America's Favorite Virgin

Even if it was from himself.

She was a girl in a fairytale with her haunted eyes and the glitter of tears. Her voice tugged at his heart, so weary and worn. "So what should I do, Charlie?"

"About what?"

"The police want to talk to me."

Everyone kept talking about the cops, as if they were just a fly in the ointment. "What about, Anastasia?"

"Well, probably because they think I murdered Daddy. Everyone seems to think so, although I don't know how they could believe that about me." She was broken-hearted, there was an edge to the voice, something about to break. She moved her hands and the realization that her small fingers were woven through his was a thrill on his skin. This was no longer comfort, this was handholding, like lovers. The knowledge passed through his body like a vibration of powerful current, something electrical had taken over.

"Should I talk to them?" her voice was slow and sad and sweet and he wished that he could hold her face as she spoke to him.

"Not without the lawyer," Charles decided at that moment that he didn't really care if the rest of the world thought she was guilty.

Fuck, she had to be innocent with that face.

***

"Miss Pryce, I'm Detective Ronald Stamos, Dallas Homicide," the cop said in a voice that filled the room. The man was as wide as he was tall. He was intimidating in sheer size alone, let alone that he was here to poke holes in things.

Charles forced himself not to smile as he watched Anastasia. The girl was so tiny and yet she took the man's linebacker hand and shook it without hesitation. "Thank you for coming here, Detective," she said in her low, southern purr. Anastasia was always dressed modestly, that came with the virgin territory but this morning, she looked more like an adult than a Disney princess. Charles loved her usual style. It was all flowered dresses and white, cotton blouses and pleated skirts. He had a soft spot in his heart for the short heels and the white, lace trimmed anklet socks. This outfit was more like Anastasia playing dress up but not without its charms. She wore a black blouse, buttoned up to her chin along with high-waisted plaid pants that hugged her juicy bottom just enough for it to be the center of attention until she sat down. The killer was that the tumble of her blonde hair had been carefully wound up into a bun on top of her head with two little curls that caressed the back of her neck. It brought back teenage fantasies about librarians. If she had worn glasses, Charles thought he could easily cum in his pants, something he hadn't done since he was her age.

Goddammit, he thought to himself as he watched Anastasia and the lawyer take their seats across the table from the detective, you're 58 years old. But that was just it, over the last three days he'd been caught up in a world where a princess lived in a fortress and this girl also just happened to be the single most ravishing woman that he'd ever met.

Charles couldn't get her out of his head.

The Detective started, "Can you tell me about June 4th, the day in question?"

Anastasia might be playing dress up but the girl had remarkable poise. She folded her hands on the conference table and began. "It was my birthday, so there was a lot going on. We had invited about two hundred guests to the property for the party."

"Two hundred?"

"Yes sir."

"Is it normal for you to have gatherings of that size?"

Anastasia smiled at the cop and Charles dared the man not to melt into a puddle in the warmth of her blue eyes. "Yes sir, my Daddy used to say whatever's worth doing is worth doing big." There was a chuckle around the room as the familiar faces seemed to all remember that about Darren.

"And was it usual for your father to have such a high blood alcohol level at two o'clock in the afternoon?"

"Not that I know of, sir."

"What about cocaine?" The cop barked at the blonde. "Did your father regularly abuse illegal drugs?"

"Not that I know of, sir."

She was determined to protect Darren's reputation and Charles admired her for that.

"Anything stressful happening for your father in the days leading up to his death?"

Anastasia looked across the room and her eyes were lasers on Jacob Lanaghan. What the fuck was he doing in here right now? Charles felt his face grow hot. The man seemed to be everywhere all the time, more omnipotent than the god he advertised for. Charles didn't like how he just kept showing up.

"Not more than usual, sir."

"And were you and your father arguing that day?"

"No sir, we never argued."

"Had he argued with anyone that day?"

The lawyer touched Anastasia on elbow but she didn't stop. She answered in her sweet but earnest voice, "No one argued with Daddy."

The detective pulled out a file and pushed a photograph across the table. "Then how did he get that?"

Charles sat up straight and saw the purple mark at the base of Darren's skull. It was a shitty thing to do, to show her a picture like that.

Anastasia's voice trembled, she sounded parched and Charles imagined that she held back tears. "I have no idea, sir."

"Are you sure about that?" The detective thundered. "I have a witness that says you and Mr. Pryce had a screaming match that day and that you have quite the temper, Miss Pryce. Isn't it true that you've thrown things at your father during some of these meltdowns?"

The lawyer insisted and the man cupped his mouth and whispered in her ear.

Anastasia nodded in agreement.

"I don't recall anything like that, sir."

But the lights had gone out of her eyes and the glow had left her cheeks. Her round cheeks that she probably hated because it made her look like an eternal girl, an ageless sprite, a fairy in the woods. Now she looked sad and used up and empty and Charles just wanted to comfort her.

She was lying though, he knew that much.

"Do you recall the last thing you and your father talked about?"

Anastasia's cheeks were pink and she blushed beautifully.

"I do. It's private."

The cop leaned in and sneered at Anastasia. "This is an investigation, Miss Pryce, a man had been murdered! There is no privacy."

The lawyer interrupted, "Excuse me, sir, this is a friendly conversation. My client is doing you a favor."

Anastasia blurted it out, "He said I had to change my dress. He said America's favorite virgin couldn't be seen looking like a trollop." One tear slid down her cheek and her shoulders shook as she asked, "is that what you wanted to know?"

The lawyer put his hand out and Charles felt his teeth clench. Lying or not, somebody better say something. She was just a little girl.

"We're done for today," the lawyer said haughtily.

The cop just smiled and tucked the picture back in the file.

Charles pushed past everyone to get to her and Anastasia took his arm. She murmured, "Oh Charlie," as he helped her to her feet.

Detective Stamos pushed a business card in Charles' breast pocket and patted him like they were old friends just saying hello. "Call me when you're ready," the man told Charles.

But Charles was completely wrapped up in the girl.

They were silent as they made their way down the cool corridors inside the main building. Charles had memorized the twisting, turning hodgepodge of tunnels quite quickly. He knew the place like the back of his hand already and he was sure that had something to do with Anastasia. He was fascinated with anything and everything to do with his ward.

Once they were outside in the heat, they both seemed to sigh in unison. Charles hadn't been there long but he already knew enough to know not to say anything that he didn't want Jacob to hear when he was inside the compound. "I'm so sorry about that," Charles told her and curled her fingers around his arm.

They seemed to always find a way to touch and Charles felt like he needed it.

"It's okay, Charlie. I'm glad you were there."

There were sounds of visitors screeching and water was being splashed. He had almost gotten used to the idea that at any time, day or night, they were surrounded by strangers. All of them seemed to know Anastasia.

Charles wondered if anyone really knew the girl beneath the fairy tale. "That cop is just trying to come up with something. It's a better story if it's a murder instead of just unfortunate."

Anastasia was silent.

Charles brought her to her front door and wanted to stay with her. He wanted to linger a while on her couch, maybe watch as she unpinned her hair and it fell down bit by bit to cover her to her waist. It was a sensual dream to think of it and Charles had too many of those since he'd met her.

She hung her head and whispered, "I didn't want to have to say that about Daddy. He really wasn't mean. It was just all the drugs and the drinking that made him crazy."

Anastasia turned toward him and Charles never thought, he never stopped himself; his arms were open to her and he was engulfed by her scent and her malleability. Today she smelled like fruity soap or maybe shampoo and Anastasia was small and soft in his arms, her face against his chest. Her fingers were wrapped around the back of his arms and the alarm went off in his head as she looked up at him with those wide, innocent eyes. Her blue eyes and the dusting of freckles, the face of an ingenue and all the while, her tiny, stone nipples were pressed against his chest.

"I'm sorry you had to say that," Charles whispered into her hair. Fuck, how could he be so hard when he was supposed to be comforting her?

She trembled against him and whispered, "They aren't going to just go away, are they Charlie?" Her voice was strained and plucked his heartstrings. She was just a little girl all alone in the world.

Except for him. He'd take care of her. "I'll be here with you and I promise I won't let anyone hurt you."

Anastasia reached up on her tiptoes and pressed her pink lips to his. Fruity lip gloss and her sweet breath and those breasts that she couldn't possibly have had all taken over and it was everything and over way too fast. Before he'd even begun to kiss her back, she'd dropped down and disappeared to her side of the green door.

Charles dawdled there, touched the door as if she could sense him and given how his heart galloped in his chest at the moment, maybe she felt it too.

***

Charles checked the time once more and after all that tossing and turning, only twenty minutes had passed. He wondered if he had slept at all and even though it was only midnight, he thought he should just get up and work.

Since he had his own internet installed that afternoon, he could finally go online without being on the compound's service. He'd had to plead his case with Lanaghan to get it. Charles had used the logic that he was dealing with investments of a private nature in order to procure the separate arrangement. Charles thought it was odd to assume everything was an open book, especially in a place where lies seemed to flourish.

Charles knew that work was just an excuse. He was absolutely useless for anything but her mouth. The kiss burned still. Hours later he could feel the outline of her lips on him and he could smell her on his skin.

Anastasia, the girl, the woman, she was both and neither. And she was driving him crazy.

Charles rolled to his side and held the pillow that was next to his. Sure, he'd been lonely lately and that could explain some of it. It wasn't like beautiful women were kissing him regularly. He was pretty sure that the last time he'd been kissed was by Julie and it had been in passing after the fucking had been finished. The sex had been nice, necessary really and like all of the other sex that he'd had for as long as he could remember. Ever since his first ex-wife, Katie, had been a lover and not yet a wife, it had settled into a pattern of lukewarm and predictable. Comforting and quiet.

Nice.

The kiss was something completely different. The kiss was terrifying and made his pulse race and Charles knew that he needed another as soon as she took her mouth away. It had the insistence of passion and youth and a need that had all but stopped long ago.

Was it because Anastasia was so young?

Perhaps everything about youth infiltrated the old and perhaps if she kissed him again, he'd feel a spring in his step. Maybe if he took her panties down and kissed a fairy princess between her legs, she'd be the fountain of youth. Maybe if he introduced her to orgasms, she'd fall in love with him and they'd live happily ever after.

Fuck, how could he even think of her like that, he scolded himself. She was perfectly chaste, with those eyes and her voice, she was a princess from happily ever after, a virgin girl forty years younger than him.

Charles had always rolled his eyes at his friends who had gone through ridiculous midlife crisis relationships. They'd burn through a lifetime of investments just to blow it all on a fast car and a girl who wanted a fast wedding and a baby shortly thereafter. He'd been the voice of reason.

Now the only voice he could hear was Anastasia's and his cock had made a tent in his boxers just thinking about it.

He could also hear a beep, a damn annoying beep. Maybe a smoke detector battery needed to be replaced. It was in the background but persistent. Charles hugged the pillow over his ears

He could still hear it, just a chirp, something almost imperceptible and Charles knew that if he just let himself masturbate that he'd be out like a light. Problem solved.

He shouldn't. He couldn't. Charles sat up and kicked the sweaty sheet off. He needed to find the source of the beep. Maybe he would beat the hell out of it and release some of this pent up sexual frustration.

Charles stumbled out of bed and put his hands out to guide himself to the wall switch. He still wasn't used to the room or the house for that matter. He found himself touching things and wondering what Darren had done here.

The beep wasn't coming from the bedroom so Charles set his sights on the rest of the house. He walked around the kitchen and listened. The chirp came but it was definitely from the living room. He stormed into the living room and scowled as he surveyed the room. Fucking goddamn beeping, no wonder he was a wreck. He looked down at his still half hard erection poked out of the front of his underwear.

Anastasia, he thought and with her name, he dripped precum on his leg. The kiss and her lovely mouth and its secrets and her voice running up and down his spine made his toes curl with a dark desire.

Beep.

It wasn't the smoke detector. In fact upon further inspection, Charles discovered that the battery had been removed. Charles eyed the sofa and removed every cushion. He threw them halfway across the room and ran his fingers along the frame; nothing there. Then he opened the side table and started to rummage. He found a bible and a pack of cigarettes and a half used box of Trojans but nothing that beeped. Charles did the same with the compartment under the coffee table and came up with some Xanax and double mint gum and an old penthouse magazine.

Beep.

Fuck, the only thing left was the cabinet beneath the flat screen television. Otherwise he was going to have to tear the house down to the foundation if it meant stopping that fucking beep and the icy cold waves of desire that held him in their grip.

He opened the cabinet and dropped to his knees. There were three laptops in a row. One screen was black and that was the source of the beeping. It must be getting ready to die. One laptop had four squares, equally divided into quarters and all live cameras on the main house. There were different views of the foyer and offices.

It was the last laptop that mattered though. The screen was also divided into four quarters and Anastasia was on two of them. Jesus Christ, Darren had cameras installed in his daughter's house? No wonder she wanted to fucking kill him.

He could almost defend Darren at the moment though because Charles couldn't take his eyes off the screen. This Anastasia was a mystery to him and he might be even more fascinated now.

Anastasia had her hair up in tiny braids and miniature pink barrettes. There was a Lucky Strike that dangled from a hot pink, garishly painted lip. The ash dangled as she twirled in front of the full length mirror. She placed it carefully in the crystal ashtray as she went to the closet.

God, don't change your clothes, please, Charles pleaded with her silently. He hadn't memorized every detail of this one yet and his cock throbbed at the sight of her.

She was scandalous in a tight, white tank top that let anyone know her breasts were free underneath. Anastasia's nipples were large and ripe and the air conditioning was either on freeze in her house or she was aroused.

Fuck, the virgin princess was horny, Charles groaned.

Her breasts were perfectly round, fleshy circles that bounced with every movement. Her breasts were a little large for her petite frame, breasts that couldn't be possible on a fairy princess with those innocent eyes.

Charles gripped his cock and growled as his eyes followed the natural trail of her curves. He stared from breasts to tiny waist. His eyes went from the slight flare of hips to the half exposed bottom that hung from tattered, white cut off shorts. He was on sensory overload as he memorized miles of silky, golden tan legs.

Anastasia emerged from the closet with a pair of clear, plastic heels that he was fairly certain strippers wore. She took one more drag of the cigarette and ground it out before slipping her tiny feet into the heels.

The way she wiggled her hips in the mirror was every hungry fantasy that Charles had tucked away. Part stripper, part little girl, she was pornographic cotton candy and judging by the delighted expression on her face, she knew it.

Goddamn, Anastasia was a tease.

She moved from one quarter of the screen to the next as she made her way into the living room. The girl's ass swayed and her nipples kept time. Charles' dick was completely out and dripped more precum on the shag carpet. She stopped in front of the cell phone and speaker. She scrolled and clicked and squealed like a girl her age would when her favorite song came on.

The familiar riff of "Son of a Preacher Man," began and Charles sighed and settled in. There was no way to stop watching. Her pitch was good. She'd probably had been singing in church ever since she could remember and her breathy twang was perfect for the song.

She was perfect.

She picked up a round hairbrush and began to sing into it like a microphone. Charles couldn't help but chuckle. Sure, he was interfering with her privacy but he wasn't the one who started it. It was that shit Darren. And who could tear their eyes off the bare legs and the bouncing bottoms of her cheeks as she twirled and sang?

Charles bet that no red blooded man could help himself, guardian or not.

Anastasia moved to the console and picked up the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels and poured half a glass. She drank whiskey like a woman, like a hard drinking woman who had been raised on it.

She wiped her upper lip daintily like a princess.

She let out a belch from her belly like a man.

She giggled at the burp like a girl.

Just who the hell was she? Charles ached to let his hands and his mouth get to know her. This required days of kissing and slowly following the trail of need that his dick would leave everywhere as he touched her. Charles imagined how warm she must be at the center of her shorts.

His cock beckoned, he ached for relief. Jesus, he'd wanted to stroke off to her since they met. The real miracle was that he'd shown this much restraint. As Dusty faded out, the girl of his dreams let out a whoop as Led Zeppelin's guitar pierced through the night. "Black Dog" began and once Anastasia chugged down the rest of her Jack, neat, no ice, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She belted out the lyrics with the enthusiasm of a choir.