Russian Billionaire's Virgin Assistant

Because not only did I not have time to date, I just didn’t date. That also meant I hadn’t slept with anyone. My virginity was a secret that even Becca didn’t know about.

And with Maxim, the stakes seemed so much higher than they regularly would be. I didn’t know if it was the car, the dress that cost more than an average month of rent in the city, or the billionaire whose lap I was straddling. Whatever it was, my head was reeling.

“Stop,” I gasped out, even as my own hips disobeyed me, grinding against him, my knees locked tight against his thighs. “We — can’t.”

“We are.” He was so smooth, all but purring in my ear as he traced a path up my neck with his tongue. I couldn’t stop shivering. Every word, every touch, every kiss was too much. I’d never wanted something so badly in my life, and yet … and yet …

“This isn’t ethical,” I gasped out, pitching myself to the side, trying to put some distance between us.

“Fuck ethics,” Maxim growled. His blue eyes flashed, warning me of a danger I was only just now beginning to understand. “You want this.”

The backseat of the car that had felt so cavernous when I first sat in it was now too small, too close. There was nowhere to escape.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” I said, and his eyes darkened. It had been the wrong thing to say. “We shouldn’t.”

“Don’t you understand anything yet about being a CEO?” he asked softly, tracing the line of my jaw with a single finger. “Are you not learning anything from this internship? You take what you want.”

It was obvious what he wanted. Me. I just didn’t understand it, couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Why would the man who had everything in the world want me? I was nothing. I was insignificant. I argued. I lived in the dorms. I wanted more than the backseat of a car for my first time.

And — oh, someone help me — I wanted him. I wanted Maxim Volkov so bad.

I gasped and he took the opportunity to slip his fingers into my mouth, gently probing my tongue. It was awkward and invasive and somehow so impossibly hot that my body reacted of its own accord, rocking back and forth so my knees slotted around his waist. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Didn’t want to think of how I looked in the backseat of that car, all splayed open and willing.

“Get them wet for me, zolotse,” he murmured, kissing my neck, moving down, mouthing over my breasts through the satin of the dress, leaving wet spots that cooled quickly, making my nipples hard.

“What?” I panted, helpless against his ministrations. “What does that mean? Zolotse?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chided abruptly, silencing me as only he could.

I didn’t have a choice, not with those big fingers pressed into my mouth. I moaned around them, dragging my tongue sloppily between the digits, not caring what I must have looked or sounded like. I’d never felt this way before, never stopped to consider how I would react to an absolute onslaught of sexual attraction like this. I wished — God, I wished for a lot of things. But for the dress not to be as modest at the top. For him to find the zipper to free my breasts so he could do whatever he wanted with them. I ached for attention. Was halfway placated with how well Maxim took advantage of that dangerous slit in my dress, fingers digging into my thighs, grounding me and making promises for what was next.

“Such a good girl,” he said, grinning his wolf’s smile — sharp and dangerous — as he hooked a finger in the seat of my thong, pulling the fabric aside. “You shouldn’t have worn anything under this dress.”

He slipped his fingers from my mouth and worked them into me, his hand between us, stroking and stretching and teasing, my own saliva acting as lube. I had to bite my lip to keep control of the sounds I was helplessly making.

“So innocent,” Maxim observed. “I’m barely touching you.” What a liar. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew exactly where to go to make me choke on my own pleasure.

“Just let it go,” he whispered, his voice in my ear making me shudder. “I want to hear you.”

“The driver,” I managed, squirming as I dug my heels into the leather of the seat beneath us, trying angle my body to get him closer even as my arms pushed him away.

“I pay him well for his discretion, and the backseat is soundproof.”

I didn’t care if he was lying. It was all the excuse I needed to really let go, to toss my head and keen as Maxim unfastened his trousers, rolled on a condom he seemed to pluck from thin air, and pushed up into me. God, he was big, and it freaking hurt. I hadn’t known what to expect. But it wasn’t this.

“Wait,” I gasped out, even if it was too late for anything. He was already inside me. Was this the moment that I officially shed my virginity? Or would it come later, after the act was over?

“Hush,” he said, maneuvering a little and making me gasp again. He moved his fingers against the outside of my body, just above his length, and my vision whited out. It banished nearly all of the pain in an instant, and I wanted him to keep doing it, stroking there. Needed it. “I see the way you look at me. You’re transparent. You want this just as much as I do.”

Max reached places inside me I hadn’t even known I’d had, and when he was fully sheathed in my body, my legs wrapped around his hard, trim waist, I rocked against him.

“Be patient,” he rasped.

“I need—”

“I know exactly what you need.” He rolled his hips and I gasped, pleasure thrumming through me. I was so relieved that it didn’t hurt anymore. Too dazzled by the suddenness of the situation to register anything but delicious waves of warmth radiating from my core. All I could do was cling to his strong shoulders and moan, pants marking the rise in the tide of ecstasy lapping up my body. Something told me he’d meant to go slow, but when he cursed and snapped his hips into me, I knew I shouldn’t expect anything gentle anymore. Maxim grabbed my legs and unwound them from his waist, settling me back astride him, straddling his lap. The delicious shift of his length inside me, pressing against my inner walls, was enough to make me see stars.

It was nearly impossible to think — equal parts pleasure and disbelief. How was I losing my virginity to Maxim Volkov in the backseat of his car? Was I lucky? Cursed? Both? What would happen afterward? Would we do it again? Would he take me out to dinner? What did it all mean?