The Billionaire's Virgin

“You like it when I take control, Bonnie.”

“Yes,” I murmur, before I lean in to kiss the side of his jaw. His stubble scratches my cheek, my lips, as I kiss my way along his neck, but I love the roughness.

His hand comes down in a sharper slap, right across my ass, and I inhale sharply. “Yes what?” he says, his voice dark with warning. I can feel myself grow wet in anticipation.

“Yes, sir,” I reply, my voice barely audible.

He smiles. “Good girl.” Then he tilts my head back so my neck is exposed, and pushes my dress down far enough to expose every inch of my cleavage. An inch to either side and he’d have my breasts on full display to the whole street around us, but I’m too loose in the sensations to care. “Or should I say, bad girl.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Has anyone ever called you a slut, Bonnie?”

I almost laugh at the idea. Then I catch his eye, and realize he’s serious. “No, sir,” I respond.

“Do you like the sound of it?” His hand leaves my ass to slip under my dress and explore my breast, my bare skin against his palm this time. “When I call you my little slut, does that get you wet?”

I swallow hard. “Y-yes, sir,” I stammer. Because holy hell, does it ever.

He grins. “Good. Because I really think you ought to know, Bonnie . . .” He pinches my nipple suddenly, roughly enough that it stings and aches with pleasure at the same time. He pulls it gently, and the pain arcs up my spine. “You are the sexiest little cum slut I have ever had the pleasure of corrupting.”

“Thank you, sir.” I reach between us, empowered by the heat in his voice, and trace the outline of his cock. I want him, dammit. Fuck our deal, fuck what he owes me; I’m too lost in this moment to care. His lips find mine again, and I sink into that kiss, surrendering. Fuck, does it feel good to let go.

I’m so distracted by the feeling of his soft lips against mine, contrasted by the rough brush of his stubble on my cheek, that I don’t even notice his hands close around my wrists. Not until he pulls my arms behind me, anyway, and folds both of my narrow wrists into one of his strong hands. My eyes go wide, but he just grins at me as he leans in to kiss my chest again, his tongue inching toward my nipple.

“God you are fucking exquisite,” he breathes against my skin. My head falls back as his tongue laps roughly across my already-hard nipple, then circles the areola, before his teeth graze the very tip of my breast, making me gasp.

“You’re mine, Bonnie,” he growls. He licks hard at my breast. I moan something between pleasure and agreement. “Say it.”

My head swims with pleasure, but I manage to find my tongue. “I’m yours, sir.”

His free hand, the one not restraining my wrists, slides between us to cup my crotch. His eyes meet mine, serious and dark in the dim light of the car. “Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours,” I manage to reply, lost in the sensation of his fingers cupping my lips.

Without warning, he slaps my mound, hard enough that I flinch.

“Sir,” I gasp, realizing my mistake.

In response, he shoves my panties aside roughly, and spreads my pussy with two fingers. Another finger toys at my entrance, sliding up and down my wet slit, circling my lips. But he doesn’t enter me. Not yet.

“Say it again,” he orders.

I meet his eyes and feel my heartbeat triple, pounding against my ribcage. “It’s your pussy, sir.”

He smiles. His finger presses harder against me, slick and wet. He’s right at my entrance, and my hips buck in desperation. I want his finger inside me, I want him to take me. But he holds back, for some reason.

I groan in desperation.

“What do you say, my little slut?” he commands.

“Please, sir.”

“That’s it.” His smile widens. “Beg for me, Bonnie. Tell me what you want.”

“I want . . . you,” I pant.

But he shakes his head. “In detail, my lovely little slut. Tell me you want me to finger-fuck you. Tell me how badly you want to come on my hand.”

“Please, sir. Let me come for you.”

His finger slides inside me, and every nerve ending on my body fires. I try to thrust against him, push his finger deeper, but he holds me back, his hips preventing mine from moving, his other hand still tight around my wrists, restraining me. I’m helpless in his grasp, half naked with my dress pulled down and hiked up, spread on his lap in a parked car in the middle of the street like . . . well, like a slut. And I fucking love it.