Owning The Virgin (The Virgin Auctions, Book Two)

by Paige North

  “Where else?” I ask on a gasp. My clit is pulsing, and I spread my legs, my lips making a drenched sound as I rock up to him.

  He laughs again, and it rumbles through his chest. I can feel it against my skin.

  “How about here?” he asks just before he presses another kiss to the center of my stomach.

  “There is…good.” I restlessly move around as he grasps my hips. “Everywhere is so good.”

  He runs his tongue down to the center of my belly, stroking it lightly. An ache nearly splits me apart. I’m open for him, begging for what I hope is coming next.

  And it does.

  In one practiced move, he slides his arms below me, lifting me to his mouth. He laves me as if tasting me for the first time, and I reach my hands over my head, flailing for pillows to grip. The sound of his tongue bathing my already wet sex turns me on until I’m moaning for him, unrestrained, delighted, and frustrated at the same time.

  But I know he’s going to be everything I need in a man, and I’m going to be everything for him.

  He doesn’t disappoint as he works me until a low keen sings through my belly, pushing down to my pussy and clit until I’m making the same, sharp sound out loud. The rapturous wail rises, taking over the room as Connor eats me with ravenous kisses, completely owning me and thrilling me until I scream inside and outside for him, coming hard and fast.

  He pulls me up until I’m straddling him. With deliberate devotion, he moves my legs until I wrap them around his beautiful, muscular body, his cock nudging my pussy.

  “Ally…” he says.

  “Please!”

  Then he thrusts into me, causing me to lean my head back in pure euphoria. Time suspends as I arch back from him. He thrusts inside me again with his massive cock, and I pull myself back up to face him.

  As we press our lips together, panting, we writhe, undulating in a fever, getting the most out of each other that we can get as heat rises between us. A flame. A growing fire. Then, out of nowhere…

  An explosion thunders through me, and my cry fills the room.

  But he’s not finished off, and I reach between us, grabbing the base of him, and then he curses and comes into me once, again, again with such force that it leaves me breathless…

  In the end we collapse, breathing, facing each other in his bed. His territory.

  Our territory from this point on.

  “I’ve loved you since I saw your picture,” he whispers to me. “And I’m going to keep loving you.”

  Love at first sight? But he didn’t know it—not until I showed him it was okay to love. Not until I learned it, as well.

  “I love you, too,” I say. “So much that I can’t imagine existing without you.”

  We don’t let go of each other. We stay together, just as we’ll always be, no matter what tries to come between us.

  Epilogue

  Six months ago we were casualties of the media. Now we’re its darlings.

  The media is fickle but it’s nice to be on the other side of a little while…

  The night Connor gave his press conference announcing that he was marrying me changed everything. It knocked the tabloids and social media back on their heels, and then, as they started to see that Connor and I really were in love, they began following us in a different way.

  They wanted to be a part of our romance, and I went from being an “average” girl to a “stunning and intriguing” woman who started setting fashion trends with the pretty dresses I’ve always made and worn.

  But instead of seeking the spotlight, Connor became adamant about staying out of it, and you know what? It worked for his business. Kenyon Motors became a brand of discreet, sought-after luxury instead of something that was merely showy. A status symbol that every man still needed.

  A symbol of a man who has everything, including truth and contentment and the willingness to stand up for what he wants.

  We had our wedding in private, and it was perfect, even though our parents attended. Naturally they weren’t happy about the union, and they barely acknowledged one another as they came and went, just to put in appearances. My parents still thought that Manhattan elites are the snobby scourge of civilization while Connor’s parents were too good to hang with the rubes from Hicktown.

  But Connor and I weren’t about to let that drag us down, even as the paparazzi tried their best to uncover where we were going on our honeymoon.

  They failed, and we spent our time in our Seville bedroom, enjoying our own sights.

  We’ve been back for months now, keeping a profile low enough to still have the press trying to hunt us down. Kenyon Motors is flourishing, and I’m now pursuing my own dreams backed up by millions of dollars to make sure my new project gets a running start.

  Tonight is the night I’m debuting my charity, Girls Run the World. All the social elite of Manhattan will be gathering in two hours in a ballroom at the Mandarin Oriental to raise money for disadvantaged girls who are looking for some direction in life. Right now, Connor and I are in our hotel suite, taking care of the other business that sorely needs to be addressed before we can move on.

  As we stand in front of our families, Connor wraps his arm around my waist. He’s wearing a Valentino tuxedo for the event. I’ve got on one of the dresses I designed: a formal custom-made creation in blue brocade with panels that cover a blush silk skirt.

  Connor looks down at me, and I smile up at him. We’ve stayed out of the spotlight for a long time, and we’re ready for this important day that’ll put us right back in it. This time, though, it’s going to be on our terms.

  He focuses on our family again—his mother and father dressed impeccably as they sit on a leather sofa. My parents and Aunt Dee across from them wearing their very best. My mom keeps glancing at Myra Kenyon’s designer gown and fidgeting with her own department-store dress.

  “Thank you for being here,” Connor finally says. “Ally and I were hoping you’d accept our invitation.”

  His father, a large, fit man with silver hair, looks down his nose at everyone, including his son. He even looks at me like that on the few occasions I’ve seen him, as if he doesn’t understand how the media and public went from being against Connor and me to now being completely enamored of us.

  “Have you ever known us to say no to charity?” Garrett Kenyon asks stiffly.

  “No,” Connor says, “and we were depending on that, just to get everyone in the same room. And on the same page.”

  His mom watches me, and at the softness in her eyes, I pause. She’s quiet but firm, and I’ve gotten the feeling that she would have come to accept me months ago if it hadn’t been for her husband.

  I gaze at my own parents. “Connor and I are hoping that everyone will let bygones be bygones so we can go forward.”

  Mom lets out a put-upon sigh, but Dad touches her arm. He’s made a few low-key overtures to me since the wedding, as if he regrets everything that happened with Robbie, who is currently back at school and dating a girl his parents highly approve of. Out of my entire family, Mom is the one who’s held a grudge, but Aunt Dee and I have been quietly communicating every single week, and she slips me an uncertain smile now. I subtly nod at her, then glance at my dad. He doesn’t react, totally on guard in front of the “elites” across the fancy room.

  But I’m one of them now. That’s just how it is.

  Connor says, “To be clear, there’s no amount of disapproval that’s going to affect Ally and me. We’re happy together, and that’s all that really matters to us. We’re merely inviting you to be a part of that happiness.”

  As Connor pulls me closer, I take in a breath. There’s a loving gleam in his eyes as he looks down at me again, a promise that will never die.

  With the utmost care, he reaches to a panel of my dress, drawing it back to reveal the silk of my skirt—and our latest, greatest secret that we’ve been keeping from everyone.

  At the sight of my emerging baby bump, Connor’s mother covers her mouth with
her hands, holding in a sob. Aunt Dee does the same, because she didn’t have any idea, either. My dad’s eyes shine, but Mom and Connor’s father both raise their chins that much more. Yet as Connor tenderly kisses my temple and then cradles my bump, I can tell that his dad and my mom are affected.

  Especially Mom, who looks like she’s on the edge of giving in, even though her pride isn’t letting her.

  Connor gently rubs my tummy, and I rest my hand over his.

  “As I mentioned,” he says, “if you’d like to be a part of our happiness, now is the time to accept this situation. Ally isn’t some passing whim for me. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her, so if you want to know our child, here’s your chance. It’s much easier to go with something the entire world has proclaimed a beautiful success than to go against it.”

  I can’t help glowing. “Connor’s right, and we have a media photographer here who’ll be taking family pictures that reveal my baby bump to the world. There’s a reporter, too, and the news of our pregnancy will break immediately. We sold them the pictures and story for a lot of money that’ll be donated to Girls Run the World.”

  “All the publication knows is that these pictures are the first ones we’ve appeared in since our wedding,” Connor says, “so they went for a fortune. When the pregnancy is announced, everything out in Media Land will go insane again. As I said, you can be on the right side of that or the wrong side.”

  “We’d love for everyone to be a part of our wonderful news,” I repeat.

  Everyone seems stunned. I hate to think they’re not responding because some of them are still holding onto their anger with us.

  Connor tenses, as if he’s had it with them. “The whole world will want a photo of that bump. It’d be a shame if pictures were the only way you ever saw our son or daughter.”

  The tension is cut by a knock on the door. My friend Ella, who said yes to my olive-branch offer to assist me with the charity while putting off her senior year of college along with me, sticks in her brunette head.

  “Everything’s set for the photo shoot,” she says. “The same goes for the event downstairs.”

  “Thanks, Ella,” I whisper.

  The door closes, and when I look back at our families, everyone is standing. Aunt Dee rushes over to us first, pulling us both in for an embrace. Myra Kenyon is next. The rest of them—Connor’s father, my mom and dad—tentatively wander over to congratulate us.

  Their pride isn’t entirely gone, but I think they’re starting to come around. And after we all go to another room for the short photo shoot and interview that announce our baby news, our families attend the charity event. Connor and I retreat by ourselves to the suite once more before making an entrance downstairs.

  He kisses me, and it’s the kind of kiss that gets more perfect every day, a dizzy, dazzling reminder of how everything just gets better and better with him.

  After he pulls back to look adoringly at me, he tucks a loose curl from my upswept hair behind my ear. “Are you ready to go out there and face the affectionate masses?”

  “It’s been a while since we’ve been chased by the media, but I’m ready if you are.”

  “I’m always ready with you by my side.”

  He kisses me again, insinuating his hand between the panels of my dress to caress my baby bump. I start to go damp for him, my pulse growing louder, faster.

  “If we only had the time,” I whisper against his lips.

  “We’ll have all the time in the world tonight…and afterward.”

  There’s another knock on the door, and Ella comes in, blushing when she sees us cuddled so closely. But she should be used to it.

  “Just so you know,” she says, “the news of your pregnancy has already gone viral, and the rest of the media is downstairs waiting to catch a peek of your baby bump.”

  “They’ll have to wait,” I say, making sure the panels of my dress are closed. I’ll only offer hints of my precious bump throughout the night, making them also wonder right along with Connor and me if we’re having a boy or girl. Everyone will have to wait until we’re ready to reveal this next part of ourselves.

  Ella escorts us outside the room where Connor’s security team is waiting to bring us to the elevator. As we travel down to the ballroom in the car, he holds my hand, his thumb stroking my skin and filling me with lust for my husband, as well as love.

  Always love.

  The elevator doors slide open and we walk forward together.

  With a smile and all the love in the world, Connor leads me forward, my protector, my American prince, my one and ever only.

  In the end, we have everything a couple could ever want.

  But the real secret to getting everything you could want, is that you have to be willing to fight for what you need. Nobody ever tells you that, but it’s true.

  Luckily, all Connor and I need is each other.

  Forever.

  THE END

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  And now, continue reading this ebook to find the excerpt from Boss Me Good (Boss Me, Book One) by Eva Grayson.

  Excerpt: Boss Me Good (Boss Me, Book One) by Eva Grayson

  Emme

  Damn it.

  I can’t get him off my mind.

  I nibble on the end of my pen and take another furtive glance at the door, where Dane Rossi is most likely holed up behind his massive mahogany desk, scrutinizing a pile of papers.

  My boss is a perfectionist, with a finely tailored Armani suit that hugs his chiseled body, clean-cut brown hair and welcoming smile—for clients, of course, manufactured but quite believable for those who don’t assume the way I do that it’s all just a mask.

  Something about that cool elegance, disguising what I suspect is something deeper, something I imagine few people ever get to see, just makes me crave him even more.

  It’s ridiculous how much the man stirs my blood.

  Ridiculous and borderline embarrassing. But I can’t stop fantasizing about feeling his big hands on my bare skin. His warm mouth caressing mine. Not once has he ever looked at me with an ounce of heat in his eyes—not that I’ve ever seen, anyway. This stupid crush of mine is getting out of control, yet I’m powerless to stop these feelings.

  The overhead lights shut off an hour ago, since the last person in the building except Dane has gone home, and now it’s just me, Dane’s personal assistant, waiting until I too can depart.

  I’m sitting at my desk right outside of his office at eight pm on a Wednesday night, with no real social life to speak of, working by a single lamplight.

  In yet another futile effort to stop thinking about my boss, I stare hard at the textbook open in front of me until my eyes feel like they’re crossing. I can’t focus on my classwork right now, and I finished all my regular work a half hour ago, so there’s nothing left to do. The silence in here is deafening, so unlike how it is during the day. There’s not a peep from behind his door. Did he sneak out without me knowing? Probably not, since there’s still a soft glow coming from the crack underneath his door.

  My fingers itch to reach for my purse, to grab my journal and spill out all my thoughts about this day. No, not here, I tell myself. It’s dangerous enough that I even carry it around with me. But ever since I was a kid, journaling has been my way of venting stress, working out my issues, and purging my secrets. Plus it’s a hell of a lot cheaper than therapy. And there are times when I just can’t wait until I get home at night to bare my soul to someone, something, anything.

  After another ten minutes dragging on, with the words in the textbook still blurring before my eyes, I give in and grab my journal. I whip the book open to a fresh page and write the date at the top.

  Today has been…interesting.

  I pause and brush
my fingers along the leather edge of the cover, well worn and soft from regular use. I continue scrawling on the thick journal paper.

  My morning class was cancelled since the prof was sick and couldn’t find a TA in time, so I sat in the commons with a cup of coffee and watched everyone on campus. All these young girls, clustered together, giggling and wearing tight clothes to attract attention. I just don’t feel like any of them. Even when I was in undergrad, I never connected with others my age, but part of that was probably my fault, I’m sure. Mostly from not going to parties or socializing outside of class, even though I did get a couple of invitations that first year. But I couldn’t just ditch my brother to go enjoy myself, could I?

  Anyway, when I got to work and slipped into our daily meeting to take notes, Dane got pissed at Carl, who hadn’t completed the color survey with one of our new clients, a big corporation we recently snagged from a massive design firm—a huge achievement on our part. Carl’s lazy, and he totally had the ass-chewing coming. I can’t count the number of times that balding prick has tried to pawn his work off on me, acting as if he’s doing me a favor by giving me “real business experience.” Thanks so very much, douche. I might not be your age, and no I’m not done with my schooling yet, but I’m not an idiot. I hate that he treats me like one. Like I’m a slave here to do all the shit he thinks is beneath him.

  Anyway, when Carl stutteringly admitted in the meeting that he hadn’t yet done his work, Dane’s voice dropped to a low growl, almost inaudible. I could see a slow throb in the pulse on the side of his neck. His eyes slit just a fraction, and his nostrils flared. But he never yelled at Carl, not once.

  Somehow, the man’s so much more…dangerous when his anger is quietly controlled. Like all that suppressed emotion is coiled up in him, just waiting for an opportunity to be freed. Does he ever release it? Does he go home and punch a bag, or run, or drink? How does he vent the day’s stresses?