The Billionaire's Virgin

Maybe grabbing the attention of a rich spend-crazy billionaire isn’t such a bad thing after all, even if he has an irritating way of pushing my buttons as he tries to spoil me.

At the bottom of the box, thankfully undiscovered by Erin, I find another note.

Pick you up at 7 tonight. He signed it simply—P.P., but even that much of a clue would be a giveaway to my sleuth of a brilliant best friend. How many billionaires could be living in the city with those initials? I haven’t googled him yet, mostly because I don’t want to know more than he’s told me, not until this thing is over and done with. But Erin would not have the same restraint, I know. Especially not if she thought he was mistreating me in any way.

I shove the note into my pocket. “Well. Looks like I need to call out of the diner again,” I say, and Erin grins sideways at me.

“That job takes advantage of you anyway. Let me call; I’ll tell them you’re in the hospital. Dad can forge you a doctor’s note if you need it.”

Sometimes, for all her nosiness and encouragement of misbehavior, I really do love my best friend.

7

At 7PM on the dot, I’m standing out front of my apartment in the ridiculous dress. I feel like a runaway bride on her way to city hall, in the white dress and sparkling diamonds and towering heels. But I also, I have to admit, feel more than a little sexy. The lingerie does something to me, boosts my confidence and makes me stand straighter, curve my hips more sharply as I stand in place.

Just knowing how good I look underneath this dress makes me all the more confident that I look amazing with it on, somehow. And this time, I’m not going to let him get the drop on me. I’m going to keep my eyes on the prize. This is business, even if it is mixed with a huge dose of pleasure. I’m getting that money from him, one way or another.

Preferably in a way that also involves him fucking me senseless with that thick cock of his . . .

Still, for all this confidence, my jaw can’t help dropping when the freaking limo turns down my street. I shoot a glance over my shoulder at Erin, who’s curled up on our third floor fire escape in PJs, cradling a bowl of popcorn like she’s watching the ending to Pretty Woman. I roll my eyes, wondering if she can see it from that high up, but she just waves excitedly at the limo, then shoots me two thumbs up, nearly dropping her popcorn in the process.

The limo pulls to a halt, and a driver in a suit steps around to open the back door for me. I climb into it carefully, and realize as I step in that this is the same limo he sent to pick me up from the waxing salon.

Maybe he does plan to fuck me in here after all.

Pierce is already inside, reclining on the far seat, near the bar. He has a glass of what looks like whiskey or bourbon clutched loosely in one hand, but he doesn’t even seem to be aware he’s holding it. His eyes lock onto me hungrily the second I climb inside, and I can’t help doing the same to him. He looks fucking amazing in his dark gray three-piece suit, the darker gray tie the perfect subtle color accent to the rest of the outfit. His cufflinks, which flash in the limo’s lighting as he lifts the glass of whiskey to his mouth, match my bracelets. They flash with diamonds, and as I bend down and move closer to him in the limo, I realize they’re tiny diamond keys.

Keys to fit my handcuff bracelets. Cute.

“I’m glad you like them,” he says, offering me a wrist so I can inspect it closer. I blush and slide into a seat along the wall next to him, far enough away that we aren’t touching, because I don’t trust myself this close to him.

“You’re observant,” I murmur, glancing from the cufflinks to his expression.

He laughs softly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is a little unnerving how much you notice.”

His smile widens. “I think it’s a good thing that I pay such close attention. A blessing, really. After all, it’s thanks to my keen attention to detail that I found your ad online.”

I glance behind him at the driver, but the limo divider is raised. It’s glass, but it looks solid, and it’s tinted dark. I don’t think he can hear us from up there. I lean closer to Pierce, tilting my head. “Why were you on that site, anyway?” I ask.

“Why were you?” he counters.

But I shake my head. “My situation is different. You’re wealthy, smart, successful, hot as hell.” I flush a little as his smile widens, realizing what I just admitted. But hell, he already knows that. He must. He owns mirrors, I’m sure.