Table of Contents
“Chapter 1”
“Chapter 2”
“Chapter 3”
“Chapter 4”
“Chapter 5”
“Chapter 6”
“Chapter 7”
“Chapter 8”
“Chapter 9”
“Chapter 10”
“Chapter 11”
“Chapter 12”
“Chapter 13”
“Chapter 14”
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About the Author
The Virgin Escort: A Billionaire & Virgin Romance
Copyright 2017 Virginia Sexton. All right reserved.
Kindle Edition
All characters depicted are over the age of 18.
This book may not be reproduced in any form by any means, without the author’s permission, except for reviewers, who may quote short excerpts.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and action come from the author’s imagination and presented as fiction. Any resemblance to real individuals, alive or deceased, as well as events or places, is completely coincidental.
This book features explicit depictions of sex and other material that may offend some audiences. Therefore, it is intended for adults only.
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Table of Contents
“Chapter 1”
“Chapter 2”
“Chapter 3”
“Chapter 4”
“Chapter 5”
“Chapter 6”
“Chapter 7”
“Chapter 8”
“Chapter 9”
“Chapter 10”
“Chapter 11”
“Chapter 12”
“Chapter 13”
“Chapter 14”
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More from Virginia Sexton: “The Virgin Actress”
About the Author
The office is small but luxurious. Dark colors for the wood and leather. One massive mahogany desk, behind which I sit and contemplate whether this is really something I want to go through with.
After leaving my parents’ home, this is exactly the kind of thing I never thought I would have been doing. Leaving? More like escaping. But, as soon as I graduated high school, I was gone. Seventeen and on my own, but I made it work. I had a job, and I went to school — something no one in our family had managed, going back all our generations.
I take a look at the framed pictures of celebrities and the miniature statues composing the décor, which scream banknotes. This is why I’m here. The money. It’s not just for me, even though Lord knows I could use it. I’m barely getting by, even with the rent split four ways between all my roommates in that dinky little apartment. I’m taking out debt for school, and I can’t see myself paying it back in the next twenty years.
If it were just for me, this wouldn’t be an option. But Mom and Dad have finally been busted, and it’s going to stick this time. They’ve been flirting with the judicial system since before I was born, and their last straw has finally been drawn. With a staggering combination of charges for illegal drugs, distribution, and unlicensed firearms, the police finally had enough evidence to make it stick. Once the authorities got a look at the apartment, the child endangerment charges were the cherry on top. Child Protective Services gathered my two younger sisters and little Jake, and they’re on their way to being enrolled in the foster system. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let that tailspin begin.
Problem is, if I’m barely getting by supporting myself, how am I supposed to support three younger siblings? I could drop out of school, and I could work around the clock at shitty jobs for the rest of my life. Little Jake is only five — that’s thirteen years until he can be on his own. I’ll be in my thirties by then. My life will be spent trying to make ends meet and always coming up one bounced check behind. We’ll live in the same shitty apartments we grew up in. We’ll eat the same shitty food, sleep on the same shitty mattresses on the floor with no box springs, and go to the same shitty schools.
No. I’m going to give my siblings a better life, and I’m determined not to sacrifice my wellbeing and happiness in the process. That’s why I’m here. I need my own apartment, and I needed the money to take care of them while still going to school. If I don’t go to school, my downward spiral will be never-ending.
I won’t lie. I’m scared of this job, but it’s a safe one if it’s done at the higher end — or, at least that’s what I’ve been told. They look after you in a way street pimps never would. Hell, a pimp wouldn’t even care if the guy uses a condom — he’d probably prefer he didn’t — pays better. Nothing like this. I just exited Excalibur’s private medical screening. It was extensive. I’ve never even had a blood test, let alone had to spread my legs for a man to take a look down there. He didn’t accept my fervent assurances that I was healthy in all the right ways.
I hear the door open behind me, and I automatically readjust myself to a more stiff sitting position. This is it. Mister Calvin Stone appears at the corner of my vision and makes his way behind his desk. He is tall and lean, his hair beginning to grey, and the slight leather of his skin telling me he is beyond his middle years of life. His eyes are on a folder, which I can only assume is full of my personal information. If his office screams wealth, so does his suit.
He looks up at me as he pulls out his chair and takes a seat. “Good afternoon, Grace. Thank you for coming in. Tell me, why are you here?”
I thought it was obvious, but I suppose there are plenty of girls who sugarcoat the truth. “Honestly, Sir, I need the money.”
He appears appreciative of my straightforward approach. “You don’t mind having sex with men for money?”
I swallow down the lump trying to make its way up my throat. I know — just as everyone does — the truth behind an escort service. What I wasn’t expecting was to have it laid out so plainly for me within the first minute of my interview. I catch myself searching to explain my motives but then remind myself that Mister Stone likely has no desire to hear another sob story.
“No, sir, I don’t mind.”
He sets his jaw and gives me that half smile which is indicative of an older man who doesn’t believe what a silly young thing is telling him. He isn’t convinced, but he looks down and thumbs through the papers in my file. “No religious affiliation. No off-the-books debt — just school. No record, not even juvie. But — your parents — are they going to be a problem?”
I haven’t spoken to my parents once in the two years since I left home. They made it quite evident they were happy one of their burdens was off their back. “No — they have no way of contacting me, and I prefer it that way.”
“And their recent incarceration? That has nothing to do with why you’re here today?”
If I am applying for a job to have sex at this man’s behest, there’s no reason to hide anything from him. “Partially, sir. It’s not bail or black-market debt or anything like that. It’s my other siblings. I would like to take responsibility for them, but I can’t afford it.”
He scratches at the underside of his chin, considering. “One of the more noble reasons for an application, I must say.” He takes a deep breath, filling his chest, and blows it out as he thumbs through more papers. “Clean medical examination. You’re very healthy. You have a great BMI, but you have low iron.”
“I’m a vegan,” I explain.
He nods without looking up. “We can help with that. I’ll schedule a consultation with our nutritionist. Several of the girls are vegetarians, but I think you would be our first all-out vegan. He can help to make sure you receive the correct supplements to balance your diet.”
I perk up at the unexpected bonus, but mostly because of the way Mister Stone’s direction insinuates he is considering offering me the job. “That would be wonderful. I’ll be sure to follow any recommendation the nutritionist has.”
He purses his lips and folds his knuckles together. He slowly looks up and fixes on me. “One other thing the doctor made a special note of — and I’ve quite literally never seen this before on a medical examination for this escort service.”
I pull at the thighs of my pantsuit — borrowed from one of my roommates attending business school. I have a bit of an inkling of what he’s referring to, given the doctor's surprise as well. “What?”
He tilts his head to the side, giving me that silly-little-girl look once again. “You’re a virgin.”
I swallow down that wad trying to make its way up my esophagus once more. The nervousness is trying to make its way out of my fingertips, and I have to suppress the need to fidget. “Is that bad?”
Mister Stone plants a palm against his forehead and precedes to rub down his face. “Yes, and no. What haven’t you done?”
Once again, I am pretty sure the answer to that is obvious. “What do you mean?”
He takes in a breath, wide-eyed and exasperated. “Anal? Blow jobs? Hell, heavy petting?”
I fail utterly at suppressing the fidgeting. My toes start to furiously tap, and I’m twisting the thin fabric at my thigh. “No. None of that. I mean, I’ve had boyfriends. What precisely do you mean by heavy petting?”
His jaw drops a little. “Okay. That’s the bad part. You know how to get a man off? Have you ever given a hand job, at least?”
I twist the fabric tighter between my fingertips. There’s going to be a hole worn in these pants by the time I hand them back to my roommate. “I guess not.”
This time, his eyebrows raise. “You guess not?”
I take a deep breath, and I know by the way the air stutters in my chest that my voice is going to come out shaky. “No. I haven’t done that, either.”
“I see.” Mister Stone bows his head and scratches at the back of his neck.
I had known this was likely to be awkward once I had seen the reaction of the doctor, but I had no idea there would be that extensive of a medical exam or that these were the kind of questions I was going to face. Who was I kidding? What was I thinking? The heat of a blush creeps up my neck and over my cheeks. My nervous energy works itself out as I search for any of my possessions I had set down. My phone? My keys? Where is everything?
I look down the legs of the chair for the purse I didn’t bring in and pat at my pockets. “I’m sorry. I can go. I didn’t mean to waste your time.”
He lifts his eyes as well as a hand, gesturing downward with an open palm. “No. Don’t go. Like I said, this is a first for me. I also said it was good.”
I stop in my frantic yet absent-minded search for my belongings. “How?”
Mister Stone leans back in his chair, his fingers interlaced in front of his chest and his elbows on the arms of his chair. “I’ve been thinking of this ever since Doctor Calloway handed me your medical report outside. You see, men love being a woman’s first, and in our line of work — well — you can imagine how rare this is.”
I remain silent, grabbing fistfuls of fabric now as I wait for my hopeful employer-to-be to continue. He studies the ceiling in apparent careful consideration of his next words. He licks his lips and gestures in a circular motion with his right hand, but no words come out. He scratches at his jawline. I count inside my head, trying to calm my breathing to a normal pace. This job is my chance. When I had applied for it, I figured I’d be losing my virginity on the job. Taking a look at the attractive, wealthy men in the pictures lining the walls — these are the kind of men I would much rather lose my V-card to than John Smith, the Starbucks barista.
“I have a proposition for you,” he begins, holding an unwavering eye contact with me. “Spend a week or two with Kaden Ashford. He’s a frequent client and a personal friend of mine. All the girls love being chosen as his date. He’s very… attentive… when he’s with them. I haven’t called him yet, but I’m sure he’ll be up for the challenge. He can show you everything about pleasing a man while preserving your virginity. Does that sound like something you’d be willing to do?”
He’s giving me a chance? He’s giving me a chance! My inexperience is what almost kept me from applying for this position, but if a man like this friend of his could show me the ropes of how to — um — satisfy a man like a proper escort should, maybe this was something I can handle. “I can do that, sir.” One thing forced its way to the front of my mind — the whole reason I’m here. “Is there going to be any compensation while I’m — um — being trained? Or is that supposed to be pro bono on my part?”
A wide smile breaks out on his lips, and he wags a finger at me. “Now, you’re a girl I can do business with. I see we understand one another. Yes. I can give you a stipend while you’re with Kaden.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers. “One, maybe two weeks full-time. But, you’ll be training, and I don’t know if it’s going to pay off — so — how does two thousand a week sound?”
I choke on my own spittle. My shoulders jump up as I swallow, and I try to make my voice come out as steady and unsurprised as possible. “Two thousand a week? Yes.” I cough and swallow once more, buying myself a little time. “I think that’s fair.” Fair? Shit! “And what if things don’t work out?”
He waves a dismissing hand at me. “Keep the money, obviously. I’m incredibly interested to see where this leads. But — if it does work — I want to throw a party for my clients. I want to auction your first date to the highest bidder. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in as well?”
Today is a full of surprises I most certainly could not have fathomed. “An auction?”
“Yes. Don’t underestimate how much my clients will be willing to spend in order to have a high-end escort — who is also a virgin whose cherry they can pop. The novelty alone is a million-dollar concept. And, you are a very pretty girl. With a little training and the right wardrobe, you’ll fetch one hell of a price tag.”
My heart does a dance. This really is it. But, is this the route I want to go? I had reconciled with myself that — if I got the job — I would be losing my virginity to a client. But, do I want my sexual innocence made a show of? Did he say one million dollars? “How much of that money will I be seeing?”
Mister Stone’s palm slams onto his desktop, and he belts out a quick laugh. “That’s my kind of girl. I’m not a greedy man, and I understand what I’m asking you to do here. Half. I don’t see any way you won’t get paid at least five hundred thousand dollars for doing this. It only goes up from there.”
Half a million dollars. Half a million dollars?! My turn for a jaw drop. I snap it shut and stutter over my words. “Of course. Yes. Of course. I’ll do it.”
I walk into my guestroom, glancing over things and checking to make sure everything has been arranged properly. This room is smaller than my master, but it still has an attached bathroom and plenty of room for a king size bed and a small space to sit down and relax in privacy. I open the first drawer of the dresser and pull out a few articles of clothing. Panties always go in the top drawer. Silk and lace. Veneer and see-through, for the most part.
I check in on the second drawer down. Casual shirts and jeans. I had received all Grace’s measurements from Excalibur and sent a personal shopper to outfit the guest room to my exacting specifications with everything from socks to formal evening dresses. I inspect the tags. The correct size and brand names. Good.
This was go
ing to be interesting.
I feel something foreign push its way up inside my chest. Something I haven’t felt for a long time. I haven’t been this excited to be with a woman in ages — and I’m not even technically allowed to be with her.
A virgin? I’m a thirty-five-year-old man. A successful man who can afford to lavish attention on starlets and models. The kind of bad, naughty girls who know what they’re doing in bed. When’s the last time I was with a virgin? She’s almost half my age. Not that that’s a bad thing — hell — some guys really get off on that kind of stuff. Me? I’ve had a semi-woody all day thinking of all the things I can do to her without taking her innocence.
Cal gave me the lowdown. She isn’t just a virgin. She’s innocent to the truest extent of the word. I may not be able to take that tight pussy, but I get to take any other first I want. I can be the first inside those lips, the first to make her scream, the first to make her beg. I tuck my thumb into my belt and drape my fingers over my half stiffened cock. Just thinking of her is getting me all riled up. I need to calm down before she gets here.
A chime dings over the speakers placed throughout my penthouse.
“Go ahead,” I order.
“A Miss Grace Stowe seeking permission to enter, Mister Ashford.”
“Send her up.”
Here she comes. Right now — at this very moment — a sweet, young virgin is riding the elevator up to my home. To stay with me. To have me do things to her no man has ever done. To teach her how to satisfy my cock. God, this really isn’t helping to calm down my erection. I detour into my bedroom and pull out the jockstrap I use when taking boxing classes. That should keep the old boy contained.
I pull my jeans back up, zipping and buckling, as I reenter my living space. I hear the elevator slide shut, and there she is — looking around herself with a single, small bag clasped in front of her. God, she even looks innocent. She’s right about average as far as height goes, a bit on the thin end, long hair pulled back into a ponytail, simple jeans and T-shirt. The girl next door. The girl I can’t fuck.
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