Page 32 of The Wicked Virgin

“Hell no!” I growled back. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re doing next, the door’s staying open.”

But the blonde launched herself at me, clawing and biting. She was no match for my bulk whatsoever, being about a hundred pounds, but I let go of the door to wrestle her hands behind her and the door swung shut with a solid thunk.

“That’s better,” she said, panting, her blonde hair askew, licking those red lips evilly. “See, isn’t it better with the door closed? I love how you’re pinning my hands back, Nick, didn’t know you were into impact play.”

Immediately I let go. I wanted nothing to do with this chick, especially not the slightest hint of anything sexual.

“Get out, Jeanette, before I throw you out. How the fuck did you get in here anyways?” I growled, glaring at her.

“Oh the doorman let me in,” she said breezily. “I told him I was your fiancée.”

My mouth gaped. What the fuck? Fiancée? I was going to have a talk with George tomorrow and talk about better observation skills, not to mention adding this bitch to the blacklist.

But Jeanette just smiled again, waving her left ring finger in my face. Sure enough a five-carat stunner gleamed from her hand, the rock so blinding it made me squint.

“I got this from my last victim,” she purred. “He promised that if I went away and never told his wife, I’d get more loot than I ever dreamed of. And it’s true,” she smiled slyly. “I’m a girl from the bad part of Philly and look at me now,” she said, admiring the whopper, studying the glinting jewel. “Wearing a five carat diamond that literally weighs my hand down because it’s so heavy!”

I shook my head disgusted. The over-the-top gold-diggery was fucking disgusting and this woman really took the cake. Bragging about blackmailing another man, passing herself off as my would-be wife to get past the doorman, they were the machinations of a sick, sick woman.

But right now, I just wanted to get her out, squeezing her hands tight behind her, making her squeal with a bit of pain, arching her back.

“Oh Nick!” she cried, “I had no idea you were so bad!”

“That’s right,” I growled menacingly into her ear, “You have no idea who I am, what I’m capable of.”

Because I’ve done some messed up shit in my life, taken advantage of others, pressed every edge for what it was worth. All’s fair in the business world and I didn’t get to where I am by being Mr. Nice Guy. Fucked-up shit goes on every day and I’ve contributed more than my share to the pile.

But the blonde just giggled breathily, her face smushed against the wall now, her voice slightly garbled.

“Do it then,” she hissed. “Do it, do it.”

But I realized I was playing right into her arms. Jeanette loved this stuff, was eating it like an anaconda devouring its prey. I was falling into her trap and shook myself, standing up straight, letting her hands go.

I stepped back, took about five steps back, putting a mile of distance between me and the viper.

“Get out,” I said harshly, my blue gaze like an icy wind, the temperature in the apartment dropping about fifty degrees. “Get the fuck out.”

At least the blonde did as told this time.

“Oh you want it,” she huffed and panted, smiling at me sassily. “I know you want it, alpha males like you always do. You act so hard to get, like you’re too good for me but I know your schtick. Your mind’s in the gutter, you’re looking for a whore in the ghetto, not some fake princess.”

And I stopped for a moment. That was true, I was looking for a whore from the ghetto, just not this particular whore. The whore of my dreams had big brown eyes, jouncing boobies and a sweet disposition, with none of the deviousness and diabolical cruelty that rolled off the blonde in waves. So I didn’t even bother to answer.

“Get the fuck out,” I lashed out again, rage building in my body, my face tight. “Before I have security come and escort you.”

“Fine,” smiled the blonde sweetly, her expression full of malice. “But stop acting holier-than-thou, you’re just as bad as me, Nick Martin.”

And with a quick flip of her head, she was out the door in a second, her high heels leaving imprints in the plush carpet.

I sank back onto the couch, exhausted from the exchange. What the fuck had just happened? I’d been accosted by Jeanette for the second time in months, she was so fucking wily and ambitious. I was going to have to find some way to steer clear of the bitch, at least until I got her fired for good.

But her words stuck with me too. Because I knew she was calling it like it is. I can be a dipshit, a complete asshole to people I don’t like, people who are asshats, people who are just fucking annoying. And when she said that my mind was in the gutter, it was true. Look at all the things I’d made Tammy do. Ride the Tool Box even though she’d just lost her virginity. DP her with the Tool Box as my partner, thrusting my dick in her ass as the Tool Box fucked her pussy. Fuck, popped both her cherries within days of knowing her. Shit, I was lucky Tammy hadn’t reported me to the police with the way I used her body, bent her over and made her my fuck slave.

But that was the good part of it. I knew the brunette loved it, the way her body trembled, the way it shook, jiggled and creamed, the way fluid ran from her pussy in a river, streaming down her thighs, coating everything worth having. And she let me know it too, gazing at me with limpid eyes, gasping with every nasty thing I did to her, panting, “Mr. Martin, yes!”

And so I resolved to have a talk with her. Tammy was everything I was looking for and more, and this encounter with Jeanette had only made it even more obvious. Move into my apartment? Shit, that wasn’t enough, nowhere near enough. I wanted to do more than that. I wanted to make Tammy mine … permanently.

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