The Virgin Escort: A Billionaire & Virgin Romance

by Virginia Sexton

  Her eyes slowly scan from left to right, taking in my luxurious apartment with awe. I stand in silence, letting her continue her inspection until she reaches me. She stops — frozen. Her eyes widen, and her lips part.

  I slip my fingertips into the front pockets of my jeans. “Welcome to my home, Grace. Please, come with me. I’ll show you your room.”

  She takes tentative steps to follow me, and I reach out a beckoning hand to encourage her. I usher her toward the guestroom, flick on the light, and take her bag from her.

  “It’s good that you have some of your own things here, but the dresser and closet is fully stocked with clothes and shoes in your size. I have a maid, and she’ll come around every morning to clean up, so don’t worry about laundry or the sheets or anything. Same with the bathroom. New towels magically appear, and if you need anything, just mention it or leave a note, and it will be provided.”

  She takes hesitant steps forward, turning this way and that, taking it all in. She cranes her neck around the doorway to the bathroom. “I get my own?”

  She makes me smile. “Of course.” I point out the switches on the wall. “This one’s for the heated tile, and this one gets the Jacuzzi tub started for you.”

  I watch her as she takes a moment to adjust to her surroundings, her fingers clasped in front of her. She’s refreshing. So unlike the women who usually come into my home. Those who have come before her either take the luxury for granted, or are loud in their verbal praise of its splendors. A bit jarring, really. Grace doesn’t rave over the marble or the silver inlay or the silk sheets. She runs her fingers over the bed, feeling its softness. She touches the engraved wood and stone, and a lovely half smile brightens her features.

  Refreshing, indeed. She’s adorable, if I may say so. “Go ahead and get settled in then put on one of the dresses in the closet. Dinner is in one hour. I will leave you to yourself so you can get comfortable.”

  I gently close the door behind me and walk back toward my room. The waiting staff should be here any moment in order to see to the setting up of our private dinner. I want it to be just her and I tonight so I can get a full appreciation of the goods without any distractions.

  First, a cold shower and a good jerking off session to get rid of my persistent hard on.

  I choose the dark blue and step into it. I find a strapless bra in the top drawer and fit it on before I pull the dress all the way over my hips. I’m amazed at how comfortable the bra is. I guess I know now what all those measurements back at Excalibur were intended for. I wiggle my hips and shimmy the dress up over my breasts, happy to see that the well-concealed zipper is on the side instead of the back.

  I slip on the matching heels and head to the bathroom to take in the outfit by means of the full-length mirror. It is the most elegant thing I have ever worn. It conforms to my curves and has just the slightest hint of sparkle when the light hits it. I spin and do what every girl must — I check out my ass. Looking good. I stick one leg a bit behind me so the slit running up the side opens. I curl my toes to get a good flex on my calf. One thing about hiking all around campus and having classes on the third and fourth floors of old buildings — I look pretty killer in a pair of heels. Not that I wear them much.

  I’m kicked out of my Cinderella moment by the wave of nausea that hits me. It’s gone in a second, but it reminds me of how extremely on edge I am. I’m not sure what Kaden Ashford has in store for me, or what he’s going to be teaching me. I’m inexperienced, not naïve. My mind has been racing over all the things a world-wise man could be teaching me. It’s the uncertainty that’s getting to me. If I had an itinerary — something like a class syllabus — it may help to take the edge off, but I have no idea what Kaden’s game plan is.

  I hear the notes of a lovely classical sonnet drifting in from his living space. I check the time on my phone. Somehow, the hour has passed both torturously slowly and all at once. My knees go weak, and I’m suddenly very unsteady in my heels. It’s time.

  I twist the handle and swing the door open to a beautiful setting for two. Kaden’s luxury apartment is set up in an open floor plan with the kitchen, featuring stainless steel appliances, sweeping into a dining area and then an expansive public entertaining space.

  The large, wooden table which was in the dining area when I first entered has been replaced by a much smaller table draped with a white cloth and bookended by two chairs. It is decorated simply with a single stem rose and two candles. The lights in his apartment are dimmed to a romantic hue — and there he is. Kaden Ashford. He is still young, and he’s incredibly attractive. Clean shaven with dark, close cropped hair. Big shoulders and chest that taper down to a fit waist — all of which are accentuated by a tailored, form-fitting tuxedo.

  He lays his gray, steady gaze on me and paces forward with strong, confident strides. He turns and offers the crook of his arm. “May I?”

  Silly as it seems, I’ve never taken the arm of a man. I’ve never known one so gallant as to offer it. I slip my hand around his bicep and can’t help but squeeze the hard muscle beneath. Kaden guides me toward the table set for two and pulls out my chair. Lord — two firsts, already. I’m seeing just how over my head I’m going to be in this society. This is not the kind of man I am used to. What kind of life have I been living that the only time I have ever experienced a chair being pulled out for a woman is when I see it on television? And yet, Kaden bends his head in a bow as though it’s a matter of course.

  He rounds to his side of the table, and I get a good look at his tight ass and thick thighs before he sits. He snaps open his napkin before he begins, “I assure you, the job you are taking isn’t simply a matter of providing a high priced hooker. Escorts who make the kind of money you would be making are expected to be social companions as well. A fine dining experience is going to be the most common date you will encounter. I thought I would give us a little privacy to begin with.”

  I’m grateful for that. “Thank you, Mister Ashford. This is lovely.”

  “Please, Kaden. But, assuming Mister Ashford to begin with was good. Allow your client to be the one who makes things more familiar per his own tastes.”

  Makes sense. The same thing applies to the professors at the university. Always start out Professor So-And-So, and let them tell you if you can call them anything different. “I can do that.”

  “And the clientele are expected to be gentlemen — whatever their preferences lead to in the privacy of the bedroom, understand?”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “It means you don’t have to sleep with a client no matter what, but you are expected to overlook a certain machismo behavior. The clientele are often over-the-top alpha personalities. Men who are used to giving orders and being obeyed. Men who have no problem belittling someone as an inferior if that means getting the job done. Understand?”

  “I believe so. Humor their bravado and stroke their ego.” Pretty much what was expected of me growing up whenever Mom and Dad’s business associates came to the apartment.

  A thin young man with a very straight spine and the consummate professional waiter’s tuxedo, complete with white kid gloves, approaches with small, stiff placards in hand. “The menu. Shall I give you a moment to decide?”

  Kaden gives one quick, appraising look over the menu then sets it down. “I’ll have the Merlot I set out. The sweet young thing will have grape juice in a wine glass. I’ll have the rack of lamb with risotto, and young miss will have the artichoke salad.”

  I set my teeth into my bottom lip before reminding myself to stop the nervous habit. I don’t need lipstick all over my teeth. Can’t help it. He’s already found one surefire way to annoy me. I barely even have a chance to skim the menu before the waiter extends his hand, and I give it up. Grape juice and salad? Seriously?

  He must see the shadow that passes over my countenance, because he gives me this lopsided grin and asks, “Does it bother you that I ordered for you?” He tops it off with a wink.

>   The smug bastard. So, scraping at my lip isn’t the only thing I’m going to have to catch myself on. I can’t tell if he’s testing me, or if this is his usual gig. “Of course not. You know best. I’m sure I wouldn’t even know half of what’s on the menu.”

  There’s an amusement hidden behind his eyes, but he continues, “Tell me, Grace, how did you get into this kind of work?”

  I allow myself to be relaxed by his easy tone. “This all came along at just the right time. I’m going to college — I’m in my sophomore year — and I’m running out of room on my loan for tuition. Plus, I’ll actually be able to get a place of my own, and my siblings can move in with —”

  “— Honey, men don’t give a fuck. Make something up.”

  I halt abruptly and remain silent as the gloved waiter precisely places our glasses and backs away with a slight tilt suggesting a bow. The damned lump is coming back to my throat, and I take a long drink of my grape juice then send it back down. I lick my lips and study the tablecloth before looking up to meet his eye. “Like what?”

  He leans back easily in his chair, one arm draped in his lap and the other stretched out over the table. “Something ditzy and sexy. No man you provide an escort service to is going to be interested in your college studies or getting an apartment with your siblings. They’re just not. Get trashy and blonde.”

  Sure, I hadn’t known what to expect, but this is pretty far down on my list of unexpected. Get trashy and blonde. “Like an airhead stewardess?”

  That amusement comes back to his eyes. “Actually, yes, or going to school to be a nurse.”

  I push down the urge to defend my girlfriends who are going to school for just that and get into the spirit of stroking a man’s ego, flipping my down-do over my shoulder. I lift my voice an octave higher than usual. “My name’s Scarlett. I just escort to fill time between flights — I’m a stewardess specializing in international overnights. I can’t get enough of meeting new, interesting men like you. It’s my favorite part. But that’s enough about me — tell me about yourself.”

  His chest shakes gently with silent laughter. I can tell he’s reluctantly impressed, but he pushes forward. “I founded a tech startup five years ago. Website security.”

  I twirl my hair around one finger, resisting the urge to mimic chewing bubblegum. “How interesting! You must be super smart.”

  He rubs at the tablecloth with his thumb. “Just self-taught and ambitious.”

  It’s out before I can pull it back. “I’d like to see just how ambitious you are.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts with his eyebrows. “Have you ever given a man a blowjob before?”

  He really doesn’t beat around the bush. I’m wishing I could take back my impromptu attempt to flirt. I can feel the heat of a blush creeping its way up my neck, and I’m having a hard time staying in my persona as Stewardess Scarlett. “No, I haven’t.”

  “I think that’s where we shall begin, then.” He pushes back from the table, giving himself more space but not getting up.

  Holy shit. I mean, I know this is what I’m here for — who am I kidding? Of course, he wouldn’t waste any time. I only have a week, two at max. My eyes flit over to the door at the edge of the kitchen where the waiter disappeared. “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here? The waiter.”

  “This may be the first, but it is not going to be the last time you are asked for a blowjob in a semi-public setting.”

  My heart is firing off on all cylinders. “Okay, I guess—”

  “—Honey, I know it was long with a lot of fine print, but read the contract. The clientele know they are expected to provide privacy for any sexual act. It’s your responsibility to hold them to that contract. If you don’t, it’s grounds for dismissal.”

  Thank God. My anxiety washes away as he flaps his napkin and places it back on the table.

  “There,” he says. “He won’t disturb us until I call him back.” He extends a hand toward me. “Please. I apologize if this is sudden. Unfortunately, there generally isn’t much foreplay or wooing involved at this stage of an escorting service.”

  He tilts his chair to the side, away from the table, and opens his legs.

  The anxiety is back. “In this dress? On my knees?”

  “It makes it all the hotter for a man to see a fancy, pretty young thing like you on your knees with a cock between those lips.”

  I feel a swell in my pussy. Those dirty words coming from a man like that. Directed toward me. I rise to my feet and round the table, my brain struggling with the confusion of my body being turned on by what is happening. I’m not the only one. As I step between his legs and look down, I see the hardness between his thighs.

  I set my knees together and bend to lower myself in the most ladylike fashion possible in this evening dress. Should I even be caring about being ladylike in a situation like this? I place my hands on his thighs to give myself support as I fall to my knees. Kaden reaches out, his hands grazing along my sides as I descend. I fold one knee under myself and then the other and stick my heels out behind me, entirely unsure of what to do with myself now.

  A growling rumble sounds above me — coming from Kaden. A deep husk has come into his voice. “I’m not going to do it for you. Undo the belt, and take my cock out.”

  I’m ashamed of my trembling fingers as I extend my hands toward his groin. Kaden sits up straight, stretching so I can get the best access. I lift the black, cloth cummerbund to gain access to his pant-line. His abdomen is hard — just like his cock — and it makes popping the button of his tuxedo pants from the hole easy. I pull his zipper down, and Kaden lifts himself. I work his pants down far enough that I can get to his package.

  A jockstrap? I guess that’s the male equivalent of a strapless bra when it comes to eveningwear. My hands are shaking — I have never been this close — I’ve never felt the hardness of a man’s shaft. His cock is pushing at the fabric, and I carefully lift it and pull him out.

  Wrapping my fingers around his thick erection is a foreign feeling. My curiosity is stoked as I pull him and feel the heat radiating. There’s no way this can be the normal size of a man’s cock. I’ve seen them on television and in pictures, and this is something else. I don’t even know what to do with it.

  “Go on,” he encourages. “Open your mouth, and take me in.”

  One hand holding onto him and directing him toward my lips and the other supporting myself on his thigh, I lean forward. I open my mouth and wrap my lips around the tip of his cock, and I’m rewarded with an immediate groan. Kaden places a hand at the top of my head and strokes my hair. His skin is clean and soft, and I open wider to take him in further.

  I hear a hissed intake of breath, and Kaden’s other hand comes to a rest on my shoulder. “That’s it. Now suck down and run those lips back up.”

  I do as instructed, establishing a vacuum and pressing my tongue to the underside of his shaft. I pull another groan from him as I reach his tip. I repeat the process slow and gradual, pushing him between my lips and running him back out again. I take in air through my nose, and the control it takes to breathe steadily is only increasing my arousal. Kaden doesn’t hold back with verbal praise, petting my hair and saying my name.

  I reach the tip of his cock, and he almost slips out. My tongue raises across the very top and into the slit there, and he reacts by gripping my shoulder more firmly and clenching into my hair. I repeat the action, lapping my tongue over his cockhead and tasting the salty pre-cum. I take my focus from his groin and look up to his eyes.

  Kaden is the picture of a man struggling with restraint. His teeth are bared, and there is pure lust in his eyes. The animal desire there frightens me and leaves me desiring more. I’m on my knees, a man holding me to his cock, and yet I feel power. A moan escapes my lips as I take him back in as far as I can, the tip nudging against the back of my throat. Kaden snarls when I make the noise, and his hips rise.

  The added pressure sends his co
ckhead against my throat, and I gag then whimper, but I swallow my built-up saliva, and it’s obvious how turned on he is. His cock twitches in my mouth.

  Both of his hands are on me, holding me to him. “I’m going to come. And you, sweet girl, are going to swallow me down.”

  His hips are moving now, rotating and pulsing between my lips. I let him do the work and set the pace while I focus on sucking him. The motion he’s creating causes pangs of desire to shoot down into my pussy. He muffles a strangled cry and stills. I feel the saltiness in the back of my throat, and I swallow once, twice, and then three times. I continue to suck for a moment as he rests, and I look up at him.

  Fuck me. I forgot what it was like to be with an inexperienced woman. Not that it was a bad thing. Far from it. But that possessiveness taking hold of my soul — I haven’t felt that since I was a teenager falling in love for the first time. My fingers in her hair — messing up her well-arranged styling — I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than in that moment with her right there. Her lips around my cock, her eyes looking up at me and seeking my approval.

  I reach down and take hold of myself, tucking my cock back into my jockstrap. Shit, I never took my jockstrap off. Probably because I never stopped having a semi-woody. I give her a smile. “That was one hell of a first blow job, Grace. I think you’re going to do just fine.”

  Her lips twitch into a smile before she struggles to keep a straight face. She places both hands on my thighs, and I watch as she daintily rises to her feet then returns to her seat. There is a visible redness in her cheeks and flushing of her lips. It turned her on. An immense sense of self-satisfaction flows through my core and up into my chest.

  I situate my tuxedo pants and pull back up to the table, Grace all the while fidgeting with the silverware and her napkin, eyes downcast but those lips struggling to hold back a smile. When was the last time a woman was genuinely shy after sucking my cock? Sure, the high-priced ones knew how to fake it — but after all this time — I also knew how to spot an imitation. God, the way she licks her lips and flits her eyes up to check in on me has me wanting to throw her on the table and take her innocence right there. Fuck all this training shit.