The Billionaire's Virgin

by Jackie Ashenden

  It was scary to admit that, because when this was all over—and it would be over at some point—it was going to be so very hard to go back. But there was a part of her that wanted to grab it while it lasted and take as much as she could, while she could.

  Who would it hurt to accept his help? No one. And if she didn’t, the only person who would suffer was her. So why not accept it? Why not take the easy route while the going was good? Because God knew, she hadn’t ever had easy in her life, not once.

  Mia looked into his eyes, blue like the sky. “Okay,” she said.

  Chapter 7

  Xavier didn’t think her acceptance would feel like victory, but it did.

  Her dark eyes were very serious and he knew she meant what she said. But that was good, because he’d meant it when he’d promised her he’d give her the home she needed. When he’d promised to get her documents for her.

  He’d also meant it when he said he wasn’t going to let her go.

  The decision had been made the moment that spark of sass had glowed in her eyes and he didn’t question it. He knew it for truth all the way down to his bones.

  She’d been abandoned and hurt by people who were supposed to care about her. And when she’d left home, no one had come searching for her. She’d been left out on the streets like trash and no one cared.

  Fuck that. He was going to make sure that never happened again.

  Because she was his now, the very first thing he’d ever had that was all his. And he was going to keep her. He was also going to make sure she got everything she wanted and if that meant getting her a home, then he’d get her one.

  Going to mean she won’t stay with you, though.

  Maybe, maybe not. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, that wasn’t as important as the promises he’d made to her.

  She’d accepted his help and that meant he couldn’t let her down. He wouldn’t.

  Yeah but you’ve got a history of breaking things, don’t forget.

  Xavier ignored the thought. All the crap that had gone down the night of his mother’s Christmas party at the family estate in the Hamptons was over, done with. Sure, he’d made it his mission to make sure no one ever trusted him or relied on him since, and so far he liked how that had worked out. It certainly made it easy not to hurt people when he kept everyone at a distance.

  Except not her. He was going to make an exception for her.

  And he would keep her safe if it was the last thing he did.

  Her skin was so warm beneath his fingers. He shouldn’t be touching her, he really shouldn’t and yet now he was, he couldn’t seem to take his hand away.

  She was wearing that wretched pair of sweats he’d chucked into the hall cupboard a few months ago because it had a hole in the knee, keeping it held up with one of his old ties. On top she wore the white business shirt she’d found in the laundry pile that had come back from Mrs. Thomas, and which she’d appropriated for her own use once she realized her own clothes hadn’t come back with them.

  It had annoyed him, that she wouldn’t wear anything else he’d gotten her, but now he’d changed his mind. There was something very satisfying about her wearing his things, plus there was the added bonus of being able to see the outline of her nipples through the shirt because she didn’t wear a bra.

  Yeah, he wasn’t that much of a gentleman. In fact, he was pretty basic guy and he was okay with that.

  Of course, what he should be doing was giving her back her old clothes, yet he hadn’t and quite frankly he didn’t intend to. He suspected the wearing of his old clothes was her version of a silent battle of wills, but if so, she’d picked the wrong man to battle with. He liked winning.

  Slowly, he let his fingers slide down the smooth skin of her throat, unable to resist indulging himself with the caress.

  He’d been so good the past couple of days, keeping his distance from her and not doing what every male instinct in him was screaming at him to do, which was to strip her bare and run his hands over every inch of her pale, slender little body.

  Christ, he deserved a fucking medal.

  He’d never been so restrained in all his damn life and it was getting to the point where it almost physically hurt. Really, he should have gone out and found himself some other woman to take the edge off, but the idea of doing that left him cold.

  There was only one woman he wanted and she was sitting right in front of him, looking at him, her dark eyes like bright, brilliant stars.

  What made it worse now was that he knew what her hair felt like in his fingers. He knew what her mouth tasted like when he kissed her. And he knew what she felt like against him.

  There was color in her cheeks, her face glowing. But the look in her eyes was wary, as if he was a potentially dangerous dog that she wasn’t quite sure would attack her or not. Yet . . . she didn’t pull away or tell him not to touch her.

  He moved his hand, sliding his fingers around the base of her neck so his thumb rested in the soft hollow of her throat. Her pulse beat against his skin, fast, getting faster.

  “You should probably leave,” he said, unable to disguise the rough edge in his voice.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t think I can keep my hands off you.”

  Her gaze flickered. “But you’ve got one hand on me already.”

  Sharp girl. “I know. I shouldn’t.” Yet he didn’t take it away. He stroked his thumb over the delicate skin of her throat instead, feeling the instant surge of reaction in her pulse.

  The flush in her cheeks deepened and he heard her take a sharp little breath. “I don’t know if I . . . I want you to do that.”

  “So leave like I told you.” She had to, because his restraint was rapidly fraying, especially with his stupid brain telling him that all he needed to do was to slide his hand down to the first button of her shirt and flick it open, then the next one and the next, and then he’d be able to see those perfect little tits he’d caught a glimpse of in her bath.

  He’d been such a gentleman that night. But yeah, there were limits. There were always limits.

  Her long lashes swept down, veiling her gaze. Her mouth had become full and soft, opening slightly as if readying herself for a kiss. And still she made no move.

  It was as if she was . . . waiting for something.

  So Xavier slid his hand down to the first button on her shirt and flicked it open, watching her face. Her lashes trembled slightly, her posture stiffening, but she didn’t do anything else.

  He let his fingers trail lightly over her skin between where the shirt had opened. She was so warm, so smooth, all silky and soft and he’d never wanted anything as badly as he wanted to undo the rest of those buttons.

  If it had been any other woman he would have. If it had been any other woman he would have had her on her back and been buried deep inside her in seconds. But it wasn’t any other woman, it was Mia. And he knew—he just fucking knew—that she’d never done this before. Or if she had, it hadn’t been something she’d either enjoyed or wanted.

  Maybe she was raped. Ever think of that, asshole? A young woman on the streets by herself is such a target and yet here you are, just fucking going in with nothing but your own dick on your mind.

  A cold thread wound through him. Careless. He was always so careless. He didn’t think things through and tended not to notice other people’s feelings. Sensitive he was not.

  Yet the thought of hurting her was like pain.

  He stilled his hand and began to draw it away.

  “No.” The word was breathless, her gaze meeting his, wide and dark. She looked surprised, as if she hadn’t been expecting to say it either.

  “No?” He found he was almost holding his breath. “No, what?”

  “I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” She stopped, looking away yet again, her mouth firming.

  His patience was hanging by a thread. He was either going to have to get up and leave himself or . . . Well, shit, he didn’t know what else
. Maybe go and get some relief in the shower or something.

  “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want,” he said roughly. “So you’d better tell me what it is you do want, sweet thing.”

  “I don’t know.” She sounded desperately unsure of herself. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Sex you mean?” Because he had to get this straight for both of them.

  “Yes.” She ducked her head, her shoulders hunching. Which had the unfortunate—well, unfortunate in terms of his restraint—effect of widening the gap in her shirt, giving him a glimpse of the soft curves of her tits and a flash of small, pink nipples.

  He dug the fingers of his other hand into the arm of the couch, not giving a shit about the leather. “So . . . you’re a virgin?”

  “I guess.”

  “But you know how it all works, don’t you?” A perfectly valid question when he didn’t know what her old bitch of a grandmother had told her. If she’d told her anything at all.

  Her head came up at that, annoyance glittering in her eyes. “Of course I do. I’m not stupid.”

  He held her gaze. “I didn’t say you were. But I need to know you understand what I want.”

  “I know. Believe me, I know. I see it all the time on the streets.”

  Xavier let out a breath, a cold ripple of understanding washing over him. Jesus, and he could imagine what she’d seen. Prostitutes probably, and sexual assault. Sex as a transaction, as a show of power. Nothing good. Nothing pleasurable.

  “What I want from you,” he said carefully, “is not in any way what you’ve seen on the streets. Do you understand? It’s about pleasure. For both of us.”

  Another flicker in her eyes. “Well, yeah. Of course.”

  “So you know completely what I’m talking about.” It was obvious that she didn’t—at least it was obvious to him.

  She looked abruptly down at her hands again. “I mean . . . the guys seem to like it.”

  And the women didn’t, clearly.

  Xavier shifted, turning fully to face her, because if she thought he was going to be one of those assholes on the street, who forced women, who wanted to show off their power by hurting them, or who were just after a fuck for their own selfish reasons, then she was mistaken.

  Yes, he wanted her, and maybe by chasing her, it meant he was selfish too, but he didn’t want this only for himself. He wanted this for her as well. He wanted to make her feel good, wanted to cancel out whatever she’d seen on the streets of sex and show her what it was really like.

  “Look at me, Mia.”

  She shook her head.

  He reached out again, gripping her chin firmly and lifting her head up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. There was confusion in her eyes, and fear, all the same emotions that had been there when he’d kissed her the day before. Desire too. But did she even recognize that? Had she ever felt it before with anyone? If not, then no damn wonder she was so confused.

  “The kind of sex I want is about pleasure. For me, sure. But mainly, I want to show you how good it can be for you.” Her skin was so soft against his fingers and he wanted to stroke her, but this was important so he kept still. “Do you want that? Would you like me to show you how good I can make you feel?”

  She stared back at him and he could feel the tension in her jaw. “I kind of do,” she said huskily after a moment. “But I’m afraid.”

  “What of? Me?” He had to ask.

  “No. It’s more that I’ve never felt like this.”

  “Never felt like what?”

  Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Like . . . I want something.”

  This time he couldn’t stop himself, stroking along her jaw with his thumb. “And what you do want, sweet thing?”

  Her eyes were very dark. “I think . . . I want you.”

  A deep sense of satisfaction moved through him, along with a sharp triumph that made him want to push her down and give her what she wanted immediately.

  But no. He wasn’t going to do that. He needed to be slow, careful.

  Being with someone who was afraid of their own desires was new to him, and he had no experience to guide him. Normally he just made stuff up as he went along using trial and error, but with Mia . . . Jesus, he couldn’t afford an error.

  Already this thing with her was far more complicated than anything else he’d had with other women, and that alone should have made him pull back. Complicated was definitely not what he was after.

  Yet . . . she wanted him. And he was desperate to give her what she wanted.

  He stared at her, keeping his grip on her chin firm. “Then you can have me.

  Her eyes widened a little. “I . . . I don’t know w-what to do.”

  “You don’t have to do anything. Just keep looking at me and let me do the work.” God, he couldn’t wait. He would show her everything.

  Reaching out, he flicked open the second button on her shirt.

  She tensed, but didn’t pull away, so he kept going, tugging open the fabric. The two halves of the cotton gaped and she shivered.

  “Are you okay?” He watched her face carefully.

  She gave a little nod, trembling as he reached for the third button and undid it, the fabric gaping even further, revealing those pretty, perfectly round tits. He let himself look as he pulled open the rest of the buttons, measuring the tension in her by the taut feel of her chin in his hand.

  Christ. A flush had spread down over her chest, her nipples tight and hard. His cock ached, impatient as always, but somehow knowing that he was in charge of what happened here, that he was responsible for her pleasure made everything easier to deal with.

  He was not going to fuck this one up.

  He refused.

  Sweeping his gaze back to her face, he made sure she was looking at him as he reached out once more, resting his fingers once again on her throat, letting her get used to his touch. Before easing them down, sliding lightly over her chest, tracing little patterns on her skin.

  Her breathing had changed, becoming faster, ragged-sounding in the silence of the room. There was a darkness in her eyes, the same kind of darkness he’d seen in them when he’d kissed her, her pupils dilated, an almost glazed look in them.

  “Does this feel good, Mia?” He followed the curve of one breast with his fingertip. “It’s okay if it does. You’re allowed to have it. This is yours, it can’t be taken away.” His fingertip reached her nipple then circled around it a couple of times before gently brushing over it. “You know that, right?”

  She shuddered, a sound escaping her throat, something small and glistening running down the side of her nose.

  A tear.

  “No,” she whispered hoarsely.

  * * *

  He was touching her and his hand was so warm and it felt . . . good. So good.

  She’d never thought sex could be like that. That it could feel good. She knew what it was all about, of course, but on the streets sex was either about making someone feel powerful over someone else, or it was a tool to be used to get stuff.

  She never thought it could actually be about pleasure.

  Xavier’s eyes were so blue the color actually hurt, and his touch was so light, so gentle, she couldn’t deal with it. She’d never been touched like this before. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time someone actually touched her at all bar Xavier.

  “No?” he echoed, his fingers circling her nipple then brushing over the tip, sending jolts of sensation all the way through her. Making her breath catch and her skin feel like it was pulling tighter and tighter.

  She hadn’t meant to cry, but the tear had escaped anyway, leaving her feeling vulnerable and raw. How could she explain that even though she’d finally admitted that this scary feeling was desire, she couldn’t actually let herself have him? That he was like all the other good things he’d given her that she couldn’t let herself have. That she was afraid of having anything good because it was only temporary, only fleeting.

&nb
sp; “I c-can’t,” she choked out as his hand reached to cup her breast, her nipple pressing against his palm. The heat of his touch made her tremble even more.

  “Sweet thing, no one can take this away from you. It’s yours.”

  She gasped as he squeezed her gently then teased her nipple with his thumb, pleasure like electricity jolting every nerve ending. It felt wrong to enjoy this, to let herself have it, and all she could hear was her grandmother’s voice in her head telling her she didn’t deserve it, that she never deserved anything good.

  “I’m not allowed,” she heard herself whisper hoarsely. “I can’t.”

  But Xavier didn’t let go and she found herself suddenly hauled across his lap, his arm a steel bar behind her shoulder, his hand cradling the back of her head while with the other, he calmly pushed apart the fabric of her shirt, baring her to the waist. Then he put his hand on her breast again, pinching her nipple lightly, drawing another shudder from her.

  “This isn’t about what you’re allowed. It’s about what you want. What you need.” His voice was low, commanding, making something inside her go quiet and still. “You want this, Mia. And I think you need it too, which means I’m going to give it to you, whether you think you’re allowed it or not.”

  She shut her eyes, closing out the sight of his beautiful face and the terrible blue of his gaze, struggling just a little against him, fighting him even though she didn’t want to. Because the scars her childhood had left on her were too deep and she hadn’t realized until now how deep they went.

  But all Xavier did was shift his hold on her, pulling her hands behind her and crossing her wrists at the small of her back, keeping them there in a grip so strong she couldn’t break it.

  Then with his free hand he touched her—soft, light touches from her throat to her collarbones, to her breasts and nipples, to her stomach, tracing patterns of fire all over her skin. She shivered, her breathing hoarse in the silence of the room, more tears behind her eyes, though she had no idea why she was crying. Because she didn’t cry, she just didn’t.

  “Why are you fighting this?” he asked softly. “Am I hurting you?”

  His touch was slow and leisurely and about as far from pain as it could get. But she didn’t want to tell him the truth, afraid of what it would reveal about herself. Yet somehow though, it slipped out anyway. “No, you’re not. It’s just . . . My grandma was always so angry with me. She used to tell me it was my fault Mom left, that I didn’t deserve all the nice things I had.” She sucked in a breath as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb gently stroking her nipple. “Not that I h-had much that was nice. But I guess . . . I kind of ended up believing she was right.”