Gambling For The Virgin: A Dark Billionaire Romance

by Dark Angel

  Cathy nodded and started stepping toward the door. The casseroles were sitting on the kitchen island next to the coffee mugs from earlier. I lined everything up against the mason jar salads I'd made previously in the week in the fridge. Usually, I'd have already eaten through the salads I had made for the week as they were my go-to lunch, yet many of them remained. My appetite had waned greatly when I knew my mother was near the end. The casseroles were a tight fit, but I made everything work in the fridge. I gave it all a cursory glance before shutting the fridge, content that we would have no need to cook or grocery shop for some time.

  My appetite wasn’t the only thing that had waned. I realized I felt warmer towards Cathy, the neighbor, than I had toward my mother for some time. It hadn’t been just sadness that had pulled me away from my mother, as some coping mechanism. No, reality withdrew me from her. It was my disappointment in seeing the truth that made it impossible for me to do anything but distance myself from her. In her final days, her sadness wasn’t about missing us, her loved ones. The deep resentment she felt for having me and the fact that she had Marcus—another person that wanted to take time away from her—was never more apparent than towards the end.

  I realized that, in my mother, there was a woman that I’d got my unshakable drive and ambition and focus from, but somehow, fortunately, I hadn't gathered any of her coldness. I cared deeply about my school work, for my future career, but I also cared about family. Friendships. It was something I assumed was both driven into me by my lack of her warmth for so many years, and because I’d had a father figure that was always caring, attentive, warm, and valued time with me.

  Then his cock touched me, and I’d been a horrible fucking slut that decided to go after it. I had no shame—all those fantasies and I did the most perverse and cruel thing I could to my mother’s memory. His hardness unraveled every naughty thought I’d ever had about him and made me weak. Unable to resist how much I wanted him.

  Thinking about my other right now only served to rile a resentment in me that only reminded me of the familial legacy. It was in my genes to have this coldness. All I wanted was the warmth and comfort of the one person who had always shown just that to me.

  That, and I could rationalize anything for what I was about to do when I closed that door.

  That was until I lose my nerve. My courage evaporated, and my mouth ran dry as I saw Marcus closing the door, thanking Cathy and turning his eyes to me as I closed the fridge.

  “We’re not going to do this. Not today. Not ever.” He said in a chillingly precise manner in which I’d never heard him speak. Marcus had a deep, rich timbre to his voice that often gave me chills, but not like this tone did.

  My stomach swirled uncomfortably, and my palms started sweating. Licking my lips and taking a quick breath, I found my courage again, if only to speak. “I think you know better than to make decisions for me,” I said, and we were both shocked that I would say such a thing.

  I was a model student, a model daughter.

  But the streak of defiance welling within me must have been the only thing I could muster while I tried to work up the courage to make him an offer that he couldn’t resist. It was dirty, wrong, calculating—I usually went about things the honest way. But something about my stepdaddy, about how much I wanted him, made me misbehave because I thought it would get his attention. If he was going to take a firm tone with me, I was going to show him how much I needed it.

  The world had taught me that I needed to be ruthless when I went after what I wanted, and I was finally going to listen to the world on that one. It seemed my dear mother had taught me something.

  Never let anything be too dear and precious. Nothing…untouchable.

  I seemed to stand a little taller. “Your marriage has been over for a long time." My voice took on a copy lilt. “And, yet, you’ve never strayed, have you?” I asked.

  He looked appalled.

  My stomach burned like I'd swallowed fireworks that were going off, but I was determined not to lose my nerve. "I'm not wrong,” I said with every inch of resolve I had. I knew I was right. Marcus was a good man. Such a good man. I just needed to be his bad little girl. I pressed my back against the closed fridge, wishing he was pressing me against it. “You’re loyal.” My belly warmed when I thought about how much I wanted him to touch me. It was keeping the words coming, even though I was fighting back shaking, I was so nervous. “You’ve stuck around to take care of me, even though my mother made sure I could take care of myself a long time ago." I wanted to be his little girl, but I hadn't been a little girl in a long time. “And you…I never thought you…” Suddenly all of my nerve had evaporated. I was vulnerable and afraid and the validation that he wanted me had faded. The fortification gone, I was trembling, raw with the fact that we’d never go back from here…but that didn’t mean we’d go forward, either.

  “For a good little daddy’s girl,” he said, looking me square in the eye with an intensity that made the air around us ignite. I was shivering, in anticipation, now. I couldn’t breathe when he paused, and I was gasping when he continued. “You sure seem to want to be a bad girl.” His voice was practically touching my body; I could feel the weight of his words like his fingers stroking my skin and teasing me. “You want to prey on me when I’m vulnerable.” Marcus’s words showed me another side of him new to me. His shift had brought color back to his face. He was angry. “Tara, you want me to prey on you when you are…” His loud, frightening voice since chills through me. Marcus; Isaying my name made my pussy throb with need. “I thought we talked about this when you were acting out when Helen was diagnosed.”

  I flinch at my mother’s name. At the memories of how my one and only burst of rebelliousness had been handled. My mother had taken the possibly correct tack that I needed to be punished and not allowed to act out. Marcus had wanted me to feel like I had a better outlet for my frustration and grief.

  Of course, Marcus had helped me. Inappropriate feelings I harbored for him were a complication in the comfort he provided me, but I definitely felt better after being able to talk to him. I was open with him. More open than most people are with their parents.

  I’d told him about how I never dated. And how my friends wanted to be supportive but didn’t understand. How many of them seem to think that around college applications time was the worst time for me to have a personal crisis, and could I put this on my college applications?

  I’d told him that I was a virgin.

  He hadn’t reacted at all. And I hadn’t said it in any attempt to court, woo, or tempt him. I had been explaining that I was going to have no mother, start my career—the one thing my mother would possibly be interested in—and I felt so alone. I had no one to lean on.

  Of course, Marcus offered himself then as someone that I could lean on. I told him that I appreciated it, and I didn't explain that my intense attraction to him was why I had resisted previously.

  He closed the space between us quickly. I didn’t realize that my breathing had gone shallow until his mouth closed over mine. Then, I was desperate for air. Desperate for him. He pulled back, his fist closing my hair into a makeshift ponytail, and I blushed furiously.

  Marcus broke the kiss. My stunned reaction was putting my fingers to my mouth to touch where he’d kissed me. My lips felt bruised, he’d kissed me so hard. The scruff of his cheeks against me had been visceral pricks into reality. I had none of the fire I’d hoped to put into seducing him, but I was burning from his aggressive touch.

  His other hand grabbed mine.

  "I'm not this kind of man. I should never have touched you." He sounded angry again. More than that. Full of rage. But beneath that I saw, in every marked line returning to his handsome face, he was hurt. Every gorgeous chisel of his jarred had an overlay of main etching sadness into his beauty. It made him more beautiful to me. It made me want to comfort him.

  I knew Marcus had truly loved my mother. It had always hurt my feelings for him that my mother seemed to
resent him more than anything. I honestly thought that she enjoyed him for sex but didn’t truly want another husband. Another person that wanted to take up her time and distract her from her career.

  When I’d heard Helen, my mother, shout as much at him one night, it had only made me feel worse for Marcus.

  But what was I supposed to do? I didn’t think my mother deserved Marcus. I wasn’t rooting for them to work out. I knew she didn’t deserve him. I buried myself in my studies and prepared myself for my career. I didn’t want to worry about what I would do when my mother passed.

  I certainly didn’t think this would happen.

  “I’m not the kind of girl that does this sort of thing,” I whispered. Marcus tightened his grip on my wrist.

  19

  Marcus

  Years of ignoring my growing attraction to Tara, my wife’s daughter, were fucking wasted. I was watching the baby-pink lips of hers trembling. I’d roughly kissed my baby girl’s lips. I was thinking about digging my fingers into her porcelain flesh until it was red from my touch. I wanted to see her marked by me. I wanted to make her truly my baby girl.

  I hated myself for years for having these thoughts about a girl that was too young and too inappropriate for me to grow as close to and to admire as much as I did. But the further Helen, my now deceased wife, got not just from my cock but from my heart, the easier it became to see that stepdaddy’s little princess genuinely cared about him.

  Sure, Tara had always tried to hide how she felt about him, but sometimes when they were together he could scent just how aroused she was. Little shaky inflections in her sweet voice would betray her sweet little body was so ready for me.

  Everything about this made me feel like shit. Like the worst fucking person in the world. It wasn’t just about the heinousness of betraying my wife—I was not the kind of man that thought stepping out on your wife was okay or something every man did.

  I wasn’t that kind of man.

  I didn’t want to be the kind of man that wanted to fuck my sweet little stepdaughter, either. But here I fucking am wondering how baby girl’s plush, plump little pussy will taste.

  Here he was, in front of Tara, and that perfect little mouth said words that triggered something in him.

  “I’m not the kind of girl who does this sort of thing.”

  You already told me that you don’t do any kind of thing. You’re fucking tempting me. Knowing no one had touched that beautiful body? She was my innocent kitten, and I needed to ravage her. Touch and taste and claim every inch of her. Liquid heat rushed through my pulse, urging me to crush her against the fridge. Put her ankles up as high as that lithe little body would let them and bury myself in her. I wanted to lose myself in her.

  That’s what it would be right now, wouldn’t it? Was this really the crashing of the waves of our pent up emotions about each other, or just some expression of grief? I knew that it was far off base from anything remotely resembling appropriate. But when I’d started hard fisting my cock in the mornings after she went to school in some painfully demure arrangement of pastels and neutrals that were genuine innocence…well, I’d passed up appropriate when her name was always on the tip of my moans when I came in the steam of my daily shower.

  “I’d like to taste what kind of girl you are,” I say gruffly, my lips close enough to graze the impossibly silky soft skin of her ear. Tara is my perfect little princess. She shivers against me, a not small gesture of just how nervous she is. Oh, Tara should be nervous because I can’t hold back the monster inside me that needs to take her, claim her, make her mine.

  Daddy will take care of you, my perverse fucking brain rings out. I can’t think of anything but having her sweet little pussy in my face. I want the scent of her all over me for days like I’m some kind of fucking animal.

  And I will be. I am the fucking animal that’s got this little doe cornered.

  I put my hand on the back of her neck and pull her against me. "You want that, don't you?" I ask her, my other hand pressing into her ass so she can feel what she does to me.

  Hot tears are pouring down her cheeks. Fuck. What did I do to her?

  "What's wrong baby girl?" I'm a monster; I'm the bastard who's going to have her. But I don't' know

  “I won’t be any good,” she sniffles out her tear-soaked confession.

  Fuck.

  She’ll be the best thing I should never have. Her pain makes my need to comfort and calm and claim her even stronger.

  “There’s no real study session for this, baby girl,” I say, brushing my thumb over her jawline. But anything you want to know, my cock is dying to teach you.

  I release her neck and pull Tara against me, lifting her ass up with both of my hands. I’m large and firm against her petite softness. She’s silky, everywhere, I just know it. I’ve been dying to confirm just that for some time now. Her tiny perfect round ass makes for two delightful handfuls in my much larger hands.

  Tara’s legs wrap around me. She’s so wet I can feel the dampness through the flimsy fabric of her panties, her dress already hiked up from this position. I plant her on the chair and drop to my knees, reverent for what my sweet baby girl is going to let me have a taste of. I desperately want her, and I know she wants me. There’s no going back now. I run my face up to her thighs, biting and kissing that flesh that’s porcelain and satin. Smoother than my filthy fantasies even conjured. Youth is wasted on the fucking young, no way I appreciated this fountain of youth when I was young enough for girls her age to be my age. No, when I was this young, I never appreciated the softness of their innocent. But I never appreciated anyone the way I do Tara. A youth of appreciating pretty young things wouldn’t compare to how I feel about Tara.

  I never felt this way about anyone, not even Helen. Helen seemed like the sort of person I was supposed to be in a relationship with. The compatibility turned out to begin and end with the socially acceptable age difference.

  I craved the kind of connection I’d always had with Tara. Our only problem was our socially unacceptable age difference. Me as her father figure. Still, no one believed in me the way she did, always cared about my thoughts or dreams the way she did. Tara had no idea how motivating or important to me she had been. Fuck what anyone else thought, Tara was always the woman I needed.

  I could repay Tara, show her in some way. I knew that no one had tasted that sweet pussy of hers, ever. Even Helen had appreciated my skill in the art of licking pussy and Tara deserved to feel damn good like I would make sure she would.

  Fuck. I shouldn’t think about Helen right now. Shouldn’t think about how her cold distance had her six feet under and I was about to bury myself balls deep in her daughter’s younger, eager pussy.

  If I was going to hell, I supposed I could keep my seat red hot on the way there.

  I couldn’t hold back from Tara if I wanted to. I was going to lay my claim on that sweet baby girl and make her mine forever. I was going to make her first time so fucking good it would ruin her life. No boy her age was anything but that: a boy. She was getting fucked by a man. This man who could show her how much he cared and made her want to pass out from the amount of pleasure he could give her.

  Already, Tara’s soft, sexy little moans and her lust-shaken thighs magnetically pulled me closer to her told me that I was overtaking her. Hesitation or nerves be damned, she craved me like I craved her.

  I should be ashamed to ruin and claim something so innocent.

  But I wasn't. Some prideful urge within me was thrilled to claim Tara as mine.

  I trailed my kisses up to the wet seam of her panties, deftly pulling them with my teeth. Rewarded by her trembles against me, I hooked my thumbs in and yanked them down, but kept them at her ankles. "Don't let those fall off." I should have been gentle, but there was a side of me that Helen had once enjoyed. A domineering side that took charge. And with Tara's innocence and eagerness to please me, to worship me, it would be impossible to suppress that beast within me. I wanted her caged to me
while her thighs quaked from my mouth devouring her pussy. She has no idea what’s in store for her.

  When my mouth captures the growing bud of her glistening clit, I am relentless in how I will pleasure her, alternating pressures and suction and working my fingers over the rest of her perfect pussy until I know I’m giving her exactly what she likes.

  Smugly, I think that she didn’t even know this was how she liked it at all until I sapped the nectar right out of her. She’s probably never even masturbated, and I file that thought away for future use. The thought of her touching this sweet little pussy I’m sucking on now makes my cock painfully jerk in my slacks. I have to get out of these…and into her.

  But I'm not so much of a monster. Sure, she's going to come all over my cock. Of course. But equally assured, she'll be shuddering at least an orgasm into my mouth, first. I don't want to rush anything and hurt her. Tara's at once this fragile doe of a girl I've got to protect, and she's the blazing hot woman that supports me and turns me on like no one else. I’d settle for nothing short of the perfect pleasurable experience for her.

  Not that I’m some kind of dickhead, but she doesn’t know how much that isn’t like me. Sure, I want a woman to come when I fuck her. Come a lot. But the reverence I hold her in…she knocks me to my fucking knees with how much I have to make sure everything is perfect for her. If she only knew how much she changed me, moved me.

  Inhaling her sweet muskiness while she writhed over my face was plenty affirmation for now. Putting my hand over her abdomen and applying some pressure to increase her pleasure, Tara’s sweet eyes look at me. Not questioning, not doubtful. Not uncomfortable.

  Trusting.

  She undoes me with how she lets me master her.

  And then, I undo her. Her head falls back and her teeth are grinding into her lower lip with intensity while a mashup of moans and grunts are gasping out of her trembling mouth.