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Preview from chapter one
Reunited Virgins
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Childhood best friends, both 19-year-old virgins, finally fuck for the first time in slippery clay
Emma’s tires crunched over the gravel drive leading to her grandmother’s old pottery studio, the familiar weathered barn squatting under a canopy of oaks at the edge of nowhere. She’d driven three hours straight after getting Lucas’s message—hey, I’m back, apprenticing here for the summer, you should come—and now her stomach flipped like it used to when they were kids daring each other to jump the creek. Nineteen years old, both of them, and still carrying the same stupid virgin badges after four years apart. College had been a parade of almosts for her: awkward makeouts that fizzled when guys pushed for more, her body locking up every time. She wondered if Lucas had the same problem, if his cock had ever gotten further than his own fist.
She parked and stepped out into the thick afternoon heat, the air already tasting of wet earth and woodsmoke from the kiln. The big sliding doors stood open. Inside, the studio looked exactly as she remembered—shelves of half-finished pots, buckets of slip, the kick wheel in the center crusted with gray clay. And there he was.
Lucas stood at the wedging table, barefoot, jeans rolled to his calves, a faded T-shirt stuck to his back with sweat. His arms worked a massive lump of clay, shoulders flexing, brown hair falling into his eyes. Clay smeared up to his elbows, flecks of it dotted across his cheek and the side of his neck. He’d filled out since high school—broader chest, thicker thighs—but the shy half-smile he flashed when he looked up was pure childhood Lucas.
“Emma.” Her name came out rough, like he hadn’t used it in years. He wiped his hands on a rag that was already filthy, then gave up and just stood there, clay dripping onto the concrete floor. “Holy shit. You actually came.”
“Told you I would.” She stepped closer, the cool of the studio washing over her bare legs. She’d worn a sundress on purpose, soft cotton that hit mid-thigh, nothing underneath but a thin pair of panties because the drive had been hot and she’d wanted to feel the breeze. Now it felt like a mistake and the best idea she’d ever had. His eyes dropped for half a second—down the V of her neckline, over the swell of her breasts, then lower—before jerking back up. She felt the glance like a hand.