Newly Exposed (43 page)

“What happened to trust, muffin?” I teased.
 

“There is plenty of trust; I just hate surprises.”

“You didn’t say that last night when Just-In Beaver gave you an impromptu concert in the shower.”

Laughing, she said, “I hate you.”

“Sorry, can’t fool me, muffin. I know the undying love you have for me.”

“Can’t fool you,” she said, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Always a ball buster. “Are we almost there?”

“Yes, Miss Impatient. I mean, damn, can’t a guy be romantic?”

Growing a serious face that held a bit of a smirk, she said, “I’m sorry, romance away.”

“Thank you.”
 

I sat her down on our lounge, then sat next to her and pulled off her blindfold. She blinked for a second and then took in the scene in front of her.
 

There was a big white sheet against the side of the house, which I’d moved our lounge in front of, and I’d hung some lights across the lawn on poles to add some mood lighting. Behind us was a projector, and in front of us were some snacks, and most importantly, some cinnamon buns.
 

She cocked an eyebrow and said, “What do you have planned in that head of yours?”

“Don’t worry; the buns are for eating,” I wiggled my eyebrows at her, making her laugh. “Ever since I met you, from the very first date we shared, we’ve bonded over the most electrifying and mind blowing series in cinematic history,
Star Wars,
and what I realized is that we’ve shamefully never watched them together, so Solo, my little muffin, will you geek out with me?”

Her smile melted my heart as she said, “Are you asking to have a
Star Wars
-a-thon with me?”

“I believe I am,” I said seriously.
 

“That’s a big commitment. Are you ready for something that serious?”

“Oh, I am. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life,” I answered.

“Then I think it’s time you cuddle the fuck out of me,” she said with a sly grin.

“Is that a challenge? Because you know I can cuddle you so fucking hard.”

“Prove it,” she said with a lifted chin.
 

I pulled her between my legs and made her rest her back against my chest. I pulled out a remote and started
A New Hope
, the first movie in the ONLY
Star Wars
trilogy. We sat in silence as the opening text of one of the most brilliant movies of all time started to scroll across the screen.
 

She sighed into my chest and I leaned over to her ear, gave her a soft kiss, and said, “I love you, muffin, so fucking much.”

She bent her head back to look up at me and smiled that gorgeous smile of hers, which continued the steady rhythm of my heart.

“I love you, too, Adam.”

Kissing her lips, I relished the feel of her body against mine, and then turned back to the screen. This woman in my arms was it for me. I would never walk alone again, no more endless nights, no more burden of pain hanging over my shoulders, not when I had Solo in my arms. I gave her all of me, and she gave me all of her; we were one beating heart.
 

The sex part of a relationship was easy, taking off your clothes and making love to someone, but it’s the act of stripping down your soul, baring yourself to someone else, letting them know your dreams and goals, that’s what truly makes you exposed, and until you do that, until you completely strip your emotions open for the one person in your life who can make you or break you, then you’re not living.
 

I’ve never felt more exposed or alive in my entire life with Solo in my arms, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.
 

Keep clicking through for a sneak peek at chapter one from The Virgin Romance Novelist!

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If you enjoyed Newly Exposed, check out some of my other books…

The Virgin Romance Novelist

The Bourbon Series

Becoming a Jett Girl

Being a Jett Girl

Forever a Jett Girl

The Hot-Lanta Series

Caught Looking

Playing the Field

Warning Track

The Love and Sports Series

Fair Catch

Double Coverage

Three and Out

The Warblers Point Series

Beers, Hens and Irishmen

Beers, Lies and Alibis

The Addiction Series

Toxic

Fame

The Virgin Romance Novelist

Meghan Quinn

Chapter One

The Briar Patch

Her bosom heaved at an alarming rate as his rough hand found its way down to her soft, yet wiry briar patch…

“Briar patch? What the hell are you writing?”

“Jesus!” I screamed, as I slammed my computer screen of my laptop shut. “Henry, you can’t just walk up on me and start reading my stories.”

“Stories?” he asked, while creasing his brow. “Bosom, briar patch? Are you writing a sex scene?”

“Why, yes. In fact, I am,” I said, while sticking my chin up in the air.
 

He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “What the hell are you referring to as a briar patch?”

Feeling the heat of his question start to show on my face, I turned from him in my chair and stacked up my notes so they were neatly put together. Briar patch was a well-respected term to use to refer to a lady’s’ private area, at least that’s what my mother taught me.
 

“Rosie, what were you referring to?”

Clearing my throat and with my chest puffed out, I looked him in the eyes and said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was referring to a lady’s peaceful pleasure garden.”

I watched as Henry carefully studied me with those blue green eyes of his that have spent the last six years studying me and my eccentricities. He was my first ever true friend, and he accepted me for who I was the first day we met: a homeschooled, sheltered, naïve girl being thrown into her first day of college.
 

Finally, he threw his head back and laughed, causing me to tense immediately; even though we were best friends, I still felt self-conscious about my lack of “modern verbiage.”
 

“What’s so funny?” I asked, while holding my notebook close to my chest.
 

“Rosie, please tell me you don’t call a lady’s vagina her pleasure garden.”

“Henry,” I hushed him.
 

That garnered another laugh from him as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and walked me out of my room of the apartment we shared together with our other roommate, Delaney.
 

“Rosie, if you can’t say vagina out loud, then there is no way you will be able to write about throbbing penises and aroused nipples.”

Heat washed through me at the mention of a throbbing penis, something I’ve never experienced firsthand. The only penises I’ve seen were courtesy of Tumblr and some careful Googling. I would rather study one in person, because from what I could see from the Internet and what I’ve read in other romance novels, they had a mind of their own…twitching and rising when aroused. I was fascinated to see an actual boner take place. What would happen if I touched it? That was a question that was constantly on my mind.
 

Growing up, I was very much sheltered by my parents. I was homeschooled and spent many days on the beach or in my room reading. Anything written by Jane Austen was my go-to book, until I found one of my mother’s dirty novels in her night stand. We didn’t talk about sex, ever, so it fascinated me to read a book about heaving breasts and thick bulges. I couldn’t help it; I was hooked.
 

Ever since then, I’ve been reading romance novels. When I was young, I would only read in the library, so I was never caught by my mom, and I got away with it. During college, I focused on my school work, so it wasn’t until I graduated that I started reading again, feeding the passion for romance inside of me.
 

“Hey, are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Delaney, my best friend and roommate asked as she looked at me with her hand on her robe-covered hip and her hair tucked up into a towel.
 

“Umm, no,” I said with an innocent smile. When did Delaney even show up? “What were you saying?”

Rolling her eyes, Delaney repeated herself, “Have you started writing your romance novel again?”

The way Delaney said romance novel in her haughty voice was a little frustrating. I had known Henry and Delaney since my freshman year in college, where we met at freshman orientation and found out we were all majoring in English. For those four years, we had the same classes, same schedules and same housing. We moved off campus after our freshman year and lived in a small three bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, where we currently still live.
 

Unluckily for me, the walls are thin, the space is tight, and I unfortunately get to know every single person my roommates bring home on an intimate level. Henry was a ladies’ man, no surprise there, given his tanned skin, blue-green eyes and brown hair that was styled just right. Delaney, on the other hand, had a couple of relationships throughout college, but was now serious with her latest boo, Derk. Yes, Derk. Hideous name, especially when it’s screamed at the top of Delaney’s lungs as her headboard slams against my wall.
 

Now that we’ve graduated, we’re still living together, but going our separate ways in the work force. Henry got a job with one of the top marketing firms, Bentley Marketing, editing ads, and Delaney is working as a freelance writer for
Cosmopolitan
. She started writing articles about anything from haircuts for the summer to how to maximize your orgasm count in a night. I had that article saved in my notebook, as research.
 

Me, well, I wasn’t as lucky when it came to the job force and was unfortunately offered a job at
Friendly Felines,
where I write about the new and upcoming clumping formulas in cat litter. Our offices are located in Manhattan, but in the smallest of buildings, where my boss insists upon having a gaggle of unneutered and randy cats, who seem to be in heat every day. Have you ever listened to a cat whine from needing a little attention when in heat? Yeah, sounds like its dying. Try writing in an environment like that. I’m a walking fur ball when I leave work.
 

To keep myself from ending up as a crazy cat lady who doesn’t mind when she eats thirty percent cat hair with each meal, I decided to write a romance novel. I’m the girl who lives in fantasies where love always prevails and a hero is just waiting around the corner to swoop in on his white horse to save you. Given my love for love and my ability to get lost in my writing, I didn’t think it would be so hard to write my first romance, given the fact that it’s my favorite genre, but I forgot about one little speed bump in that plan. I was still a virgin.
 

Answering Delaney’s question, I said, “Yes, I’ve started writing it again. I felt like it was time to revisit Fabio and Mayberry.”

“Please tell me you did not actually name your character Fabio,” Henry said with a snort, while he went to the fridge and pulled out three beers.
 

“What’s wrong with Fabio?” I asked, slightly offended. “I will have you know, Fabio was a well to do name in the eighties and nineties for the romance genre. He’s the king of all romance. You just can’t go wrong with a name like that.”

“Rosie, you know I love you, but I think you need to get your head out of your books for a few hours and realize we’re not living in the eighties and nineties anymore. We’re living in an age of Christian Grey and Jett Colby, dominant men with kinky sides. Stop reading that heaving bosom shit and get your head in the here and now,” Delaney chastised me.
 

“There is nothing wrong with a heaving bosom,” I defended, thinking about what I was just writing. What else would bosoms do in the heat of passion? Jiggle? Jiggling reminded me of my Aunt Emily and her Jell-O salad, not two passionate humans rubbing bodies together.

“There sure is,” Henry said, as he handed Delaney and I each a beer. “When I have a girl writhing under me, I’m not thinking, damn look at her heaving bosom. I’m thinking, shit, her tits are jiggling so damn fast from my thrusts that I’m going to blow it all in a second.” Of course, he would say jiggling.