Virgin in New York_An Older Man Younger Woman Romance, page 1part #59 of Man Who Knows What He Wants Series
VIRGIN IN NEW YORK
AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE
A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 59
A Man Who Knows What He Wants Series
Virgin in New York
Copyright © 2018 by Flora Ferrari.
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.
A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS
Book 1: Baby Lust
Book 2: Veteran
Book 3: Built
Book 4: Bambino
Book 5: Rescued
Book 6: Leader
Book 7: Professor
Book 8: Burned
Book 9: Worldly
Book 10: Pistol
Book 11: Policed
Book 12: Driven
Book 13: Lucky 13
Book 14: Lumberjacked
Book 15: Protector
Book 16: Carpenter
Book 17: Italian Stallion
Book 18: Gardener
Book 19: Budapest Billionaire’s Virgin
Book 20: Billionaire’s Babysitter
Book 21: Cocky CFO
Book 22: Fireman’s Filthy 4th
Book 23: Mechanic
Book 24: SEAL’s Secret
Book 25: Police, Pooch, and Smooch
Book 26: Fireman’s Fake Fiancée
Book 27: Billionaire’s Virgin Ballerina
Book 28: Bitcoin Billionaire’s Babysitter
Book 29: Veterans Day Daddy
Book 30: Cowboy’s Christmas Carol
Book 31: Police Officer’s Princess
Book 32: Statham
Book 33: Bodyguard
Book 34: Greek God
Book 35: Billionaire Single Dad's Babysitter
Book 36: Mountain Man
Book 37: SEAL’s Justice
Book 38: Royal Romance
Book 39: Doctor Mountain Man’s Special Delivery
Book 40: Crocodile Dan D
Book 41: Mountain Man’s Secret Baby
Book 42: Doctor Bad Boy’s Secret Baby
Book 43: Cop’s Babysitter
Book 44: Nanny for the Cop Next Door
Book 45: Small Town SEAL’s Saving Grace
Book 46: Cop’s Fake Fiancée
Book 47: Billionaire’s Nanny
Book 48: Cowboy’s Babysitter
Book 49: Steamy
Book 50: Brother’s Best Friend
Book 51: Possessive Professor
Book 52: Firefighter’s Babysitter
Book 53: Soldier’s Secret Baby
Book 54: Ward’s Independence Day
Book 55: Doctor Next Door
Book 56: Possessive Policeman
Book 57: Coached by the MMA Fighter
Book 58: Boss’s Babysitter
Book 59: Virgin in New York
VIRGIN IN NEW YORK
When I move to NYC for college I take everything with me…including my virginity.
I’m too naive for New York, and apparently I’m not the only one. My dad’s best friend and I fall victim to one of my dad’s jokes, but will dad be laughing when his younger woman daughter falls for his older man best friend?
I made a deal with myself to remain a virgin until I met the perfect guy, and I know this international art dealer is the real deal and it’s finally time for my first time here in the city that never sleeps.
Can two artists paint the perfect picture of a New York romance, or will my dad decide our big apple romance is rotten and pull me out of NYC and away from my dad’s best friend, the only man who deserves my virginity and a whole lot more…forever?
*Virgin in New York is an insta-everything standalone romance with an HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
“The vase to your left is the most expensive piece of Chinese porcelain to ever sell at auction,” the tour guide at the Gotham Gallery in Manhattan, New York says. “And to imagine that the owner didn’t know it’s value having only insured it to £800 while it sat atop a wobbly bookcase in his living room before selling it for £53 million.”
I look around the other members of our tour group at the sixteen inch vase. All I see is some flower holder with a couple of glamorized crap on it. Coy fish? Just call the darn things crap already.
But then again that’s why I’m here today.
I don’t want my family friend Alex, who I’ll be staying with this summer here in NYC, to think I’m a complete hick. I need to get some culture, and some sun after months of locking myself in my room to prepare for my stint at Parsons, before meeting up with Alex later tonight.
All I know about her is that she’s an elegant art dealer here in New York. I don’t want to embarass my entire family with my lack of knowledge so I figured I’d spend the afternoon seeing some things at the Gotham Gallery so I could at least pretend to have something to talk about at dinner this evening.
Not to mention I can’t check-in to her apartment before seven o’clock tonight so I have to kill the time somehow. A quick tour of the gallery and then to the tourist storage locker I rented to hold my luggage and a taxi to Alex’s and I’ll finally get to take a shower to remove that airplane feeling from my body and hair. Yuck.
“And over here is an original cup used by the Romans…,” the tour group’s voice tails off as the group shifts a few feet towards the next piece.
And it’s a perfect time for me to shift gears and catch my breath. Today has been hectic and I need a quick second to chill out. I don’t think missing one thing will be the end of the world.
I look down at the railing thinking how nice it would be to lean against it for just a second to take a bit of the weight off my feet from all this walking.
But if somebody sees me I could get in trouble, not to mention it would look really unsophisticated and lazy.
But right now I don’t care how I look. I care how I feel and my feet are aching.
I look to my right and then my left. I see a hallway to the side and hear footsteps, but I can tell they’re a long ways off.
Okay, I’ve got a few seconds to pull this off. That’s all I need.
I lean to the side extending my forearm and bracing my fingers ready to grip the railing as I keep my head turned in the other direction in case the tour guide looks my way.
At about the point were my hand should find the railing I feel myself completely losing my balance as I miss the railing all togethe
Or should I say ballet, because suddenly I’m spinning on one leg and I feel that stupid velvet rope that was next to the railing wrapping around my body and now I’ve really lost it.
The metal post slides and everyone’s eyes turn toward me as my eyes look for something to grab before my face finds the floor which is rapidly approaching.
I stick out my hand searching for anything and find something, but instead of grabbing it I just push it.
I feel my wrists lock and my forearms brace as I hit the floor as I try to roll over onto my side to brace the impact and save myself needing to schedule a rhinoplasty tomorrow.
I feel the tip of my nose find the cold floor but my spin works and my shoulder takes the brunt of the impact and I roll over onto my back kind of like the reverse of a turtle trying to get up off it’s back.
I look up at the ceiling expecting to see everyone laughing or maybe if I’m lucky something by Michelangelo, but instead all I see is a vase tipping back and forth from the pillar which it’s sitting on…which is also tipping.
I feel goosebumps cover my body and only two thoughts on my mind.
Don’t let it hit the ground!
The vase comes off.
Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!
I dig my heel in and push sliding my body back trying to get underneath it as I shoot out my hands over my head.
I feel the vase make contact with my fingers and my body curls like I’m doing some kind of toe touches from a calisthenics video, but all I really do is just send the vase back up into the air meaning I’ve got to catch it again.
My eyes lock in on the vase and I roll frantically to my left like I’m on fire trying to get to the place where it’s going to hit next.
I keep rolling and my eyes close hoping for the best as I bring my hands to my face readying, make that praying, that I get it this time.
Slowly my left eye opens followed by my right.
All I see are slick oxblood leather shoes and some navy blue slacks…
And two hands about a foot from my face moving upward securing the vase against the body of a man who is so big, so tall, and so hot I have no idea why his body doesn’t have it’s own sculptures in the other wing of the museum.
“Enjoying the tour everyone?” he says as he cradles the vase under one arm and extends his other to me.
I look at his hand not sure if he’s expecting me to fill his palm full of bills to pay for the damage I may have caused or if I should take it and get up off the cold floor where I’m making a gigantic fool of myself.
Before I can figure it out he’s grabbed my hand and he’s hoisting me up like I’m light as a feather and I feel my feet find the floor and his arm wrap around my midsection as I catch my balance.
I quickly brush myself off, but I can’t take my eyes off of him.
He’s absolutely incredible.
He gives me a wink before turning to the guide. “Everything’s all sorted. Enjoy the tour everyone,” he says.
He turns to go and in doing so his hand spins me back toward the direction of the group and the velvet rope spins right off me.
I immediately miss the strength of his hand around my waist. Those thick strong fingers and that masculine forearm.
I watch as he rounds the corner and all I hear are the sound of those same steps moving down the hall again.
This time in the opposite direction.
As in out of my life just as quickly as he came into it.
I’m not sure if I’m ecstatic that he just saved me from working ‘round the clock for the rest of my life in a futile attempt to pay off the vase I oh so nearly destroyed, or if I’m completely devastated that I’ll never see him again.
I’m completely confused. That’s for sure.
I always thought art guys weren’t the kind to know their way around a gym, but not him. Oh my.
When I declare my major at Parsons maybe I’ll change it from graphic design to sculpture.
The best artists are motivated from personal life experiences and I’ve never been so motivated to know the name of, and find someone, in my entire life.
I have to see him again.
The next morning
I smell fresh brewed coffee and extend my arms over my head stretching in the huge bed I slept in last night.
When I arrived at Alex’s apartment building the doorman had a note that Alex was entertaining a client from Switzerland and would be home until very late. The doorman had been given instructions to let me in and when I arrived inside there was a nice note from Alex saying to enjoy the apartment to the fullest including directions to my room where I was now.
And what a room it was. I look to my left and see Central Park wondering just how successful Alex really is. I love the idea of meeting her and picking her brain. I love graphic design, but don’t know much about the business of art, or art in general if I’m honest with myself…hence my failed attempt at getting some culture yesterday at the Gotham Gallery.
I roll out of bed and stumble into the attached bathroom where I quickly brush my teeth and freshen up for a quick meet. I’ll take a shower after I say hello and thank you and give her the chocolates I bought yesterday in the city as a super small thank you gift for allowing me to stay in her flat this summer.
It’s a beautiful flat, perfectly decorated as you’d expect from an art dealer, but surprisingly there weren’t any personal pictures on the wall.
I did see one funny magnet on the refrigerator that said #ArtIsMyFamily. That seemed to pretty much sum up my first impression of her flat as well.
I step out of my room and into the hallway with my wrapped box of chocolates.
I look down into the living room, but can’t see her due to the construction of her flat.
But I sure can smell that coffee and I know I’ll find her close by. And anyone that knows me knows I’ve always got a coffee close by to as it’s like my personal jet fuel to make it through the day.
I bound down a couple steps and suddenly Alex comes into view on the couch.
“Alex?” I say, dropping the box of chocolates on the mahogany wooden stairs.
“Alex?” he says.
He. As in male. As in…this can’t be.
I feel the art appraise guidebook slide through my fingers. It should drop to the floor and join the coffee I just spilled but it doesn’t because my cock has instantly sprung to life holding it up like a human bookstand.
The girl from yesterday.
The one I snapped at the tour guide about when I found out she hadn’t made her register for the tour. I’ve never lashed out in my line of work ever, but I almost lost it yesterday.
Logging in our guests is mandatory for security purposes, but our tour guide was new and somehow that girl slipped through the cracks.
The girl I haven’t been able to stop thinking about and the one I knew I’d get in touch with right away yesterday before I discovered I didn’t have a way to reach her.
I had Swiss clients waiting for me in the lobby and by a twist of fate they had their eye on that vase…
Which led me to have an eye on her.
And my eyes are right back on her now as she’s in my house!
She’s frozen, standing there in her short shorts she most likely slept in and a form fitting white spaghetti strap tank top that’s more transparent than she probably realizes.
I can see the outline of her areolas and her nipples poking through the white cotton that looks as pure and virginal I imagine she is.
But I’d imagined a boy coming to stay for the summer when her dad, who happens to be my best friend since high school, told me that “Alex” was coming.
I thought he was referring to his son, Alexander, who he named after Alexander the Great even though I tease him that he named him after me.
But it’s Alex as in Alexa, his eighteen-year-old daughter.
And oh my god did she ever grow up these last few years.
I haven’t seen her since when? Maybe four years ago when her brother graduated high school. I was thinking he was coming out here to look for a job assuming he just finished college and would be looking for full time work.
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