The Billionaire's Virgin

“You are a fast learner, aren’t you?” he manages between gritted teeth, and in response I move quicker, wrapping my hands around him as I suck him harder. It’s getting me so fucking wet to hear the suppressed quiver in his voice, to feel the way his cock bucks in my mouth and his body tenses beneath my fingertips. For this moment, I am in control of this cocksure, confident man, and I am fucking loving it.

“Sir, your first course.”

We both freeze at the sound of the waiter’s voice. I have my lips wrapped around the head of his dick, my hands in his pants, and I’m too freaked out to move an inch. I can’t even breathe. To judge by the long pause from Pierce, he’s having a similar problem.

Then, “Thank you,” he replies, and somehow his voice sounds smooth as silk again.

That vengeful drive of mine kicks in. No way is he going to get away sounding all sweet and innocent when he’s the one who talked me into this position. I flick my tongue along his shaft, twirling it around his head, and grin as his hips jolt slightly.

“Would you like me to wait until the lady returns? It is best served immediately.”

“She shouldn’t be . . . long,” he finishes after a slight pause, one that probably only I noticed. But it’s enough to make me go at him faster, rocking my head back and forth again, drawing his cock as deep into my mouth as I can stand and back out again, slow, my tongue teasing him all the while.

“Very well, sir. Would you like more champagne?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” he responds, to my horror. Shouldn’t he be trying to get rid of this guy? Or does he want to get caught?

I dig my nails into his upper thighs a little, and feel his hand clench around my hair in response. I suck harder, move faster. His cock is a solid, trembling mass of tension now.

I listen to the waiter’s footsteps—how did I miss them last time? —and the distant sound of him opening the champagne bottle, pouring Pierce a slow glass. All the while, Pierce keeps his fist in my hair, his hips arched, his cock rock hard.

“Anything else?”

“That will be all, thank you.”

Footsteps cross the roof again, and I pump him harder, forcefully. A door slams somewhere in the distance, and almost exactly at the same time, Pierce grips my head with both hands and thrusts all the way to the back of my throat, groaning as he comes.

I tense and start to gag at first, but he holds me in place. “Swallow it,” he hisses, and his breath is tense with ecstasy. “Swallow my fucking cum.”

So I swallow hard, and when he releases his grip on my hair, I keep going, sucking him in and out of my mouth, lapping up every drop of him, because fuck, he tastes good. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect any of this to feel so . . .

Hot.

When he finally sags in his chair, his hands still tangled in my hair, I slide out from under the table and retake my seat beside him, smoothing my hair, which I’m sure he’s fucked into a tangled mess.

His eyes catch mine, bright with humor. “You have a little . . .” He touches his chin, and my face lights up red as a fire engine.

I grab my napkin to dab at the corner of my mouth, feeling the small trickle of his cum there. Oh my god. I’m still trying to wipe it clear when the door to the roof crashes open again and the waiter prances out with a jug of water.

I drop my napkin to my lap like he’s just seen me clutching a murder weapon. My face still feels hot as hell, and I wonder if it’s obvious from my disheveled hair and puckered lips what’s been going on here.

The waiter refills our glasses, eyes on our untouched plates. Right. The appetizer. My eyes dart to it, widening. Pierce has already taken a few bites of his, though when he had time to, I don’t even know.

“Is there anything wrong, miss?” the waiter asks, all innocent concern.

I duck my head so he won’t notice my deepened blush.

“Yes, Bonnie, are you still hungry?” Pierce catches my eye, and it takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to kick him under the table.

“It’s great, thank you,” I murmur, not daring to breathe again until the waiter turns to leave us with our replenished water glasses. Only then do I snatch my fork and take a stab at the plate in an effort to distract myself.

Somehow, I need to survive the rest of this dinner . . .

5

“Thank you again for joing me,” Pierce says as he shrugs on his overcoat. We’re in the lobby downstairs, having finally finished the dessert course.