The Virgin Secretary: A Billionaire Romance

by Cross, Veronica

  “Tess,” he murmured. “Stay still.” She tried to do as she was told, but the thing he was doing with his tongue was making it hard for her to think.

  “Alex,” she whimpered. She wanted friction, and he wasn’t having any of it.

  “Imagine how hard it was for me to stay still, outside behind the police officers, and wait for you to come back to me safely.” His grip was firm, but gentle, as he held her in place. “It was almost unbearable.”

  “I’m sorry.” It was still inadequate, but she did mean it.

  He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry, too.” She couldn’t bear the sadness in his gaze. His anger had dissipated, but the sadness was worse.

  “Let me make it up to you.”

  “That’s not what I want. I just want you to stay safe.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As sweet as he was being, she was exceptionally more horny than anything else. She didn’t want to be charmed, she wanted to be fucked.

  “I insist.”

  Shifting back, she crawled past his feet and knelt on the ground. Beckoning him towards her, she licked her lips. He sat on the edge as she had wanted him too, giving her the access she needed to rub her palms from his knees to his thighs, just as she had done in the studio not so long ago.

  His jaw dropped when she wrapped her hand around his shaft. His hands twitched, and he slowly brought them to tangle in her hair. He was careful not to pull her towards him, but she knew exactly what his body was craving.

  With a delicate smile, she leaned in and licked him from base to tip. His hips jerked when she swirled her tongue around the tip, maintaining a steady pumping motion with her right hand as her left rested on his thigh. Tess hummed when he tugged at her hair, and he gasped.

  “Tess, that feels incredible.”

  She responded only by grabbing his balls with her free hand. He bucked his hips again, and she picked up her speed. Licking, sucking, and caressing, it wasn’t long before he was panting, moaning her name.

  “I’m going to come.” His eyes were half closed when she met his gaze.

  Tess’s eyes crinkled in a smile, loving that he was enjoying her work. She didn’t stop, though, and instead bobbed her head and took him a little deeper with each pump of her hand, bringing him to his release and swallowing every drop.

  Rendered speechless, he pulled her up onto his lap again as he leaned against the headboard.

  “That was amazing,” he murmured.

  She just hummed, resting her hands on his chest and her head on his shoulder. They rested like that for a moment. Tess was still aroused, but she couldn’t help but enjoy that quiet moment with him, feeling his skin against hers, listening to his breathing as it slowed.

  “You’re amazing,” he continued, shifting so that they were lying down again. Alex nudged Tess onto her side, curling himself around her from behind and massaging her shoulders, her chest. Tess’s eyes closed, lazily accepting his affection. Without much thought, her hands found her own throbbing core. She was slick, and her own fingers slipped over her clit easily. Her moans were soft but filled with desire.

  Noticing this, Alex clicked his tongue. “You touching yourself makes me so hot, but I can’t keep my hands to myself.”

  Covering her hands with his own, Alex slid his index finger between her folds, and she gasped. Pleasure flooded her has he curled his finger towards her navel, and she ground her ass against his cock.

  “Alex,” she breathed. “More.”

  He added another finger, pulling her hands up and away from the action. She moaned and squirmed, loving the sensations but also missing the control.

  “I want you so bad.” Tess wiggled her hips again, encouraging his erection as it throbbed against her leg. “Fuck, Tess. How is it that you know exactly how to turn me on?”

  She was too caught up in the way his thumb grazed her swollen clit to reply. When she called out his name again, he seemed to have had enough of the foreplay. She was glad for it; she wasn’t sure how much more she could take before she came in his hands.

  “Now it’s my turn to show you just how much I love you,” he murmured in her ear, shifting to his knees and guiding Tess onto her stomach, holding her wrists together over her head.

  Alex tore the wrapper off of the condom with his teeth, sliding it on with remarkably efficient movements. Tess could tell that he was just as ready as she was; it took all of a few seconds for him to line up his tip with her opening. He didn’t waste any time teasing, either. Just as soon as she felt him there, he thrust into her, filling her with his length. They both sighed. Alex rested over her back, giving her a moment to relax, letting her expand to fit all of him.

  “Alex?” She would have sworn his cock twitched as she said his name. She wanted to know why he had stopped moving; she couldn’t really look over her shoulder at him given the way she was positioned, but that was probably for the best. She was so focused on his cock inside of her, she wasn’t sure she could really do much to express her question.

  “Tess?” Like Tess, Alex’s voice was affected by their passion. Both were slightly out of breath, voices husky, clearly aroused.

  “I want you,” she breathed. She tried to grind her hips, but Alex had her pinned in place with his body on top of hers.

  “What do you want, love?” He growled. She adored that affectionate label, and it only made it harder to stay still.

  “You,” she breathed again, “I want you to fuck me.”

  “Say my name.” Alex was trailing kisses up and down her shoulder, the skin growing more sensitive as his scruff grazed her. Tess wanted him so badly, she was pretty sure she would have said anything he wanted her too.

  “Alex,” Tess said, strained. “Alex, please.”

  Unable to resist any longer, he did as she asked. He was slow, at first, thrusting until he was balls-deep inside of her. He pushed until she gasped, and then did it again. And again.

  “Faster,” Tess pleaded. “I need you to fuck me harder.”

  Alex released her hands, letting her grip the bed sheets as he leveraged her hips against him. He pounded into her, responding to her gasps and the way she shouted his name. He used his grip on her hips to grinding them together.

  “Come with me, baby,” he ground out when he felt her tensing.

  “Yes, Alex,” she cried out, “I’m ready.”

  Alex felt her walls clamp around his cock and followed her over the edge.

  “Oh, Tess,” he groaned with that husky, guttural voice. He thrust into her lazily as she came down from her climax; when he saw that she had relaxed, he pulled out of her.

  Both took a moment to put themselves and their thoughts back in order; Alex discarded the spent condom before settling in next to Tess, who immediately curled into his side, tucking her chin into his shoulder.

  As he traced invisible patterns on her skin, she finally felt at ease. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t worried about anything at all.

  She wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring - surely, there would be some aftermath to deal with later. For now, though, she felt warm and safe, wrapped in Alex Booker’s arms. Tomorrow could wait; until then she intended to enjoy every moment of this bliss that the moment would allow.

  Used by the Executive

  A Secret Baby Romance

  Veronica Cross

  Used by the Executive

  Copyright 2017 by Veronica Cross

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, actual events, locale o
r organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: Due to mature subject matter, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all acts of a sexual nature are consensual.

  Chapter One: Born to Sing the Blues

  Her voice reverberated through the half empty saloon like a slice of sharp glass, hitting every audience member to the core of their being. The combination of plaintiveness and anguish was familiar melancholy to the sorry group of intoxicated misfits. As the piano player hit the last note on the worn ivory keys, Annika faltered awkwardly, and she trailed into off into a pregnant silence. Despite the overwhelming adulation felt by the sprinkling of people, there was no recognition. No one looked up from their sweating pints of beer. Not a soul acknowledged Annika’s misery because they were all too enveloped in their own. Shakily, the slender redhead slunk off the stage and stumbled to her half-drunk glass of vodka on the bar.

  “Wow, Annie! That was awesome!” The chunky bartender was waiting for her, his wide innocent looking eyes filled with admiration. “You’re wasting your talent in this shithole.”

  Annika barely glanced up at the smiling man. She had learned his name was Dickie the previous evening. It was a moniker which suited him somehow. He had a child-like exuberance about him which seemed to mask a personality much less naïve than one he presented. There was a quality that Annika could not pinpoint that made her want to slap his face, however.

  “Don’t I know it,” she slurred.

  “You need to find yourself a rich bastard and become his concubine. Then you can pursue a singing career in the life you deserve.”

  Annika peered up at him with sudden interest, her cerulean blue eyes bloodshot from a day’s worth of alcohol consumption.

  “Why don’t you be my sugar daddy?” she purred, putting her hand on his arm suggestively. Dickie laughed raucously and waved his finger at her.

  “Baby, you are completely my type! Young, fire crotch and an ass that just won’t quit but you got something I don’t need!”

  Annika scowled and jerked her arm away.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “Let’s just say that this is one Dick that don’t like that va-jay-jay!”

  Annika pouted, annoyed as he laughed again and walked away from her swinging his hips for effect.

  “Get me another drink, queen!” she yelled after him. He cackled harder and winked at her from the far end of the bar. Sighing, she turned to face the meager sprinkling of patrons in the tavern. This was the second night she had sung at this decrepit, miserable hole in the wall and for the second night, she had flopped. She knew she had only gotten the gig because the owner of the Sundowner had been too busy trying to make out the shape of her nipples through her bra to actually listen to her pitch. Not that she was complaining. She was down to her last forty bucks, and she was about to get thrown out of the dilapidated boarding house in which she “lived.” Lived. What a funny word. I’ve been dying since the day I was born. Dickie put another double vodka and tonic before her.

  “This one is on me, Annie. Chin up – shit always gets worse before it gets better.” She suddenly realized why she loathed the bartender; his condescending tone reminded her of her step-father.

  “Fuck off,” Annika growled, snatching up the beverage. As she stood from the barstool, her black stiletto got caught in the chair leg, and she flew face first into a table. The couple seated there jumped up as the glass smashed, sending their beer in every direction.

  “Drunken skank,” the woman muttered angrily as Annika struggled to pick herself up. Blood was streaking her hands from the glass shards on the floor. She managed to rise and wiped the tacky fluid on her jeans, deepening the slivers of glass into her tender skin. Then, through foggy, incoherent eyes, she looked around. Everyone was finally watching her; now that her misery temporarily outweighed theirs. I haven’t been dying since the day I was born; I’ve been dead the whole time.

  Back at the boarding house, she lay on her bed, staring at the water damaged ceiling. There was a piece of plaster hanging by a thread directly above her head, and Annika was silently willing it to fall on her. Maybe it will be laced with asbestos and kill me with cancer. The thought cheered her up slightly. She remembered what she used to play when she was a child, and her step-father was in the next room making a “business” deal. She would count the dots on the particle board in the ceiling. To be a kid again, easily amused by everything, she thought wryly. She was ridiculously intoxicated, but she could not fall asleep. Her mind would not stop racing. Her heart was pounding, and for a paralyzing second, she thought she was about to have a panic attack. You better get your shit together. She sat up abruptly and felt around for her cell phone. She needed some pot. Pot would put her out. She texted her dealer and then readjusted the two flat pillows on her cot, so she was propped up against the wall. What was she going to do? She was literally about one day away from living on the streets. After the fiasco at the Sundowner, it was highly unlikely the owner was going to let her come back, regardless of how much he lusted after her. She shrugged and realized she was going to have to swallow her pride and go back to stripping again. Just for a few months until I get on my feet. But even as she thought it, she knew she was going to get sucked back into the entire lifestyle again. The money. The drugs. Well, I gotta do what I gotta do. She idly wondered if she slept with the owner of the Sundowner if he’d let her keep singing there. Jesus Christ, am I that far gone? Her text notification went off. She was hoping he would spot her a dime bag of weed, but she already owed him so much money. She picked up the phone, thinking about how to word the request when she realized the text was not from her drug dealer but from a number she did not recognize.

  Hi Annie! It’s Dickie from the Sundowner.

  Annika groaned, humiliation flooding her face. Would this night never end? Furiously, she punched a text in return.

  How the fuck did you get my number?

  Sammy, the owner, gave it to me. You’re fired btw.

  To her utter embarrassment, tears sprung to her eyes. Don’t you fucking dare cry! She yelled at herself. You did this to yourself.

  Thanks for letting me know. Fuck off.

  LOL I really wish I were straight – you’re a firecracker!

  Annika didn’t bother responding. She wished Brandon would get back to her. She could always invite him over for a quickie, and then he would inevitably bring a joint or two. Then she realized it was almost five o’clock in the morning. One more day closer to death, she thought with some optimism. But Dickie was not finished with her.

  Do you want a good paying gig?

  Wow, Sammy really smelled blood in the water. He’s firing me so he can fuck me. Charming. Her thumbs were poised above the keyboard, trying to decide whether or not to go for it.

  My brother, Vern owns a pub downtown, and he’s always looking for new talent. Can I give him your number?

  Annika was completely taken aback. She had not been expecting a genuine job proposal.

  Are you fucking with me?

  No. I think you have an incredible voice. You’re soulful and kill the blues like no white girl should.

  For the first time since Annika could remember, she smiled a real smile.

  Yeah, I’d really like that gig.

  Chapter Two: A Change is Gonna Come

  Well, this is an improvement. Annika had a decent buzz going, and as she finished her set, she was feeling a tad euphoric. Dickie had come through – the “pub” his brother owned was actually more of a speakeasy. It had twenties style vibe, requiring a code word to enter et al. The establishment comfortably entertained no more than fifty people at capacity but the clientele reeked of money and intrigue. The opportunist in Annika smelled the potential for finding a rich boyfriend, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that was what Dickie had in mind all along. For some reason she coul
d not comprehend, the round-faced blonde had taken an instinctive liking to her, despite the fact she was incessantly rude to him. It had almost become a game as she no longer felt animosity toward him, but she continued to treat him nastily. She idly wondered if he was a masochist. Definitely a bottom, she thought, as she joined him at a table near the kitchen. Several people stopped her mid-step to compliment her gorgeous vocal cords. She also noticed most of the men, as well as some women, coupled and single, were ogling her. Some were covert while others were openly suggestive, leering and licking their lips as she sashayed past their tables. Annika relished in the attention. It felt good to be appreciated after a lifetime of disappointment.

  This was her fifth night at The Pocket Watch and Dickie’s brother, Vern had promised her a regular showcase after her first night.

  “Try not to get pissed drunk,” Dickie had warned. “Vern is a bit of a teetotaler.”

  “A what?” Annika asked, dubiously. “Is that even a word or is that gay for something?”

  Dickie shook his head and sighed.

  “It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” he told her, patting her on the head like a puppy. “Just try to stay coherent. You have the voice of an angel. A fallen angel, mind you, but an angel nonetheless. Don’t screw up this chance by making an ass out of yourself.”

  Annika had heeded his advice and drank minimally the night of her first performance. She was shocked to discover that she had stage fright without being completely alcohol infused. Still, her fear of living in a cardboard box far outweighed her phobia of being on display, so she bit the bullet and sang Amy Winehouse like she was the troubled singer incarnate. She received a standing ovation for the first time in her life. Vern had enthusiastically offered her a contract for two straight weeks and every Friday night after that. And somehow, at some point of the night, regardless of his schedule, Dickie had made an appearance.