Billionaire's Virgin Stripper Page 6
She glances at me, and she’s too happy to be wary of me. “This is amazing,” she says with a smile. “Everything. The choreography, the music, the sets, the costumes! Oh, my god, the costumes,” she says, smiling and shaking her head. “They’re all so talented, and I’m going to remember seeing this show forever.”
“I have no idea what’s going on in the show,” I tell her, and she gives me a glance.
“Yeah, you have to listen to the lyrics a bit to pick up all of the details,” she finally says with a laugh.
“That’s not it.”
“No?”
“No. Kinda hard to pay attention to anything else when all I can do is stare at you.”
She swallows, and I can see her pulse jumping at the base of her throat.
“The show’s more interesting, I’m sure,” she finally says.
“Not even close.”
She looks away, and I reach out and run my fingertips over her shoulder and down her arm. I feel her tremble beneath my touch, and I know this little cool and professional act she’s put on with me all week is just that: an act. She’s as affected by me as I am by her.
I run my fingertips back up her arm, her shoulder, up the side of her neck, and she lets out a shaky breath. When I lean over and press my lips to her shoulder, I take the fact that she doesn’t back away as a good sign.
I need her. Now. The idea of fucking her right here, right now, has my cock in agony. I kiss the side of her neck and she lets out a little whimper. I kiss her, nibble her, and at the same time, my hand finds its way under her dress, up her thigh, and when I finally cup her pussy, she lets out a strangled little cry.
“Your panties are so wet, baby,” I murmur against her ear. I squeeze her pussy, just a little, and she moans. It only takes a second for me to push her panties aside, and my fingers find her, wet, swollen, and needy for me.
“Fuck,” I growl, and she whimpers as my fingertips brush over her clit. I rip her flimsy panties off and stuff them into my pocket, and she looks at me with wide eyes. I know no one can see us up here, but even if they could, I’d fuck her right there and let them have the show of their lives.
I unbutton my pants and let my cock spring free. “Come here, Samantha,” I demand, and when she doesn’t even hesitate, I nearly roar in victory. I dig a condom out of my wallet and quickly slip it on.
“What if they come back?” she whispers.
“I don’t care.”
She’s on my lap, straddling me, and in one hard, fast thrust, I’m inside her, finally, and I groan in relief. She moans, and her tight cunt clenches around me.
“Do it, Samantha. Ride me hard,” I growl, and she does, slamming into me hard, over and over again. The only thing that would make this better would be her gorgeous tits bouncing as she fucks me, so I push her gown down and they spill free.
“Harder, Samantha. Show me how much you need my cock,” I rasp, and she starts riding me harder, faster, tits bouncing, hands gripping my shoulders. She’s so wet, so tight, and I’m so fucking close. I lean forward and take one hard nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, and she cries out. She’s getting tighter, tighter, her movements jerkier, and I’m about to explode. I grab her ass and squeeze, my fingertips just grazing her tight hole, and she lets out the most helpless, perfect whimper I’ve ever heard.
“Come for me, baby. You know you want to. Look at you, fucking a man you barely know in a theater, where anyone might see you. I did this to you, and it’s just the beginning,” I finish, and she comes, smothering what would have been a magnificent scream against the side of my neck. I keep talking, because it’s clear how much she gets off on it. “I didn’t tell you to stop, Samantha,” I growl, and she’s riding me again. “I’m going to take you, over and over and over again, until the only sensation that feels right is my dick pounding into you, and you feel empty without me there.”
She moans and slams into me harder.
“You want that, don’t you?” I demand.
“Yes, Dante,” she breathes.
“You’ve wanted this since the first time we fucked, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to have you as often as I want, aren’t I, baby?”
“Yes, Dante. Please,” she begs, and then I’m pounding into her, hard, fast, brutal, and when I come, I swear I almost black out from the force of it.
When I’m spent, I pat her ass and claim her lips, briefly. She shakily pulls herself off of me and goes to work putting herself back together again. She pulls her dress back up over her tits and fixes her skirt, then runs her hands over her hair. After throwing the condom into a nearby trash can, I tuck my dick back in and straighten my jacket.
“That was just round one,” I murmur to her, and she glances away. I hide a smile. A little bit more of her innocence, taken by me. It won’t be the last time I corrupt her, either.
***
Samantha
When LeeAnn and John come back into the VIP box, I’m still in shock over what I’ve just done. I rode Dante like a lust-crazed slut in a public place. Anyone could have walked in and seen. I feel filthy… and I want to do it again.
My thighs are sticky with wetness, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I feel thoroughly used, but I don’t doubt him when he says there will be more later. This has been building between us since that first night, and I’m tired of fighting it. He’s an asshole, and he acted like a jerk, but I can’t resist the things he tells me to do. I need them the way I need air. I try to act natural, talking to LeeAnn before the next act starts, and I’m relieved when it does. I still enjoy the play, but I can’t stop thinking about what I just did, about how good it felt to do what he said, as if he read my mind and knew exactly what I needed.
I do not know how I feel about that. Right now, though, my body is pretty damn approving of it.
The show ends, and we all stand up and head out to the lobby. Dante, John, and LeeAnn decide to have a drink at the bar before we leave, and I excuse myself to go to the restroom. I want to get cleaned up as much as I can and try to get myself back together after what happened between Dante and me. I started this night feeling confident and in control, and now I don’t feel any of that. I feel like a mess of a woman who wants nothing more than to be alone with Dante again.
I spend a little time in the bathroom just breathing. I use some wipes to clean up my thighs, then I touch up my makeup and get my hair back under control. I stand there in my Valentino gown that probably costs more than the first three houses I lived in combined, and I feel like a stranger in my own body. I’m a good girl. I always have been, even with a body that seemed to make men assume the exact opposite. I’ve never felt anything like this, never wanted to be used the way Dante uses me, and it scares the hell out of me.
When I finally feel like I’m able to face him again and continue to play the calm, cool, collected “friend” on his arm, I force myself to leave the bathroom. I’m just rounding the corner, heading toward the bar, when I see Dante. Except he’s not alone, and he’s not standing with LeeAnn and John. There’s a tall, drop-dead gorgeous blonde standing with him. Model gorgeous. And she and Dante are leaning in, talking in a way that suggests a definite closeness and level of familiarity between them that most definitely doesn’t exist between Dante and me. My steps falter and I feel my stomach twist. Envy, nerves, whatever it is, I kind of feel like I want to throw up.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” I heard a smooth, oily voice say behind me, and I recognize it at once. Anton, the slimy guy from the gala, is standing just behind my right shoulder. “Fancy seeing you here. The night just got a whole lot more interesting.”
“Anton,” I say stiffly, glancing toward Dante. His reaction that first time suggested that he wouldn’t like Anton talking to me, but he’s still engrossed in his discussion with the blonde.
“Ah. Don’t have Dante’s attention tonight, huh? Well, don’t feel too bad,” Anton says, and I can feel his breath on my shoulder.
“Dante hasn’t told you?” he sneers.
“Told me what?”
“That’s Marlena. His off-again, on-again fiancée. They break up every few months, and then they always end up back together. They were on a break when he bought you.”
It feels like I’ve been stabbed, right in the heart, and I’m surprised by how much it hurts.
“Looks like they’re about to get back together again, and then he won’t need you anymore,” he continues. “It’s okay, sweetness. Once upon a time, Dante and I used to share all our toys. I’ll make sure you earn out the rest of your contract.”
Now I really want to throw up, and preferably all over Anton’s expensive shoes. Luckily, he laughs, low, one more time and then walks away, leaving me standing there. I stand there, catching my breath, and after a moment, Marlena moves away and Dante glances in my direction. He walks toward me, and he doesn’t look like a man who’s looking at someone who means nothing. He looks like a man on a mission, a man with a singular focus, and it isn’t directed at the blonde.
Anton’s a snake. I know this. I don’t doubt that Dante and Marlena have a history, but I’m the one here now, not her. And Dante doesn’t strike me as the cheating type.
So when he meets my eyes, when he holds out his hand, I do the one thing I’ve wanted to do since the first time our eyes met: I place myself in his hands. It won’t be forever, but I’ll take the way he makes me feel in the moment.
Because he makes me feel alive, and he’s introduced me to a side of myself I didn’t even know existed, and I want more.
Chapter Ten
Dante
It’s a week after the night I took Samantha to that musical, and I’ve had her every way I’ve ever wanted to have a woman. When I’m not working, chances are good that I’ve got her naked and moaning.
And, to be honest, even sometimes when I am working, I’ve got her that way. I’ve been having fun introducing her to her naughtier side. I’m pretty sure that if I live to be a hundred, I’ll still remember the sight of her on her knees, sucking me off while I was on a conference call, like it was yesterday.
Even the thought of it has me hard, and I hit the gas a little harder. I’m about ten minutes from home, and I’ve been thinking about how good it would be to have her bent over the dining room table while I pound into her.
She’s addictive. So hot, so damn sweet I know I’ll never get my fill.
And it’s more than sex. I get this funny little twist in my gut, this tightening in my chest sometimes when I watch her sleep. And there’s the problem right there.
I want to keep her. The idea of letting her go makes me feel empty inside.
So I try not to think about it. Because no matter how badly I want to keep her, I’m enough of a realist to know it just won’t work. First of all, no matter how damn sweet and innocent she is (or was…), she is a stripper. She’s a woman who takes her clothes off for strangers, for money. Anton already knows what she is. It wouldn’t be long before at least a few people found out. And in addition to the stripper thing, she grew up in a totally different world. She does well enough at the events I take her to, but this clearly isn’t her world.
Maybe more than that bullshit, though, at the end of the day, I just can’t see myself committing to her. I like being free and independent. I like not having to consider someone else when I’m making decisions, and I like being able to fuck who I want, when I want.
I mean, Samantha’s the only one I want, and the only one I can see myself wanting for a long time, but that’s infatuation. She’s under my skin, and fuck if I know how she got there. But she’ll leave, and eventually I’ll get my head on straight again.
By the time I’m on the elevator, I’m so hard and frustrated I swear I’m about to lose my mind. I walk into the penthouse, and I’m met with the most perfect sight on the face of the planet: Samantha, naked, lounging on the living room couch. She smiles at the look on my face.
“I thought I’d save you a little time,” she says.
“Good girl,” I growl, ripping my tie off and flinging it away from me as I stalk toward her. She lets out a low, breathy giggle when I pick her up and turn her so her legs are hanging off the edge of the couch, but it ends on a high, keening wail when I kneel down and lap at her sweet pussy. There’s no shyness in her now, and she pushes herself toward my face, needing, demanding more. I grab her ass and hold her closer, devouring her, relentless in my desire to wring every possible orgasm, every scream of ecstasy from her before our time together ends. When she weakly tries to push me away from her, I grab her hands and hold them down and keep licking, sucking.
“Dante, oh god. Please,” she moans, out of her mind and weak from the orgasms she’s had. She’s so sensitive, so damn sexy, and I can’t resist toying with her some more. I suck her clit and slide two fingers inside of her. I curl them, slowly and rhythmically, stroking that sensitive spot deep inside her, and I feel another orgasm building. She’s moaning my name, over and over again, and when she explodes, she comes screaming, and I keep right on sucking and stroking, prolonging her orgasm as long as I can.
When I’ve tasted my fill, I press an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thighs, first one, then the other, and then I sit up. She looks at me with a glazed expression in her eyes, and then she smiles.
“I’m going to greet you naked every day now,” she jokes.
“May as well. How many of your clothes have I ripped in my impatience to get you naked?” I ask, and she laughs. then I hoist her up into my arms and carry her to my bedroom, which, as far as I’m concerned, she’s not allowed to leave until the next morning.
I’m just lucky for me that she never seems to tire of my touch, as if I’ve awakened some deep hunger inside her and she wants to take everything I’m willing to give her.
I’m willing to give her a hell of a lot, and I do.
***
Samantha
I wake up the next morning in Dante’s bed, which is where I’ve woken up every morning since the night we went at it like animals in the VIP box. His side of the bed is empty; he had an early meeting with his father scheduled this morning.
I snuggle into the soft white sheets and close my eyes. My body is tender, deliciously sore from the way Dante used me last night. I wake up like this every morning, and the memory of the things he did to me keep me in a state of almost constant horniness. The tenderness between my thighs, the way my breasts ache, my aching thigh muscles… every moment reminds me of him and the things I’ve been willing to do for him.
The sex would be enough, but I know it’s more than that. I’m falling for him. Those dark eyes, the scent of him, the way he moans my name. Waking up held tightly in his arms, the sweet, tender kisses he gives me before he drifts off to sleep at night. We don’t spend a lot of time talking, but the connection between us is intense and immediate.
And yet…
I know this is coming to an end. I’ve had those moments, daydreams about what it would be like if this were my life, if this penthouse was my home and Dante was really mine. And no matter how amazing things are between us, there are two things I can’t keep lying to myself about: number one, this is temporary, and number two, he’s paying me, and I’m having sex with him. There’s a word for people who do that, and I never thought I’d be one of them. The fairy tale side of me wants to believe there’s something between us and there’s a chance at forever. The realist, the girl who grew up poor and stayed that way, sees it for what it is: a business transaction.
I’ve been doing a good job at not thinking about that too much, but last night was amazing and now all I can think of is that my nights of having Dante Knight bring me to orgasm after mind-blowing orgasm are coming to an end. I’ll have to go back to my life, and he’ll go back to his, with some other woman occasionally decorating his arm.
I blink back tears. The idea of him with someone else kills me, and I know I’m i
n too deep. I should call this quits now, tell him I’ll take a hundred grand so my Pops can pay off this debt, and make a clean break. All I need is for the goons to leave my father alone. I don’t need a million. Not if it means staying here and having my heart slowly but surely ripped to shreds, each day bringing me closer to the fact that while I might be falling for him, all I am to Dante is a convenient fuck and well-behaved arm candy.
I flop over onto my back. I’m a mess. I’m all over the place: giddy ecstasy one minute, and then reality hits me upside the head and I feel like I can barely breathe.
I should leave. Get Pops’ money and go, while I still have some dignity left.
Now I just need to get Dante to agree to it.
Eventually, I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. I dress and do my hair and makeup, and then grab my laptop and head out into the dining room. There’s already coffee on; Dante’s good about making it and keeping it warm for me since he’s usually awake before I am.
There I go again, thinking of our arrangement like it’s a typical, sweet little domestic dream. I shake my head, grab a cup of coffee, and then settle in to look over casting calls and job listings in San Francisco. We won’t be able to afford to move to L.A. on only a hundred thousand, but I can at least get my father out from under the Mafia.
I spend most of the day applying for jobs and adding casting calls to my calendar. If I’m stuck here in San Francisco for a while, I’ll work my butt off to get into a position to do better later on. Dante’s million would have made that easier, but I can’t do this anymore.
I keep nervously checking the clock. I don’t know how I’m going to present it to him. I can tell him I’m needed at home. That I can’t do it anymore. That a hundred grand for three weeks in a month that should have cost him a million is a hell of a bargain, especially considering how much time I spent on my knees and my back.
Okay. Maybe I shouldn’t add that last part.
I’m about to get up and order dinner when my phone rings. I glance at it and see that it’s Pops’ number. I’d told him that I was working as a housekeeper for some rich guy while he had people in town. Kinda, sorta close enough, I guess.