His Virgin Payback: A Billionaire & Virgin Romance

by Virginia Sexton

  We don’t speak again until we’re downstairs, when Jacob holds the door of the Escalade open for me and says, “After you.”

  My mind races the entire silent ride home, but every time I sneak a glance over at Jacob, he’s staring expressionless out the window.

  I take a sip of the espresso, brewed fresh from my Nuova Simonelli machine. A luxury that cost several thousand dollars, but worth every penny. It had made regular coffee forever taste like horse piss to me. And don’t even get me started on the swill they served in prison — that stuff was black bile that oozed out of the dented silver coffee urns, pretending to be coffee but fooling none but the most uncultured prison denizens.

  This espresso though — I take another sip and savor the dark, rich flavor. Perfection.

  I take the cup into my office, striding naked through the penthouse. The sweet luxury of being back in my own home still hasn’t worn off, and I’ve been soaking up every minute of my freedom and of the creature comforts I once took for granted.

  There is one creature comfort I have yet to enjoy of course — my sweet Lily.

  The fact that I haven’t yet taken her virginity — that I haven’t plowed my dick into her tight pussy — is a fact that astonishes me more than anyone. Not that I haven’t enjoyed the time I’ve spent with her — in fact, I’ve enjoyed it more than I ever expected to. Who would have thought I would actually enjoy spending time with a twenty-one-year-old pastry school student? It shouldn’t be true, but it is — I like her.

  I don’t know what shocks me more, that I like her, or that I haven’t fucked her.

  But there’s another reason I’ve been holding back on taking her sweet cherry.

  When I first conceived this plan, I had one thing in mind: making her father suffer.

  Only this week. I had realized something important. Exacting my revenge this way would be beyond sweet — it would make Richard miserable to know that I was fucking his sweet innocent daughter.

  But how would it make Lily feel?

  She had given me something to focus on while I was prison. Like an addict chasing the dragon, my mind had chased Lily, getting high on her sweetness, on the thought that there would be something — someone — waiting for me when I got out of prison. But now the reality of her is in front of me and it’s sweeter and more luscious than anything I’d imagined.

  There’s the way her laugh had echoed through my penthouse the other day, as clear as a church bell. There’s the way she looks up at me sometimes, through lowered lashes, her green eyes sparkling and playful. There’s the way her body feels nestled against mine, her soft curves fitting perfectly against my hard angles. And of the course there’s the way she trembles under my touch, the way her body begs me to take her, the way her sweet pink pussy glistens with desire for something only I can give her.

  This is ridiculous. I’m swooning over her like a fucking teenager. I let my espresso cup clatter onto the desk and I crack open my laptop, flipping through to Facebook and finding Lily’s profile again. As soon as I see her face, my chest loosens.

  She’s got a new profile picture up — instead of the picture with her girlfriend at the club, in this photo she’s curled up on a sofa reading a book. She’s got on a sundress, pale yellow, and her long red hair is hanging down in her face. She looks enrapt in her book, unaware that she’s even being photographed.

  Without even realizing I’m doing it, I reach out and run my finger along the glossy screen of my laptop. I trace the curve of her body, the long lines of her legs. My cock is already starting to stir, just looking at her, and I wish that I could be there with her right now, watching her read, pushing her hair back off her face and kissing her creamy pale throat. To be the one taking the photo and capturing one last peaceful moment before I rip her clothes off.

  Of course, that only makes me wonder who actually did take the picture. Her father? Friend? A boyfriend?

  I know she’s still a virgin but I never asked about guys she’s had in her life. I’ll claim her body — but has anyone claimed her heart?

  My brow furrows as I stare at that picture. There’s a nagging ache in my stomach. It’s a feeling I don’t quite recognize, and one that I don’t welcome. I swivel back and forth in my chair, staring hard at her picture and trying to understand why I feel like punching someone and then crawling into bed for a week.

  —

  In the morning I call Rey, my caretaker. We haven’t actually spoken since I’ve been out and it feels good to hear his voice again.

  “Mr. Bradley!” he says. There’s genuine pleasure in his voice. “So good to have you back. Was everything satisfactory at the penthouse?”

  “Yes, it was, thank you. And please thank Agata for the muffins.”

  “Ah, you liked them?”

  “Very much.” I had actually eaten them all the first day I was out, that’s how much I missed Agata’s cooking.

  “What can I do for you today?” he asks.

  “The cabin,” I say. “If I wanted to go up there this weekend, do you think you could have it ready?” In addition to the Manhattan penthouse, I also owned a cabin on a lake in the Catskills. It was the perfect place to go to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city. The entire time I’d been in prison, I had dreamed about going back there and swimming in the crystal-clear lake.

  Lately I’d been craving it even more. I had counted down the days to my release, but now that I was out, Manhattan seemed more crowded than ever. I couldn’t even step outside without being bombarded by bodies — rushing and pushing and trying to convince everyone how busy and important they are. The irony is I used to be that person. Nothing but business — I thrived on the frenetic pace, the cut-throat attitude, the charge that came from merciless pursuing a prize.

  Now the only prize I wanted was Lily. And everyone else in Manhattan could go fuck themselves.

  “Yes, of course,” Rey is saying. “Everything’s just as you left it. You want us to stock the fridge?”

  “Sure. Oh, and can you ask Agata—”

  Rey cuts me off, chuckling. “The cake.”

  “The cake.” I grin. Agata made a famous chocolate olive oil cake that was to die for, and I knew a certain redhead who was going to get to sample it this weekend. Given her love of desserts, I had a feeling she’d love it.

  “She’ll be thrilled to do it,” Rey says. “Leave everything to us, boss. You want to head up Friday?”

  “That would be great. Thanks, Rey.”

  I hang up the phone and lean back in my chair. This weekend I would finally claim Lily’s virginity, and I couldn’t wait. The feeling spreading through my chest now is one I’m much more familiar with — satisfaction. Triumph.

  Winning.

  The next day I meet Sarah for coffee. I arrive before she does and I grab a mochaccino for me and an Americano for her. She bursts into the coffee shop a few minutes later, a flurry of dark hair and long legs. She dumps her purse down onto the table and then flops into the chair across from me with a huff.

  “You won’t believe the traffic today,” she moans. “I took a cab because I was running late and I thought it would be faster, but there was a water main break over on 47th or something? Cars backed up as far as you can see. Some very hot repair guys though,” she adds, but then wrinkles her nose. “Too bad they probably smell like the sewer.”

  I suppress a smile. Leave it to Sarah to turn every situation into something about guys.

  I nudge her Americano over towards her and she takes it gratefully, inhaling half of it in one gulp.

  “Thank you,” she says, when she’s taken a breath. “You’re the best. Now … spill.”

  “Spill what?” I ask, feigning innocence.

  Sarah grins. “Come on, missy. I want to hear every single detail. How was the date?”

  “Which one?” I grin playfully.

  Sarah’s mouth drops open. “Wait, what? There’s been more than one date?”

  I take a sip of my mochaccino, dr
awing the moment out. It isn’t often that I’m the one with a story and Sarah’s the one who has to wait patiently to hear it, so I want to savor the feeling for as long as I can. Sarah leans forward, her eyes bright.

  “You tease. Just tell me!”

  I laugh. “Fine. There’ve been two dates. And they’ve both been… incredible.” I can’t help the happy sigh that escapes my lips.

  “Wow,” Sarah says. She takes a sip of her coffee. “So have you done it with him yet?”

  I hesitate, then shake my head. “Not yet. I think it’s coming though. I mean, we’ve done just about everything but.”

  Sarah squeezes her coffee cup. I expected her to be ecstatic — after all, she’s only been bugging me about cashing in my vee-card for the last five years — but instead she looks wary.

  “What’s wrong?” I prod.

  “Nothing,” She smiles, but there’s something forced about it. “I’m happy for you.”

  “No, you’re not. What’s the problem?”

  She shrugs and stares down at the liquid in her cup. “He’s just not… I don’t know. I guess I pictured you with some cute pastry school guy and not an ex-con.”

  My smile drops. “You don’t approve.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s not that, honestly. I’m just worried you’re going to get hurt.”

  “Me too,” I admit, running my finger along the edge of my cup. “But it hasn’t been like that. He’s actually … sweet.”

  “Sweet? He’s a convict.”

  “It isn’t like that,” I insist again. Except of course, she’s right — he is a convict.

  But that notion just doesn’t jive with the Jacob I’m getting to know. That Jacob is sweet, and thoughtful, and actually seems interested in me as a person. Sometimes the way he looks at me… well, it doesn’t feel anything like what I expected. The other day I’d been terrified to go to his penthouse… now I’m counting down the hours until I can see him again.

  “So, when are you going to see him again?” Sarah asks, as if reading my mind.

  “I don’t know,” I confess, shrugging. “He hasn’t called yet.”

  After our trip to the Empire State Building, Jacob hadn’t made any other plans with me. There’s a little part of me that’s worried he’s already grown bored — maybe I’m not interesting enough or smart enough or beautiful enough to hold his attention for that long.

  Sarah furrows her brow again, then shakes her head. “What’s his deal, anyway?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” I stare forlornly down at my coffee cup.

  Sarah looks as if she’s about to say something, but then she stops. She reaches out and wraps her hand around mine.

  “You should have just gone home with that blonde guy from the club,” she says with a grin. “Clearly that would have been wayyyy less complicated.”

  Then we’re both laughing, and I feel a rush of gratitude for Sarah, my best friend no matter how complicated things get.

  —

  I get home later that afternoon and find the house empty. What a surprise.

  Dad’s been scarce ever since Friday, when I first left for my date. In a way, I’m relieved. I’ve always talked to him about everything, especially since Mom died, but this is one thing I have no idea how to tell him. A wave of guilt cuts through me, but I push it back down. After all, I don’t even know if Jacob and I are going to see each other again. I could be worrying for nothing.

  I wander into the kitchen and dig a container of leftovers out of the fridge. I’d made dinner yesterday — pot roast, mashed potatoes, and boiled carrots — but judging by how much is still left over, I don’t think Dad’s touched any of it. I spoon out a bowl’s worth, shove it in the microwave, then shoot off a quick text to him, letting him know I’m home and that I hope we can catch up soon.

  When the microwave beeps, I grab the plate out and head for the living room. I flick on the television and flop down on the couch to eat my dinner.

  I’m zoning out on a rerun of Friends when my phone rings. I glance down, expecting it to be Dad or Sarah, and do a double take when I see Jacob’s name on the display.

  I set my plate down on the coffee table and then try to frantically smooth my hair, as if Jacob can somehow see the frizziness from over the phone. I mute the television and jam the answer button on the phone.

  “Hello?” I say, trying to sound as sophisticated as possible with that single word.

  “Lily, hello.” His deep voice travels across the air waves and straight to my gut. I shift on the couch.

  “Hello Jacob.”

  “What time are your classes over on Friday?” he asks. I try to make out any background noises, wondering if he’s at home or at the office or out somewhere, but it’s completely silent on the other end of the line.

  “I only have a morning class,” I say. “So around noon.”

  “Good. Please text me the location of your class — I’ll pick you up there at noon.”

  My heart is already starting to thud in my chest.

  “Sure,” I say, swallowing. “What will we be doing?”

  “You’ll see,” he says. He pauses for a moment. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

  There’s something in his voice that sends a shiver down my spine. I try to think of something to say in response but my brain seems to have exited my body.

  “You too,” I finally manage, but by then he’s already hung up.

  I can barely concentrate during class on Friday, even though it’s my favorite class — Pastry: A Practical Application — with Chef Ingrid, my favorite of all my professors. My mind is on nothing but Jacob, as it has been all week.

  I still don’t know where he’s taking me today. Part of me hopes we’re just going to his penthouse and that he’ll finally want to have sex with me, but the other part of me hopes that he has another one of his adventures cooked up. Getting a private tour of the Empire State Building had been amazing, and I have no doubt that Jacob is the kind of man who knows how to treat you to an unforgettable experience.

  I just hope that whatever it is will be followed by another kind of unforgettable experience.

  But, honestly, at this point, it’s been five days since I saw him, and I’ll be happy just to … well, see him.

  Every time the thought strikes me, it takes me by surprise. But I’ll be damned if it isn’t true. I want to see him. Talk to him. Spend time with him.

  By the time class is over and Chef Ingrid finally dismisses us, I wash my hands, dump my flour-covered apron in the communal laundry bin and practically sail out of the test kitchen. Once I’m outside, I look around for Jacob’s black Escalade, but I don’t see it anywhere. Immediately my shoulders slump and my heart falls. Maybe something came up?

  I’m just pulling out my phone to see if he tried to get in touch with me while I was in class when there’s a tap on my shoulder. It’s a man in a dark suit and sunglasses. My stomach clenches.

  “Yes?”

  “Lily Prescott?”

  “Yes?” I repeat.

  “My name is Kristoff. Mr. Bradley asked me to pick you up.”

  “Jacob did?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He said he would meet you there.”

  “Where’s there?”

  His brow furrows, though with the sunglasses, I can’t make out his actual expression.

  “I’m sorry?”

  I shift my books from one arm to the other. “I mean, where am I meeting him? Where are we going? Jacob didn’t say.”

  “Oh. Upstate.”

  “Upstate?” My mind is whirring. “How far upstate?”

  “The Catskills. To Mr. Bradley’s chalet.”

  His … chalet? I feel a rush of panic. It was one thing to go to his penthouse, but a chalet up in the Catskills would be remote. I’d be far away from Dad and from Sarah, all alone with an ex-criminal. And what if I wanted to leave? I couldn’t exactly just get a cab home from the
Catskills.

  “That’s hours away,” I say. “Friday traffic? Is he crazy?” I know I’m rambling but I’m so taken aback that I don’t know what else to say.

  Jacob’s driver’s mouth twitches up into the ghost of a smile. “Yes, miss, I’m quite familiar with the driving conditions.”

  “Right. Of course. So… really, you’re just going to drive me to the Catskills?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I shake my head.

  “Let’s go,” I say, throwing my hands up in resignation.

  —

  Three hours later, Kristoff is pulling the SUV into a long, treed driveway. I’d tried to keep myself occupied on route by getting ahead on my class reading, but I couldn’t concentrate. I stared out the tinted window the entire time, watching the crowded city turn into highway and then into country. Not regular country though — rich people country. I shouldn’t be surprised that Jacob owns a place out here, but I’m surprised that he’s bringing me out here with him. We’d only gone on a couple of dates — if you could even call them that — and now he’s practically taking me on vacation with him.

  So what the hell does that mean?

  I’m still mulling it over when we finally come to a stop in front of the most gorgeous chalet I think I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s triangular, and the entire front wall is covered in windows that overlook a pristine blue lake. We’re surrounded by trees and I can hear birds chirping and insects whirring softly. What really gets me, though, is the smell. It’s fresh and green and nothing like the cloying asphalt scent of the city.

  Kristoff leads me into the main part of the house, and then disappears. I wander around for a moment looking for Jacob. I don’t see him in any of the downstairs rooms, though, and I feel awkward creeping around by myself, so I grab a bottle of iced tea out of the fridge and take it outside onto the huge back deck to wait for him.

  The deck overlooks the lake and there’s a gentle breeze coming in off the water that is incredibly soothing. I twist the cap off the bottle and take a long swallow, then gaze out at the water. I could get used to this life.

  No, you can’t, my brain hisses. This isn’t my life, it’s Jacob’s. How do you know this is anything more than a fun fling for him? A temporary distraction? You can’t actually expect things to work out with a man like him — a man that betrayed your own father?