Virgin Delivery Girl - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
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The ParcelHub counter was my usual perch that evening, completely oblivious to the fact that the man crouched beneath it had an unobstructed view up my skirt.
And the worst part? I couldn't even kick him out.
But he didn't stop there.
His fingers trailed deeper, touching places no one had before—like he was reaching for my very soul.
My name is Vivian Roland, forever single.
Men claim to love big breasts, but mine? They've been more curse than blessing.
Back in school, boys would sneer, "Those melons are bigger than your head!" then lean in, demanding a side-by-side comparison. Humiliation burned through me like wildfire.
I dreamed of reduction surgery, but poverty kept that door firmly locked.
Romance? A distant fantasy. No one ever pursued me.
At 25, I started working at ParcelHub. Three years later, at 28, the depot had become my entire world—eating, sleeping, existing within its four walls.
Days were busy. Nights? A hollow ache settled in my chest.
Maybe it was that late-twenties hunger people whisper about—the kind that gnaws at you when you're alone too long.
At ParcelHub, I'd overhear giggling girls mailing scandalous lingerie to lovers or ordering toys that made my cheeks flush.
Why shouldn't I try something for myself?
Once that thought took root, it festered.
The first week with my purchases was electric. After locking up each night, I'd let them fill the emptiness—until, inevitably, the void returned.
Then Ethan Blanchet walked in.
Ethan—tall, polished, 6'2" with glasses, the neighborhood's golden boy who'd made his fortune overseas.
Also my secret obsession. (And probably every other local girl's.)
That night, near closing, drowsiness clung to me as I sat at the computer, thighs pressed together—until he appeared for his package.
One glance, and my brain short-circuited.
Chemistry is real. Some men trigger an instant high. Ethan? Just his presence sent dopamine flooding through me, tremors of excitement sparking under my skin.
"Hello..."
"Hello?"
His voice snapped me back to reality.
Mumbling an apology, I fetched his parcel.
Outside, dusk thickened. Flickering streetlights painted erratic shadows across the floor.
When I turned back, my breath caught—he was staring, blatantly, at my cleavage.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. He coughed, awkward.
"Ahem. That necklace... it's striking."
Then, softer: "My ex had one just like it."
No one had ever called me pretty. No one had ever complimented my taste. And now this man—this Adonis—was praising my jewelry? It felt like winning the damn lottery.
Eight words. That's all it took for him to steal my heart.
Then his tone shifted.
"Any restrooms here?"
I pointed toward the back. "That way."
Ethan disappeared down the hall.
The bathroom was close enough that I heard everything—the rush of water, the rustle of fabric.
Curiosity burned. My thighs clenched at the thought of what he might be hiding beneath those tailored clothes.
But he didn't come out quickly. Instead, muffled phone chatter seeped through the door.
A reckless idea took hold.
They say fortune favors the bold. With my crush just feet away, why not take the leap?
And the worst part? I couldn't even kick him out.
But he didn't stop there.
His fingers trailed deeper, touching places no one had before—like he was reaching for my very soul.
My name is Vivian Roland, forever single.
Men claim to love big breasts, but mine? They've been more curse than blessing.
Back in school, boys would sneer, "Those melons are bigger than your head!" then lean in, demanding a side-by-side comparison. Humiliation burned through me like wildfire.
I dreamed of reduction surgery, but poverty kept that door firmly locked.
Romance? A distant fantasy. No one ever pursued me.
At 25, I started working at ParcelHub. Three years later, at 28, the depot had become my entire world—eating, sleeping, existing within its four walls.
Days were busy. Nights? A hollow ache settled in my chest.
Maybe it was that late-twenties hunger people whisper about—the kind that gnaws at you when you're alone too long.
At ParcelHub, I'd overhear giggling girls mailing scandalous lingerie to lovers or ordering toys that made my cheeks flush.
Why shouldn't I try something for myself?
Once that thought took root, it festered.
The first week with my purchases was electric. After locking up each night, I'd let them fill the emptiness—until, inevitably, the void returned.
Then Ethan Blanchet walked in.
Ethan—tall, polished, 6'2" with glasses, the neighborhood's golden boy who'd made his fortune overseas.
Also my secret obsession. (And probably every other local girl's.)
That night, near closing, drowsiness clung to me as I sat at the computer, thighs pressed together—until he appeared for his package.
One glance, and my brain short-circuited.
Chemistry is real. Some men trigger an instant high. Ethan? Just his presence sent dopamine flooding through me, tremors of excitement sparking under my skin.
"Hello..."
"Hello?"
His voice snapped me back to reality.
Mumbling an apology, I fetched his parcel.
Outside, dusk thickened. Flickering streetlights painted erratic shadows across the floor.
When I turned back, my breath caught—he was staring, blatantly, at my cleavage.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. He coughed, awkward.
"Ahem. That necklace... it's striking."
Then, softer: "My ex had one just like it."
No one had ever called me pretty. No one had ever complimented my taste. And now this man—this Adonis—was praising my jewelry? It felt like winning the damn lottery.
Eight words. That's all it took for him to steal my heart.
Then his tone shifted.
"Any restrooms here?"
I pointed toward the back. "That way."
Ethan disappeared down the hall.
The bathroom was close enough that I heard everything—the rush of water, the rustle of fabric.
Curiosity burned. My thighs clenched at the thought of what he might be hiding beneath those tailored clothes.
But he didn't come out quickly. Instead, muffled phone chatter seeped through the door.
A reckless idea took hold.
They say fortune favors the bold. With my crush just feet away, why not take the leap?
End of Virgin Delivery Girl Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to Virgin Delivery Girl book page.