Taking The Virgin (The Virgin Auctions, Book Three)

by Paige North

  He licks my nipple, then plays with the distended nub while his hands reach behind me to cup my bottom. Sucking off of my breast, he brings me forward, and I lift one of my legs to wrap it around him as his tip nudges my sex.

  This is a game to him: See how far he can push his dirty little girl. Frustration rages through me, even as he turns me around so that my chest presses to the wall, my palms flat against it. My clit jerks in wild response. I can’t tell if it’s the hammering water that’s gotten me so wet or if that’s all me, but I’m ready.

  So ready.

  He drags his mouth down every inch of my back, taking his time, pushing and pushing me as if seeing how far I’ll go until I break. I claw against the wall as he arrives at my bottom, his teeth gently nipping my flesh at the curve of my ass as I flinch with every wicked kiss.

  Then I feel him stand up. I feel his cock slide between my legs, and I haul in a tight breath. This is the most brutal tease of all.

  Faintly, I remember the last time we had sex and how he was so disturbed in the end because he didn’t use a condom. Is he going to stop us cold to get one?

  I’ll be damned if I won’t feel every bit of him inside me, and I open my legs wider, wiggling my rear against him, encouraging him to push inside me with that long, firm cock. With a mean laugh, he slides through my pussy folds but not fully into me.

  “Are you trying to get me even harder?” he asks.

  I’m dying at the feel of his cock right there, enveloped by my juiced lips. I wiggle some more, but he doesn’t give in to me.

  “Can you get harder?” I breathe.

  As if to show me he damned well can, he pulls me away from the wall and down to the floor until he’s on his back with me on top of him. The water pummels my back, heightening the urgency I’m beginning to feel inside.

  Pounding, demanding, needing…

  He palms my breasts, squeezing them. Then, with an intense gaze, he brings my tits down to his cock.

  What is he doing?

  My pulse clamors, echoing in my clit, as I let him slide his shaft into my cleavage. Then he shows me what he wants, moving me up and down, using my breasts to stroke him.

  Dirty. Oh, this is dirtier than I ever imagined, and I love it.

  I love the feel of him slipping through the insides of my sensitive tits, I love that I’m doing something I never dreamed of in all my hottest fantasies. I love that he’s getting harder and harder with every friction-wet rub.

  I love that I’m doing that to him.

  As my hair covers my face and brushes his belly every time he guides me to stroke down on him, a primal growl takes him over. Without knowing what to do next, I put my hands over his to squeeze my breasts together. He increases the pace.

  He’s about to come—I can feel it.

  “Fuck…” he says.

  My pussy throbs harder, and I think I can even feel his cock pulsing against my tits, close to exploding. My own approaching orgasm responds, beating inside me, vibrating to get out.

  He growls, and before I can finish him off with my breasts, he grabs me by the hips, pulling me up to him and sliding his cock into me.

  Stunned, I inhale sharply. The sensation of him filling me up rocks me hard, and I sway on top of him before he grips my hips more firmly and leads me up and down his erection.

  The water pounds and pounds me, seeming to get faster with every second. He works me on top of him with a rhythm that gets more feverish by the moment, driving into me, fucking me like I want to be fucked.

  When he comes, it’s with a shredded series of grunts as he rams up and up into me with the force of his climax and the blasts of his cum. I only hold onto his arms, my head going fuzzy with my own fierce storm—raindrops hammering my skin with sharp pinpricks of heat, the erotic needles piercing me through and through until I’m nearly out of my mind.

  He presses my clit, helping me to get off. “Come for me, you dirty little girl…”

  The delightful pressure, the storm inside me, the way he talks to me—it’s all too much, and with a slap of thunderous force, I combust for him, then fall to his chest, panting, scratching, knowing it’s not over.

  In succession, more climaxes shake me.

  I don’t remember anything else, not until I finally breathe again. Not until I feel the water still pattering on my back, drowning me as I gasp for one more tight breath, then relax.

  Owen holds me to him, playing with my hair in a gesture that touches me, makes me happier than I’ve ever been. Then it dawns on me that we did it without being under contract, that we actually had sex for fun, enjoyment, mutual pleasure. There was nothing transactional about it.

  Is he thinking the same thing?

  And then he whispers in my ear. “Go to my bed, Red.”

  I hold my breath, wondering if I was wrong about him. If he actually wants me no matter what.

  Wondering who’s going to clean up the mess after my month with him is up.

  Chapter 9

  After drying myself off and then hanging up my wet clothing near the sink, I walk into the bedroom of the plane. There’s almost no turbulence, just the calming hum of the engines and the sense of being almost weightless.

  Sometimes the way Owen looks at me makes me think that he has real feelings. Why else does he want me to stay with him for an entire month?

  But in the end, I still don’t understand the enigma that is Dr. Owen Gregory.

  As I slip underneath the soft sheet and the dark blue bedcover, I sigh. I don’t know what kind of thread count this cotton has, but it must be decadent. I could really get used to it against my bare skin.

  I smile giddily when I realize that I’ll be getting used to it for a whole month…

  The shower stops, and my innate shyness has me pulling up that sheet to cover my breasts. It doesn’t matter that Owen has already become very well acquainted with them; I’m still new enough to sex that I blush furiously as I catch a glimpse of him in the bathroom stepping out of the shower: his tanned, sleek, taut body—shoulders, arms, legs, a tight, beautiful ass. Then he grabs a towel and dries off.

  I can barely wait for him to come to me. My heartbeat pounds out the slowly passing seconds.

  When he stands in the doorway and leans against the frame, the bathroom light shines from behind him, making him a massive shadow. I can’t see his expression, but as he leans against the wall, I imagine him lustfully wolfing me down with his gaze. I lick my lips as I run my eyes down him in turn, then tilt my head when I see that he’s slung the towel around his hips. It rides low enough on him to be dangerous.

  “Modest?” I ask.

  “I thought, this time, I’d make you work for what’s underneath my towel. And it seems you have the same idea.”

  I grasp the sheet that covers me. “You’re not exactly what I’d call bashful. But you bought me because I came wrapped as a demure virgin.”

  A low, rumbling growl comes from him once again, and I take in a breath. He begins to stalk toward me, slowly, methodically. A squeal of sexual anticipation builds in me as he gets closer…closer…

  He stops at the end of the mattress, then tugs at the bedspread. It slips to the floor, leaving me with only the sheet to hide my nakedness. Desire plunges into me.

  But then my cell phone rings.

  I know the ringtone, too, and when I look at the screen, I see my sister Jasmine’s name. Fear and caution mix inside of me.

  Owen must see the sudden change in my mood because he only watches me.

  “I’ve got to take this,” I say. “It’s my youngest sister.”

  He pauses, his expression blank. Then he turns toward a closet and goes to it as the phone keeps ringing. He’s tense, and I wonder if he’s callous enough to be angry because I’m turning him aside in favor of one of my siblings, not realizing I’m separated from them and that’s why I’m here.

  I can’t afford to think about it as he opens the closet, revealing a dimly lit row of suits. I answer the call. />
  “Jazzie?”

  “Jules?”

  Emotion lodges itself in my throat when I hear the sweet voice of my eleven-year-old sister. And I almost start crying when I hear how upset she is. She’s weeping.

  “Jazzie?” I pull the sheet tighter around me, swaddling myself. “Is everything okay?”

  She’s crying so hard that she can barely speak. “I miss you. I…I miss Mom and Dad.”

  Now my eyes well up, but I still hold back my sadness. I’ve always been strong for my siblings, but as the months pass, it’s harder and harder to stay that way.

  Near the closet, Owen has frozen.

  “Oh, Jazzie,” I whisper. “I miss you, too. I miss them.” I swallow, but my throat feels as if it’s cracking. “I’m trying my hardest to make things better so we won’t have to miss each other at least.”

  “I know. But…but I was just lying in bed, and all of a sudden I started thinking of when we would all go to the beach at night this time of year. Mom and Dad used to love it when the tourists went home and the locals would come out and have bonfires. If they were still alive, we’d be at one right now…together.”

  The memory sifts through me like rough sand, scratching and leaving behind a burn. My eyes begin to sting, especially when I notice that Owen hasn’t moved a muscle. He seems stiff, uncomfortable, but I can’t just end the call with Jasmine.

  “It’s okay, honey,” I say. “Are you still in bed?”

  “Yeah.” She takes in a stilted breath then says, “You know Mr. and Mrs. Terry make me get a lot of sleep so I’ll do well in school, but I can’t sleep. I just keep thinking…” She breaks down again.

  “Shh. It’s okay.” God, I wish I could tell her that I’m going to get us all back together again, but it’s too soon to do that. There’re still too many hoops to jump through with social services, and there’s still our currently uninhabitable house to deal with. “Do you have BooBoo with you?”

  “Yes.”

  BooBoo is one of the stuffed animals I had with me at college. I gave the worn bear to her when we were forced apart. Jasmine’s eleven, but she held onto that memento as if it were a life raft. Truthfully, my sixteen-year-old sister Jemma did the same thing with the blue elephant I gave to her.

  Owen rigidly turns away from the closet with a suit on its hanger as well as a button down. He goes into the bathroom.

  “Jazzie,” I say. “You hold BooBoo tight, just as if you’re hugging me. Then shut your eyes. I know you’ve got to be so tired.”

  “I am.” She lets out an unsteady breath. “I still can’t sleep, Jules. It’s so hard.”

  “I know.”

  When I look up, Owen is standing in the open bathroom doorway. There’s enough light for me to see that he’s aggravated.

  He gestures for me put a pause on the conversation, and I tell Jasmine to hold on, then cover the bottom of the phone with my hand.

  “I thought the rules were clear,” Owen says in a formal tone.

  What—is he really going to get on my case about consoling my littlest sister?

  “They are clear,” I say, “but my brothers and sisters happen to have foster parents who let the kids call every once in a while to tell me how things are going. I don’t know how much you know about my situation or how much you don’t want to know, but Jasmine’s upset tonight, and I’m not going to leave her that way.”

  He braces his large hand against the wall. “I don’t think you understand what I expect out of our arrangement.”

  Now my temper is up. “Look, I know you didn’t want to know anything of a personal nature about me. You made it abundantly clear that you don’t want to get attached to your transaction. Believe me, I understand.”

  “Good. Then you’ll also understand that this isn’t about your talking on the phone with your sister—it’s about my not wanting to listen in on your rather intense conversation.” He jerks his chin toward the bedroom door. “Now, if you don’t mind, continue the call elsewhere on the jet. I’ve heard too much already.”

  Mortification seeps into me. Just how granite-hearted is he? And after what we just experienced in the shower? Maybe I should also remind him that we don’t have a contract tonight.

  “Fine,” I only say, getting up and yanking the sheet off the bed so I can wrap all of it around me. Then I stomp off. “I’m going.”

  “Thank you,” he says coldly.

  Jerk.

  As I leave the room with the door open just to annoy him more, it feels as if my chest is folding into itself. It’s bad enough to have to hear and feel the pain and loss Jasmine is going through. The burden is excruciating. But then to be made to feel embarrassed for taking the call in front of Owen makes things worse.

  It’s like he’s ashamed to even listen to me talk. He doesn’t have it in him to realize that I’m a real person with an actual life outside of fucking him for money.

  Once again, I feel like this is all a lie, and that I am worth nothing more to him than a warm body to fuck.

  I don’t want the flight attendant to see me dressed in only the sheet, so I slam into a different room nearby, close the door, and lean against the wall. Uncovering the phone, I slide to the floor as I put my sister on speakerphone.

  “Jazzie?” I ask.

  She sniffs, and I can tell she’s been crying some more.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” I say, forcing my voice to be calm, unruffled. But all I want to do is cry—loudly and angrily at Owen, at life.

  “Are you with somebody?” she asks.

  “Just a friend.” Hah! Some friend, or even lover. Or whatever he is to me. “Are you still holding BooBoo?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good. Hold onto her nice and tight.”

  Then I take a deep breath and do what Mom used to do whenever we had trouble sleeping—I softly sing one of the old ballads she used to roller skate to at the rink when she was a kid. After I’m done, I go right into another soothing love song. When I finish that one, I whisper Jasmine’s name to see if she’s still awake.

  She doesn’t answer, so I tell her I love her dearly, then hang up. I slump against the wall, gripping the sheet tightly around me and try my best not to weep. But even as strong as I try to be, tears still slip out. I fight them and fight them, and finally they subside.

  Yes, I’m majorly pissed off, but I’m going to make it through the next month, taking everything for what it is. I’m going to have the best sex I’ll ever have so I can make all that money I’ve been promised, but the minute I get soft and imagine that I’m starting to feel something for Owen, I’m going to shut it down. I’m going to take my payment and run.

  Outside the closed door, I think I hear heavy footsteps coming down the passageway. They pause in front of the entrance, and I hold my breath.

  Knock, I think. All you have to do is knock and I’ll forgive you for treating me so badly.

  There’s a pause so long that my pulse starts to thump in expectation…

  But then the footsteps continue as if they never stopped at all, and I hold my phone to my chest as if it’s the only comforting thing I’ve got. My connection to my family.

  I let myself cry, but only a little.

  Because that’s when anger really begins to take me over.

  Chapter 10

  Eventually I make my way back to the jet’s bedroom to strip off the bed sheet. When I find my duffel bag on the mattress, I wonder if the flight attendant put it there or…

  No, I highly doubt Owen would’ve been so considerate.

  At any rate, I put on some dry clothes. Then I return to the front of the jet where Owen is focusing on his tablet yet again.

  He looks up as I take a seat across the way from him. I’m already plugged into my music, and I’ve pumped it up as loud as possible. I hope he hears it even through the earbuds.

  I hope it’s annoying the ever-loving heck out of him.

  After we land, the limo ride to his mansion is just as strain
ed, except for the fact that he actually asks me if I’m feeling well. I’m pretty sure that’s the Owen Gregory way of wondering if I’m in the mood to get fucked again, or maybe he truly is concerned.

  Doubtful.

  I tell him I’m pretty tired after today, and he accepts that. Since I haven’t signed my new contract yet, I have no obligation to do anything with him.

  When we arrive at his mansion, it’s late. Nat isn’t around to greet us, and that’s a relief. It means I can go straight to my room.

  After I close the door, I wait to see if there’s a knock, but it never comes. I crawl into bed as soon as I can, pulling the covers around me and wondering if there’ll ever be another time between Owen and me like our wonderful romp in the shower.

  Early the next morning, after yet another rough sleep, I contact Nat on the intercom. It’s no use trying to get more shuteye, so I might as well start my day.

  She brings a breakfast of fluffy waffles, bright fruit salad, and freshly squeezed orange juice on a silver tray that’s decorated with a rose in a vase. I’m still in bed wearing a lacy shift from the walk-in closet, and I lean back against the pillows that are bunched behind me.

  “Thank you, Nat,” I say as she positions the tray and its stand over my lap. “I meant to be ready in time this morning to have breakfast downstairs with you, but I’m slow to get out of bed.”

  I don’t ask if Owen has already gone into work. I really don’t care.

  “No apologies necessary,” Nat cheerily says. She has a leather binder tucked underneath her arm, and she efficiently opens it, then takes out a clipped bunch of creamy papers. “You have a bit of reading to do during your meal anyway. This is your new contract with Dr. Gregory.”

  So he hasn’t gone back on his offer. I’m still his unfeeling sex toy for the month.

  Nat busies herself by straightening the light fixture, intercom, and clock on my nightstand, then takes out her ever-present cloth from her serviceable dress to dust off the surfaces. Afterward, she moves on to another piece of furniture. Meanwhile I read the contract over.