Claire: The Forced Virgin Of The Billionaire

I had gotten identical anonymous letters today. They were cryptic, done in cut up newspaper print, saying something about fresh new Clarke acquisitions being redistributed. It might not be about her but I suspected it was.

And in case it was, I’ve already arranged double security for her and before I can pull the trigger to get that done, this happens.

I felt a pang of regret at the things I said to her, at the way I took her, but I’m split in two as I f*****g loved the rush of it at the same time. I especially loved it when the fight turned to submission.

She was beautiful, showing fear, fighting with me and then showing more fear, and then submitting to me and then coming so hard like that for me and then melting into me afterwards and letting me hold her and comfort her. It was what I needed and she gave it to me.

The next step for me was to get her to want to give it to me.

Would she get there easily or would I break her?

And would I always feel guilty like this after the fact?

It felt like my chest weighed five hundred pounds right now. Everything I thought I wanted was in my bed but it felt like I was f*****g it up. Royally f*****g it up.

The heavy bag would take the rest of this and then I’d go back, slip in beside her and get a good night’s sleep so I could think clearly tomorrow about what to do about this friend of hers, Lily and her parents playing hostage-rescue problem and hope that I found some clarity somewhere on the whole situation.

** ** **

When I climbed back in bed at almost one in the morning, after a workout, a run, and three shots of scotch during an urgent meeting about a problem down in Mexico, I found her asleep in my bed and f**k me but she was wearing the shirt I wore earlier today.

I climbed in on the opposite side, deciding to test out my theory of whether she was just moving to the other side of the bed out of habit or not. She rolled toward me.

I felt a pang of something, something that made me pull her to me and bury my nose in her hair.

She let out a sound that was almost a purr and then nuzzled into my collar bone and wrapped her arms around me and I felt my heart constrict when my eyes adjusted in the dark and I saw a peaceful little smile on her sleeping face.

I fell asleep wondering if she was dreaming about the guy she first met, a kind, handsome gentleman who she expected would k**s her hand and buy her flowers, the guy that she wished I was.

I knew she couldn’t be dreaming about the real me with that smile on her face and it left an empty raw feeling deep in my gut. It was like I was consumed by guilt. This was foreign.

I don’t think I’d ever felt guilty about anything in my life before meeting this girl.

Claire’s POV

He was still asleep when I woke up. His face was badly scored with long nail marks and his eye looked bruised. It was early, 5:20 am. I was tangled up with him, legs, arms, it was odd.

For some reason, we were both on the opposite end of the bed, heads down at the footboard and I was on the side he usually slept on.

I rolled away, went to the washroom, put his bathrobe on and went downstairs. Rosita wasn’t up yet.

I looked out the stained glass window panes that flanked the front door on both sides and saw a guy out there, sitting by the gate with a tall Starbucks cup in his hand, doing something on his phone. I also saw another guy out back when I looked out the kitchen window.

I filled the single cup brewer with water, made a coffee the way I liked it, and then explored some of the rooms whose doors were open on the main floor.

An office with a big cherry wood desk, bookshelves, billiards table, and a good-sized conference table with around a dozen chairs, a dining room with a table for 12, humongous family room with big couches, a fireplace, the biggest TV I’d ever seen, a laundry room with 2 stacked sets of metallic blue washing machines, big pantry that was stocked, two bathrooms, and then a long hallway with a few closed doors.

I had a feeling one was Rosita’s room so I didn’t open any of them. At the end of that hallway I spotted the basement stairs.

Azriel’s POVNôvelDrama.Org owns this.

When my eyes opened I could smell her. I smelled her on the pillow beside me but she wasn’t there. After I’d gotten in bed and when she curled into me. I further experimented.

I woke up sometime in the night and got up to use the bathroom and when I got back in I climbed in at the bottom. She rolled down and curled into me down there, too. I’d wrapped my arms around her and held her tight to me and she burrowed in, letting out a little m**n that gave me goose bumps and got me hard.

I didn’t act on it, though, despite wanting to.

Now I was awake, it was bright, and she wasn’t here. I frowned and got out of bed, pulled on a pair of track pants, went to the bathroom, then headed down to the kitchen.

It was 7:45 and Rosita was frying something on the stove, something that didn’t smell like breakfast.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I’m making some freezer meals,” she said without looking up. Then she did look up and looked at me with shock.