his eyes, the leaf-mottled sunlight a brilliant halo through his hair, he presses me down, one hand by my waist, one on a shoulder. As I lie back on his jacket, I start to pull up my tee-shirt. He presses my hand down. “No, you’ll be cold. Keep it on. Um, you can take the boots off though.”

Chuckling, I unravel the laces of my walking boots.

He unbuckles my jeans, unzips me and slides them down, along with my panties, leaving me naked below the waist. Kneeling between my legs, he stoops to kiss my belly, my sex.