Oh god, but the dirty words made my pussy juice, sweet spot already going soft and wet with anticipation. I love it when my man talks nasty, I love how the big man is so relentless about fucking me, owning my insides every which way. So a quick inhale and flirtatious giggle, I waggled my fingers again.
“I want it Daddy,” I murmured as the door slid shut. “Save that butt ride for me.”
Donovan’s answering growl was the only thing I heard in return, muffled but virile all the same, promising the world.
And I didn’t think anything more of it. Skipping off to the pool, life was great. I was in love and wanted nothing more but a life together, a future spreading before us, glorious and colorful. Because I’ve been living with Donovan at the club, we’re together 24/7, dining al fresco, chatting animatedly, and of course, making love non-stop, our couplings hot and wild. So I figured a small dip in the pool would be some much-needed time apart, a breather after the relentless togetherness.
But when I got back to the suite, it was dark inside. Hmm, that was weird. Maybe Daddy was in the other room, or maybe he was at the Club’s gym working out. But when I flicked on the lights, the enormity of the situation hit like a ton of bricks.
Because Donovan was no longer here. Ghosted, vanished, absolutely gone, no trace of the big man, every memento disappeared. I gaped, looking around, but the suite held no clues, silent and still. The bed was made, everything spic and span, almost threatening because it was so immaculate. What the hell? My head hurt, a thrum banging insistently behind my eyes.
Slowly, I picked up the phone by the side of the bed.
“Hello?” I swallowed thickly. “This is Donovan Jones’s room, and I’m Rachel? Do you know where he is?”
A voice came on-line immediately.
“Ms. Smith,” it replied courteously. “Thank you for calling. Unfortunately, Mr. Jones was called away on emergency business and has asked that you be escorted from the Club.”
My mind whirled, confused and hazy. What emergency business? And even if Donovan had business, why had all his stuff disappeared?
“I’m sorry,” I said slowly. “But he made no mention of a business trip to me. Can you tell me more?”
The voice on the other end paused before answering, smooth and effortless.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” it replied in a courteous monotone. “But Mr. Jones asked you to be escorted from the Club immediately.”
What? How could this be happening? Just an hour ago, I’d been riding his dick, pussy juices dripping down that thick shaft as the alpha groaned beneath me, chest and abs tight. How could he spurt into my cunt, seeding me like a geyser, and then just disappear? What the hell was going on?
“I’m sorry,” I said again firmly. “But I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where Donovan is.”
The voice was silent a moment before replying.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but that information is not known,” it said in a monotone. “And I’m sorry, but Mr. Jones gave specific instructions that you depart the Club immediately. Your things have already been packed and a car is waiting upstairs. Please gather your personal effects, and a handler will be there shortly to escort you to the surface.”
At that moment, the door hissed open and a short, slight man dressed all in black, bowed.
“Madame,” he intoned in a voice just as bland, just as professional as the phone operator. “Please come with me.”
With numb fingers, the receiver dropped out of my hands. Because the handler was here now, I didn’t even have five minutes to collect my thoughts, to get a hold of what was going on. Instead, I was being tossed out like a stinking piece of trash, services no longer needed.
But what could I do? What choice did I have? I’d literally been abandoned with no warning, ghosted in the worst way. How could Donovan do this to me? I’d spent the last two weeks with the man, loving him again and again, and this is the best I deserved?
Swallowing painfully, I bowed my head, acknowledging defeat. The billionaire didn’t want me anymore, and it was his right to ask me to leave. I just didn’t think it would be like this, shameful and unwanted. But seeing no other options, with the handler waiting impatiently at the door, I swung my small bag onto my shoulder and with slow steps, left the suite.
The journey was silently unremarkable as we made our way through a series of winding passages, elevators that whisked us upwards, escalators that ascended for miles at a time. But I was numb to it all, absolutely expressionless, eyes seeing nothing as my feet moved forward in a trance. Because this was it. Donovan had dumped me unceremoniously, waiting until I was at the pool to vacate in a hurry. I was nothing but an anonymous pussy to fuck, another tiny asshole to own, a notch on his bedpost. Two notches, for taking my v-card and a-card, a double-header if there ever was one. Oh god! And once he was done, once I was no longer an innocent virgin, the big man lost interest and I was tossed onto the trash heap. Realizing this made the lump in my throat grow bigger, eyes seeing nothing as I got into the black town car, numb with shock.
But after driving for an hour, I realized that we weren’t headed to my apartment. God, I’d barely noticed the passing landscape, instead my mind filled with demonic screams even if on the outside, I was completely silent. Straightening on the seat, I snapped at the driver.
“Where are we going? What’s going on?”
Holy shit, was I being abducted? Was I being sold to another Billionaires Club, passed around rich men like a commodity to be used, another voluptuous female to fuck and be done with? Oh god, oh god, my soul curdled at the thought. Was that even possible? The depravity was mind-boggling.
But the kindly driver merely shook his head, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror.
“We’re going to your apartment, Miss,” he said cheerily. “Where else?”
I jerked my head in a no.
“This isn’t the way,” I said tightly. “I live on the other side of town, this is the wrong direction.”
The elderly man shook his head.
“No, not according to the instructions I have,” he said. “And GPS can’t be wrong,” he added, indicating the console at his right hand. “These machines are incredible, they work using a satellite in the sky,” he said, brow creasing for a moment as he stared downwards. “Nope, it’s right!” he confirmed cheerily, looking at me again. “Ah, here we are!”
Stupefied, I looked out the window. Because we were in front of a towering apartment complex, an imposing glass and steel complex with windows that look like mirrors. No, this was wrong. My apartment building was a crumbling block of concrete, with sad-eyed windows and peeling pink paint. This definitely wasn’t it.
“No, I’m sorry, wrong place,” I said shortly. Damnit, but the saddest day of my life was only getting worse. Now we were going to have to drive forty minutes in traffic, a fitting end to this tragedy. “I’m sorry, we’re in the wrong place, turn around and I’ll show you how to get to where I live.”
Hopefully, my key would still work since I’d missed rent on the first, but they can’t kick you out for being a week late, right? The lump in my throat grew again, eyes watering, but this was my fate. I’d given everything to Donovan for two weeks, and he’d promised nothing. I only prayed I had an apartment to come back to.
But it was too late because the chauffeur had already jumped out and swung my door open.
“Here you are!” he said, dangling a shiny key in his hand. “Penthouse 1, someone must like you!” he added brightly. And to my astonishment, a doorman came rushing over as well, sprightly in a red and gold embellished uniform.
“Ms. Smith!” he exclaimed. “I’m Jonas, head concierge at the Avalon. We’ve been expecting you, we’ve got your place ready, it’s just waiting for your lovely presence,” he added with a sweeping bow.
At that, I stepped out numbly, shaking my head.
“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person,” I mumbled, but it was like no one heard. Instead, the con
cierge and driver bustled busily, escorting me into an imposing lobby and pressing the button to a discreet elevator on the side.
“You’ve got your own entrance,” winked Jonas, tipping his hat. “It’s one of the benefits of the penthouse,” he whispered, like he was letting me on a secret.
And in a daze, I got into the gleaming cube, blinking silently as we were whisked up a dozen stories. Because what could I say? I’d already told them that they had the wrong girl, but my protests had fallen on deaf ears. Both men seemed utterly convinced that I was the Rachel Smith, a princess who lived in a sumptuous aerie in the sky, and not a ramshackle one-bedroom on the other side of the tracks. I shrugged tiredly. Frankly, I was too exhausted to fight, too wrung out and emotionally drained to protest again.
But when the door opened, even I had to blink with surprise. Because the apartment was beyond my wildest dreams. Done all in white, it had a floor to ceiling windows with a sweeping view of the stark Nevada desert. A double, if not triple-height ceiling opened to a loft above, decorated with a gleaming chandelier.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “But this is for Rachel Smith? Rachel Jane Smith?”
“That’s right,” burbled the concierge. “That’s you Miss! Welcome to your new home,” he said, stepping inside with my bag.
I followed with numb feet. How could this be happening? I was a poor girl, barely able to scrape by on my librarian’s salary, constantly behind on bills and eating ramen to get by before payday. How could I, Ms. Plain Jane, be living in a luxurious pad like this?
Slowly, I turned to the concierge.
“Whose name is on the lease?” I asked slowly. “Who signed the application to rent?”
The concierge looked at me puzzled.
“This isn’t a rental,” he replied courteously. “Wes don’t permit rentals here at the Avalon. Owners only,” he stated proudly.
I shook my head.
“Then who’s the owner?” I whispered, almost unable to ask.
But Jonas didn’t hesitate.
“Why you, of course! Who else could it be?” he asked, cocking his head.
I shook my head again.
“Jonas, I couldn’t possibly afford a place like this, you should see my old place. I’m just a librarian at one of the branches downtown. I couldn’t even afford a mailbox in a building like this.”
The concierge cocked his head curiously then.
“Well, the apartment was purchased a week ago. Let me see who the buyer was if it wasn’t you. But I know for sure that you’re on the title, I wouldn’t let someone in who wasn’t,” he added pompously.
“Please, if you could check, I’d appreciate it,” I said urgently. “As soon as possible, if you wouldn’t mind.”
And happy to be of use, the small man hurried over to the elevator.
“Will do!” he added cheerily. “I’ll call from downstairs when I find out. And in the meantime, there’s also this,” he said with a flourish, whipping out a bouquet of flowers.
I gasped. The arrangement was gorgeous, my favorite white calla lilies, sumptuous and fragrant.
“Who’s this from?” I stammered. “No one even knows I’m here.”
“Why don’t you look at the card?” winked Jonas. And with that, the door slid shut, cutting off his words.
But I couldn’t, not just yet. Everything that had happened was incredible, absolutely unbelievable, and it hadn’t sunk in yet. I wandered with numb steps around the apartment, taking in the view, the sun’s rays warm yet not uncomfortable on my skin. Trust a building as fancy as this to have just the right amount of reflective shading so that even the Nevada summer felt moderate and pleasant.
But what was going on? And deep in my heart, I knew there could only be one answer. It had to be Donovan. It had to be my lover. I snorted painfully, tears filling my eyes again. He was a bastard, throwing me out on the trash heap, but at least he was a rich bastard. Instead of the requisite jewels, the fancy good-bye gift, he’d given me this. A luxury pad to my name, completely outfitted with every amenity, likely paid off in full.
The house phone rang then.
“Yes?” I answered, hand trembling slightly as I picked up.
“Miss,” came Jonas’s cheery voice. “My records here show that the apartment was purchased by BC44 Holdings, and then transferred into the name of Rachel Jane Smith. Do you know who BC44 Holdings is?”
I shook my head.
“No, no I don’t,” I mumbled.
“Well sorry that wasn’t more helpful then,” replied the old man. “Anything else I can do?”
“No, no thanks, thank you Jonas,” I replied, hanging up with a soft click.
But the news only added to my conviction that Donovan was behind all this. Because BC had to stand for Billionaires Club. Who knew what the 44 represented, but BC had to be Billionaires Club, my former lover had to be behind this.
And with a pained cry, I slumped against the wall and collapsed to the ground, crumpling in a mess on the floor. Because despite the beautiful living space, despite the immaculate furnishings and white glove service, I still had nothing. I had nothing without Donovan, and living here would only make it worse. Living here would only keep him alive in my mind, every second filled with memories of the alpha, his money a constant reminder.
And I can’t live like that. The Avalon is a million times better than my old cockroach-infested place, but at least Sunrise Heavens wasn’t imbued with Donovan, a painful reminder of what I once had and lost. And with another mewling cry, I buried my head in my arms and began to really cry, giving up my heart, letting loose in the privacy of the apartment. The tears ran hot and fast down my cheeks, sobs so strong they were painful, wracking my frame with violent shudders. Because I loved Donovan, but he didn’t love me back. The alpha had gifted me a gorgeous living space, something that I could never afford on my own, but I didn’t want it. All I wanted was more time with the billionaire … but that wasn’t an option.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Donovan
What the fuck? I could hardly believe it as I pulled the Maserati to a stop before the crumbling curb. Because I bought Rachel a gorgeous penthouse, a luxury outfit, and instead, she was back here? What the fuck? Did the girl not like nice things or something? Hell no, this wasn’t happening.
But sure enough, as I pounded on the front door, some decrepit dude answered, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah?” he rasped, eyes going wide at my big frame in a perfectly-cut suit, the forty-thousand dollar watch on my wrist.
“Rachel,” I rasped. “Where is she?”
The ratty looking dude merely shrugged.
“Lives upstairs,” he shrugged. “3C? 4C?” He indicated with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder.
And with that, I was up the stairs in a flash. Of course, my best girl was in 3D, I remembered from our illicit anonymous fuck so long ago. The thing is it felt like a long time ago, but it wasn’t. Only two weeks past, I’d let myself into her apartment supposedly to drop off some birth control, but instead I’d ended up burying myself in that sweet cunt, taking her virginity while pulsing my sperm into that hot, wet twat. Oh god, had that really happened? Back then, we hadn’t even seen each other’s faces yet, not really, I’d been more of a man in the shadows, still stuck on my anonymous finger fuck idea.
But all of that is in the past now, blasted into smithereens. Because I realize that shit yeah, I want danger, and I’ve got it right here in my hands. Rachel is my danger, she’s a temptress, a true Salome. Just look how many times she’s gotten me to release inside that fertile body, spurting deep up into her vaginal canal. How many times had I roared my pleasure, balls high and tight, jerking and pulsing as blast after blast of male cream filled up that slutty pussy? It was insane, it was illicit, and the innocent teen had done that to me. She was the wolf disguised in sheep’s clothing, not me.
So I pounded on the door, massive body hard, insistent. I needed to see her.
I’ve fucked up bad and I needed to explain myself, to make the brunette see my point of view, and to whisk her out of this shithole. Rachel deserved better than this, and I was gonna make sure my little girl got it.
But there was no answer. What the hell?
“Rach,” I roared in the hallway. Who the fuck cared if her neighbors heard? I was here to claim my woman and I didn’t give a fuck who knew. “Rach!” I shouted again.
Still no answer, the apartment absolutely silent. What the fuck? Where was she? And without thinking twice, I stepped back and with another enraged roar, went right through the front door. With a crash, the cheap plywood splintered, shards flying everywhere, my shoulder aching with the impact. But it was totally worth it because once inside, I saw my beautiful brunette staring at me from the kitchen, brown eyes wide, small hands gripping the tile.
“Are you insane?” she cried. “Are you totally insane?”
I was on her in a moment.
“You bet I’m insane,” I growled, dropping kisses on her any place I could reach, that sweet pink pout so arousing. “You bet your ass I’m insane.”
But Rachel wasn’t having it. The curvy girl struggled in my arms, trying to get away, squirming and squealing.
“Stop, stop!” came her enraged cries, small fists beating my chest and arms. “Stop it asshole!”
It didn’t even register. I was so bent on tasting my little girl again, on getting her hot and heavy, ready for my cock, that I only pulled the female closer, muscular arms like steel bands around that voluptuous body.
“Fuck yeah,” I ground out. “Daddy likes it when you fight, it makes dick taste so much better afterwards.”
That made the female freeze. The plump curves went absolutely still against me, trembling as she breathed heavily.
“Stop Donovan,” she commanded, eyes wide although there was a tinge of lust in the caramel depths. Unbidden, a chuckle rose in my throat. Oh yeah, baby wanted me, her body was telling me yes even if her words were no.
Claiming His Virgin In the Ring: The Filthy Wrestling Club Page 71