Ruined: A New Adult and Billionaire Romance (His For A Week Book 5)

by EM BROWN

  “But it doesn’t have to be measured in dollars.”

  “How else would you measure it?”

  “Well, there’s value to society, to individuals. And personal fulfillment. You can’t put dollar amounts on stuff like that.”

  “Actually, economists do.”

  “Is that why you went to college? To get rich?”

  He curls a corner of his mouth. “I was rich before I went to college.”

  “To become even richer then?”

  He shakes his head. “I was just satisfying expectations.”

  “Where did you go to college?”

  “PSL. Paris Sciences et Lettres.”

  “What did you study?”

  “Business and economics.”

  “Did you like it?”

  He thinks for a moment. “It was okay.”

  “It must come in handy with what you do now.”

  “My brother wants that to be the case, but the family business is more his interest than mine.”

  “What kind of business is it?”

  “Real estate and venture capitalism. My family were large landowners in Vietnam. We’re also the main investors in a major tech company in Shenzhen looking to secure more defense contracts.”

  “Is that what you’re meeting with Eric about?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound nosy, but I like making conversation with Tony and getting to know the man I’m going to sleep with.

  “He wants to pitch me on a real estate development.”

  “Do you like this kind of work?”

  He doesn’t respond right away. “It is as good as any.”

  “Is there something else you would rather do?”

  He gives me an odd look, as if no one has ever asked him that before. “I never really considered other options. There were times I didn’t want to go into the family business and almost dropped out of college.”

  “My mother is a social worker. Maybe that’s why I’m interested in the social sciences, though I wouldn’t call social work a family business.”

  The mood between us has lightened. He asks about my family. I explain that my parents adopted me when I was a toddler. Lila was my caseworker, and every time she came to check on me, I’d cling to her leg and cry when she left.

  He asks next about my birth mother, whom I know relatively little about, just that she was born in North Carolina, came out to California and got married, then became a dental hygienist. I had come out West to see if I could get to know her. Not that I felt the need for a mother. Lila filled that role better than anyone for me. But I did want to understand why my mother gave me up, and part of me had romanticized the possibility of becoming friends with her.

  Room service comes a few minutes later. Not having eaten back at the house, I dig into the food, which is somehow even better than last night’s dinner. Tony pours a glass of wine for me.

  “How do you like it?” he asks after my first sip.

  “It’s good,” I answer.

  He studies the label. “At eight hundred dollars, it should be.”

  I nearly spit out my next sip. “God Almighty. You shouldn’t have.”

  “It’s a somewhat special occasion, no?”

  I blush. It’s a kind gesture on his part, but I can’t find the words to thank him.

  “Aren’t you going to have anything to eat?” I ask.

  “I had lunch.”

  So the food was for me. The wine, too, and the hotel suite. I feel bad for having put him through this.

  As if he knows what’s on my mind, he says, “You can change your mind. It would be the smarter course of action.”

  I draw in a breath. “I said I’m okay with it. It’s just, you didn’t have to do all this—the hotel, the wine.”

  “You don’t understand what I’m saying.” He leans toward me, pinning me with his stare, his tone serious. “You should change your mind.”

  I blink, not sure what to say.

  He continues. “I ruin things. And people. I’d ruin you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It’s not so much the words as the way he says them. I sensed that Tony had an edge almost from the moment I met him. Maybe it has to do with the BDSM he says he practices. Or maybe it’s something else.

  “It’s not a big deal,” I assure him. “It’s not like in the olden days when losing one’s virginity meant one was being deflowered and would be cast out of society.”

  He frowned. “That’s not what I’m referring to, though deflowering young women is not my thing, either.”

  “So...what is your thing?”

  His gaze searches mine before pulling back. He gets up from the sofa. “I need to make a call.”

  Wandering into the bedroom, he dials a number on his cellphone and begins talking in French. I dig into the scallops and watch him close the door.

  I don’t understand him at all. Half the time I wonder if I repulse him somehow. But I don’t get the sense that’s truly the case, even though I can’t point to anything tangible as evidence.

  He’s on the phone for a while, so I decide to turn on the television. I flip through the channels, briefly pausing on a cooking show, a home makeover, and the news, but nothing keeps my interest. I pick at the crème brûlée. An hour passes, and I wonder if Tony is taking a nap. I don’t hear him on the phone anymore.

  I get off the sofa and walk to the double doors that lead to the bedroom. I put my ear to the door but hear nothing. Gently, I turn the handle and crack open the door. I glimpse the bed, and it’s empty. Opening the door farther, I see that the balcony doors are open. Tony sits outside overlooking the bustle of people below.

  I walk up to the balcony doors. “I saved some of the food for you.”

  He spares me a brief sideways glance. “You can finish it. I’m not hungry.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  He doesn’t say no, so I take the other chair on the balcony. We sit in silence. Why is this so hard? If doing it with a virgin is such a big deal that men would shell out big bucks for, why isn’t Tony jumping at the chance? Is some kind of old-fashioned chivalry holding him back?

  “Have you changed your mind?” he asks softly.

  “No,” I reply, staring at him. “I’m ready to do it now. But...it seems like you’ve changed your mind.”

  “I’m no good for you, and you’re no good for me.”

  “I get that I’m not your first choice, but if you give me a few pointers, I’ll do my best to make it good for you.”

  With a groan, he gets up and walks back inside. I follow. He stands with his back to me.

  “You’re a nice girl, Virginia Mayhew Porter. You should just take the money and focus on going to Berkeley.”

  “I’m not a girl.”

  “Pardon. Woman.”

  “Is it really the age? Is that what bothers you?”

  He lets out a breath and runs his hand through his hair. “Yes, that’s part of it.”

  I step closer to him. “You’re lying.”

  The next thing I know, I’m slammed up against the wall, and he’s invading every inch of my space, his arms caging me in. If he leaned down any farther, our foreheads would touch. A vein near his temple throbs.

  “Why do you want this so much?” he snarls.

  My breath is still lodged in my chest, but I manage to respond, “I don’t know...I just want it to be you.”

  His pupils lose some of their constriction, and his body relaxes. I think he’s about to release me, and I start to breathe at the prospect of freedom. But I’m wrong.

  His mouth crushes mine, hard and unrelenting. The surprising force of it would have given me whiplash if not for the wall behind my head. I feel like I’m drowning, only I don’t want to come up for air. The kiss hurts, but my body has caught on fire. Only more, not less, will do.

  His hand cups the back of my neck, drawing me closer into him as his mouth smothers me. He parts my lips, making my head spin when his tongue dips into my mouth.

  Wh
en he finally parts from me, my lips continue to burn. They continue to ache.

  His pupils dilate, making his eyes darker even though they shine with emotion. He seems to appraise my reaction. I’m nervous, but I know what I want. I want more of him.

  I tilt my chin higher, trying to reach his mouth. He doesn’t move, and I feel like I’ve failed some test. I try to move my body closer, a stronger hint, but he grabs both my wrists and pins them above me to the wall. His breaths are hard, mine are shallow. We’re in some kind of heady limbo charged with passion.

  A thrill shoots through me as I realize he just might want this as much as I do.

  And then he kisses me. It’s not the brutal kiss from seconds ago, but it’s not entirely gentle either. It doesn’t matter. The pressure of his mouth on mine is all that I want. His lips roam over mine, claiming, releasing, tasting, lingering. I can’t keep up, but I exalt every nuance. I can’t remember ever being kissed like this before. Part of me feels like I can do this forever, the other part isn’t content with just kissing. My body wants to drink in his in every way possible.

  Unconsciously, my body strains toward him. He responds by pressing me into the wall with his body. I welcome the discomfort from being sandwiched between two forms of hardness because it distracts me from the fire raging within me, that threatens to burn any last bit of prudence urging me to heed his earlier warning.

  As if he’s worried that he’s been too rough, he lightens the kissing, taking soft mouthfuls of my lips. He’s gentle, almost reverential. But I’m beyond that. My desire doesn’t have the patience. I don’t have any room to maneuver, but I try to grind my hips against him. He senses this and deepens the kiss. His tongue seeks mine. I try to be an equal partner in this dance but probably come across a little awkward.

  He drops one of my wrists to cup my jaw, holding me in place as he takes over the dance with sheer force. I let him do what he wants, though it’s not like I really have a choice. Beneath my waist, I’m a molten mess.

  Releasing my jaw, he drifts his hand down my collar and pushes my sweater off one shoulder. He grasps my bare shoulder, making every nerve come to life with his touch. His hand slides down my back and comes to rest on the small of my back, where he presses me into the hardness at his crotch.

  I guess I’m out of practice because my mouth is a little tired from being worked over by him, but there’s no way I want him to stop.

  His hand moves to my butt. Cupping a buttock, he crushes me to his groin. I lose my breath.

  My back arches because even as our hips are joined, he still has my other wrist pinned to the wall. He lets me catch my breath, moving off my lips, kissing and sucking his way down the side of my neck to the shoulder he bared. He finally releases my other wrist and picks me up by the back of my legs. I’m shoved against the wall again with my legs wrapped around his hips. I circle my arms around him and nibble on his earlobe. He thrusts at me, making me wetter and wetter.

  I hold him tightly as he carries me to the bed and sits down with me on his lap. Wanting the taste and feel of his mouth again, I brush my lips against his. His hand shoots to the back of my head, holding me in place as he maneuvers me into the angles he wants, pressing his desire into my mouth.

  By now my body is going crazy, craving a deeper connection, ardor to ardor. Unlocking his lips from mine, he peels off my sweater and studies the rise and fall of my chest. He brushes the knuckles of one hand below my collarbone before caressing my neck and massaging my nape.

  I revel in his every touch, eager to know how he will touch me next. Will it be soft and tender or hard and demanding?

  He slides his fingers underneath the spaghetti straps of my camisole and pulls them down my arms till the top bunches beneath my bra, which he unhooks before I’m able to stop him. The bra springs off, revealing my perky but small breasts. I hope he’s not super disappointed.

  He doesn’t seem to be, and cups a breast. He fondles the flesh, rolling and kneading the orb. My nipple hardens beneath his palm. He grabs me by the waist, lifting me, as he trails his mouth from my collarbone, between my breasts, and down toward my navel as he leans me back into the bed. Next come my jeans, which he slowly unbuttons and unzips, pulls down past my hips and legs, and drops on the floor. He does the same to the camisole, leaving me naked but for my panties.

  He kisses his way up my inner thigh, making me gasp when he nears my crotch. His fingers brush against my underwear as he lays beside me. I am tense with need, with desire throbbing between my legs.

  His hand grazes my abdomen, then slips into my panties.

  My breath catches as his fingers nestle between my folds. Slowly, gently, he rubs me. I am so wet down there, I don’t know what to do with myself. So I lie still and quiet as he strokes my flesh. His forefinger and middle finger slide down either side of my clit. I shiver.

  God Almighty.

  He starts to ply my clit, creating satisfaction and longing at the same time, masturbating me better than I can myself. I glance briefly at him. He stares at me, taking in every flutter of my lashes, every shaky exhale. The intensity is too much. I close my eyes and immerse myself in the scintillation of his fondling.

  He slides his fingers over my clit, and I gasp aloud. After exploring a bit, he finds a spot that has me groaning. His fingers dig in, petting, rubbing, teasing. Tension, hot and heavy, starts collapsing into that spot. Sensing the implosion imminent, I grasp the bed linen. My brow furrows, and my body hangs upon a precipice.

  And with a cry, I burst into convulsions, my mound bumping into his hand, legs trembling, back arching.

  My clit is super sensitive now, but there’s a last bit of hunger that he attends before the fondling finally fades. I lay flooded in bliss, which bursts like little bubbles in my veins. I release a shaky breath and open my eyes to find Tony gazing down at me.

  Now comes the hard part.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I’m excited but nervous when he pulls my panties down. I’m completely naked while he still has all his clothes on. Should I be trying to undress him? I don’t remember being this indecisive the few times I messed around as a teenager. Is it because I’m about to lose my virginity? Or is it because of him? He’s in charge, and I don’t want to risk screwing it up.

  Pushing apart my legs, he settles between them. His hands glide softly over my thighs. This is it. It’s going to happen. Should I remind him that the condoms are in the other room?

  But he doesn’t undo his pants. Instead, he’s still leaning on the bed, his head inches from my mound. He circles my clit with his thumb. My body responds with renewed warmth. And then his head lowers farther.

  Oh. He’s going to do that.

  I’m uneasy. The one boyfriend I had who gave it a try lasted two or three minutes down there. He had suggested I give myself a trim. I only take care of that during the swim season, so I haven’t groomed that area in some months now.

  Tony licks me next to my clit, and my breath leaves me. He does it again, the side of his tongue grazing my clit. The sensation is different from the caress of his fingers, but it’s just as pleasurable. He teases me with light, languid licks. I’m sure I don’t know how to breathe anymore.

  Will my pubic hairs bother him the way they bothered my ex-boyfriend? Is it too wet down there for him? What about the scent?

  “Relax,” he tells me, caressing an outer thigh with his hand.

  I try to push the questions out of my head and do as he says. His tongue does feel amazing. And...oh...he found the spot. Desire simmers there, waiting and wanting to burst into flames again. He flicks his tongue at it, coaxing and enticing my arousal in almost methodical measure.

  Gradually my need to come surpasses any lingering self-consciousness. But instead of continuing what he was doing and taking me over the edge, his tongue moves lower to the base of my clit. It feels good there too, but I’m a little frustrated because my climax wasn’t far away. He presses his tongue lower.

  Whoa. There’s
another bundle of nerves there. I’m not sure if it’s part of my clit, and it tickles at first, feeling vaguely like I need to pee. But I like it. I clench my core from being overwhelmed by the stimulation. I want to come, but I'm not entirely sure my body can handle it.

  While his tongue fondles me, he presses his thumb to my clit’s go-to spot, and I am undone. The rest of my body has disappeared. I exist only between my legs, only the part he touches. A minute later, spasms hit my body hard. I let out a low wail as my body convulses on the bed.

  When I come out the other side of the orgasm, still awash in ecstasy, I manage to finally relax. My sex throbs and my legs tingle, but I am able to breathe normally. I take in a deep breath and let it out in a contented sigh.

  Tony stands up and wipes the moisture from his face with the back of his hand. He undoes his pants and takes out his cock. My ability to think hasn’t fully come online, and I vaguely wonder how often he goes commando. I marvel at how hard he is, then worry a little. That thing is going inside me?

  He tugs on his cock, and I see a glisten of cum at the tip. I wonder if I should go down on him, but he doesn’t seem to expect anything from me as he continues with his hand job. I want to touch him. I want to feel that pulsing hardness, that evidence of his desire.

  His other hand cradles his scrotum, pulling and occasionally squeezing his balls. Even now, his gaze is fixed on me. I decide not to move, as if doing so will startle him out of his arousal. I’m sure if he wants me to do anything, he’ll let me know.

  But is he planning on jerking himself off? If that happens, how are we supposed to have sex?

  A few minutes later, a flush starts to spread across his chest and neck. His head falls back, his pelvis rocks, and cum spurts from him cock. He catches most of it in his hand, but a small amount lands on the bed next to me. I’m glad that he was aroused and able to have his own orgasm, but I’m also disappointed. I sit up and watch as he grabs a tissue and cleans himself off.

  “Thank you for the, um, orgasms,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.