The Billionaire and The Virgin Read online

  Although I’m sure she won’t know what hit her.

  Matter of fact, the innocence she gives off is kind of freaking me out right now.

  “Enjoying yourself so far?” I ask.

  Her face flushes again as she nods.

  “Wait until I get you home.”

  An expression of fear washes over her face. This is almost too easy. Dahlia straightens up and tries to downplay the moan that escapes her lips.

  “Just because I agreed to come out with you, that doesn’t mean there’ll be more,” she says nervously.

  I pull her close to me and move my hand lower down her back. “Don’t tell me you can’t feel that.”

  “Feel what?” she stammers out after her breath hitches from my touch.

  I smile as she freezes in place and her cheeks flush to an even deeper shade of red. Keeping my eyes fixed on hers, I run my hands down her sides, then back up her body. “You want this.”

  Dahlia stops my hand by covering hers over it, and nervously looks around at the other guests near the corridor. “You realize there are people around who can see what you’re doing if they look closely enough, right?”

  I clear my throat. “I don’t give two fucks what anyone here thinks.”

  “Not even me?”

  The question gets my attention for some unknown reason. Or maybe it’s her tone.

  “Would you be offended if I said not even you?” I ask, then realize how illogical that question is.

  I wouldn’t ask her if she was offended if I didn’t give a fuck what she thought. And she seems to catch that as well, from that glint in her eyes that appears out of nowhere. Biting down on her pink, full bottom lip, she glances away. Fuck. Those lips do me in. Every. Fucking. Time. I don’t want to wait any longer to taste them, to smash my mouth onto hers and steal her breath, and own her lips to the point where she forgets her own name.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper into her ear, which is intended to have an effect on her, but ends up making my cock hard as slate.

  I notice the almost indiscernible one-sided smile on her face as she thinks it over. Something about it is entertaining to her. She drags in a ragged breath of air, but shakes her head.

  “That wasn’t a request,” I add.

  The statement makes an impression on her. And that makes me want her even more. She looks up at me, eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of fear. It’s an intoxicating combination for me, chipping away at the very control I want to have over her. Yet for the first time, I find that off-balanced feeling to be...intriguing. Still, I have to regain a level of control before I end up throwing her over my shoulder and fucking her brains out in a restroom stall. The last thing this young, sweet, innocent country girl needs is for me to lose it and take her hard. Or maybe that’s exactly what she needs.

  “Okay,” she whispers after some time passes, but the sound of a partially muted bark causes Dahlia to pull her phone from her clutch purse. “Excuse me for one second,” she says, and unlocks her phone to check who knows what.

  “Was that a bark?” I ask.

  “It’s an app on my phone that keeps me connected with the dogs. Kind of like a baby monitor, but with video and audio.”

  “They’re dogs, not babies.”

  “I know, but you’ve seen what they can do. Imagine how much more trouble they can get into while they’re unattended.”

  “They bark, and you jump? Vivian has you trained.”

  “It’s not like that…not really.” She turns the phone to me. “See? That’s their room. They’re still inside, so that’s a good thing. Their water and food bowls are good too, and if you look in the far corner of the room, you’ll see their beds, and all three of them are resting.”

  “Okay. So what was the barking about just now?”

  “The app updates me every hour on how they’re doing. They’re fine. See?”

  She raises the phone closer to my face. Nodding, I take her device, turn it off, and slip it into my pocket. “Great. No need to check up on them for another hour.”

  She looks up at me with an optimistic gaze. “You weren’t really serious about making me pay because of Sheba, were you? I mean, why would you invite me out to this very sophisticated event and still have plans to punish me?”

  I can’t help but smile a bit. Dahlia’s going to find out that I mean what I say. “Are you ready to learn what happens when I give my word about something? Let me spell it out for you, doll. Your coming to the gala was a chance for us to get to know each other better. It has nothing to do with my promise.”

  “Can you at least tell me what you plan to do?”

  “I’d prefer to show you.”

  Blood drains from Dahlia’s face. I haven’t seen anyone turn this pale so fast before. What’s she so scared about?

  “What do you want from me?” she stutters out the question.

  “Telling is never as good as showing can be.”

  “How do you mean? Do you prefer to write the number down? It’s a dollar amount, right?”

  “Some may put a dollar figure on it, but I don’t.”

  “So it’s not money?”

  I press my lips together and shake my head. “You’ll pay, but not with cash.”

  “With what, then?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “All right, I guess.” She pulls away from me. Pain mixes in with the confusion in her eyes creates some distance between us. “You go ahead and entertain yourself here. I need to go home…if it’s still okay for your driver to take me back.”

  “And why is that?”

  “It’s not easy for me to be here to begin with, let alone enjoy myself when I know you’re about to drop a bomb, and seem to really like knowing that you’ve put me in a vulnerable position.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You got yourself here. Well, Vivian’s dog did, which you’re responsible for at the moment.”

  “Maybe you have a thing for playing games with the weak and powerless.”

  “Yes and no. I don’t play. I win.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You crossed a line, and there are consequences for that.”

  “I wish you’d just tell me exactly what you want from me.”

  A broad smile lifts my lips. My dick can’t be any more excited. Before the end of the night, Dahlia will find out.

  12

  Dahlia

  I’m tied to his bed and completely naked.

  Curiosity, attraction and a hint of fear got me in this situation.

  I’ll probably have to beg to get myself out.

  There’s no explanation for why I allowed things to go this far. He doesn’t utter a word when he leads me off the rooftop and out of the gala. We sit silently at the back of his limousine, each of us on separate sides of the vehicle, avoiding the energy coursing through the air between us for the drive home. We don’t speak for the short walk inside or the elevator ride to our floor, and when he takes my hand and shows me to his door instead of Vivian’s, I go with him willingly.

  Maybe I should resist or object in some way, but the words don’t come, and there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to leave his side.

  The cocktail dress is now in a crumpled pile near the bedroom door, along with my bra and panties. Because I’m in Jackson’s bed with nothing on. I crane my neck up at the rich red silk ribbons that Jackson uses to tie my wrists to the bedposts. Looking up in that direction is somewhat better than the alternative, because looking down my body will only remind me that I stood in at the door of Jackson’s room, frozen like a doll while he undressed me.

  He stands at the side of the bed, grazing his eyes appreciatively down my body. The contrast of my utter nudity compared to his being fully dressed in a tuxedo adds to the power he has over me. But it’s my doing. I gave that power to him the second I got here. I don’t regret handing it over to him, but I’m curious about how he’ll use it. Curious and hopeful. And more aroused than ever. All I can
do now is press my thighs together and wait. Well, there are some things I can do, and a whole lot more I should do, but I have to admit, the mental state I’m in feels like anticipation mixed with suspended judgment. Letting the moment take me wherever Jackson wants to go feels strangely right.

  Jackson leaves through the door we came in from, and I use the time to look around the massive bedroom decorated in tan and chocolate tones. The lights are turned down, casting shadows across the two club-style cream leather armchairs near the floor to ceiling glass windows looking out over Central Park North. The blinds are up, and moonlight mixed in with city lights stream in through the glass, making the room appear brighter now that my eyes have adjusted. Lifting my head for a better view, I try to bring my elbows close to my body for support, and am reminded that my hands are still tied up. I rest my head back down on the pillow, wondering what Jackson will do to me. One thing has to happen somewhere along the way. Any minute now, I’ll have to tell him that I’m a virgin.

  A shallow sigh escapes my lips when Jackson returns to the room a few minutes later. His tuxedo jacket, vest, and bowtie are gone. He’s undone the top few buttons of his dress shirt, and looks a lot more relaxed now in just the shirt and slacks. Stopping at the foot of the bed, he holds two wine glasses in one hand. In his other hand, he grips the handle of an expensive looking silver bucket filled with ice that half covers a bottle of red wine. He rests the glasses on the nightstand closest to him, and retrieves the wine from the ice bucket.

  Opening the bottle of wine with a sleek electronic corkscrew, he fills both glasses and returns the bottle to the chill in the ice. I start to wonder if he’ll untie one of my hands so I can drink with him. Moments later, he answers my silent question by sitting beside me. With one steady hand slid under my neck, he gently lifts my head and upper body before picking up one of the glasses of wine.

  “Have a few sips. It’ll help you relax,” he instructs me.

  I do as he says, gazing up into his eyes as I take two small sips, careful not to spill any wine on his expensive white-on-white stripe sheets that feel like satin. The chilled liquid travels over my tongue, infusing its semi-sweet, slightly tart flavor along its path to my throat, and I swallow. He pulls the glass from my lips and places the glass on the nightstand again, then lightly glides the back of his hand down the side of my cheek. My eyes close, and my head leans into his warm touch, craving more. Then Jackson lowers his face to just inches from mine.

  “You’re quiet now, but I’m going to make you beg, doll.”

  I swallow hard, and my throat releases an unintended sigh. It’s the first of what’s sure to be many instances of my body betraying me by revealing how aroused I am right now. I’m filled with lust, from the center of my core to every tingle along my skin. And he’s barely touched me yet. Heat and need are pooling between my legs, my nipples are hard from the cold air and from being exposed, and my skin is surely hot to the touch and working on overdrive.

  Jackson really doesn’t know me, so I’m at a loss for how to inform him that I’m not likely to beg for anything at all. Or maybe I’m about to learn that I’m dead wrong.

  I open my mouth to form an answer, anything at all, but my attempt is put on hold by his hands trailing down past my neck, across my collarbone, and pausing mere inches from my nipples. He’s going to stretch this out. I just know it, but I’m not going to complain. The longer Jackson takes to make it to the punch line of this salacious evening, the more time I have to muster up the courage to admit that he’ll be the first man to ever be inside of me.

  Assuming we get that far at all.

  My lips stretch across my teeth threatening to bring a smile to my face for a moment as I picture myself still tied to his bed a week from now. At the rate he’s going, I’ll still be a virgin. He lifts his hands from my skin in a painstakingly slow pace, and my chest raises off the bed, yearning for him to inch toward my breasts.

  I should be scared. Terrified. The truth is I’m taking a risk being here, allowing myself to be taken by a man I hardly know.

  Jackson reaches up and runs his hand along the side of my head, tucking some stray strands of hair behind my ear. I shiver at the spark of electricity that spreads from his fingers and hits me like lightning. Does he feel it too, or is this buzzing, aching, and breathlessness only going on in my head? I hesitate to ask that question aloud.

  He stares into my face. Somewhere playing in his features is the answer. I shouldn’t trust him, but I do. Looking into his light blue eyes, I tilt my chin up toward him.

  “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs.

  Maybe tonight is exactly the way it needs to be. Thinking back to my high school years and this past year at college, I can’t remember taking the initiative for anything except my studies. I went out on dates with the boys who asked, and made friends with the girls who came to me. I never had the guts to make the first move. The sad part about this realization is I can’t even complain. I don’t have a single recollection of a time when I wanted to do anything different. There’s no boy I wish that I’d kissed and never got to. There’s no regret about a friendship that never came to fruition, or one that ended before it should have.

  I’ve never asked for much. What’s worse is I haven’t ever had to fight for anything.

  It’s as though I’ve been moving through my existence like a lifeless rag doll.

  Christ, it’s no wonder I’m still a virgin.

  Tonight has to be different.

  Mind you, Jackson has stripped me naked and tied me to his bed, so on some level, he’s already exerted a measure of control over me. He’s already made me his doll. But his suggestion is resonating in my thoughts. I’m going to have to beg for what I want. Nothing will happen without my asking for it.

  “Kiss me.”

  I can hardly hear the words leave my lips, and Jackson confirms when he asks me to repeat what I said and to make sure I ask nicely.

  Clearing my throat, I part my lips again. “Please kiss me, Jackson.”

  He slides his hand to the base of my neck and grips my hair, bringing our faces closer. My eyes flutter closed as he brushes his lips against mine.

  “Of course, I’ll kiss what’s mine, doll,” he whispers against my lips.

  My core clenches, and heat spreads out from the spot, making my knees go weak, and I’m almost glad to be tied to this bed, so I don’t end up molding my lips to his myself.

  13

  Jackson

  I should make her wait some more, but there’s no stopping me now.

  The country girl has said the one word I’ve been waiting to hear, and she asked nicely.

  She opened her mouth to whisper something, but I stop her by taking her lips for the kiss I wanted to give her all week. I wrap a hand around her waist, gripping her back as my tongue parts her lips. She molds to my chest as much as she can with her bindings, yielding to each swish of my tongue as I explore every contour of her mouth. Tasting her for the first time is more intense than I expect. I want to cover every inch of her body with mine and impale her hard without holding anything back.

  But where’s the fun in rushing it?

  Moving deeper into the kiss, I support my weight with one arm and stretch out beside her. She can’t turn to face me, but she does what she can with her legs, sliding one up and down between my ankle and calf through my pants, until I have to pull away, so I don’t end up ripping off my clothes and burying my cock deep inside of her. The entire night is ahead of us, so I plan to pace myself and taste every inch of her before I fuck her hard.

  I pull apart from our kiss, and smile as she takes a breath and runs her tongue over my bottom lip, eager to continue. I’m just as ready to devour those lips again. Raising off the bed, I move to the spot between her knees, parting them to make room as I bury my hands into her long, raven tresses, and tilt her head up sharply, crashing my mouth over her lips.

  Her feet slide up the bed and she presses her thighs against the outside of m
y legs. Heat radiates from her center and in an instant, I’m rock hard. Gripping her back with one hand, I lower my torso and hips to her body, letting my full weight rest on her as I grind my cock at her barely legal pussy, separated only by my boxers and slacks.

  Dahlia is hardly breathing, surviving on the lungful of air we share, and manages a whimper that sounds like words. I want to stifle out the sound, to keep this kiss going, but she repeats the words.

  “Sorry, what?” I ask, pulling from her mouth to let her speak.

  “I said, I haven’t been with a man…like this. I just wanted you to know.”

  There’s no stopping the ringing in my ear that sounds like I’m in the middle of a room during a five-alarm blaze. Lifting up off her torso, I study her face. “Did you just say you’re a—”

  “A virgin,” she answers, finishing my sentence. “Yes. I’m…that.”

  A slew of questions surface, along with two urges fighting each other in every single cell in my body. The one hardwired to my dick wants to end her virgin status right this second. Right here in my bed. The other—the one that seems to be drowning out every other thought—wants me to untie her and send her packing.

  My brain wins.

  My dick loses.

  And I get her out of my bed, dressed, and on the other side of my front door within minutes. If I wanted to take a virgin to bed, it has to be on my terms. I’d buy one at an auction like my close friend, Foster, did.

  14

  Dahlia

  As a word, ‘embarrassed’ doesn’t cut it.

  Neither does ‘humiliated.'