Virgin: A Mafia Billionaire Romance

by Shanna Handel

  “There you go. Now hold your skirts up. And turn around and show me your bottom.”

  “I...” My protest is cut off as he gives me the look. The one that makes my insides twist... and my core turn to liquid.

  But, again, I do as he says. I lift my skirt, overly aware of how exposed my bare bottom is. Cool air rushes up my skin. A gush of arousal immediately rushes between my legs.

  “Still pink.”

  Inwardly I groan. Shame fills me; I’m completely humiliated, standing here before him, his eyes admiring my bared bottom, pink from his earlier punishment. This is not the scenario I imagined taking off my clothes for a man for the first time.

  “Keep your skirt in place. Now, why would I have you standing here like this—a grown woman with her spanked bottom exposed like a naughty little girl?” My mouth gapes as I stand speechless. He’s more than happy to answer his own question. “She needs a lesson in obedience. Obviously the first punishment didn’t take and someone needs to be punished again.”

  “Again! What did I do?” My fingers clutch around the material of the skirt of my dress.

  “I think you know.”

  My mind whirrs, flashing through the moments of the day. A sinking feeling enters my stomach. The bathroom—when he told me to stay, but I didn’t and I opened the door to join him. “I was scared—”

  “This is going to be your naughty chair. For me to spank you. Other times you can sit on it and think about obeying me. Come,” he pats the seat, “try it out.”

  It’s humiliating. I know I should run, fight, refuse. But where would I go? Race toward the bulletproof glass only to smash into the sides like a bug trapped beneath a cup? Also, there’s the curious pulsing in between my legs. Getting warmer and rising in my core. I stare at his stony face. Jaw set, determined to teach me a lesson.

  My knees feel weak, my legs made of gelatin. My bare bottom exposed, I shuffle over, the humiliation rising with every difficult step. My panties pull around the tops of my thighs, restricting my movement.

  I’m beside the chair. My teeth sink into my bottom lip. I sneak a glance at him and the authoritative set of his features releases a gush of arousal. My body is betraying me. My legs should be running, my arms pushing him away. Yet... I stand here, holding my skirts obediently. Hovering by a chair he has deemed my naughty chair.

  “Bend over.”

  I can’t.

  I shoot him one last pleading glance. He’s not budging. I take a deep breath, angle myself over the seat. Even worse than bending over is the knowledge he will want me to lift my own dress. With shaking fingers, I raise my skirt, quickly flipping it over my back. The cool air rushes over my skin, my bottom fully exposed to him.

  I lay over the chair, my stomach pressing into the seat.

  My head hangs down. I don’t know what to do with my arms so I grab the legs of the chair. My long hair falls around my face, making a curtain of privacy. He’s picked this stool because it’s the perfect height for me. My panties are rolled tightly beneath my bottom, my skirt up and over my back. My bare bottom is stuck out as if it’s beckoning him, begging for his attention. I’m careful to keep my legs closed tightly together so as not to give him a peek of my pussy, slick with arousal.

  I sense him walking around the chair. Standing behind me. My fingers tighten around the chair legs. Then I feel the light stroking of the tips of his fingers over my skin, sending chill bumps down the backs of my thighs. The first real touches of a man on my body. There’s a rush in my womb, my breasts feel heavy, my nipples tight.

  He says, “Or, at a time like this, you may bend over it to have your bottom plugged by me.” The warm turned-on feeling stops cold. Is he serious? Putting something... into my bottom?

  I’ve got to get out of here. Make it to a bedroom and lock myself in until this godforsaken shield lifts. My muscles tense and I raise my head, gazing at the stairs. I take a deep breath and prepare to raise my torso, planning to shove past him and run like I’m a finalist at a track meet. I start to straighten, but he’s anticipated my move. His hand presses into my lower back, holding me down against the seat. His arm is like lead. He’s too strong. Too fast. My head hangs in defeat.

  His hand presses harder into my back. “Going somewhere?”

  “You can’t do this to me! My cousin will kill you. He will gut you. He will—”

  My words are cut off by my gasp as he gives my bare ass a hearty slap with his hand. I suck air between my teeth as the sting spreads—his hand is massive, and half my ass is on fire from his one spank. He says, “Your cousin will thank me.”

  I stare over my shoulder, glaring at him. How could Rockland do this to me? How could he allow this sadist to punish me this way? I can see just enough of him to watch in horror as he pulls from his pocket a slim tube and something shiny. It’s small and narrow and silver. I watch him, wide-eyed as he squeezes a good amount of jelly on the tip of what must be the plug.

  My fight returns. I struggle against him. “That. Is not going inside of me.”

  “Isn’t it?” My struggle stops as I freeze in horror—his fingers are in the cleft of my ass! His strong fingers are pressing my cheeks apart. I clench my muscles as tightly as possible, fighting off the invasion. His deep, smooth voice croons, “Spread your legs for me, honey.”

  “Not on your life, sweetheart,” I hiss between clenched teeth.

  His fingers push harder in between my glutes. He’s centimeters away from my rear entrance. “Makes it easier, but it’s your choice.”

  I calculate my options. I have none.

  I’m going to have to open my legs. Showing him my pussy in all its glistening glory. Wet from his words, his face, his touches. Sweat pricks at my brow, my heart exploding in my chest.

  I’ll be exposing myself for the first time to a man. It’s a heady sensation—the idea of him getting a glimpse of my puckered hole, my wanting pussy. I could have lubed the damn plug myself, I’m so wet. And he’s about to see all of that. Every inch of the most secret parts of my body.

  I try to breathe as I inch my legs apart. The elastic waist of my panties digs into the flesh of my thighs. Air rushes over the aching between my legs.

  What is he thinking? Is he turned on? Can he smell the scent that reaches me—the warm earthy musk of my own arousal?

  When he speaks, his voice is gruff, husky. “Take a deep breath,” he says, stroking my back lightly. The tone of his words, the lightness of his touch make me feel he’s as affected as me. Making my core throb. I shift my weight on my toes.

  The cold tip of that... thing is pressing against my entrance. Pushing gently. The pressure is strange, yet erotic. I find a kitten-like mewing rising in my throat. My body betrays me again. I clench, my orifice trying to fight this intruder. In retaliation, it presses harder, the tip pushing past my unwilling muscles. I moan, the stretching sensation of my ass sends a gush from my pussy.

  He pushes again.

  More stretching, more pressure, and the head is inside of me. I release a little whine of shame, confusion. But the arousal continues to pool between my legs as he gives the plug one final push.

  It’s all the way inside of me.

  A strange, heavy fullness aches in my bottom. I shift my weight again. I wiggle my hips, but there’s no getting away from the constant awareness of its presence.

  Now, his hand is coming down on my bare bottom. Though his carefully laid spanks land on the center of my butt cheeks, each strike causes my bottom to clench, my muscles gripping the plug. He’s spanking me, right, left, right, left. “When I tell you to stay put, you stay put, young lady. Am I making myself clear?”

  His left hand presses into my lower back, my stomach digging into the cushioned stool. His right hand spanks away with precise rhythm. He’s spanking every inch of my round globes. Each stinging spank making its way lower on my bottom. Now his palm is slapping the curve where my bottom meets the tops of my thighs.

  It hurts. It makes me whine and shift my
weight from foot to foot. My skin stings, aches, is heating up. But... I’m not in incredible pain. Instead, this punishment feels more like a message. Forcing me to bend over the chair of my own accord. Making me expose my bottom to him. Pushing his plug into my ass. And now, this stinging spanking. Not painful enough to only focus on the pain. Instead, bordering pleasure and pain causing other sensations in my body. My breasts feel heavier, my nipples harder. My pussy craving passion.

  I receive his message loud and clear—he is fully in charge of my body. He can make me do things. Feel things.

  I must obey him. Or face the consequences.

  He repeats his question. “I said, am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” The spanking stops.

  He’s pulling up my panties. Smoothing them into place. Bringing my dress back down to cover my plugged ass. He helps me up. I stand, my face flushed, my hair probably a mess. My gaze finds his. There’s a hunger in his eyes he can’t hide. Making me feel like the blushing virgin I am. I look away.

  His arm raises, his palm opens, hovering over the chair where he’s just punished me. “Have a seat.”

  I smooth my hair. Nerves flutter in my stomach. “You can’t be serious.”

  His arms cross over his chest. “When have you known me to not be serious?”

  “But... I can’t sit down. I have this... thing in me,” I hiss.

  “Precisely the point. I want you to sit, feel it, and know that your obedience is demanded.” A smug smile crosses his handsome face. A brow raises as he pats the seat. “Now hop on up. Right onto your naughty chair.”

  I throw him a glare. Heave an exasperated sigh. Trying to maintain some shred of dignity, I jut my chin in the air and gracefully take a seat on the high barstool. “Oh!” There’s more pressure on the handle of the plug, filling me further. He’s holding in a laugh as I delicately squirm side to side, trying to find a comfortable position.

  He shoots me a look. “Comfy?”

  “I’m just fine. Thank you very much.” I fold my hands neatly in my lap.

  His hands clasp behind his back. He begins to pace around my chair. He’s so close, his jeans brush against my knee as he circles. “Let’s talk about why you are wearing that plug. Shall we?”

  I gulp, my gaze falling to my wringing hands.

  “When I give you a command, you obey that command. I don’t instruct you for fun, I instruct you to protect you. To keep you safe. To protect your life. When I tell you to do something, you do it. Do you understand?”

  He’s standing directly before me. Staring at me, hard, and for an instant I’m lost in the beauty of his irises. He lifts a finger. Strokes it lightly down my cheek. The simple gesture makes my head feel light. “Answer me, Adrianna.”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “If there is another incident like there was this morning—where I give you a direct command and you disobey—you’ll be over this chair with your ass plugged, getting a taste of my belt. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.”

  He steps back. Puts a hand on his waist. Appraises me. “You stay put and think about your safety while I work.”

  I nod, unable to speak.

  He gives me one last long look and the hint of what could be a smile, then turns on his heel and goes to his computer in the living room.

  The last ten minutes of my life have forever changed me. Unleashed something within me that I didn’t know to exist.

  I want to be dominated by this man. Submit to his will over my body. Have him have his way with me.

  There is no man in my books who can handle a woman as Dante has just handled me. A quiet, subdued energy pulses through my ripe, turned-on body. To say I am emotionally overwhelmed is an understatement.

  I’m more than happy to take a quiet time out.

  Reality sets in. Dante and I have a very long two days ahead of us. Locked up, together, just the two of us.

  I’m going to need more panties.

  Chapter Three

  Dante

  We’ve spent the afternoon, sitting in the living room together in pleasant silence. Adrianna, like myself, is comfortable in her own skin, able to enjoy her own company for long periods of time. I like that about her. Many people find the need to fill the hours with endless chatter, activity. She’s content to sit and read, dream, be lost in her thoughts.

  I’ve been working, contacting the brothers about the breach. Rebooking our flight to the Village. Adrianna’s passed the hours reading. She shifts her weight often, trying to find a comfortable position with the plug in her bottom, constantly reminding her of her lack of obedience.

  There was one break in the quiet when I’m guessing she reached Chapter Three. I assume she hit the scene where Darcy snubs Elizabeth, calling her tolerant but not handsome enough to dance with, because Adrianna looked at me pointedly over her book, accusation heavy in her voice as she said, “Why on Earth would he say something like that? How rude.” Before I could answer, her nose was stuck back between the pages.

  There was also a brief interaction when I asked if she was hungry. She merely shook her head. I shrugged—fine with me. I can wait.

  Now it’s been over two hours since the shield rose. Only forty-six to go. I figure we should eat so I go to the kitchen to cook us something.

  I call to her, “You can go and remove your plug if you wish.”

  She startles, looking up from her book. A deep flush crosses her face. “I... how would I—”

  “You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.” I know having her remove the plug herself will only serve to drive home my message—obey or pay. She’s so timid I know there’s no way she can hurt herself taking the plug out.

  She shoots me a furtive glance.

  I tilt my head to the staircase. “Guest bedroom is at the top of the stairs. Second on the right.” I turn my back, dismissing her.

  I busy myself scrounging around the cupboards to see if I have anything edible to serve her. About ten minutes later, she reappears in the kitchen, hovering shyly by the bar. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes wide and shiny. There’s a thickening in my throat.

  I pick up her naughty chair and move it from the center of the room to the bar. I swallow hard. “Have a seat.” She gives the chair a long look, then gingerly takes a seat. She breathes a sigh of relief to not feel the fullness, the stretching of the plug in her bottom. I give her a knowing wink that makes her lower her gaze, hiding her face behind her dark hair. “What would you like to eat?”

  “What do you have?” She tucks her hair behind her ear but doesn’t meet my gaze.

  “Let’s see.” I open the door to the refrigerator for the second time, exposing... nothing. She gives a chuckle. I say, “Don’t give up hope yet.” I open the freezer and there waiting for us are several foil-covered dishes. I pull them out, reading the labels out loud to her. “Manicotti, chicken parmesan, here we have a lamb casserole, a moussaka. What are you in the mood for? Italian or Greek?”

  She laughs. “Who keeps you so stocked up?”

  “The Beauties do. They’re always sending us single brothers home with leftovers or extra dishes they’ve made. I freeze them for nights like these.”

  She smiles. “Nights when you’re locked behind bulletproof glass?”

  “Precisely.”

  She shrugs. “Surprise me.”

  I hit preheat on the oven. Choose the chicken parmesan. It was made by one of her relatives’ wives and I assume she’ll enjoy it. I put the others back in the freezer. Reach up to the cabinet over my stove. Take down a bottle of red wine. Blow the dust off it—I almost never drink as I have to stay on high alert, but in this situation, looks like I can afford to let loose. “Wine?”

  “Sure.”

  I pop the cork. Grab two of my favorite handmade ceramic coffee mugs—no stemmed glassware in this bachelor pad—and pour two generous servings. The oven beeps and I throw the dish in, still
covered as per the handwritten instructions on the foil. Set the timer for one hour. My stomach rumbles. I hadn’t realized how hungry I’ve gotten. I hand her a cup. Grab my mug and the bottle and gesture for her to follow me to the living room. “I’ll build a fire.”

  She nestles into the couch, wine in hand. I put the wine bottle on the cypress root coffee table. I take a long sip from my mug. Set it on the empty mantel. Take a few logs from the cutout alcove in the stone. Carefully stack them around the kindling I arranged when I cleaned out the ashes of the last fire. Light the beautiful creation and watch as it begins to burn. I take my wine, standing by the fireplace a moment to make sure it took.

  She’s curled in a ball on the couch, her wine in her hands. I open the storage ottoman, taking out a throw blanket from within it—the dark blue velvet one. I toss it to her. She thanks me. Places her mug on the coffee table and wraps the blanket around her shoulders like a robe. The sapphire color makes her skin glow. The firelight reflects across her high cheekbones, dancing within her dark eyes. They are locked on mine.

  My throat once again tightens. There’s a welling in my chest. I find myself staring.

  Flustered by my attention, she drops her gaze. Reaches over for her wine. Wraps both hands around her mug and takes a small sip. “Mmm. This is good. Thank you.”

  “Of course.” I gaze at the long couch, opting for the seat furthest from her. “It was a gift. A Chateau Lafite Rothschild Red, 2010. Apparently, it’s a good one.” I sit. Swirl my cup. The dark red wine is almost black inside the mug. I take another sip. It’s powerful, fruity, and full-bodied. “Tess knows her wine.”

  Her brows raise. “A gift from Tess?”

  “When she came to visit Rockland, I escorted her on the boat ride over. Kept Rockland sane when she got injured. Before she left, she told me she appreciated my calming presence. And my devotion to Rockland. When she got back to the Village, she sent this as a thank you. I’ve been saving it. Haven’t really had an occasion—or a day off—to drink it until tonight.”