Taking The Virgin (The Virgin Auctions, Book Three)

by Paige North

  Well. It looks as if I’m only here to keep my mouth shut and screw him.

  After all I’ve been through and after everything I’ve done to preserve my humanity after that hurricane tore everything in my life apart, I’m just a transaction to him. A…pussy.

  Damn me, but my jaw starts to tremble. My gaze goes a little blurry and hot with tears. Don’t cry, I tell myself. Don’t you dare.

  But these past months have tested me, frayed my nerves, and I can’t keep the hurt out of my voice. “Fine. I understand.”

  “Good.”

  A serrated silence gnaws its way between us, and through the haze of my tears, I see him tense up. Then he seems to lose some of his stiffness, but not by much.

  “It’s how I prefer things,” he says tightly.

  I feel a tear start to wiggle its way free, and through the sheer force of my will, I command it not to go anywhere. I don’t want this hard-hearted man to see that he’s stung me.

  Then the tear falls before I can wipe it away, and anger surges through me.

  “Well then,” I say, my voice thick. “How about it, Dr. Gregory? Do you want me to just strip right here so we can get the whole thing over with and you can be done with me? Is that how you’d prefer things?”

  Right away I regret it, and as I swipe another tear away, I can see the anger in him, too. I’ve been testing him during the tour with all my innocent comments and questions, and it’s obvious that he only tolerated that until he got fed up enough to shut me up. Now I can see how far I actually pushed him.

  But when I look a little closer, I see something else—something in the darkness of his eyes. It’s as if no one ever pushes him, and he’s not used to it.

  Before I can figure him out, he moves toward the elevator. He presses the call button and talks over his broad shoulder to me.

  “In spite of this rough start, I expect you to go to your room and wait for me.”

  I’m being sent to my room? What am I, a seven-year-old?

  He continues. “I’ll be there later, after going in to work. There’s much I need to attend to.”

  As the elevator door slides open, I realize what this actually means—he’s not sending me home. He’s keeping me, even with my sass.

  He reaches inside to press a button, then stands back while holding the door open.

  Miffed, I wipe the dampness from my cheeks and stride into the car. He’s still blocking the door from closing, looming over me, his gaze fierce yet chilly. But the closer I look, the more I see that there’s something in his eyes that seems just as ragingly confused as I am.

  As I strive for breath, I realize that his chest is slightly rising and falling just as mine is. But where I’m feeling a little out of control around him, he’s got an iron grip on himself, even with something as simple as breathing.

  His mastery of the situation arouses me, and a sharp sensation pierces me between the legs, a craving that’s already getting me primed for him. Can I be more of a pushover for him?

  And why him?

  “My kitchen is fully staffed and has a personal chef,” he says, still holding the door, “so order anything you’d like. You can take a bath, watch movies on your own TV, sleep, or try on any of the clothing that is in your closets and dresser. Be ready for me when I return.”

  I get the feeling that he’s trying to make our little spat up to me somehow. All those beautiful outfits he showed me during our brief stop in my room during the tour…everything in this mansion… It’s all mine until he gets home to have his way with me.

  He’s really keeping me.

  I can’t tear my gaze from his, even as he lets go of the door and it starts to slide closed. The last thing I see as my heart frantically beats is the hunger in his eyes, the need.

  The erotic possibilities that await me tonight.

  Nat meets me as the elevator doors open, then escorts me to my room for the night.

  But just one night, I remind myself.

  I don’t know what kind of a night it’ll be either, but a combination of fear and excitement gives me pleasant shudders as we walk into my own private space.

  The bedroom’s décor is sleek yet comfortable, with a low silver padded headboard, piles of pillows on the bed, shiny chrome furniture, and metallic modern paintings. Nat efficiently rubs a cloth over the surface of a dressing table, seeing to this one last detail before smiling at me with a sweetness that reminds me of my mom.

  An emotional bruise makes my heart hurt for a moment until Nat speaks.

  “You know, Dr. Gregory can appear rather like a mean ogre at times, but he’s actually much nicer when you get to know him.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to be getting to know him very well,” I say. “And it sounds as if I’m not the only girl he’s hired who came off that elevator with a long face.”

  Nat laughs softly, and even if she’s making no comment, I cling to her warmth. She’s the only friendly face I’m likely to see during this odd adventure. But when she gives me another fond glance, I think she likes me as much as I like her.

  I sigh. “Would I be wrong if I said that my life is far messier than Owen’s, and that probably makes us as compatible as oil and vinegar?”

  “You might not be too far off base.”

  It’s a relief to talk to someone about this, because no one knows that I went to Highest Bidder to get the money I sorely need. No one knows the lengths I’m going to. They think I’m raising money on crowdfunding sites.

  Little do they know I’m concentrating on only one man.

  “Actually, I have no complaints about being here,” I say. “This job is a godsend. When I found out about the web site, it was a no brainer to auction myself off. It’s quick money, and it’s going to jumpstart getting my brothers and sisters back in my family home. Your boss might not acknowledge it, but he’s about to help me pick up the pieces of my life.”

  “May I ask how old your siblings are?”

  I’m touched that she wants to know. “Jasmine is eleven, Jake is twelve, Jason is fourteen, and Jemma is sixteen.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but as Dr. Gregory’s personal assistant, I reviewed your application on Highest Bidder. I’m privy to many things, but not all of them, such as your family’s personal details.”

  I want to ask if she was the one who thought I would be a good fit for Owen after she went through all the girls on the website, but I can’t. It would almost make her sound like a pimp, and she’s far from it.

  But I really want to ask why Owen goes to Highest Bidder. And why did he want a virgin like me?

  Nat nods, as if to herself. “Based on the information you did provide, I had the feeling that you really needed the money. So I was happy when you were…”

  “Chosen?” I risk asking.

  Nat’s look doesn’t tell me anything, but at the possibility that Owen did choose me himself, my pulse flutters.

  Yet I don’t push my luck with Nat. Instead I say, “My parents were never wealthy people, and after the storm, there was no life insurance payout for us to fall back on after their deaths. Even worse, our home was also damaged by the hurricane.” I shake my head. “I didn’t want to put this in my application, but I found out afterward that Mom and Dad had been in arrears on their mortgage payments, so the house is due to be foreclosed on soon. It wasn’t covered by insurance at the time of the storm, so we were out of luck.”

  But the very worst of it is that my brothers and sisters are in foster homes, split up and separated for now. Until I can show the state that I’m financially able to take care of them again.

  Nat comes over to pat me on the arm then squeeze it. “Sweetheart, your luck has changed. For one wonderful night, just be a princess in this house. Take a lovely bath and eat some exquisite food. Then…” She smiles reassuringly. “Then do what you came here to do.”

  She lets go of me. I don’t see her expression as she leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

  As I wande
r into my marble bathroom and look over the ritzy bath soaps, oils, and lotions that are here for my pampering pleasure, my nerves tickle me. Aside from the modest kissing and caressing I’ve done with other boys, I don’t know what to expect tonight. I mean, I know what to expect, thanks to all the reading I’ve done and gossiping I’ve engaged in with my friends in the past. But I don’t know how it’ll feel or if I’ll do it right.

  What if Owen ends up disappointed?

  What if I’m too nervous to please him?

  I blow out a breath, draw a bath, and use plenty of mandarin orange-scented bubble gel. I stroll back out to the walk-in closet while stripping off my dress, panties, and bra. It doesn’t take me long to select a silky cream chemise accentuated with delicate lace. It comes with a sexy matching robe, so I lay that on the bed, too.

  Will he like me in this lingerie? Or, more to the point, will he like me out of it?

  I go back to the bath and stop the water, then ease myself into the velvety warmth. As I soak, the water and bubbles flirt with my skin, and I part my legs under the surface. I shift so that the water slides against my pussy, stroking over my clit. When I do it again, a thrill travels from my sex to my belly, making it flip. A decadent, fuzzy feeling takes me over, and I slip my hand between my legs, pressing, trying to make the ache go away.

  But as the image of Owen possesses me, the ache only grows. I think of his long fingers caressing me, and I wiggle, feeling the heat rising in my belly. I dip a finger into my opening, then bite my lip as I withdraw it.

  He’s going to be so much bigger than my finger when he enters me. Will I cry out? Will it hurt?

  As I ease my finger back in, feeling the slick walls of my sex, I close my eyes and imagine Owen inside me, pushing in, pulling out, getting me hotter and hotter with every pump…

  Dammit, I think as I stop. It’s no use. My fingers are no substitute for what he’s going to do to me tonight. And in spite of the fact that he frightens me, angers me, and makes me almost queasy with nerves, I want him and him alone.

  And if I admit to my deepest, naughtiest desires, I want to be fucked by him so desperately that it almost hurts.

  I get out of the bath and wrap myself in a thick towel that smells like fresh air, but my breath is choked in my lungs. The man I’m going to be with is mysterious, maybe even cruel, yet there’s a depth I saw in his eyes that hints at something else going on with him. Something more complex than I can explain or even comprehend…

  After I dry off and soothe myself with the mandarin orange-scented oil and lotion, I go back into the bedroom, dropping my towel on the floor and weaving through the dress, bra, and panties I’ve also left scattered. I slip on the chemise and robe then go to the bed and turn on the TV.

  I’m too darn nervous to eat anything, and as night falls outside the window, I watch one movie, then another. I take off my robe, toss it to a nearby chair, and crawl underneath the bed sheet.

  As the hours tick down and I put on another movie, I start to wonder if Owen has had second thoughts about our arrangement. Dread spikes me as I think of the language in our contracts that allows either one of us to back out and pay a penalty.

  Then, somehow I fall asleep, haunted by doubts, restless with fright, and when a sound eventually wakes me up with a start, I look at the digital clock on my nightstand that tells me it’s nearly midnight.

  Then I hear another sound. A knock on my door.

  I sit up, my pulse hammering at me, my stomach somersaulting as my door slowly opens, revealing Owen in all his powerful, dominating glory.

  In the blue light from the TV, I can see that he’s still dressed in his designer suit, as immaculate as always, his wide frame taking up the entire doorway. But it’s the look on his face that shocks me, because it’s obvious that he’s famished, his gaze taken over with blatant lust.

  He’s finally come home to claim his virginal prize.

  Chapter 3

  The tight sound of my breathing seems to fill the room. Tiny, carnal sparks nip my skin and eat away at the inside of my belly. With each shock, my heart seems to stop, then start up again.

  Am I imagining the wildness on Owen’s face? The wanting, the famished look of a beast waiting at the door?

  “You were very rude to me earlier,” he says, his voice a prowling purr. “Your comments and behavior distracted me from the work I tried to get done at the office.”

  This is the last greeting I expected. He’s chiding me, and his words chafe.

  I tug the bed sheet over my breasts. The tips of them are pebbled from desire, pressing against the silk of my chemise, and all he had to do to make me this way is show up at my door. I hate that. And right now, I hate him for owning me in this way, for making me wait for him and react like a desperate little thing for him.

  My anger gets the better of me, and with a small shrug I say, “It’s not my fault you couldn’t concentrate on your work.”

  He raises one eyebrow, but I don’t think he’s amused at my sass.

  God, I’m walking a thin line here. I can’t afford to be sent away. I don’t want to be. So I try once again to lighten him up.

  I let the sheet slip down, along with my guard. His intense gaze devours the sight of my nipples beading against the silk, but he only steps into the room and softly shuts the door behind him. A gush of cream coats my pussy, and my clit beats mercilessly.

  Then he stares at the clothing and towel I dropped so thoughtlessly on the floor earlier. He tenses up, then sets his sights on me again.

  “Do you usually leave this kind of mess behind?” he asks in a guttural whisper.

  “Not all of us are as tidy as you seem to be.”

  I brace myself for his retort, but something comes over his expression, something hot and primal that I can’t read.

  I struggle to breathe as he slowly takes off his tie, folds it, then saunters to a vanity table to neatly lay the silk down.

  “If I didn’t know better,” he says, “I’d say you’re the dirtiest, most careless girl I’ve ever hired. Is that what you are? A dirty little girl?”

  What he’s saying sounds so naughty, and my clit knots up.

  “Yes,” I say, surprising myself. “I guess I am.”

  A mixture of that familiar fright and excitement bolts through me as he turns away from me, hiding his reaction as he takes off his jacket. He painstakingly drapes it over the back of a chair.

  I swallow, not knowing what he has planned for me. Only knowing that my temperature is rising, my pussy pumping in anticipation.

  I can’t stand the silence anymore, and I offer an olive branch, a version of How was your day at the office, dear? Maybe that will put everything back on track with him.

  “What did your work involve?” I ask.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Once again, anger whips through me, and frustration overcomes me just as it did earlier on the tour.

  “Then fuck you,” I say.

  The words echo through the room. He turns his burning gaze to me, and it sears, it consumes, it has me clutching the sheet again.

  He’s pissed. But then something tells me that he’s also a little turned on.

  Or maybe a lot turned on.

  Before I can decide which it is, the tense moment between us breaks open and he surges toward me. I only have time to take in a stunned breath before he’s across the bed, pulling me to him, crushing his mouth to mine.

  I claw at his shirt, but I’m also kissing him back, breathless and dizzy, a chemical explosion simmering between us. I feel it inside of me, too, bubbling and smoking as he ravishes me with his mouth, his fingers tightly threaded through my hair.

  Our kiss is wet, wild, unstoppable, and as I grapple with his shirt, I feel the hard muscles underneath—streamlined, smooth, all man. All mine for this moment…

  As I make a small sound of need against his mouth, he growls, lightly pulling me back by the hair so I’m looking up into his dark eyes. I see how far gon
e he is, how he’s lost his grip on his steely control, and my clit responds with a twisting pain that has me hot and drenched for him.

  “We’re going to see just how dirty you are,” he grits.

  My clit pounds along with my raging heartbeat.

  “Pull up your nightie,” he whispers, his breath hot against my face.

  I can feel how my juices have already bathed my thighs, and as I reach down to inch up my chemise, wicked fear takes me over. This is the first time a man has seen all of me, and I never would’ve thought one would see me like this. I followed Owen’s pre-meeting instructions by using some of my cash advance from Highest Bidder to get myself waxed, and I’m neat and prim down there for him.

  That is, except for my excited creaming. Except for the clear proof of how much I’ve been looking forward to him coming home.

  As I expose my pussy to him, his gaze goes completely unfocused. I don’t know what comes next—all I know is that I’m melting for him, stimulated by how much bigger and more powerful he is than I am, a giant with rock-hard muscles, a domineering animal who has me gasping for my next breath.

  He takes his time reaching down between my legs, and when he smooths his finger over the landing strip of my pubic hair, I wince with sharp yearning.

  “You followed my directions,” he says. “That’s a good start to the night.”

  He slides his finger between my folds, and I arch in a burst of ecstasy, biting down on my lip so hard that it stings.

  “Sopping wet,” he whispers. Then he presses his mouth to my ear. “Dirty and sloppy for me. Fuck, Red, that’s an even better start.”

  Red.

  I think that’s what he’s going to call me tonight as he breaks me down with every stroke. Red for my hair. Red for my burning hunger. Red for the hot blood that’s beating for him.

  I can hear just how turned on I am as he smears my cream around my pussy, making my hips impulsively respond in gyrating need. He circles his thumb around my clit, then presses it, making me rock against him. A ruthless laugh chops out of him just before he removes his hand and tugs me down to the mattress with him, his back to the bed as I straddle his belly. I feel his hard muscles beneath my pussy, and I clench so hard inside that a surge of electricity nearly tears me apart. I shut my eyes and cry out softly.