Sin For Me, Mr. Virgin

CHAPTER 8 : The Wait - Del's Struggle

==Delilah==

Professional.

I could keep this professional.

That's what I told myself as I watched Elliot walk away from the balcony. Shoulders tense. Steps deliberate. Like he was forcing himself not to turn around.

Three days. I'd given him three days.

Given myself three days.

To think. To prepare. To remember why this was a terrible idea.

I made it to my car before the ache between my thighs became unbearable.

This was fine. Normal. Physical attraction to a client was.

No. Not a client. He wasn't my client.

He was just a man I'd agreed to teach.

A gorgeous, brilliant, virgin man who'd looked at me like I was the answer to every question he'd ever had.

Fuck.

I drove home too fast. Hands gripping the wheel. Thighs pressed together.

This was supposed to be simple. Educational. Mutually beneficial.

So why did I feel like I'd just made a deal with the devil?

---

**Day One**

I had three client sessions scheduled.

Got through two of them on autopilot. Nodded in the right places. Asked the appropriate questions. Provided reasonable advice.

But my mind was elsewhere.

On him. On Saturday. On what I'd teach him first.

My third client was a couple struggling with mismatched libidos.

"I just don't feel desired anymore," the wife said. "He never initiates. Never seems interested."

The husband shifted uncomfortably. "I am interested. I just. I don't know how to show it."

"Have you told her what you want?" I asked. "What you find attractive about her?"

"I don't want to be. Crude."

"There's a difference between crude and honest. Tell her one thing. Right now. What about her turns you on?"

He looked at his wife. Hesitated.

"Everything," he said finally. "The way she moves. Her laugh. When she's focused on something and bites her lip."

His wife's eyes filled with tears. "Why don't you ever tell me that?"

"Because I thought you knew."

I watched them. Something twisting in my chest.

When was the last time someone had looked at me like that?

When was the last time someone had seen me? Really seen me?

Elliot had looked at me like that.

On the balcony. When he'd asked me to teach him. His eyes intense. Focused. Like I was the only thing that existed.

"Dr. Santos?" The wife's voice pulled me back. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Sorry. You were saying?"

But I wasn't alright.

Because I'd just realized something terrifying.

I wanted Elliot to look at me like that again.

Not just once. Not just Saturday.

Always.

---

That night I stood under the shower spray. Tried to wash away the day. The thoughts. The want.

The water was hot. Almost too hot.

My hand drifted down my stomach.

Don't.

But I couldn't help it.

I thought about him. About the way he'd trembled when I kissed his palm. The way his breathing had gone ragged.

The way he'd admitted he'd touched himself thinking about me.

My fingers found my c**t. Circled slowly.

I imagined Saturday. Opening the door. Seeing him nervous and eager.

"Come in."

He'd follow me to the bedroom. Hands shaking slightly.

"We'll start slow," I'd say. "Just touching. Learning what you like."

My fingers moved faster.

I'd undress him. Carefully. Learning his body the way I'd promised to teach him mine.

All that lean muscle. Physicist who probably never worked out but was fit anyway. I'd trace the lines of his shoulders. His chest. Lower.

I slipped two fingers inside myself. Gasped at the contact.

In my fantasy, I'd wrap my hand around his c**k. Stroke him slowly while watching his face.

"Tell me how this feels."

"Good. So good."

"Where do you want me to touch you?"

"Everywhere."

The water pounded against my back. My fingers worked faster.

I imagined taking him in my mouth. Teaching him what I liked. Showing him how to guide me. How much pressure. When to go faster.

He'd watch with those intense eyes. Memorizing everything.

Then I'd climb on top of him. Guide him inside.

"Oh god, Delilah."

I came hard against my hand. Legs shaking. Had to brace myself against the tile.

The orgasm was good.

But it wasn't enough.

Nothing was going to be enough until Saturday.

---

**Day Two**

Maya called.

"Lunch?" she asked. "You sound stressed."

"I'm fine."

"You're never fine when you say you're fine. Spill."

We met at our usual place. She ordered salads. I ordered wine.

"It's noon," she pointed out.

"It's wine o'clock somewhere."

"Okay, what happened?"

"I met someone."

Her face lit up. "Finally! Who is he? What does he do?"

"He's a physicist."

"Smart. I like it. How'd you meet?"

"He accidentally walked into my lecture."

"Cute meet. And?"

"And I. We're. I'm going to teach him about sex."

Maya blinked. "Come again?"

"He's inexperienced. Asked if I'd teach him. I said yes."

"Del. You're going to sleep with a client?"

"He's not a client."

"Semantics."

"It's not like that. It's. Consensual. Mutual. Educational."

"Educational." She stared at me. "You're falling for him."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are. I can see it on your face."

"I barely know him."

"That's never stopped chemistry."

She had a point.

"What if it's a mistake?" I asked quietly.

"What if it's not?"

"I don't do relationships, Maya. You know that."

"Because your mother was a disaster? Del, you're not her."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because you've been using your childhood as an excuse to avoid connection for years."

"This isn't about my mother."

"Isn't it?"

I took a long drink of wine. Didn't answer.

"When do you see him again?" Maya asked.

"Saturday."

"Two days."

"Yes."

"Are you ready?"

"I don't know."

That night I couldn't sleep.

Lay in bed. Stared at the ceiling. Thought about him.

Wondered what he was doing. If he was thinking about me. If he was touching himself again.

The thought made me wet.

I reached for my nightstand drawer. Pulled out my vibrator.

Turned it on. The familiar buzz filled the quiet room.

Pressed it against my c**t. Too much at first. I adjusted. Found the right pressure.

Closed my eyes. Let myself imagine.

Saturday night. He'd arrive right on time. Nervous but determined.

I'd pour us wine. Talk first. Make sure he was comfortable.

Then I'd take his hand. Lead him to my bedroom.

"Lesson one," I'd say. "Learning to touch."

I'd guide his hands over my body. Over my clothes first. Teaching him to feel my responses.

"See how my breathing changes when you touch me here?"

He'd be so attentive. So focused. Those intelligent eyes cataloging everything.

Then I'd let him undress me. Slowly. Learning each piece of clothing. Each newly exposed inch of skin.

The vibrator hummed against me. Building pressure.

In my fantasy, he'd worship my breasts. Tentative at first. Then bolder when I told him what I liked.

"Harder. Use your mouth. Yes. Like that."

He'd learn fast. He'd said he would. And I believed him.

My hips rocked against the toy.

Then I'd teach him how to touch me between my legs. His fingers exploring. Learning. Finding what made me gasp.

"Right there. That's perfect. Don't stop."

I was close. So close.

In my fantasy, I'd come on his fingers. While he watched. Learning exactly what I looked like when I fell apart.

Then it would be his turn.

The vibrator hit the right spot.

I came hard. Back arching off the bed. A moan escaping my lips.

For a moment, everything was perfect.

Then reality crashed back.

One more day.

One more endless day.

---

**Night Before**

I couldn't do this.

Couldn't teach him. Couldn't be that close to him without completely losing my mind.

This was supposed to be simple. Educational. Professional.

But I was lying naked in my bed at eleven PM edging myself for the third time and thinking about a man I'd known for three days.

The vibrator buzzed against my c**t. Right at the edge. Right where one more second would send me over.

I pulled it away.

My body screamed in protest.

This was torture. Self-inflicted torture.

But I couldn't stop.

I'd been doing this for an hour. Building myself up. Bringing myself right to the edge. Then stopping.

Over and over.

Like I was trying to prove I still had control. Still had discipline.

I pressed the vibrator against myself again. The lowest setting. Barely enough stimulation.

My hips lifted. Chasing more.

"This is madness," I gasped to my empty bedroom.

I was a professional. A s*x therapist. I'd helped hundreds of people navigate intimacy.

And I was falling apart over a virgin physicist I barely knew.

"He's just a..."

But I couldn't finish the thought.

Because he wasn't just anything.

He was brilliant. Vulnerable. Honest in a way that made my chest ache.

He'd looked at me like I mattered. Like I wasn't just a body or a therapist or a resource.

Like I was someone worth knowing.

The vibrator hummed. I was so close. So desperately close.

One more second and I'd come. I'd finally get relief.

My finger moved toward the power button. Ready to turn it up. To finish this.

The doorbell rang.

I froze.

It rang again.

Who the

hell was at my door at midnight?

I turned off the vibrator. Grabbed a robe. Tied it hastily.

Stumbled to the door. Still shaking. Still so close to orgasm it hurt.

Looked through the peephole.

My breath stopped.

Elliot.

Standing in my hallway at midnight. Hair disheveled. Looking as wrecked as I felt.

I opened the door.

"I can't wait another day," he said.