Billionaire's Virgin Stripper

by Lia Lee

  I let myself think that over. Where should Pops and I go next? L.A.? New York? I’d love to go to New York, but I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of getting Pops out of Cali.

  We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I have to get through the next twenty-nine days first.

  I chance a quick look up at Dante, and he’s scowling at his phone.

  We can do this all month, I tell myself. We can pretend the other one doesn’t exist, except when he needs arm candy for one of his events. We’re both grown adults. Well, me more than him, maybe, I think bitterly.

  “I need to head in to the office. If you need anything today, ask the doorman. If you want to go out, my driver is at your disposal. His number’s on the piece of paper on the credenza in the living room.”

  “Will you need me to go anywhere with you today?” I ask. See? I’m doing really well at this being professional thing.

  Until he looks up and his dark gaze meets mine. I feel the air go out of me, and my stomach flutters.

  “No. I won’t be needing you today. Spend the day however you want.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then he looks up at me. “So what will you be doing today?”

  “Why?” I ask, raising my eyebrow.

  “Why, what?”

  “Why does it matter to you what I’m doing today?”

  His jaw clenches, and he looks back down at his phone. “I’m paying for your time this month. I want to know where you’ll be.”

  Of course. He paid for me. He doesn’t actually care. This is good. I need him to keep reminding me of this fact so I don’t get caught up in memories of the way he brought me to orgasm after screaming orgasm.

  “I’ll mostly be here, Mr. Knight,” I say coolly. “I may go out to get some fresh air and go for a jog, but other than that, I plan on staying in and reading and possibly napping. I expect that I’ll probably eat once or twice, and I may have to go to the bathroom a time or two—”

  “Okay, that’s enough.”

  “Just wanted to make sure I was being thorough enough,” I tell him. He gathers his blueprints and papers without a word, tucks them into the large portfolio nearby, and then stalks out the door.

  About a minute later, he comes back inside and grabs his car keys off of the island in the kitchen, giving me a little glare before he stalks out again, as if it was all my fault that he forgot them.

  Dante Knight seems pretty good at laying on the blame. Unfortunately for him, I’m neither a doormat nor a little wilting flower. I can be his escort and employee this month, but there’s not a chance in hell that I’m going to let myself get caught up in him emotionally, in any way. I let it happen last night, and it won’t be happening again. Ever.

  Chapter Eight

  Dante

  It’s been a week. She’s barely talked to me, other than in that cool, distant tone, and every time she calls me “Mr. Knight,” as if she’s just like any of the other various assistants and employees I have, I want to put my fist through the wall. She stays in her end of the penthouse, and I stay in mine. Every once in a while, we cross paths if we both happen to want to eat at the same time. Even so, every time she walks past me, her scent lingers and it takes everything in me not to chase her down and try to get in her panties again.

  I wake up every morning with such raging hard ons that it almost hurts. I woke up three times in the past week to find my pajama pants damp.

  I haven’t had a fucking wet dream since I was seventeen years old.

  I’m jacking off in the shower, and often before I can fall asleep at night. It’s not enough. She’s here, and nothing will ever feel as good as her sweet pussy. I know this, and it drives me nuts. She’s ruined me. I’m a fucking mess, and every time she looks at me, it’s like she sees straight through me.

  I walk into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, and she’s there, sitting at the end of the table. She murmurs a “good morning,” but keeps her eyes on her phone. She’s typing quickly, and I wonder who she’s talking to.

  Shit. Is there a boyfriend out there somewhere? The thought fills me with rage, but it subsides a moment later when I realize that she’s not the cheating type. I might not know her well, or at all, really, but I know that much.

  And why the fuck that matters is beyond me.

  I wonder, for about the millionth time since the night we slept together, how it is that a woman who looks the way she does, who’s as naturally sensual as she is, was a virgin for so long. Her innocence wasn’t an act, and there’s a sick, primal part of me that revels in the fact that I was the one who claimed her, even though it scares me to death.

  Virgins. I swore I’d never let myself get into this situation again. I have to admit, though, that I’m able to breathe a little easier. Her coolness toward me, her lack of any type of emotion at all, other than polite professionalism, is reassuring.

  My mind flashes back to when I was Samantha’s age. Twenty-one. I feel the same old shame all over again. I’d been flush in my wealth and power back then, an asshole who knew he could have just about anything and took what he wanted without giving it a second thought. I’d met this sweet, sexy little thing at the park I often jogged at. She’d spent the better part of a week flirting with me, and when I moved on her, she was thrilled. Willing. Sweet. Seventeen. She was a virgin, and I took her virginity and walked out like it was nothing.

  That night, the girl’s mother called me, hysterical. I’d walked out, careless, cold, and the girl had tried to kill herself.

  She was innocent, and I’d nearly destroyed her with my callousness. I swore I’d never do that again, I’d never hurt anyone the way I’d hurt her. And then Samantha came along, and I’m reliving it all over again.

  So why am I so goddamn torn? Why does it piss me off that she doesn’t seem to want me? Why does it bother me that she’s turned away from me so easily?

  I hate this shit. I think, again, for about the millionth time, that I hired her to avoid all this emotional bullshit, yet here I am, a fucking mess.

  She looks up, and I realize that I’ve been staring at her. Probably since the moment I came into the room. Shit.

  “Did you need something, Mr. Knight?” she asks.

  I bite back a growl. Fuck, yes, I need something.

  “No. Why?”

  “You were staring at me.”

  “I was not.”

  She looks back down at her phone. “If you say so.”

  I grab a cup and pour myself some coffee. I gulp it down, even though it burns my throat. It’s a nice distraction from the way I want to spread her out on the table and feast on her cunt. I pour another cup and sit down.

  “There’s an event I need you to attend with me tonight. Susan will be by later with your dress. I’ll need you ready to leave here by seven.”

  I’ve been watching her, and I notice how still she’s gone. Her hands are shaking just a little, and she shoots me a little look.

  “Another gala?” she asks.

  “No. A night out with one of our best clients. His wife will be there, and I expect you to keep her entertained while we talk.”

  She gives a curt nod and goes back to looking at her phone. “So, what? Are we going out to eat?”

  “They’re theater buffs, so we’re going to that new musical everyone’s talking about.”

  Her eyes light up, and I remember then about her love of the theater.

  “You’re kidding.”

  The excited tone of her voice is a relief from the cool politeness she’s been showing me. If I’d known this, I would have taken her to a musical already.

  No.

  No, I would not have. She’s an escort. I’m her boss. That’s all.

  I clear my throat. “So, be ready by seven.”

  “I will.”

  I walk out without another word, sure that I’m going to lose my mind before the month is up.

  Chapter Nine

 
; Samantha

  Dante’s assistant, Susan, delivers my dress as promised, and I gawk over how gorgeous it is. We both squeal over it, and when I try it on, it’s perfect.

  Susan is a sweetheart. She’s in her forties, absolutely calm and collected. I’ve talked to her a couple times when she’s come to the penthouse, and she genuinely seems like a nice person. I don’t know why that surprises me, but it does. After I finish trying the dress on, I ask her if she wants to stay for lunch, and she looks totally shocked.

  “I mean, you don’t have to,” I tell her.

  “If my schedule wasn’t packed today, I would love to,” she tells me. “I’m just surprised. Dante has never asked me if I wanted to have coffee or anything like that,” she says with a little laugh.

  “Is he a good boss?” I ask curiously.

  She nods. “He is. Actually, he’s the best boss I’ve ever had. My youngest son has some health issues, and it was almost impossible for me to keep a job before. Lots of time off needed for doctor visits and tests and the occasional terrifying hospital stay,” she explains, and I nod. “But Mr. Knight is really great about it. I’m mostly able to set my own hours, as long as I get the things he needs done, done. No hassle about the times when I can’t come in to the office. No stress over whether I’m going to lose my job because I need to be there for my kid. I’m very lucky to work for him.”

  “Is it like that throughout his company?” I ask, thinking of his father, who didn’t seem much like Dante at all.

  Susan shakes her head. “Definitely not. I’m lucky. My contract is with Dante, not with the company.”

  After Susan leaves, I have time to think that over. He’s much kinder than I expected at first. Even to me. I recognize that paying one million dollars for a handful of events is going above and beyond, even if he is filthy rich.

  I spend the day doing my usual: checking through upcoming casting calls in L.A. I’m pretty sure that’s where I’m going to move my Pops and I after this is all over. A fresh start, in the heart of the entertainment industry. Maybe one day I’ll make it out to New York, but L.A. sounds pretty damn good. So I spend time every day looking through ads and a few industry websites for casting calls, and then I spend a little more time looking for apartments for rent. With what Dante’s paying me, I can pay off Pops’ debt, buy him a little place, and still have enough left over to live on while I find a job and go on more casting calls.

  One thing I know for sure: I’ll never strip again. I mean, I didn’t even really do it at the Calla Club; I hadn’t had a chance before Dante bid on me. But I’d come close, and I can’t see ever being in a situation where I’ll need to again. Some women find it empowering and fun, and that’s awesome for them, but I’m still a romantic at heart, maybe.

  I only want one man looking at me naked.

  Damn it.

  I hate him. At least, part of me hates him. I hate that I want him to touch me again. I hate that I can’t get the feel of his body crushing mine out of my mind, or that I crave the sensation of him filling me, thrusting into me so hard I feel like I’m going to be split in two. I didn’t expect to be this out of my mind, this horny, this needy for him again, even after her acted like such a jerk.

  I look at the dress Susan brought for me. It’s gorgeous, a long, violet Valentino gown that looks like it belongs on the red carpet, not hanging in my closet. Of course, Susan brought shoes, a tiny clutch, and matching underthings as well.

  This makes me remember those red panties the first night and the way Dante tore them from my body. He was almost frightening in his determination to have me, and it had only made me want him more.

  I close my eyes. But we’re not doing that again. He’s a jerk and we’re both adults. We know it’s a bad idea. My brain gets that, even if my body refuses to listen.

  At seven, I’m ready to go. I give myself the once-over in the full-length mirror in my room, and I have to say, I look damn good. The Valentino gown hugs my curves perfectly. It’s a sleeveless, strapless design, and my breasts look freaking amazing, the tops of them peeking out over violet satin. The skirt is swishy and floaty, and it moves like a cloud around my legs. My makeup is minimal, and I’ve left my hair down.

  I’ll just admit it. Part of me wants Dante to suffer tonight. He hurt me more than I wanted to show, but I’ve seen the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not looking. That hungry, almost feral look… he wants me. If he hadn’t acted like a jerk, we could have been screwing like mad this past week, and my body would be a lot calmer.

  So payback is a bitch and, I guess, so am I when the situation merits it.

  I grab the little black clutch Susan brought for me and take a deep breath before stepping out of my room.

  Dante’s standing in the living room dressed in a black suit that was clearly custom-made for hm. It fits him perfectly. He turns from the windows and his dark gaze flicks over me. It’s impossible to miss the appreciative look in his eyes, but I stay as cool and aloof as I have been every time I’ve seen him this past week. It’s a role, I’m an actress. I can be anything. Even indifferent to Dante Knight.

  “You look nice,” he says.

  “You too, Mr. Knight.”

  “Can you stop that?” he mutters.

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop with the Mr. Knight bullshit.”

  “I’m your employee. All of your other employees call you Mr. Knight.”

  He seems like he wants to say something to that, but he bites back whatever it is.

  “For tonight, for this event, I would appreciate it if you’d go back to calling me Dante,” he says, and there’s a low growl to his voice that tells me he’s not feeling as calm as he’d like.

  Good. That makes two of us.

  “Of course. Is there anything I should know about the couple? Things the wife is interested in, places they’ve traveled?”

  He shrugs. “I have no idea. I know they like theater, so you should be able to talk to her about that if nothing else.”

  “Lovely.”

  He’s looking at me again, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes, like he’s a man on the edge and I’m the one he blames.

  “Let’s go,” he mutters. He walks toward the door and pulls it open, waiting for me. I walk past, keeping my eyes straight ahead. We take the elevator down to the lower level, get into the back of the limo, and then we’re away.

  The truth is, I’m having a hard time pretending indifference to him. His dark, intense gaze undid me the moment I saw him at the Calla Club, and it’s only more potent now that I know the passion that lies behind it. Flashes of that night, of the things he did to me, keep crossing my mind as we sit in the back of the limo, and the spacious car suddenly feels as cramped as the little used Honda I drove through high school and college.

  We sit through the ride in silence until we pull up in front of a sprawling mansion in one of the more exclusive suburbs. Our driver gets out, and Dante looks at me. I’m sitting in the seat across from him.

  “Sit over here so they can sit next to each other,” he says, and I quickly move over to the seat beside Dante’s.

  “You don’t have to sit all the way over there,” he says in a wry tone. “We’re at least supposed to act like we can somewhat tolerate each other.”

  I take a deep breath and scoot a little closer to Dante, and then the door opens and an elegant woman with snow white hair and a stunning black gown slides into the seat across from mine, just as a man in a tux seats himself across from Dante.

  “Stunning as always, LeeAnn,” Dante says, briefly shaking the woman’s hand. “Nice to see you, John,” he says to the man, who has silvery hair and a goatee to match. “LeeAnn and John Carver, this is my friend Samantha Day.” I shake hands with both of them, and then Dante is chatting with John and LeeAnn and I start gushing about the show we’re about to see. We’re at the theater before I know it, and I’ve decided that I like LeeAnn a lot. She’s as much of a musical theater geek as I am, except th
at she’s seen more live shows.

  An usher guides us to our seats, except of course we’re not sitting where everyone else sits. He leads us to a private VIP balcony. There’s a door, and the usher closes it behind him as he leaves. In the VIP box, there are four cushy-looking seats, and we have an amazing view of the stage. I had expected LeeAnn and John to sit next to each other, but it ends up that Dante and I are sitting beside each other, John next to Dante, and LeeAnn next to me. I’m glad to have her there; chatting with her distracts me from having Dante so close to me. I swear I can feel the heat emanating from his body, and the scent of his cologne is making me feel warm. I had that same scent all over my skin the night I spent with him, and I know I’ll never forget it.

  I can almost forget about him, though, once the show starts. Every moment of the show, every song, every dance, has my heart pounding, and I can’t stop smiling. This, what these amazing people on stage are doing, is what I’m meant for.

  At one point, I swear I can feel Dante’s eyes on me, and I turn to look at him. He’s watching me intently, and I blush and look away.

  The first act wraps up, and the house lights come up for the intermission. John and LeeAnn say they’re going to get a drink and ask Dante if we’re coming. Dante shakes his head and says he’ll see them in a while. When they leave, Dante and I sit there in awkward silence for a bit. He’s watching me, and it’s almost like a caress.

  ***

  Dante

  She’s so fucking gorgeous I can’t take my eyes off her. I can’t do this anymore. I’m out of my mind being near her and not touching her, and the excitement in her eyes, the little smile she wore through much of the first act, only made her even more beautiful.

  “You seem really into this,” I finally say, determined to break the ice. The ice I put there, and never should have. She’s clearly not falling apart over me, so my whole “I don’t fuck virgins” thing seems pointless now. And if I don’t have her again soon, I’m going to lose my mind.