Can't Buy My Love: Billionaire and Virgin Romance Collection

by Jamie Knight

  I’ve leaned in close to her again, unable to get enough of her sweet, bubbly scent.

  In that moment, though, my shy one surprises me. Just as I’m contemplating whether I’m going to kiss her again so soon after releasing her, she leans forward and kisses me.

  It’s lightning fast. It’s unsure and a little clumsy, but in it I sense the desire and fire I saw on her face. It smolders on her lips like smeared wax. She quickly retreats, trying to squish herself against the wall and away from me.

  “I’m sorry. That was out of line. And anyway, I’m not beau—”

  I don’t want her to say that word, so I silence it with a kiss. With a firmer, more commanding one, being sure to push my rock-hard cock into her belly. For emphasis, and also as my impromptu stamp of approval.

  “You are beautiful,” I say, pulling my lips off her, but leaving my cock where it is against her belly. Like a sexy, no-nonsense pistol. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be having this effect on me.”

  As I speak, I bring one of her hands gently down off the wall, and toward the dark front of my slacks.

  “A very rare thing indeed,” I add, pressing her timid fingers in and around my bulge. “Which is why I will make you mine.”

  I sigh into these words, feeling my shy one timidly touch me, and then begin to squeeze my length.

  Good girl, I think and lean in.

  Chapter 5 - Melissa

  At first, I don’t know what to do.

  One second, I’m retreating into the bathroom to relieve myself of both nerves and the feeling that I should’ve never let my longtime friends plan a twenty-first birthday celebration for me.

  The next, I’m grabbed and pinned against a wall there. And by a strange, handsome, older man. A man I’ve never seen before, but realize as he leans in to kiss me, that I might enjoy seeing every day for the rest of my life.

  He has the most dazzling blue eyes and dark hair I’ve ever seen. A square, rugged jaw, and soft but commanding lips. Lips I quickly find myself prisoner to, no matter the instincts that have started to kick up and around me.

  Though a part of me is fascinated and drawn in by him, his faint taste of scotch and sugary sharp cologne. Another more ancient, biological part is afraid. Unconsciously, uncontrollably I fight him as he kisses me. I struggle and squirm a little, feeling his lips on mine. In my head, I’m not sure what’s going on, or what’s about to happen.

  Briefly, I see myself being ravaged by him. Undressed and forcibly taken, and some part of me fears this. But another part, a secret and hidden side, enjoys the idea. It hungers for being taken that strongly and commandingly.

  I’d never had a boyfriend before. And all the other men who had shown interest in me, they were far too gentlemanly and reserved to do something like this. To take what they wanted from me, and put me in a position like this.

  The weight of the mysterious man’s lips increases. They grow warm and more urgent, and again my body subconsciously fights him. It struggles against this situation, even as my brain and heart race from it. Even as I feel my panties growing wet and hot, I feel my body wiggle and shake under his mouth.

  He lets me up for air, but only after I relax into him. Only after my body submits to him, and my midriff feels the slightest light of his firm, silky slacks against it, does he let me breathe and ask the one question burning across my mind.

  I ask him who he is, but my mysterious man doesn’t answer. Instead, he tells me who I am. He says that I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and I draw away from him.

  Me being beautiful is not something I’m ready to accept. Being raised in a household like I was, one’s own beauty wasn’t considered attention worthy. And worst of all, it was considered egotistical and impolite to focus too much attention on such physical, skin deep things.

  So, I do as I was raised to: I deny what he’s told me, but only after doing something my upbringing would also frown upon. Reaching up and kissing him!

  Of course, immediately afterwards, I apologize for my forward, unwanted attention. Never mind that this man has done that and more to me. As an older gentleman, he has a position of power over me. Authority. Rank, as my father would say.

  But not me. I’m not in the position that he is, so I apologize and move further into the wall.

  He kisses me before I can say I’m not beautiful, and proceeds to move one of my hands down off the wall and toward the front of him. He moves me toward his hard, demanding member, and as he forces my fingers near and around him, I find myself enjoying being told what to do. Controlled wordlessly into touching him places I would never have given myself permission to go otherwise.

  In a matter of blissful, uninhibited moments, I’ve gone from lightly, hesitantly stroking him to actually gripping his member through his slacks. Soon I’m squeezing and stroking his large, heavy cock through the fabric, feeling excited and terrified by the size.

  I lick my lips. It’s as much from the nervous, dry quality to my mouth, as it is from a blooming hunger in my belly. The same belly he was poking with his huge cock a moment ago.

  I continue stroking it, imagining what it would look like laid bare. I imagine its length and girth, wondering what it would feel like to have it in my mouth. I shiver, imagining that it’s now found its way lower. Into my pussy.

  My stomach flips. Along my fingers, I feel his cock fattening even more.

  Could I even fit it all inside? Or would it bust me open?

  While the thought is frightening, curiosity gets the better of me. I wouldn’t mind finding out for myself. Even being a virgin, even knowing that it might hurt even more, I’m still intrigued by the idea.

  I’m also intrigued by his nearness, the weight of his body on mine. He’s leaned in closer to me, thanks to my undivided attention.

  “I don’t even know you,” I whisper at him as I continue my work obediently.

  I will make you mine.

  That proclamation of his lances across my brain and heart. As it does, I feel a small but fierce jolt of electricity. Like something coming open or awake.

  Why and how can he feel about me that way? And when we just met? I’m not really that beautiful or…

  As if he’s once again sensed the turn of my thoughts, my mystery man answers me.

  “I’m Jake,” he murmurs, leaning into me as I continue to stroke and fondle him. “But you can call me Sir.”

  I’m already feeling my wetness. I had been moments before this, but as his deep and commanding voice floods over my ears, and he tells me to address him that way, I’m soaked. I’m also without any reason or desire to object.

  “What’s your name? I’d like to know what to call the woman I’m going to make mine.” He leans in closer, presses his lips—and his stiff cock—against me. “Especially since it’s her twenty-first birthday.”

  I suck in a breath, looking at him.

  “How did you know that?”

  He just smiles like everything about him is made of satin.

  “A little birdie told me,” he answers, moving more of himself into my hand.

  I know that’s his way of saying back to work. I didn’t say you could stop.

  So, I resume my caressing of him, realizing I’ve moved to include his thick and heavy balls as objects of my affection.

  “I’m…” I blush, realizing fully that I’m touching a stranger’s cock. That I have been for the last several minutes unabashedly, without ever questioning or objecting to it. I blush deeper, and focus on his big, deep and bright blue eyes. “My name is Melissa.”

  “Melissa.” My name rumbles out of his throat and over his lips like a dark, thick alcohol. Something much more exotic and headier than I ever thought my name could be. “Well, Melissa. Since it’s your birthday, would you like me to give you a present?”

  I swallow thickly, fidgeting. With my hand still cupped around his length, I’m surprised by my answer.

  “Yes, sir,”
I say.

  I say it quietly, feeling my cheeks flame with heat, and my neck prickle.

  He brings my chin in his hand, brings my eyes more firmly up to his.

  “Good. Although I will have to come up with an appropriate present for you. It’ll be exactly what you need, but only after I’ve seen what kind of a good girl you can be for me.”

  There’s a pause, as he takes the other arm down from the wall, but keeps my wrist clasped in his fingers.

  “You’re coming home with me, Melissa. You know what your answer needs to be to get that present I want to give you, don’t you?”

  Present or no, I know exactly how I would— and should— respond.

  “Yes,” I say.

  Already, I can feel myself grinning. From joy and excitement, not fear.

  “Yes, what?” he asks.

  “Yes, Sir,” I say, bringing my eyes down, and my face to the side. “Yes, I will come home with you.”

  I feel him smile. At the same time, I feel myself being drawn away from the wall like a princess in a pair of gilded handcuffs. My wrist firmly in hand, Jake leads me out of the bathroom and through the body of the club. The entire way, I’m feeling deliciously free and trapped at the same time.

  Like I’ve been captured by him, but not to go to prison or to a dungeon. But to his treasury, where he keeps all of his most precious things.

  I don’t see any of my friends at the table we were originally seated at. But, as we make our way out of the club, I see them all around. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see them indulging themselves in club activity, but I am.

  Some of my friends are seated at various tables, kissing people. Others are dancing. And Brittany, I spot her getting spread against the wall like I was, except she’s being chained into an actual pair of handcuffs.

  Every one of my friends seems to be enjoying themselves, so I don’t worry over it. I don’t question it.

  I do, however let them see me happily leaving with Jake. I smile and gesture for them to have fun, just before we escape out the front pair of doors, and out into the night.

  There, my long and sleek ride awaits, ready to usher me into more of this unexpected fairytale.

  Chapter 6 - Jake

  Outside of Club Lush, my limo awaits us. The presence of its black, sleek form next to the sidewalk isn’t new. But what is, is the look I see on my shy one’s face.

  It’s excitement. It’s surprise and lust. I can tell she’s admiring her surroundings, physically and financially, as if my wealth on display is as big and full as the cock I made her feel up in the bathroom.

  I straighten my shoulders, leading her to the large open door. The driver comes around to open the door for us and gives my lady and me a greeting. Melissa leans closer to me, not responding to him.

  Interesting. She won’t speak to him just because she was spoken to.

  As I lead her gently into the large, sprawling back seat, I wonder about that. I lightly stroke my cock, wondering how far I can push her – how good she really is, and whether it’s her shyness that makes her avoid speaking to my driver, or something else.

  Obedience.

  As the driver prepares to close the limo door on us, I say to him, “Take us to my penthouse, Jericho.”

  The driver nods, and as he walks around the vehicle to take his place behind the wheel, I close the partition between the belly of the limo and the driver’s cab. Privacy is the name of my game, though I know Jericho would give it to me without a single objection.

  I could’ve asked him to close the partition himself, but I want Melissa to see how much control I have. I want her to see and appreciate how every little detail around me falls under my control, my command.

  Just like she will see up close and personal, in a moment.

  As the limo begins to pull away from the curb and move down the quiet, dark streets around Club Lush, I watch Melissa drinking in her surroundings a moment. I savor her looking like a little white rabbit in her party dress, having fallen down the wrong rabbit hole.

  Then, when I’ve had my fill of her in this way, I reach over to a minibar nearby and grab two champagne glasses. Frosted and ready for serving alcohol, they are as cold as the champagne bottle I pull out next.

  Deftly, I uncork it and splash the contents into the champagne glasses and offer her one.

  “Ever had champagne, Melissa?”

  I know she hasn’t. She is just turned twenty-one, and if she’s the good girl I’ve already pegged her to be, she hasn’t touched a single drop.

  But I want her to admit what I’ve already figured out about her.

  To prove to me what a good girl she is, since I did promise her a present.

  Melissa looks down and folds her hands nervously in her lap.

  “No,” she whispers almost too quietly for me to hear, “I haven’t.”

  She brings her gloriously innocent eyes up toward me. She chews on her lip, blushing.

  “I know other girls my age have already been experimenting for years by now, but I was raised strictly. My dad was military, so drinking under the age was out of the question.”

  She looks directly at me, as if already guilty of some trespass.

  “Not that I was ever curious about that,” she continues. “I did what I was told. Happily. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be succeeding the way I have. Going to school and everything.”

  I smile at her, offering her the champagne again.

  “Well, you’re twenty-one as of tonight,” I say. “So, you’re going to have the glass of champagne I’m offering you.”

  Melissa doesn’t need me to explain further.

  She nods and then quickly takes the proffered glass.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she murmurs, and brings the rim of it to her mouth.

  She takes a few delicate, polite sips.

  As she does, I can tell she’s not sure whether she likes it or not. Whether it’s too sweet or too bitter.

  But after those first sips, she rests the glass on her leg, as if she’s going to spend the whole ride nursing it. That’s not in my plans, and it’s not for her to decide tonight, though I don’t know the first thing about what her alcohol tolerance is.

  Guess we’ll figure that out in a moment, won’t we?

  “When I said you would drink that glass of champagne, I meant the whole thing. Drink. Now,” I say, watching to see if she fights me.

  She hesitates. But only for a moment, before bringing the glass to her lips and drinking down the whole thing.

  She looks nervous doing so but she finishes it, down to the last drop. I finish mine in the same quick manner, before taking both of our empty glasses and tossing them onto the opposite seat.

  Without so much as a word to her, I get to kissing her again. Soon, I’m making out fully with her, and in a way that I was unable to do in the restroom. I kiss her everywhere I can, touching everywhere I can over her clothes, and I’m both surprised and excited when she starts returning my kisses.

  She’s soft and wild, with the way she presses them into my skin and mouth. She’s giggling like crazy, too, which, the more we melt into each other, I realize is because she’s getting tipsy. That single glass of champagne was enough to get her borderline drunk, not just loosened up.

  I pull away, ripping off my tie. I wasn’t planning to do anything like this until we got to the penthouse, but with how agreeable she seems, I’ve decided to test her some more.

  “I’m going to tie you up,” I say, watching her expression.

  While she is still rosy and warm from our kissing, I notice that my words cause her some alarm. That’s exactly what I was expecting, and exactly what I’m interested in exploring.

  Pulling the tie into my hands completely, I add, “Hands behind your back.”

  Melissa obeys, despite her look of fear and hesitation.

  I act quickly, binding her hands behind her back with the tie. As I tighten the knot just
enough so that it doesn’t slip off, I notice the fiery, liquid blush in her cheeks.

  Encouraged by this, I begin to stroke and touch her all over, this time over and under her white party dress. Filled with sequins and feathery bits, it’s a joy to touch.

  “This outfit is beautiful,” I murmur, enjoying the sound of her small, shivering gasps. “But you’re gorgeous. Your delicious curves and doll-like face are exceptionally unparalleled, Melissa.”

  Again, as she did when in the bathroom, she objects to me calling her beautiful, even as she is beginning to arch and swoon into my fingers.

  “No, I’m not beau—”

  I pull down the straps on her dress to interrupt her, as much as to force her attention back to me. In seconds, her breasts are visible. They come bounding out of the silky fabric, showing their plump excitement.

  Already, her nipples are stiff, and her skin is flushed a deep, vibrant color. I play with her nipples, alternating between my fingers and my tongue.

  “Don’t. If you say any more nasty things about yourself, I will have to gag you. You want that, Melissa?” Here, I roll her nipples between my fingers, and run my tongue through her cleavage. “A gag?”

  “No,” she mewls, “no, sir.”

  “Then accept compliments when I give them to you,” I say and continue to fondle and lick her.

  I’ve moved from her nipples to her belly and thighs, kissing and rolling my tongue over each space. As I do, I feel her getting hotter and breathier. I also hear her begging for my attention to return to her nipples. Her breasts.

  Wanting her to be truly submissive, I back away from any and all contact with her. I stop kissing and touching her, even when I hear her panic at the loss of my warmth.

  “No,” she whines, looking at me like I’ve sentenced her to the worst punishment imaginable, “Please don’t stop! I want more, Sir. Please!”