Dirty Little Virgin: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel

by Michelle Love

  He finished the call by slamming the phone down and rubbing his hands over his head. Shiloh waited for him to speak.

  “Merde … Well, that was Gaston D’Urberville.”

  The name sounded familiar, but Shiloh frowned. “Is he on the Board?”

  Benoit nodded. “The presentation is canceled. Shiloh, I’m so sorry, but it seems my Board is more interested in profit than it is in social responsibility.”

  Her heart sinking, Shiloh stared at him. “The development?”

  Benoit sighed, and she could see genuine sorrow in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Shiloh. They won’t approve it. They will only consider boutique and high-end properties. Dammit, I thought I had them; at least four them swore we would have their backing … it’s such a kick in the gut.”

  “I don’t believe this … all our work.” Shiloh’s voice was barely a whisper. “What the hell am I going to tell Miriam?”

  Benoit shook his head. “I’ll talk to Miriam, Shiloh.”

  “No, it’s not your job to tell her. It’s mine. God, she trusted me, and I failed. I failed the city.” Shiloh felt bleak and Benoit got up and dragged his chair around next to hers. He took her hands in his.

  “Sweetheart, these things happen. Miriam can’t blame you. At least you tried.”

  Shiloh gave him a thin smile. “That won’t be enough. She trusted me with something she wouldn’t normally trust anyone in a junior position with. She took a risk and lost.”

  “She’ll understand.”

  Miriam did understand—but it wasn’t enough, and Shiloh tendered her resignation to her boss. Miriam accepted it sadly. “These things happen, Shiloh. Learn from this.”

  At least the severance package would pay her rent for a few months, but Shiloh felt bleak. Benoit immediately offered her a job with his company, but Shiloh told him she couldn’t work for him—or rather, for the Board that had shattered their dream. A boutique hotel was swiftly erected on the greenbelt land and Shiloh despaired at the world.

  The one positive thing was that Benoit Vaux had shown himself to be a good friend. He called her almost every day and came over, bringing take-out or even cooking in her tiny kitchenette. They took to walking Beau in the parks Paris still had left, chatting about everything and anything.

  Benoit would take Shiloh’s arm sometimes as they strolled, but he never made a pass at her or made her feel uncomfortable.

  Uncomfortable. Ha, she thought now. The fact was that she was attracted to him; his machismo and his arrogance were tempered by his wit, his intelligence, and his unexpected kindness. His dark brown eyes would settle on her blue ones and she would feel as if she were sinking into them.

  On a rainy Saturday night in late spring, he asked if she would like to join him for dinner, and she accepted. The city was busy as they dined in a small but exclusive restaurant.

  Shiloh was telling Benoit about the freelance work she was doing. “It’s mainly writing articles, blog posts, and doing research, but it keeps me busy.” She was being distracted by his fingers, which were stroking the back of her hand as it rested on the table.

  “That sounds positive.”

  “It is.”

  Benoit slowly took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I’m glad things are working out, but you know there’s always a job waiting for you at my company.”

  She was mesmerized by his mouth against her hand. “Thank you.”

  “Shiloh … I can’t tell you how sorry I am that our project didn’t work out. I’m not sorry that we spent all that time together, and I think you know why.”

  His words made her stomach warm and her sex quiver. She met his gaze, desire sweeping through her. She felt tongue-tied. Benoit leaned over and brushed her lips with his. “You can’t deny this thing between us,” he murmured. “It’s in everything we talk about, everything we do. I want you, Shiloh, and I think you want me too. This doesn’t have to be complicated.”

  But it is complicated, she wanted to say, but couldn’t form the words. And before she knew it, they were in his car, racing to his penthouse. Everything in her was telling her to stop it, that having sex with this man would not be a good idea.

  But, God, she wanted him. As he drove, his hand was on her stockinged thigh, his fingers stroking her gently, and all she wanted to do was to grab that hand and push it between her legs. Feel how much I want you, Benoit.

  By the time they had reached his penthouse, Shiloh was quivering with excitement, and Benoit, grinning almost triumphantly, pulled her into his arms, his mouth seeking hers hungrily. God, that kiss … Shiloh felt light-headed and almost delirious as he swept her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom.

  She tugged impatiently at his tie, discarding it and using her frantic fingers to unbutton his shirt. As she pushed the fabric apart, she sighed happily. His chest, broad and well-muscled with a fine scattering of dark hair, was solid and masculine—not waxed and buffed like so many of her ex-boyfriends had been. Benoit noted her admiration with a grin, then his hands were under her T-shirt, pulling it over her head. Her breasts, small and firm, had no need of a bra, and his mouth found her nipple as he reached under her short skirt and ripped her panties from her.

  Shiloh could barely contain her desire as she freed his large, heavy cock from his pants and stroked it until it quivered and jerked in his hands. Benoit lifted her and moved so her back was against the wall, then he thrust deeply inside her, making Shiloh cry out with pleasure. Benoit fucked her hard, his hips slamming against hers, his mouth rough on hers. Shiloh tasted blood, but she didn’t care. Her fingernails clawed at his back and her teeth nipped at his bottom lip as his cock drilled deeper and deeper into her. She felt him come a heartbeat before her own climax hit; his cock pumping cum deep, deep, deep inside her as she called his name over and over.

  They tumbled to his carpet and began again, Benoit taking a moment to remove her skirt now, grinning down at her. “Guess what we’re going to do … again?”

  He went down on her this time, his tongue lashing around her clit, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he tasted her. Shiloh trembled and bucked beneath him, begging him to fuck her now. Benoit acquiesced, almost brutal in his taking of her, dominating her body completely.

  She was still awake when, finally, Benoit fell asleep in her arms. Shiloh’s mind was reeling, her body sated. It had been a night she had never expected or dreamed of, but what surprised her more than anything was Benoit. He was a masterful lover, yes, but just now he had fallen asleep in her arms, totally vulnerable and totally unafraid to be that comfortable with her. She could barely reconcile those two sides of him. She stroked his hair back from his face. He looked almost boyish in the moonlight. If he was like this with her … how come he kept his guard up with other women? How come he hadn’t sent her back home after they’d had sex? Every preconception she had about this man was being blown out of the water.

  She just hoped the other shoe wasn’t about to drop.

  Maceo was surprised to see Alex at the gallery when he and Ori returned after their vacation. Alex was chatting to Lucia when the couple arrived, and Alex hugged them both. Maceo bore him off to his office while Ori stayed behind to talk to her friend.

  “You look wonderful,” Lucia said admiringly. “Naples and Maceo obviously agree with you.”

  Ori chuckled. “I can’t argue with that.” She lowered her voice. “Why’s Alex here again?”

  Lucia shrugged. “I think he feels lost and wants to be around his friends.”

  “Doesn’t he have a job?”

  Lucia smiled. “When you’re as rich as Alex, other people do your work for you. Besides ...” She studied her friend. “Don’t you like him?”

  “Of course, I do,” Ori rolled her eyes, flushing slightly. “It’s just when he looks at me, I feel as if he’s not seeing me, you know?”

  Lucia rubbed her back. “Hardly surprising, but don’t worry about it. Alex is one of the good guys.”

  Ori nodd
ed, sitting down at her desk and hesitating before calling up a website on her laptop. “Have you seen this?”

  She showed Lucia the news story. Her stepfather was really milking the death of his son; now Tyson was publicly accusing the facility where AJ had died of neglect and wrongful death. “My son’s death won’t be in vain if I can stop these jokers from telling vulnerable people that they can help them. Where’s the regulation? Where’s the training?”

  “Oh God,” Lucia groaned. “Is it possible that your stepfather could become more of an asshole, or has he reached his limit?”

  “Oh, there’s no limit on it,” Ori said through gritted teeth. “Look, I’m going to say something. I’m tired of Tyson blaming everyone else for his own failures.”

  Lucia looked worried. “Ori … are you ready to go up against him? I mean, really ready? Because he’ll try to destroy you.”

  “Let him try,” said Ori defiantly, lifting her chin. “Both he and I know I could bring him down once and for all. I won’t play my whole card, just enough to irk him. Give him enough rope, etc. It won’t be hard.”

  Lucia mulled this over. “Ori … have you told Maceo what you intend to do? Not that you have to,” she added hurriedly, as Ori frowned at her.

  Ori sighed. “I have. He’s not happy about it, but I have to do something for myself. I won’t hide behind Maceo’s position or wealth. It’s up to me to take Tyson down. For AJ, if nothing else.”

  “Seems like you could do with someone on the East Coast to help out.” Both women started as Alex spoke; neither had seen him return. He smiled at Ori. “I could be your conduit, Ori. It might help you not to be in the same country as that asshat, but I can keep an eye on his movements.”

  Ori half-smiled. “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Alex.”

  “No problem. Hey, look, Maceo says he’s busy this morning. How about I swing by later and take you two ladies out for lunch?”

  Ori hesitated, but Lucia nodded eagerly. “Yes, please. I could do with some distraction.”

  “I’ll pick you up at twelve.”

  At half-past eleven, Ori had caught up with her work and went to see Maceo. She updated him on progress for the exhibit as he watched her, smiling. Finally, she looked at him through narrowed eyes.

  “What are you looking at, Mr. Bartoli?”

  Maceo grinned. “The woman I love. Just remembering how I made you purr like a cat this morning.”

  Ori laughed. “You have a one-track mind. Speaking of your woman, your woman is going to lunch with another man. How come your woman isn’t being taken to lunch by you?”

  Maceo looked repentant. “Rufus called from Oh Mio Mio. He wants to come by at twelve to talk about a possible collaboration.”

  Ori was impressed. Rufus Armando was one of Italy’s foremost gallery owners. If Maceo could land a collaboration, it would be a huge get.

  Maceo was watching her. “You don’t mind going out with Alex, no?”

  “Of course not, baby...” She got up and leaned over the desk to kiss him. “Alex is a friend. Besides,” she flashed him a breast, making him laugh, “better you don’t have me all day … makes the anticipation even sweeter.”

  Maceo growled at her. “Damn, woman. I don’t need to have wood before my meeting.” They both laughed and Ori stood, rearranging her blouse. Maceo stood to walk her out, kissing cheek and using the opportunity to murmur in her ear, “I’m going to fuck you stupid later, mio caro.”

  “You’d better,” she said silkily, cupping his semi-hard cock through his pants. God, would she ever get enough of this man?

  A half hour later, she was seated in a little trattoria with Lucia and Alex and remembering Maceo’s kiss. Lucia and Alex were chatting amiably and Ori took the opportunity to study Alex. He was slightly taller than Maceo’s six-two, but they had the same dark hazel-green eyes and intense brooding look. Alex’s hair was slightly lighter, closely cropped, vague militaristic, and his broad shoulders and slim hips meant he wore his expensive suit well. She could imagine him being a virile and strong lover … god, what was she thinking? But there was no doubt that he had a feral, animalistic sensuality beneath that calm, silent exterior. For a second, Ori let herself imagine Alex in bed … She wondered if he ever let a woman take charge in bed like Maceo did, and whether Alex was ever that generous. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine it.

  She shook herself. Jesus, the man has just buried his lover, Orianthi Roy, and you’re imagining what? Being fucked by him? You’re in love with Maceo, for crying out loud!

  Ori felt herself blushing and—just her luck—Lucia happened to glance at her at that moment. “You okay?”

  Ori tried to laugh her embarrassment off. “Hot flash,” she quipped. “Must be my age.”

  Lucia laughed, but Alex studied her. “You’re all of what? Twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-eight.” Given what she’d been thinking about, Ori could barely look him in the eye.

  “Same age as Viola,” Alex murmured, and Ori felt bad for him.

  “I’m so sorry, Alex...” She leaned over and patted his hand, and he gripped hers for a second, squeezing her fingers.

  “Thanks. Sorry. I didn’t think; that was insensitive.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lucia said, much to Ori’s gratitude. The mood had changed at the table now. “Viola was part of our family; we all miss her, Alex.”

  Ori smiled at him. “I wish I had known her.”

  “Me too; you would have liked each other...” Alex cleared his throat. “I’m waiting for the day when talking about her isn’t painful, or no longer causes people to feel weird around me.”

  “I don’t know about the pain part,” Ori said gently, “but I think we should talk about her, for your benefit and to honor her. Why should the mention of her name be a cause of embarrassment or awkwardness? That’s not the sum of her life. Talk to me, Alex. Talk to us about your life together. Celebrate it. I certainly won’t talk about AJ just in terms of his death.”

  She hadn’t meant to go on a rant, but at that moment Ori felt it was the right thing to say—and she believed it, too. “We may not have known each other long,” she said to him now, “but I would like us to be friends, Alex.”

  Alex smiled at her. “Same here, Ori. Thank you. And you’re right; we should celebrate them.”

  Lucia watched as her two friends talked, glad they had found common ground. There was only a very slight concern that sat in her chest as she watched them. The way he looks at her. Lucia had no doubt that Ori was totally and irrevocably in love with Maceo and, despite her initial misgivings, she seemed now to be trying to bond with Alex.

  But Alex was in mourning, deep mourning, for a woman who resembled Ori more than a little. Viola had been sweet, kind, and loving, and, still, someone had murdered her. Did the person who had killed her want some kind of revenge on Alex? Would being his friend put Ori in more danger than she already was?

  And why was she, Lucia, more terrified than anything that Alex might fall for her friend?

  Tyson Janek listened to the dull reports he got daily of Ori’s whereabouts, about her daily goings on. She was protected, no doubt, and Janek’s own rising profile meant he could not go to her without raising suspicion.

  He had a plan, however, but he would need her to come back to the States to execute it. Should she come here, he could have her abducted and taken to the secret compound in the Louisiana swamplands. She would be totally at his mercy. He could spend days there fucking her and torturing her before he killed her. It would be days of sadistic pleasure before he dumped her body into the swamp to make it disappear forever. He imagined her beautiful eyes open and sightless, staring up at the sky as her blood-drenched body sank slowly into the murky water; the thought of it kept him going.

  But she never came to America. Oh, she traveled, mostly to Paris or other European cities, and always, always with Maceo Bartoli and his huge and highly trained security team. Untouchable. Not forever, my darling Ori, not forever …
/>
  The minute she stepped foot on American soil, she was a dead woman walking. He would see to that …

  His party had recalled him to the front seats again, AJ’s death having absolved him, it seemed, of all his indiscretions. There were even whispers of the V.P. slot on the next ticket, whispers he intended to make rallying calls. But Ori could bring that all down—even if her claims of his abuse were dismissed, just the mere mention of them would lead to his downfall. Tyson wondered if Bartoli had told Ori about his abuse of AJ. From how aggressive Maceo had been with him the day Ori was attacked, Tyson thought not. But maybe he should have …

  If Ori knew that Tyson had raped his own son, she would go ballistic and become reckless. Maybe she would come after him here in the States.

  Tyson began to smile. It was risky, yes, but maybe, just maybe, Maceo Bartoli could deliver Ori right into Tyson’s hands …

  A month after they had begun to sleep together, Shiloh was still waiting for the punchline. How was it that the untamable Benoit Vaux would be happy with a woman like her? It didn’t help that the newspapers had gotten hold of the story and now she was followed by paparazzi everywhere.

  She had been offered a new position at a human right’s law firm, a junior assistant, and, grateful for the job, she had taken to the job at once. Her first love would always be the environment and her city, but she found a new love here, working to keep asylum seekers in the country, helping them to save their families.

  At night she would meet Benoit and, over dinner, they would share their day, then go to his penthouse or her studio and make love. Shiloh found it wonderfully relaxing to be in his company, except she wondered if this life was as exciting as he needed. They had settled into a pattern, and Shiloh was constantly worried he would get bored of her.

  When he asked her to fly to Venice with him, however, she was thrilled. “I’d like you to meet my friends,” he told her.

  Ah, the elusive Midnight Club. She had heard about them from Benoit and, from his tone, she knew they were his brothers-in-arms, his family. Benoit, knowing she would frown upon him using his private jet, flew them using standard airlines—but business class, of course. When Shiloh looked disapproving, he shrugged unrepentantly. “The plane would be flying whether we were here or in coach,” he said, and she couldn’t argue with him.