Sold on Valentine’s Day: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance

by Juliana Conners

  He moves his finger in and out of my hole as he sucks my clit. I’m overpowered by emotion and raw release. I finally give in to the mighty sensation I’d been holding back, afraid for what could happen when I let myself go.

  “I’m coming,” I say, pulling a pillow over my face so as to stifle what would be screams if I could only let them out. “Ramsey. I’m coming!”

  “That’s my girl,” he says, kissing my pussy and then sliding up next to me.

  I’m nestled in his arm, my head under his armpit, completely exhausted. I’m pretty sure I’m panting, although I’m trying to control myself.

  “Need a break?” he asks, with a grin.

  “Just a little one,” I tell him, still feeling the electricity running all throughout my body still, gathering at my nerve endings for an extra special tingly after- effect. “That was amazing.”

  “Tonight is amazing,” he says, stretching out across the bed as if we’re on a relaxing vacation instead of having to face early morning training tomorrow. “Our Just for One Night is turning out to be very nice indeed.”

  I smile, and think of all the things I want to do to him, to make him feel as good as he makes me feel. And I want him inside me still, far up in me and close to me.

  But before I have time to make my plans a reality, Ramsey’s breathing has become deeper and slower, and I realize that he’s fast asleep. And that I’m not far from joining him.

  I awaken to a scream. Lots of them.

  Ramsey is screaming.

  He’s sitting up in bed, his eyes wide with terror, his veins nearly bursting out of his arms, his mouth wide open, screaming.

  “Ramsey!” I say, touching him lightly on the shoulder.

  He moves his shoulders away from me in a sudden, jerking motion. He jumps out of bed and starts throwing pillows and blankets on the floor, with angry, vigorous yet soft thuds.

  “Ramsey! Ramsey!”

  I don’t know what’s happening or how to stop it. He doesn’t seem to hear me yelling his name. Or it just sends him into an even angrier rage. He grits his teeth and huffs through them. Then he runs to the door, obviously meaning to open it, but in his half- awake, half- asleep state, he’s in a stupor, and he overshoots it, crashing into the door with one shoulder and then slumping down onto the floor.

  Only then does he wake up, with a surprised jerking motion, his eyes popping wide open.

  He looks at me, then looks around in bewilderment, as if he doesn’t recognize me, or his surroundings at all, not even his own bedroom.

  “Ramsey?” I ask, tentatively. “It’s Monica.”

  I decide to take the tone of a trusted medical professional, the way I’ve seen people do on TV after someone has suffered a concussion.

  “We’re in your house,” I continue. “Your bedroom…”

  “Monica,” he says, sounding almost completely back to normal now.

  But his eyes still flitter back and forth, and he looks remorseful, regretful, and embarrassed. His shoulders slump and he sits back down on the bed in a resigned state.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I hug him, not knowing what else to do, but it must be an appropriate idea, because he wraps his arms around me, breathing heavily.

  “There’s another thing I should have told you,” he says. “But it doesn’t happen all the time. I thought it had mostly gone away, until I’m deployed again…”

  “What is it?” I ask him, although I know I’ve just had it shown to me better than he can probably explain it.

  “I have night terrors.” He sighs. “They’re pretty awful.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, as I keep my arms wrapped tight around him. “I can see that.”

  After a few minutes, he says, “Do you want me to take you back to your car? I’m so sorry for scaring you like this.”

  “No, I’m fine,” I tell him. “I mean, unless it’s easier for you if I go…?”

  “No. Stay.”

  He pulls me back onto the bed with him, and we look up at his ceiling in the darkness.

  “Well, we did say we wanted to have an exciting night,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Hrmph.” He lets out a low chuckle.

  Minutes tick by. I try to think of what to say, or do, next, to try to make him feel better, but I’m still a bit startled myself, and I don’t really understand what happened.

  Then Ramsey says, “I guess I owe you an explanation.”

  Chapter 8

  “I feel so bad that that happened,” I tell Monica, as we cuddle in the darkness.

  Cuddling is something I’m not used to, something I don’t usually do. But it feels right at this moment, with Monica. I want to tell myself it’s the least I can do after scaring her half to death. But if I’m being completely honest, it feels nice for my own sake. It feels safe. Secure.

  “And I feel even worse that I didn’t tell you,” I continue. “It’s just, so embarrassing. And since I didn’t think it would happen, I didn’t want to look like an idiot telling you about this weird… thing… that happens to me.”

  “So it doesn’t happen every night?”

  Her tone is curious, not judgmental.

  “No. It hasn’t happened in a while. It usually comes and goes in waves. I guess this is the beginning of a new phase. I had kind of thought… hoped… I’d gotten it under control.”

  I don’t say anything further. I feel like an idiot.

  “Is there anything in particular that triggers it?”

  “Stress,” I say.

  Memories, I want to add, but I don’t.

  “It’s probably because of the training tomorrow,” I admit.

  “Intense, war- like conditions,” she says. “I understand. It sounds like you might have…”

  She trails off, not saying it.

  “PTSD,” I finish for her.

  “So, you’ve been diagnosed?”

  “No. No. Definitely not.”

  I don’t want her thinking that.

  “Ramsey, there’s no shame in it.”

  “I know. But, it’s the way they treat us. No one knows, and you can’t tell anyone. Ever.”

  That was another, selfish, reason I hadn’t told her. I don’t want anyone in the military to know. Not even my brothers know the full extent of it. They know I’ve had some “issues” and I’ve seemed rather “down” or “brooding” but that’s it.

  “Okay,” she says, immediately, and somehow, I trust her.

  After all, I suppose, why would she tell anyone? And how could she explain how she even knows personal information about me without also revealing that we were involved in an intimate, illicit relationship, which would be as detrimental for her career as it would be for mine?

  “My brother Jensen was pegged as having PTSD,” I tell her. “He didn’t even have it. He was just supposed to use it as his defense in a stupid criminal charge, for defending our mom against some loser who was beating on her. All he did was step in to prevent that from happening at the time, you know?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Or at least, I can imagine.”

  “Well, they wanted him to claim that he had PTSD but then he would be placed on disability and he’d never be able to re- join his unit. He would have been screwed if it weren’t for Riley.”

  “His wife?”

  “Yeah. But she was his lawyer first.”

  “That’s pretty cool.” I can feel her smile, even though I can’t see it.

  “Yeah, but by saying he had PTSD he would have screwed himself over. Can you believe it?”

  “I’ve heard that military policies can be pretty unfavorable to service members with PTSD,” she says. “And it’s unfortunate. You should be able to get help without being penalized.”

  “Exactly.” I nod, although I doubt she can see me in the dark. “I know other guys who’ve had it happen to them too. They exhibit some symptoms, so they’re sent to a shrink, who they think is assigned to help them, but instead the shrink reports everything to
the military, since the military is who assigned the shrink, and the guy’s out of his job. His livelihood. Everything he knows. When the very reason he has PTSD is because of the military.”

  I shake my head.

  “Is that why you have it?” she asks.

  “I guess. I mean, I have had quite a few traumatic experiences while serving as active duty. But haven’t we all?”

  “Sure,” she says. “Once my plane was shot down. It was from low range and I was fine. It was kind of like a miracle. But it was definitely traumatic. My brother died the same way, a few years later, and it was like re- living my own scary experience all over again, while losing my brother at the same time.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. But I can relate. Once I was stuck in a fucking cave. We were propelling off a mountain and some enemy fire hit us, and we had to go hide in a cavernous part of the mountain. The debris exploded, and the hole was closed up, and we couldn’t get out. It was two days before they found us and got us out of there.”

  “Wow,” she says, sympathetic but impressed. “You’re a modern day Tom Sawyer.”

  “Like the Rush song?” I ask her.

  She laughs.

  “No, like the Mark Twain novel that the Rush song is based on. But you know, it’s fitting. It could be your song.”

  “You know that song too? Really?”

  “Sure. And it’s you. Rugged, independent, a warrior. It could be called Harlow Bradford.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m serious.” She puts her head on my chest, and I run my fingers through her hair. “Coming off as arrogant, but really it’s just because you can’t be bought…”

  This time she laughs, and I do too.

  “Anyway,” I continue. “When my brother was trapped in the burning helicopter, I thought about when I was stuck in that cave, thinking for sure that I would die. I imagined what he was going through, and it was that much more traumatic. So that’s why I say I can relate. And I don’t know why I have PTSD and you and others who have experienced similar things don’t.”

  “It just affects everyone differently,” she says. “But nobody is immune to feeling some effects from everything we’ve experienced.”

  “That’s true,” I agree.

  “So what will you do if the military finds out?” she asks. “About your PTSD, I mean?”

  “I’m just trying to make sure that doesn’t happen,” I tell her. “I’ve been kind of… self-medicating. Doing my own therapy. That kind of thing.”

  “Oh really. Like what?”

  “My music, for one thing. I was in what you could loosely call a ‘band’ in high school. But I hadn’t touched my guitar since then. I picked it back up, after I realized that maybe it could help. And it does, I think. I’ve also gotten into MMA.”

  “Martial arts?”

  “Yeah, I go to Jackson Gym here in Albuquerque. It’s where a lot of world- class MMA fighters have trained. I’m nothing near that level, but it just helps me blow off some steam.”

  “Nice. And you like to pick up random girls and bring them home.”

  “That’s definitely another stress relief,” I agree, and we both laugh again.

  She snuggles up against my chest, and that does it. I’m hard again, just feeling her naked body against mine.

  “Speaking of stress relief…” I say.

  I kiss her, and she kisses me back, willingly, eagerly.

  We’re close enough that I can see her body in the moonlight that’s peeking in through my curtains. I peer at the curves and valleys, the softness and the strength of it. I’ve never seen such a perfect body: voluptuous, fit, fine.

  I love that I can have it, tonight, all night, that it’s all mine. I’m on top of her and grabbing her supple ass before another minute passes. She spreads her legs and winds them around me, arches her back, puts her entire body on display for me, gives it entirely to me.

  I take it, ravenously, wholly, but holding back just a bit so that she can’t tell how deeply I’ve fallen for her body. A man’s got to keep some self- respect. And we both know this is just for one night.

  I ease myself into the opening of her pussy, which is still quite wet, and quivering, from earlier. I can slide in without lubrication, although it’s still tight, and it feels so good inside.

  I kiss her, and she moves beneath me, already squirming.

  “Ramsey, I still feel so good,” she says, catching her breath.

  I love to feel her curvy ass, her soft skin. I push myself deeper inside her, in and out, out and in, nibbling her nipples and then squeezing her breasts, as she comes again and again. I love how easily she comes for me, how effortlessly her body opens up and lets go for me.

  I can feel my cock stiffening even more, pulsing, and throbbing.

  “I’m going to come in you,” I tell her.

  “Good,” she says, still moaning a bit as another orgasm ripples through her, causing her pussy to shake and my cock to throb even more.

  “I’m not wearing a condom. I’m going to come in your naked pussy.”

  It’s been a long time since I’ve had unprotected sex. There’s a thrill to it, a secret aura of desire and possession mixed together. The knowledge that I could get her pregnant.

  Sure, she says she’s on the Pill, but that doesn’t always work. What if my sperm has the power to transform this one night into many more…

  Shut up, Ramsey, I chide myself. Stop being ridiculous and just enjoy this moment. Don’t let yourself get crazy.

  I know it’s just a primal urge to impregnate, to conquer. But it still feels good on a physical and emotional level. To empty myself into her, and to know that my seed is spilling inside her.

  I pump my cock deep within her while shooting my cum into her warm and welcoming pussy. She moans into the pillow while I grunt, doing my best to keep quiet.

  That’s it, Ramsey. Just fuck the girl. Get the job done. That’s what you’re good at.

  I’m proud of myself for holding back my twisted fantasies while letting go of my load. I feel it throughout my entire body: a release I needed so desperately I didn’t even know it. I feel lighter, yet fuller at the same time.

  I sink into the pillow, caressing her head with one hand, my other hand wrapped possessively around her waist, as if someone might try to climb into my window and steal her while I’m sleeping.

  She’s still mine, for the rest of the night.

  “Good night, Ramsey,” she says, in a barely audible, calming whisper.

  “Good night, again, Monica.”

  And what a good night it is.

  I just made love to a beautiful, mysterious woman. I claimed her, and she let me take her. I know I’m about to sink into a peaceful sleep. And I have a feeling I won’t be having any more night terrors tonight.

  Chapter 9

  I wake up very early, before the sun has come up, like I always do. Growing up, my brothers and I’d had chores to do. If they beat me to them, then I’d have to do theirs. Everything had been a competition. And I liked to win. I still do.

  After so many years, habits become ingrained in a person, part of them. The early bird gets the hottest shower, the worm, and a lot of other things in life. Good things come to those who go after them.

  These were mottos that my parents repeated in my house, growing up, and it comforts me to follow them even now, long after part of my family— my brother— is gone. I know that he’s with me in spirit, proud of my work ethic and my punctuality. And my dad is basically gone too— rendered bed- bound and senile after his stroke— but I know that he’s with me in spirit and proud of me too.

  As I turn my head to look at a still- sleeping Ramsey, I think, Sure, my brother and father would be proud of me, but not for my random one night stand.

  Oh well, I figure. Everyone’s entitled to a private life. No one is ever going to find out about Ramsey and me. We’ve both sworn to keep it secret, just like we’ve both acknowledged that it’s only for this one nig
ht.

  I peer at Ramsey. He didn’t have any repeat night terror episodes after we went back to sleep, and it looks like he’s sleeping contentedly.

  Our Just One Night is over. I knew it had to end. Last night was like a dream come true but everyone wakes up from their dreams. Time to face reality, and the training ground full of men ready to tease and taunt me due to my gender.

  I sit up, ready to take that shower and get ready for the grueling day of training that lays ahead. Time to wash off the night we had, that must remain in our past now.

  The only reason our tryst may have been a mistake is because it kept us up so late when we have to train so early. But I don’t regret it.

  I step out of bed, but Ramsey, still mostly asleep, grabs my arm and holds onto me.

  “Don’t go,” he mumbles.

  I can tell that his intention is to pull me back in bed beside him, but his arm flops back down onto my lap, too tired to carry out his plan.

  Well, I think, I might as well extend our Just One Night by just a little bit.

  Last night had already turned into today by the time we made love, I reason. And I owe him one.

  I climb on top of him and feel that he is already hard. His cock is long, thick, and by far the largest I’ve ever had, although I haven’t had even average experience, I wouldn’t guess. It was so big that it scared me at first, although it seemed to fit inside me perfectly.

  I take his cock in my hand and put its tip in my mouth. I lick around the head, and then suck on it gently, moving my hand up and down his shaft.

  “Mmmm.”

  Ramsey stirs, raising his head a bit and looking down at me with half- closed, still- tired eyes.

  “Am I dreaming?”

  “Yes,” I say. “And hopefully it’s a very good dream.”

  I take him further into my mouth, and he fills it up completely before it’s even all the way inside. I have to shove it further in, trying not to gag.

  “It’s a great dream,” he mumbles, his hand on the top of my head. “I don’t want it to stop.”

  I push his cock all the way into the back of my mouth, then back out again. In and out, in and out, just like he put it in and out of my pussy last night. I reach up to play with his balls while I lick his shaft up and down, then I return to nearly gagging on his big cock deep in my mouth, while my tongue licks its very tip.