Commissioning His Virgin

by Jamie Knight

  Commissioning His Virgin

  Club Lush Book 11

  Copyright © 2021 Jamie Knight Romance.

  All rights reserved.

  Jamie Knight –

  Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author

  Here is the reading order for the Club Lush series,

  which can be read and understood alone but are best enjoyed all together!

  Binding His Virgin

  Silencing His Virgin

  Riding His Virgin

  Masking His Virgin

  Revealing His Virgin

  Teaching His Virgin

  Choosing His Virgin

  Taking His Virgin

  Breaking in His Virgin

  Ordering His Virgin

  Commissioning His Virgin

  These are the books that have been added to the series at the time of publication of this one, but new books are being released all the time.

  Click here to see all the titles in the Club Lush Series!

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One - Gina

  Chapter Two - Elijah

  Chapter Three - Gina

  Chapter Four - Elijah

  Chapter Five - Gina

  Chapter Six - Elijah

  Chapter Seven - Gina

  Chapter Eight - Gina

  Epilogue - Elijah

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  Books in the Club Lush series

  Chapter One - Gina

  It was a typical Friday. The sun shone brightly. Dust hung over the walkways and floated in the area, dust brewed by the factory that stood near my university. I have to say, I hated that factory. Their machines or whatever they were using over there always seemed to get louder whenever I had an exam coming up. One time I felt so furious, I had to go over there to give them a piece of my mind. I yelled at a couple of security guards at best, but that’s a story for another time.

  On this day, I was a little frustrated and sad, and I have to admit, a tad bit jealous. It was a few minutes past noon, I was done with my classes for the week. I walked towards my car, drove off, and headed for the local tavern for a quick drink. Where I lived mainly consisted of several stores, low-level diners, a police station, and the local university where I was an art student. There was a bar at every turn — an upside for most students.

  It was not typical of me, but today my heart was a little heavy with emotions. A glass of Scotch whiskey sounded therapeutic. I parked my car on the street, eased myself into the bar, taking a seat right by the counter. There wasn’t anyone else in the bar at the time, something I thought was perfect.

  The bartender, who I had never met before, walked right over. I could tell he sensed something was wrong. In many movies I had watched, bartenders had this superpower where they could look right through you, see into your soul. I guess that was the case with this one.

  “Long day?” the bartender finally asked.

  “Yep,” I responded in a quivering voice, trying my best to keep my nerves in check. “Can I have a glass of Scotch whiskey, please?” I asked politely.

  “The first one’s on the house,” the bartender said to me as he handed me a glassful.

  I took the glass, nodded at the bartender as a sign of thanks, gulped down the whiskey, and slammed the glass on the counter, just like the movies had taught me. I had tried my best to avoid eye contact with the bartender, but from the corner of my eye, I couldn’t tell if he was concerned or just curious. He knew best not to engage me and kept at drying glasses without speaking.

  I sat there in silence, reminiscing on how fast time had flown. Just the other day, Carrie and I moved into our apartment. Two quirky, weird-looking, but super smart girls ready to take the world by storm. I couldn’t believe she was about to get married. Well, he was a lucky man.

  Carrie, I had grown to co-exist together. Coming from different parts of the country, we were complete strangers, but we were forced to rely on each other for many things as time went by. We were like a team, complementing each other, being there for one another.

  It wasn’t until I had gulped the second glass that it hit me. I was twenty-one, I wasn’t pleased with my life. I was especially not happy with being broke. Nothing was interesting about my time. I spent most of my days following routines, going to and from my shared apartment with Carrie to school, occasionally helping out at Mr. Green’s Diner during the weekends. Anything out of the routine often didn’t interest me. But the truth was, I couldn’t afford to do what I really wanted to do—to practice my craft as an artist.

  At my age, I at least expected life would be easy. All I had to worry about was school and boys, but deep down in my heart, I always knew I was destined for so much more. To make things worse, I was still a virgin because I cared so little about men. I once wondered if, deep down, I was interested in girls, but I found nothing when I searched deeper within myself.

  As far as my memory serves me, there wasn’t a single moment in my life when I dated a boy. Except for maybe Jake, a weird-looking kid from when I was six years old, who brought me a rose flower once. Would that even be considered a date? Most people with real love lives would probably not remember a moment from when they were six years old.

  Life in my hometown had its disadvantages. One of them was that everyone knew everyone; this made me shy to interact with people, especially boys. So, yes, I lacked experience.

  I had never really taken an interest in the boys at school. Despite their advances on me, the thought of being with one made me blush. I turned down most boys from my class, not for any specific reason but simply because I didn’t think I was beautiful enough.

  Carrie had decided to take it upon herself to convince me that I was beautiful. She made it a habit of boosting my confidence by making me wear dresses around our apartment. She even went a step further to force me to catwalk in the dresses she made me wear, often complimenting my curvy body and blue eyes.

  My roommate always made me feel good. She was a good friend, the thought of seeing her leave almost brought me to tears. Not only was Carrie getting married, but she was also ten million richer than I was now. She had her whole life mapped out at just Twenty-three. Don’t get me wrong, I was definitely happy for her, but the thought of how miserable and lonely my life would be without her made me sad. But being broke made me even sadder.

  I need a way to make money fast! I thought.

  I picked myself up, paid for the second glass of Scotch, and headed for my car. I needed to get home in time to help Carrie pack up her bags before moving in with her fiancé. Everything was working out great for her. God knows she deserved all the good things that came her way. But what was I doing wrong with my life? What is it I was missing? Why couldn’t I have it all like Carrie?

  The drive home from the bar was the longest I had ever taken. My mind was engrossed in how I could turn things around for myself. God knows how much I needed things to work out. I pulled up on the street like I had so many times before, but that day felt different. It would be the last time I would find Carrie in the house. It was then that it dawned on me that she was really moving out.

  “Carrie, I’m home,” I called out to her.

  I heard a loud sigh, followed by a curse, then she walked out of her room with her hand on her waist.

  “Thank God, your home. I can’t seem to reach for my suitcase on top of the stupid wardrobe. What took you so long? You were supposed to be here 30 minutes ago,” she said, looking almost relieved by my presence.

  “I pa
ssed by the bar on my way here,” I told her in my defense.

  “Hey, everything okay, Gina?” she sounded a little softer this time, a little concerned. Carrie was lovely like that. She always knew when something was off with me. It was needless for me to deny when something was not right. She’d seen me through so much during my college life.

  “I’m fine, Carrie, nothing to fuss about,” I said in finality as I walked to get her suitcase from her room.

  “You know you can always talk to me, Gina. I’m always here for you,” she responded, grabbing her suitcase from my grip.

  “I just need everything to work out, Carrie. I just need everything to work out,” I repeated myself as my voice faded in disappointment. “I need to be able to work on my art and not have to worry about my bills. I want that financial freedom, you know, where I can just focus on my art and only my art. I was thinking maybe I could try making money the way you did, you know. It worked out for you. Maybe it could be the breakthrough I need, Carrie. What do you think?” I asked curiously.

  My roommate was a good judge of character; her advice was often what I needed in my life. She was always the protective one, always wanted what’s best for me. What she had to say really mattered to me.

  “Are you sure you want to go down that road, Gina?” she asked sternly, almost like my mother would ask. Although we were almost the same age, Carrie reminded me so much of my late mother.

  “Yes, mom,” I answered sarcastically.

  We both burst into loud laughter. We kept packing, laughing for almost a minute before I finally asked her again what she thought.

  “Do you think I could make money off of my virginity? Would that work for me?” I asked, then giggled.

  “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Gina. You know I want what’s best for you all the time,” she let me see that she meant every word she spoke. Carrie always spoke from the heart. It’s what I really admired about her.

  “And, yes, I think it would work for you as well. Who knows, maybe you’d find someone to sweep you off your feet like I did,” she giggled, looking at me.

  “Coming from you, that means a lot. Would you help me set up my account?” I asked, already knowing she’d help me out.

  “Well, you helped me out. I’d be happy to help you.” She smiled and retrieved her laptop from her room. I was going to miss her so much. A few seconds later, she returned with her laptop in hand, then sat on the couch, ready to do her magic.

  “We need to set you up, make sure your profile is not too fancy or intimidating,” she said as she typed the keys. I didn’t know what she meant, but I trusted her. “There you go, your account is up and running, let’s wait, see who notices you first. Oh, I uploaded that photo from last year’s homecoming ball as your display photo. Don’t you think you looked great in that black dress?” she said as she turned the screen towards me so I could see my profile.

  I nodded, satisfied.

  “Don’t just stand there. These things will not pack themselves,” she teased me as she put her laptop in sleep mode.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone would notice me. Was that black dress from last year’s homecoming a good choice? Did I really look good in it?

  My thoughts were interrupted by chirping sounds from Carrie’s laptop. My life was about to change forever.

  Chapter Two - Elijah

  I stood on the balcony with a lit cigar pressed between my index and middle finger, looking out over the ocean as the sunset covered everything in a gentle light. Beside me was my dog, Bolt, my loyal friend, bodyguard, and confidant. We had been together for almost four years now; we had formed a formidable bond. He was the only true friend I had in the whole world.

  We silently watched the sun crawl over the clear blue waters, absorbing all in its beauty as the rays cut through the clouds. I loved watching the sunset. Besides surfing, watching the sunrise and set was probably the only thing that drew me back to the world of reality. I ran a crypto investment firm in the city that translated to many meetings and busy schedules. So, I enjoyed every spare minute I could afford while standing on the balcony of my mansion, taking in the beautiful scenery.

  That evening as the sun descended, it lit upon a small convoy heading for my property. It was difficult to make out what the convoy was made of in the dim light, but as the cars drew closer, I counted one white Ferrari sandwiched between four black SUVs. The group came to a halt when it got to the edge of my property, waiting for the gate to be opened so it could make its way in. A man in a black suit exited from one of the SUVs, headed for the gate, and pressed a buzzer to let me know they wanted access. Whoever these people were, I could not tell. The mere fact that I wasn’t expecting any guests led my mind in a spiral of thoughts.

  “Mr. Fillmore?” called out Jacob, my housekeeper.

  “Let them in,” I answered in anticipation.

  Bolt was growling as was his habit every time he sensed strangers in our midst. He’d grown so protective of me over the years that he’d not allow anyone near five feet of me.

  “Easy now, Bolt, easy,” I petted him on his head, under his chin.

  The gate opened wide, the cars rushed in just like in Hollywood movies when cops bust a drug deal, surprising the culprits. I made my way down the main hall towards the main entrance to welcome my guests. Bolt was within close distance in case our guests were unwelcomed. His ears were raised sky-high, his mouth wide open, only paying attention to the instructions I’d utter, just in case.

  Within minutes of the SUVs storming inside my property, about eight men in black suits quickly disembarked from the vehicles then gathered around the Ferrari. One of the men opened the Ferrari’s passenger door, offered his hand to whoever was inside.

  All this time, Bolt was growling, barking, swinging his tail in anticipation of something. Apparently, he was more curious than I was. I stood at the main entrance with Bolt seated beside me, hoping the leash tightly gripped in my hand would break so he could have a go at the unwelcomed guests.

  Out of the Ferrari stepped a beautiful redheaded woman in black stiletto heels, donning a white Gucci jumpsuit. She had a white Hermes Birkin bag to match her already expensive outfit. I immediately recognized her. She was Alessandro Maximo’s daughter, Emilia Maximo.

  Alessandro and I crossed paths about seven years ago when he offered to buy me out of my crypto investment firm, offering me a lucrative deal. But I ended up declining his offer. Since then, there has existed some bad blood between us. Seeing his daughter in my front yard took me by surprise.

  “Mr. Fillmore,” Emilia finally called out my name in a deep Italian accent, extending her hand in greeting.

  “Emilia,” I responded candidly, offered my hand in greeting as well.

  I called out to Jacob, handing over Bolt to his care as I led Emilia into the mansion. We walked past the foyer into the interior of the mansion in silence. I couldn’t help but wonder what Alessandro’s daughter was doing in my house.

  “Quite a home you have here, Mr. Fillmore,” she said as she shook her head in agreement.

  “Quite an entrance you made, Miss Emilia,” I responded as I offered her a seat.

  “Are you an art collector, Mr. Fillmore?” she asked as she put down her Hermes Birkin bag on the couch and sat with her knees crossed. I noticed her attention was drawn towards my mother’s larger-than-life portrait that hung on the wall right in front of her.

  “No, I’m not an art collector, but I recently grew an interest in art,” I answered her curiosity.

  “Well, that explains all this,” she said as she motioned her left hand around the walls heavily covered in paintings and drawings of different sizes.

  “So, what is Alessandro’s daughter doing in my humble home?” I cut short her small talk.

  All my life, I have always been a candid man. I got that from my father. Most people confused it for arrogance. Sometimes I thought that was the reason I was still
unmarried. I thought most women confused my candidness for arrogance. But I wouldn’t be where I was now if not for my candidness. At least that’s the excuse I gave myself for practically not having a social life.

  I was a 41-year-old self-made billionaire with no social life. Quite sad even for me.

  “I’m here to talk business on behalf of my father,” she answered unwavered, unbothered by my direct nature.

  “You don’t strike me as a woman who’d do anyone’s bidding,” I said to her as I walked towards the minibar to fix myself a drink.

  I loved putting people off their game. It made them vulnerable, which suited my understanding of their intentions. It’s a trait I picked up over the years. I loved to apply it whenever I did business deals.

  “You come as advertised, Mr. Fillmore, full of mind games, riddles,” she said as she joined me at the minibar.

  “Whisky?”

  “Gin, please.”

  “Emilia,” I smirked and handed her a glass of gin.

  She was a good-looking woman. She had physical attributes that most men would crave and an attitude to match. But Elijah Fillmore was no ordinary man. I wasn’t really attracted to just physical attributes. Intellect drew me to people, and Emilia didn’t strike me as an intellect. Coming from a wealthy family had taken its toll on her. Arrogance and pride came attached to most women living in her world. By ‘her world’, I meant growing up in riches, getting spoilt for choices.

  There was no way I was doing business with the Maximo family. I prioritized passion over money. Probably that’s why I never accepted investors since I started my business nine years ago. It’s always about the money with most investors, and that often puts me off.

  “So, you conduct business meetings in private residences?” I asked sarcastically as I made my way back to the living area, then took my seat.

  “I heard you prefer business meetings to be scheduled prior,” she answered in quick response. She poured herself some more gin and took her seat opposite mine, so we faced each other.