Sold on Spring Break: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance

by CA Quigg

  Chapter Two

  Mallory

  “I’m dying.” Tanya groans and rolls over. “I hate champagne.”

  “It’s not the champagne’s fault,” I say, setting two Advil and a glass of water on the nightstand by her bed. “It was the tequila shots. Or maybe it was the fireball.”

  “Don’t remind me.” She buries her head beneath the pillow. “There’s a fur garden growing on my tongue. Never again. Never ever again.”

  “Sure.”

  We both know she’s lying. As soon as she’s recovered, amnesia will kick in and she’ll forget how crappy she’s feeling.

  Two glasses were my limit, because: A) one of us had to stay sober, and B) I don’t like not being in control. I tailed Tanya the entire night. The men she talked to seemed nice, chivalrous even. There wasn’t a grabby meat hook in sight. She was right when she said not all of them were lecherous. Most of them, or at least the ones I’d talked to, were polite and genuinely interested in what I had to say. As hot and as attentive as some of them were, none of them made me change my mind about selling myself. I intended to leave Mineral Falls with my v-card firmly intact.

  I still didn’t get why these men felt the need to buy women’s company, or virginity for that matter. All of them were attractive enough to get women without paying for the privilege. But, I’ll admit, it boosted my confidence to see the disappointment in their eyes when I told them I wasn’t available. Talk about an ego boost.

  “I’m going for a swim and will be back in an hour. Will you be okay?” I ask Tanya.

  “I might be dead by the time you get back.”

  “Try to stay alive for a few more hours.”

  I rummage around my suitcase in search of my new Speedo swimsuit but come up empty handed. I was sure I’d packed it.

  “Dammit.”

  “That’s three swear words in two days,” comes Tanya’s muffled voice. “Not that I’m keeping count.”

  “Dammit isn’t a cuss word.”

  I dump the contents of my suitcase onto my bed. No swimsuit.

  “I can’t believe I forgot to pack a swimsuit. Who goes to a resort on the Gulf Coast without a fucking swimsuit?”

  “Four.” Tanya lifts her head from beneath the pillow. Her hair is a rat’s nest of knots and mascara tracks run up and down her cheeks.

  “I brought ten. They’re still in my suitcase.”

  “Ten! Isn’t that like overkill?”

  “We’re here for five days; I figured I’d need two for each day.”

  She picks up the Advil, throws the pills into her mouth and takes a gulp of water before flopping onto the bed. “Please, God, take me now.”

  One by one I pick out Tanya’s bikinis from her suitcase. “These aren’t swimsuits. They’re scraps of fabric. I’ll be lucky if these cover my nipples. Don’t you have any of the high-waisted 1950’s ones we looked at last week?”

  “You mean the ones you looked at. You could always skinny dip.” She buries her head beneath the pillow again, and says, “If the men from last night see you, they’ll offer you a hundred grand on the spot.”

  “Not funny.”

  I select a red bikini—the one with the most fabric, which means a few triangles held together by dental floss, and take it into the bathroom to change.

  I was right: the cups barely conceal my nipples. Rolls of flesh spill out from everywhere and my reflection is similar to that of the Pillsbury dough boy’s—pale and puffy. The bottoms aren’t much better than the top. They cover my pussy folds and not much else. I’m thankful I’d let Tanya talk me into a Brazilian wax last week. The excruciating, hair ripping pain was worth not having to shave in order to make the bikini bottoms somewhat work. If my dad saw me now, not only would he lock me in the attic, he’d throw away the key.

  I go back into the bedroom ready for Tanya’s opinion, but she’s snoring gently, and I don’t want to wake her. As soon as I pack my beach bag, I tiptoe out of the room.

  I take a deep, lung filling breath and spread my arms wide. It’s still early, just past sunrise, and there’s no one but me on the beach. Probably because they’re all nursing hangovers, or screwing, or doing something else I want no part of.

  I curl my toes into the powder-soft sand and gaze at the never-ending azure water stretching in front of me. When I die, I want this to be my heaven.

  The meditative sound of the crashing waves soothes my soul, and the scent of brine fills me up. In a past life, I wonder if I was a mermaid because being by the water restores me like nothing else on earth ever has. An urge to sing Part of Your World surges inside of me, but I tamp it down. No one, not even the squawking seagulls deserve to hear my toneless voice.

  I throw off my cover up and dip my toes into the surf. A shock of cold races up my legs and I shiver, but that doesn’t stop me from running into the foamy waves. The water is icier than I expect and my breath catches, but I push forward and dive head first beneath the water, but when I try to break the surface, I can’t.

  I fight and thrash to get above the water. Panic takes hold and it’s as if the more I struggle not to drown, the more I drown. Lead fills my legs and arms. There’s no air left in my lungs. I don’t want to breath in, but my body forces me to, and when I do, salt water floods my mouth and windpipe.

  I’m going to die.

  Chapter Three

  Bryant

  The fiery sun climbs the horizon signaling the beginning of a new day. A new day I wish I was ready for, but I wasn’t ready for this week, never mind this day.

  A morning run along the sand usually clears my head, but not today. Why? Because my fucking resort has been taken over by a group called The Exchange. A group that organizes events where men buy women.

  The beach is empty, and I pound along the packed sand lining the shoreline. My feet move in sync with the beat of the music pumping through my earbuds. What was my brother thinking? Renting out our new eco-resort to a group of billionaires who, apparently, can’t find a woman to suck their limp dicks unless they pay them thousands of dollars was a shitty move.

  Last night, I stayed in my office and allowed my manager to take care of things on the floor. I didn’t want to see a group of college kids get drunk and defile what was supposed to be the jewel in our family crown.

  We have resorts in every tropical locale around the world. Each one as architecturally stunning as the last, but this one, this one, is my baby.

  We’d only developed thirty percent of the land, which means the existing vegetation can grow as nature intended. The local wildlife roams free, and at any given minute, a peacock or a racoon can wander into the buffet halls or reception area.

  In the middle of the property is a natural mineral water fall that spills into a fifty-foot deep sinkhole. One of only two in North Florida. It’s a place for our guests to unwind and recharge, and if I find anyone fucking in it this week, I will kill someone. Possibly my brother.

  Of all the resorts my brother, who takes care of high-profile conferences for our company, could have planned this particular event in, he had to pick this one.

  Personally overseeing the day-to-day running of one of our resorts isn’t something I usually do, but because this one is so close to my heart, I’ve spent more time here than in any of the others. I don’t have to work another day in my life if I don’t want to, but I’ve always wanted to work. Needed to work.

  After our father had passed, my brother and I grew our business tenfold. We’re a multinational real estate conglomerate, and I don’t want our reputation ruined because of a cattle market parade.

  What kind of man buys a woman for sex? It’s something I’ve never done and something I’ll never do. There are more than enough willing women out there. And they are always more than eager to do what I require.

  My tastes are something not every woman can fulfill. It takes a certain kind of woman to satisfy me—submissive and sweet, strong but gentle. And I doubt I’ll find anyone like that amongst the group of gigg
ling nineteen and twenty-year-olds currently strutting around the resort.

  If word gets around we cater to fetishes, God only knows what kind of groups and conferences will request to stay here. I made it clear to my brother, in no uncertain terms, that this will never to happen again. I don’t care how much revenue The Exchange brings in. This is their first and last time at my resort.

  I glance at the horizon, and a flash of something in the water catches my eye. I glance again, but there’s nothing there. I obviously needed more sleep and less stress. But then it catches my eye again. A hand. It’s a hand waving frantically. Who the fuck is in the water? Didn’t they read the Do Not Swim signs?

  Jesus. Just what I need: someone dying the second week the resort is open.

  I pick up speed and race to where I first spotted the hand. Along my way, I grab a buoy from an unmanned lifeguard stand and rush toward the water. I scan the waves but can’t see anything. The rip current has likely pulled whoever it is further away.

  I tear off my sneakers, socks, and t-shirt and dive in. Since it’s still early April, the summer hasn’t warmed the Gulf yet. Pensacola never freezes but gets cold enough that swimming isn’t for the faint hearted.

  Adrenaline spikes my blood, and I swim fast and hard, searching for whoever’s out here.

  The rip current attempts to pull me past the breakers, but I resist and get myself out of it. I stop swimming and look around, searching for the person dumb enough to swim without a lifeguard on duty.

  And then I see her. She’s fighting to stay above water. I catch a glimpse of her terror filled face and eyes.

  I swim to her and throw her the buoy.

  “Grab it,” I yell.

  If I go to her, in her current state, her natural instinct will be to try to climb on top of me, which will drag us both under. When she has the buoy, I get behind her and hook my biceps beneath her armpits.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Don’t panic or you’ll kill us both.”

  She coughs and shakes, but she nods and gasps for air. With Herculean effort, I manage to get both of us to shore.

  Breathless, we collapse onto the wet sand, and my lungs burn as if I swallowed fire. I pride myself on my fitness level. I work out for an hour every day on top of running five miles three times a week, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hurting.

  “What the fuck did you think you were doing?” I ask more harshly than I intend. “Didn’t you see the ‘do not swim’ signs posted all over the hotel and the beach? No one is allowed in the water unless a lifeguard is on duty.”

  I turn my face sideways and look at hers.

  Her cheeks are red, and she’s biting her lower lip. “I didn’t. I guess I should have paid more attention. I…”

  “Damn right you should’ve paid more attention. You could’ve died, and I could’ve died trying to save your stupid ass.”

  “Are you always this rude to people you’ve just met?” she asks keeping her eyes on the cloudless sky.

  “I’m always this rude to people who do stupid shit like try and kill themselves.”

  I trail my eyes downwards, and take a good look at the woman I just rescued. Somewhere between swimming and almost drowning, she lost her bathing suit—if she was wearing one to begin with. Her milky white skin and curves are hard to ignore. Luscious tits spill to the side, and her dark brown, puckered nipples are ripe and ready for my lips. I keep on looking, and my mouth waters at the sight of her shaved, smooth pussy.

  Her Cupid’s bow’s lips part and she inhales deeply, her tits rising and falling with each breath, but she still doesn’t look at me.

  My t-shirt is a few feet down the beach, and as much as I don’t want to, I know I should grab it so she can cover herself. The beach is private property, but hotel guests are free to use it whenever they want, and it won’t be long until they begin wandering onto the beach. Retrieving my shirt so she can cover herself is the right thing to do.

  It doesn’t take me long to grab it, and when I come back with my t-shirt in hand, she focuses her large hazel eyes on mine. The gratitude I see there tugs my heart, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize for acting like a dick, but I don’t. Instead, I give her the t-shirt and say, “Put this on.”

  Wordlessly, she takes it from my hand and when she sits her beautiful breasts fall forward. It’s all I can do not to reach out and take their weight in my hands.

  I motion my head towards the hotel. “Better go get ready for the pageant, princess. I hear there are a lot of men waiting to buy what you’re offering.”

  Indignation flares in her eyes. “I’m not for sale, jackass. No one—no matter how much money they offer—is buying my virginity.”

  The little mermaid has bite, I like it. I don’t say another word before I walk away. If I’d stayed a few minutes more, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from touching her and taking the one thing she said she wasn’t selling.

  I sprint to where I kicked off my sneakers and grab them along with my socks. I don’t stop to put them on; I have to get away from the beach and get away from her.

  She’s a virgin, huh? But she said she isn’t for sale. That’s interesting. I’d assumed all of the women here this weekend had something to sell. Guess I was wrong. I hate being wrong but this time I don’t mind.

  My cock badly wants her. I’ve never slid into a virgin pussy before, so that would be a nice fucking treat. But a sweet little virgin like her would never do the things I required a woman to do. She’s the kind of prim princess who would run screaming at the sight of my big dick. And the second my hand hit off her creamy white ass, she would scream in terror.

  Once I’m back to my room, I hit the shower and turn the spray to cold. Thoughts of my little mermaid assault my brain, and my cock stiffens. For the past six months, work has consumed me, and it feels like an eternity since I’ve had the time to get relief from anyone other than myself.

  What would it feel like to have her lips purse around the head of my dick? I soap up my hand, reach down and wrap my fingers around my throbbing shaft. If she were here, I would hold the sides of her head and slam my dick into her mouth, showing her exactly what a man like me would do to a virgin like her. I would place her hands against the shower walls and run my dick up and down the cleft of her ass before sliding into her tight pussy.

  I would spank her.

  I would dominate her.

  I would make her scream my name.

  And she would love every fucking minute. I move my hand faster and harder, picking up speed with every stroke. I didn’t even have the manners to catch the little mermaid’s name. Not that it matters, because I’ll never do anything about it.

  I don’t need to know her name. I just need to think about her amazing naked body while I pleasure myself. I wonder what my cum would look like decorating her beautiful creamy skin. I consider how hard my cock would ram in and out between her perfect tits and then plow into her tight, untouched, tight pussy.

  I work my cock faster and faster until I feel the familiar pull at the bottom of my back and in my balls. On a guttural groan, cum spurts from the tip of my dick and coats my hand before dripping onto the shower floor.

  I sag forward and brace my hands against the wall, allowing the water to wash me clean.

  Jerking off doesn’t sate me. In fact, I know I won’t be satisfied until I have her where I want her.

  Chapter Four

  Mallory

  What the fuck just happened? My lungs feel like I swallowed lava, and acid like salt water burns holes in the lining of my stomach.

  Dazed and on jellied legs, I somehow make it back to our room wearing the stranger’s t-shirt. It’s long enough to look like a dress on me and smells like spice, musk and fresh sweat. Whoever he is, he’s not getting it back. I plan on using it as a security blanket for the rest of my life.

  I feel like an idiot, and from the way he talked to me, I have no doubt he thinks I’m an idiot too. I should have opened my e
yes and saw the big red and white sign that said: “Do Not Swim if No Lifeguard on Duty.”

  I for sure thought I was going to die. How was I to know I swam right into a rip current? Just when I’d given up hope and surrendered to the water, strong hands wrapped around me and dragged me to safety. He’s like my very own superhero.

  For a long while, I was afraid to look at him. I felt grateful but foolish. But I also felt vulnerable because I was naked. My entire body exposed to the world. It was easier to stare at the sky and focus on getting air into my lungs rather than look at him. And then the way he spoke to me pissed me off big time. I guess he had every right to be mad, but he also had no right to assume I was here to sell myself.

  When I did look at him, my heart stopped, and it wasn’t because I was cold. He’s a God. A walking, talking, lifesaving God.

  His eyes are bluer than the water, his hair as dark as the night sky. And his body—whoa—if Calvin Klein is ever in need of a new underwear model, he won’t have to look much further. Cheesy I know, but in my mind, the guy who saved me will forever be perfection personified, and I wish I knew his name.

  Maybe he’s one of the men buying this weekend. If he is, then perhaps I could be persuaded to give myself to him for free, to thank him for saving my life, and because he’s so fucking hot.

  Though, I doubt I’ll ever see him again. Besides, a man like him wouldn’t be interested in someone like me. I’m too innocent, too inexperienced, too unsophisticated. I’ve lived a sheltered life with a troubled mother and a strict father, rather than a life of luxury or carefreeness to which he is undoubtedly accustomed.

  When I open the door to our room, the stench of liquor-laced vomit greets me.

  “Tanya? Are you okay?” She doesn’t answer, and I follow the smell through the sitting room and bedroom to the bathroom where I find her laying on the floor. “OMG! What happened to you? You’re a hot mess.”

  She gives me a weak smile. “Still more hot than mess, right?”