The Billionaire Shifter's Virgin Mate (Billionaire Shifters Club #2)

by Diana Seere

  Fuck.

  Now?

  Why now?

  Derry jabbed the elevator button with a rising sense of panic, knowing the change was imminent. The Novo Club was achingly far, though deceptively close. If he couldn’t get in the damn elevator in time and get his palm on that silver plate, he was screwed beyond belief.

  And not in a good way.

  Her scent consumed him as insipid modern techno-beat music cluttered his ears, each note acute and fiery, screaming with the echoes of the damned. Senses sharpening by the nanosecond, the scrape of his fingertip against the burnished metal of the elevator button felt like sandpaper. The sound of seltzer sprayed into a highball glass was Niagara Falls. Jess’s shower gel was a field of lavender in Provence, the purple a swirling, swaying vision behind his closed eyes.

  His chest swelled, his cock hardened, and he struggled to stop his skin from growing the fur that tipped him from man to animal, from one form to the other, neither more true.

  Both just who he was.

  A deep breath brought thousands of scents, a mix of despair and arousal, loathing and desperation, the pheromones and perfumes and chemicals all mingling into a kind of olfactory madness overridden by one scent:

  Her.

  “I’m supposed to be hibernating,” he said to himself, his ears sharp and fully aware that his voice was morphing into something not human. “Not shifting.”

  The gravelly rumbles of vocal cords not designed for language made him begin to breathe hard, his muscles going rigid, his joints beginning to loosen as tendons slid and stretched. The pain was a sort of pressure that came with satisfaction, his metamorphosis a kind of destiny as he became more ursus than humana, more primal than prim.

  Ding!

  An empty elevator greeted him, and he thrust himself into it, pressing his palm against the secret steel panel for the Novo Club. A jumble of half-formed words assembled themselves into a primitive prayer in gratitude for his forefathers who built what he needed most right now.

  Second to Jess, that is.

  Eight floors below ground, he would find sanctuary from a world that could not know the truth about him. The flooding relief of pores that opened, the spiral, wiry release of fur from his skin as it thickened, the sharpening of his sight, and the scent of his own need made him fling his growing body against the wood-paneled wall over and over, the cables holding the elevator in its channel whipping around above like the crack of a coachman at the helm of a nineteenth-century carriage.

  “Jess,” he whispered, except the word came out without consonants, a vowel-filled call that meant his shift was nearing completion. The pain of torn muscle fiber muted itself under the emotional torture of losing control. He hadn’t shifted involuntarily since that humiliating coming-of-age moment while in boarding school in England.

  The last coherent thought McDermott Stanton had as the elevator doors opened to reveal Morgan, the secret club steward, standing before him with a welcome, somber expression, was the understanding that he no longer controlled any part of his world.

  Not his body.

  Not his mind.

  And most certainly not his heart.

  Chapter 5

  An hour later, he stood before the elevator, pushing the Up button so hard, over and over, that he was like a woodpecker. Morgan had, as always, taken care of him through and after the shift, providing a safe place for nature to take its course. The need to mate, oddly enough, had led him back to human form.

  He was confused. Nothing his body did made sense. Shifting in October was rare. Losing his ability to control his change from human to animal was unheard of.

  And living with the humiliation of being kissed, then turned into an object of ridicule by her—Her!—was an issue that needed to be fixed.

  Now.

  Blinking hard, he stopped, the dull roar of the blood in his ears subsiding just enough for him to realize he’d run away.

  McDermott Stanton did not run away with his tail between his legs from anyone. Rather, he ran away to chase a piece of tail and find his way between her legs.

  Fury pounded through him, but it brought a sense of clarity.

  If his kiss had been so unsatisfying for Jess, he should find another whom he could satisfy. Or two.

  Or three.

  And do it right here, right now, under Miss Jessica Murphy’s mocking eye. She thought he wasn’t worth a kiss?

  Oh, he’d show her.

  He’d show her exactly who was in control.

  With determination, he marched back into the lounge just as the public elevator dinged.

  “Derry!” called a melodic voice. “How perfect!” The gentle tickle of a Spanish accent was music to his ears as he forced himself to stop and turn on his heel, his smile more and more real as he caught the full image of Isla Monroe. The actress was far better known in her native country of Chile, but her breakout role in the US had come this year. Her face was plastered everywhere.

  And soon it would be atop his cock.

  “Isla! So good to see you,” he said, his voice booming loud as he swept her off her feet with a grin and a kiss on each cheek. She was hard and tight against his body, her face beautiful from about twenty paces, but up close, she was nothing but surgeon’s putty, Botox, and cosmetics. As a companion, Isla was good for a few hours of diverting fun.

  Like eating junk food: you crave it, you eat it, and then you regret it quickly.

  But it tastes so sweet when it’s in your mouth.

  “Derry!” squealed another female voice. Oh, the luck. Fortune was smiling upon him this evening, as Frederica von Eisenthorpe launched herself at him, wrapping those never-ending legs around his waist and embracing him the way a small child greets a parent after a long absence.

  Freddi was never one for decorum. When you’re the sole heiress of a family that had owned land in the time of the Vikings and managed to hang on to it through feudalism to social democracy and beyond, you don’t have to follow the rules.

  He loved her for that.

  “Ah, Freddi, you look absolutely divine,” he said into her shoulder, his words muffled by a mouthful of hair extensions the perfect shade of auburn that can only come from a chemical factory in New Jersey. “I must have done something wonderful in a past life to get both of you to myself tonight.”

  Isla quirked one eyebrow. At least Derry thought she did. It was hard to tell. Her lip went up a few millimeters, and she looked like she was having a stroke.

  “Both of us tonight, Derry?” Freddi said as he pulled her off him. She reminded him of an octopus strangling its dinner. “Only two?”

  He gave her a lascivious smile. “Do you have another friend?”

  “We have a playroom back at our suite.”

  Derry smiled until his teeth felt like white, polished rocks in his mouth. “You say the most delightful things, Freddi.” He looped their arms in his and sauntered back to the bar, barely nudging his head to catch Carl’s attention. The second the threesome was seated, Gillian appeared, wearing a tight smile.

  Hmmm. Speaking of a possible third…

  Jess appeared right behind her, all polished professionalism with a neutral, blank face.

  “Mr. Stanton,” Gillian said smoothly. “Ms. Monroe. And Lady von Eisenthorpe. Let me introduce you to our newest host, Jessica.”

  Isla and Freddi acted as if Gillian and Jess weren’t there, whispering to each other and scanning the room.

  “The usual?” Gillian asked. Jess looked anywhere but at him.

  “Yes, the usual. And, Gillian… are you free after your shift?” he murmured, making certain Jess could hear him. He looked right at her rather than the woman he was propositioning. “Freddi and Isla and I would love to get acquainted.”

  Gillian’s nose twitched with a pleased look as she seemed to struggle not to giggle. “Oh, yes,” she whispered, trying to keep Jess from hearing.

  Derry waggled his eyebrows and said, “Bacchus always was my favorite god.”
<
br />   “Not Loki, Mr. Stanton? I would think he would be more your speed,” Jess said in a clear voice, her face breaking into a cold, professional grin that said, Could you be any more shallow?

  “More like Thor,” Freddi said, paying attention to the conversation quite suddenly. “Derry is very good at hammering important things.”

  The three women cut Jess looks that made her swallow, hard. He knew she was struggling to maintain that neutral look.

  Good. This bothered her.

  He was doing something right.

  After an hour of serving drinks to Derry and his female companions, Jess was more than ready for one of them to lose consciousness. They’d been continuously pouring cocktails down their lovely gullets, draining each one, yet still they sat upright, sometimes on Derry’s knee, asking for more.

  More, Derry, more. It made her want to vomit.

  Clenching her teeth, Jess set more drinks on their table, dirty martinis this time. Each time she served a round, the women made loud sexual comments, for which Derry rewarded each of them with kisses, under-the-table groping, and banter of his own.

  “Dirty drinks for dirty girls,” he said, lifting one for each of them.

  Jess suppressed a snort, but Derry must have noticed her involuntary eye roll and asked, “Don’t you like to get dirty, Jessica?”

  There was absolutely nothing she could say without risking her job or her cool, so she said nothing.

  “Stop teasing her,” said the tall, auburn-haired one in insincere, European tones. “Our conversation is too mature for her tender ears.”

  Jess managed to keep her face and voice expressionless. “Can I get you anything else?” Her gaze skittered across Derry’s for a moment, just long enough to see an aggressive hunger there that made her legs wobble.

  She wanted to fling up her hands to protect herself. Or reach for him.

  The seconds ticked by in silence. She was beginning to understand why this job paid so much. She was beginning to wonder if it was worth it.

  “No, we don’t need you. Isn’t that obvious?” That came from Isla Monroe, Hollywood’s newest It Girl. Jess had seen her in a movie recently and vowed to never see her in another.

  Jess spun away without a word, digging her nails into her palm to stop herself from crying. No, not tears. Violence. She’d never wanted to rip a woman’s eyeballs out of her head as much as she did at that moment. Both women. And then drag Derry away by the ear.

  She stopped in the middle of the club floor and stared into space. Drag him? Drag him where?

  The answer struck her as a high-res, full-sensory fantasy, right between the eyes.

  Right between the legs.

  She saw him in her bed. That glorious physique, naked. His limbs, stretched wide. His eyes and voice, imploring. His cock, his huge, demanding, beautiful cock, hard and ready for her. Begging for her.

  The psychological stimulus had a predictable but unwelcome effect on her body. She was short of breath. Covered with sweat. Quivering.

  “You don’t need to do overtime on your first night,” Lilah said in her ear, taking the tray from her. “Did you realize what time it was? I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”

  Jess grabbed Lilah like the lifeline she was. “Thank God,” she said.

  “Are you all right? You’re shaking.”

  Jess couldn’t tell her. This guy was going to be her brother-in-law. “I forgot to eat earlier. I just need a sandwich or something.”

  Hauling her to the bar, where she handed Carl the tray, Lilah patted her arm. “You didn’t forget. You were too nervous, weren’t you?”

  “Get me out of here, will you?” Jess whispered. “I’m about to fall over.” That was true enough. Every time she came within twenty feet of Derry Stanton, her knees buckled.

  “Of course.”

  In five minutes she’d changed out of the borrowed club outfit into her own comfortable clothes, accepted Molly’s congratulatory hug, and was waiting with Lilah for the service elevator to bring them down to the ground floor.

  “I was going to take you out for a drink to ask you,” Lilah said, “but you’re exhausted and I can’t wait.”

  “Ask me what?”

  Lilah licked her lips, her eyes pleading. “Will you be my maid of honor? At my wedding?”

  The fact that she would worry about such a thing made Jess laugh. “Of course I will, stupid! Who else would do it?”

  Lilah flung her arms around her and squeezed. “It means a lot to me.”

  “I might as well be in one wedding in my life,” Jess said. “None of my friends would ever ask me. I’m much too cynical.”

  “You’re just going through a phase.”

  “Get used to it, sis. It’s going to be a long phase.”

  Lilah got that older-sister look on her face that said she knew better. “We’ll see.”

  “You will,” Jess said. But she was too tired to argue tonight.

  Lilah pressed the button for the elevator again. “This thing gets slower every night. You’d think a club of billionaires could speed it up a little.”

  A whistling and creaking noise indicated the car was finally arriving. Then they heard voices. Or were those screams?

  Just before the doors opened, Jess decided the sounds were feminine squeals of delight, and she braced herself for the sight that was about to unfold. Because she knew who it was. Before she saw him, she could sense his nearness.

  Him.

  Sure enough, the doors opened, revealing an orgy in progress. A tangle of bare limbs, an expensive skirt lifted above an even-more-expensive ass, two huge hands squeezing a breast on two women while a third, reaching around from behind, stroked the bulge between his legs.

  “Derry,” Lilah said. “Save it for later, will you?”

  With his open mouth hovering an inch above a puckered nipple, Derry slid his gaze from the movie star’s breast to his future sister-in-law. He promptly straightened, closing his mouth and moving his hands over a woman’s ass cheeks to the prim curve of her waist. The third woman, frowning at the newcomers, stepped out from behind him. Gillian. She looked at Jess with a self-satisfied but tense expression, like she was afraid of getting caught but liked being afraid.

  “Lilah,” Derry said. “I beg your pardon. I forget myself.”

  “Not much to forget,” Jess said, stomping onto the elevator in her own comfortable boots. They gave her another inch or two of height, which she appreciated around his hulking frame and the other women, one of whom she would have to work with on a regular basis.

  As the doors shut, she felt, rather than saw, Derry’s annoyance. Two feet behind her, three women in his grasp, he seethed.

  “Come on, Derry, there’s nothing wrong with a little kiss,” Isla cooed.

  “Not to happy, healthy women,” he said.

  Jess shot him a contemptuous glance. “You seem to be confused about why it’s called a service elevator.”

  “Boy, it’s been a long night,” Lilah said, hitting the button for the ground floor.

  Lowering his voice, Derry said, “It will be.”

  By the time they finally reached the lobby, the three women in his arms had renewed their efforts to procreate in public. Jess marched off the elevator and through the lobby, determined to reach the street before anybody saw the flush in her cheeks.

  It wasn’t arousal. It was fury. She pushed the rotating door around with both palms and sucked in the cool night air.

  “Hold it,” Lilah said on the sidewalk, tapping her arm. “My shoe came untied.”

  Helpless to flee while Lilah bent over to tie her laces, Jess had to stand there and watch Derry lead his harem out of the building into a waiting limo. A big, bald, suited driver nodded curtly at Derry, who gave him a drunken salute. The driver looked like he could double as a WWF wrestler. His face was as expressionless as a pancake.

  Bodyguard? How could a guy like Derry—a veritable bear of a man—need a protector?

  One by one, t
he women shot Jess amused, contemptuous glances as they climbed inside. Her last vision was the movie star’s waxed vulva. And Derry’s hand, sliding up her thigh in its direction, just as his driver slammed the door shut.

  If she’d ever needed a reminder of why she kept her own panties on, she’d just had it.

  One she’d never forget.

  Chapter 6

  The never-ending spread of hot flesh felt like a midnight chocolate-and-lobster buffet at a nudist resort. Add a few bottles of Chateau Lafite, and Derry would think he’d reached nirvana.

  And yet his mind wandered.

  Freddi’s tongue was in his mouth. Then Isla’s breast was against his lips. Gillian’s masterful palm caressed him there, and there, and oh—there.

  Yet it left him flat.

  Not flat. The plumbing worked. It worked just fine.

  But his heart wasn’t in it.

  As Manny directed the car down the city streets, the back of the limo filled with the heat of four sets of lungs, the scent of pussy and wine crowding out all others.

  Including Jess.

  He could feel his mouth and nose searching for the last remnants of her, like looking through a departing window on a plane until the person on the tarmac is real only in your mind. Isla’s hand slipped under his waistband as Freddi dispatched with his belt and pants. Freed and hard, he took all the women in with his eyes.

  His body relaxed into it.

  His mind clenched.

  God damn it. He doubled up his efforts, trying to unclench. He watched as Freddi dove between Isla’s legs, the tangy scent of her so familiar and enticing. The buildup that came from wanton abandon was part of the thrill of so much flesh. Tumbling into a pile of limbs was about losing himself.

  His mind, however, seemed to have found him.

  Found her. Jess.

  And wouldn’t let go.

  Isla tightened her thighs against Freddi’s cheeks. It looked like two stretched pieces of hard taffy, cold and stripped. She moaned and moved in short thrusts upward until Freddi pulled back, as Derry watched, his stomach twisting like barbed wire in a tornado.