The Billionaire's Virgin

In response, he grabs my hips and grinds against me.

We watch the whole show like that, a crazy Cirque du Soleil-esque performance with acrobats sliding and gliding all over the set, moving in impossible ways, their bodies contorting all over. And all the while we’re contorting too, teasing each other to the brink and back, over and over. I never knew I could feel this turned on, this desperate to come. I can’t catch my breath around him, especially not when he keeps grabbing my ass and squeezing, hard.

Finally, I can’t resist anymore. I drop to my knees between his, and spread his thighs. I don’t even wait for permission—I’m already undoing his fly.

That’s when the lights go up for intermission. He just watches me, smirking, like he knows I won’t go through with this. I hover at his crotch, indecisive. I want to taste him again, suck his cock until he comes. But the lights are on now, people could see us . . .

The door to the booth opens, and I fly to my feet, shocked.

It’s the bellman returning with another tray of drinks, this time with a whole selection. Pierce takes a glass of the whiskey, which the man assures him is aged and single malt and a few other adjectives I don’t catch, but which make it sound quite expensive. I stick with the champagne, because I’ve learned from my nights out with Erin that mixing isn’t a good idea for me.

“Anything else?” the bellman asks us, once we’ve made our selections. He hovers at our elbows, like he doesn’t have anywhere else to be or anyone else to serve. That, or he saw me kneeling and wants to stick around to embarrass me on purpose. Ugh. I’m bright red, but Pierce just smiles at me innocently.

“What do you think, Bonnie?” he asks.

Damn him. I scowl. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps some of the new hors d’oeuvres?” the bellman suggests. “The chef has not released them to the public menu yet.”

Pierce keeps watching me. I shake my head.

“Thank you, we’re fine,” Pierce assures him.

I can tell from a glance across the way that there are other single boxes like ours dotted across the theater. Shouldn’t the bellman serve some other customers, check on his other tables so to speak? I know enough about servers to know that he seems uncharacteristically unhurried, totally focused on this one customer.

“I guess I’ll try some,” I finally say, because it doesn’t seem like this guy is going to leave us alone otherwise. He bows and disappears, and Pierce leans in to kiss my neck.

“Don’t ruin your appetite,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot. “I need you hungry later . . .”

I shift on his lap, enjoying the sensation of his cock straining against me as I brush against him with my thigh. “Don’t worry, Pierce.” I lean in to nibble his ear, and his hands tighten around my hips. “You always make me very hungry,” I whisper. “Or should I say

thirsty . . .”

By the time the bellman returns with the hors d’oeuvres, we’re too lost in kissing to even hear him. Pierce’s tongue explores my mouth, his lips working against mine, and I rake my nails down his back, shiver when he grabs my hips and tugs me against his hard body.

When the second half begins, the lights finally dimming, I lean around Pierce to discover the plate of puff pastries and some kind of savory meat on skewers. I feed him one half, and devour the other half myself, delighting in every bite. The chef should definitely release these to the public menu ASAP, I think, as we watch the acrobats on stage perform another wild maneuver.

Then I’m distracted once more by the sensation of Pierce’s lips on my neck. He kisses his way to my spine, then slowly inches his way down my back. He pushes me off my seat, has me stand before him, and next thing I know, he flips my skirt up to bite my ass through my panties. I swallow a gasp, knowing there’s another booth beside ours. But fuck, his hot breath on my ass cheek feels better than I could have imagined. And then his stubble grazes my inner thigh, and I go weak at the knees, leaning against the wall for support.

His tongue laps at the crease where my thighs meet my hips. He traces the outline of me, never quite touching my lips, my pussy, my clit. Then he spreads my ass cheeks and slips his tongue between them, and this time I do gasp, unable to quiet myself.

Fuck. I didn’t know this was a thing. I bend double as his tongue explores my ass, thanking god that he made me wax before all this. He delves his tongue into my ass, and I tense, groaning. Fucking hell. Who knew that could feel so good?