Page 39 of The Billionaire's Wayward Virgin

His left hand moved down from my neck to my chest, and I felt him reach into my bra and take my right nipple between his fingers. I bit my lip and let out a little submissive noise, as despite the soreness between my thighs my hips tried to ride Christian’s knowing hand.

“Apartment, close blackout curtain,” I heard him say. The motor whirred and the heavy shade began to come down. The thought that my new sponsor wanted more privacy, more intimacy brought a wave of affection, but also a thrill of anxiety: what did he mean to do to me now? How did he mean to use me, out of any voyeur’s view?

Christian didn’t let me wonder for more than a second.

“We’ll clean up a little,” he told me. “Then I’m going to teach you to suck my cock.”

He turned me all the way, so that my nakedness against his fully clothed body seemed much more acute. He held my ass in his right hand and he put his left on the back of my head, twining his fingers in my disheveled hair. He bent his head, tilted mine, and then he kissed me long and deeply. He forced my lips open with his own and he seemed to use my mouth with his tongue the same way he had used my pussy with his cock, as if he meant to make sure I understood he would thrust himself into this less private hole the very same way.

To my surprise, and very evidently his as well, I pulled away.

“No,” I said, hardly thinking about what I said. “No… I want you to go.”

I didn’t know why exactly the kiss provoked the rebellion I suddenly felt rise up in my chest. Something about the matter-of-fact, transactional nature of his last words, though… something about how he had paired them with a gesture—the kiss—that culture, notably including romantic movies likeMoonglider, celebrated as the zenith of romance, tipped me over an edge I hadn’t even realized might lurk there in my psyche.

On one level, too, I understood that the newly submissive part of me yearned for that transactional degradation. A big part of my sudden defiance—maybe even the majority of it… maybe evenallof it—came from that recognition. I couldn’t let that take hold, could I? I had to end it here, before I got addicted to such shameful pleasures.

I had two months of his luxury-level allowance. Surely I could find another sponsor who didn’t want to treat me the brutal way Christian had made it so clear he intended to do. I didn’t owe him anything either, did I? I had let him do as he pleased with me, and the fact that my body had enjoyed it more than I had wanted or imagined had nothing to do with how I would live from this point forward.

Not if I have anything to say about it, at any rate.

I started to struggle against the grip of his hands, twisting my head to free my hair from his twining fingers. I looked into his face with narrowed eyes, seeing his own gaze darken so much that my heart skipped a beat in panic.

“Did you hear me?” I said in a considerably more quavering voice than I had used a moment before. I wasn’t absolutely sure that I knew how to invoke the security surveillance, nor did I feel any true certainty that I actually wanted what I thought I wanted. That turmoil, however, only made my immediate resolve stronger: I had tolookandsoundlike I knew what I wanted, or I had no chance of escape.

My resistance also grew in strength as the sex hormones faded from my system after all the intense, degrading pleasure Christian had forced on me. Really I couldn’t even believe that my bodyhadfelt that much ecstasy, that way—with an arrogant billionaire riding me like his personal fuck toy.

“I heard you, Leah,” Christian said calmly. For one long moment he kept looking into my eyes and kept his hands on me despite my squirming. I swallowed hard, because I could see in his eyes the promise of terrible punishment for this disobedience, this failure to follow his rule that I keep myself ready for him to fuck.

Then a tiny smile appeared on his lips, and at the same moment he let me go and stepped away from me, one step backwards. I couldn’t help it: I looked down and saw his huge cock, half-erect and bearing the crimson signs of my defloration. I watched his hands reach down and put it away inside his fly, then zip his jeans up. A treasonous part of me, to my dismay, felt a pang of disappointment, of guilt even. I raised my eyes to Christian’s and found him studying my face, the little smile still there.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his tone light despite the seriousness of his gaze.

“Yes,” I answered immediately, because I knew I couldn’t show him the slightest hint of inner conflict. He had only met me a few hours before, but somehow he had me figured out: I had no choice but to pretend it wasn’t so, that he had mistaken me for a completely different kind of girl.

His smile grew a fraction of an inch, and then his eyes left my face and went to the ceiling.

“Apartment,” Christian said, “cancel sponsor agreement.”

My jaw went slack. “But…” I started, not at all sure whether the money represented the thing that actually mattered to me, or if something else about the finality of the words had shocked me.

Christian’s attention returned to my face.

“Don’t worry,” he said calmly and without a trace of the bitterness I would have expected from any ordinary person. “You keep all the allowance.”

“I…” I said, trying to begin again, but instantly losing any semblance of a meaningful thought as I looked at the billionaire’s gorgeous, bronzed face. “Thank you,” I finally managed to say.

“You’re welcome, Leah,” Christian said, though his smile had faded. “I had a good time, even if it didn’t last long. If you change your mind, feel free to message me.”

The smile returned, and something about it—perhaps just about the precise degree of its curvature—made me swallow. It took a second to understand why, but then the knowledge came rushing in, just as Christian turned to walk out my apartment door.

If I do change my mind… what willhedo, the next time we see each other?

Christian Guzman would not take me back unpunished, after what I had just done—the way I had more or less sold my virginity to him for a very high price and then dismissed him and his promise to take care of me as if I were tossing aside a discarded candy wrapper. No, if I did message him again—if I proved crazy enough to get back in touch with him, to beg for more of his financial support—he would exact a terrible price of his own.

Oh, no.

CHAPTER22

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