His Virgin Payback: A Billionaire & Virgin Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  “Prologue”

  “Chapter 1”

  “Chapter 2”

  “Chapter 3”

  “Chapter 4”

  “Chapter 5”

  “Chapter 6”

  “Chapter 7”

  “Chapter 8”

  “Chapter 9”

  “Chapter 10”

  “Chapter 11”

  “Chapter 12”

  “Chapter 13”

  “Chapter 14”

  “Chapter 15”

  “Chapter 16”

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  About the Author

  His Virgin Payback: A Billionaire & Virgin Romance

  Copyright 2017 Virginia Sexton. All right reserved.

  Kindle Edition

  All characters depicted are over the age of 18.

  This book may not be reproduced in any form by any means, without the author’s permission, except for reviewers, who may quote short excerpts.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and action come from the author’s imagination and presented as fiction. Any resemblance to real individuals, alive or deceased, as well as events or places, is completely coincidental.

  This book is intended for mature audiences only.

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  “Come here,” I say. I give nothing away in my tone of voice.

  Lily slowly pushes her chair back. I like that she doesn’t even seem to consider not obeying me.

  She comes slowly over to my side of the table, and I slide my chair back and grab her hips, positioning her between my legs. I flick open the button of those ridiculous jeans, slide down the zipper and then push them down over her hips. In one swift motion, I prop her up on the table. She gasps and then giggles nervously. She looks around for the waiter, but he’s nowhere to be seen, and if he has any sense in his head, he’ll stay that way.

  “There’s only one thing I want for dessert,” I tell her, as I yank her pants fully from her body. Her skin goes bright red, from the roots of her hair to the line where her toes disappear into her heels.

  “Jacob, I’ve never…”

  “I know, Lily, that’s the whole point.”

  “Oh,” she says again. She opens and closes her mouth and then says it again. “Oh.”

  I push her thighs apart.

  Also by Virginia Sexton

  “His Virgin Actress”

  “His Virgin Escort”

  “His Virgin Heiress”

  Table of Contents

  “Prologue”

  “Chapter 1”

  “Chapter 2”

  “Chapter 3”

  “Chapter 4”

  “Chapter 5”

  “Chapter 6”

  “Chapter 7”

  “Chapter 8”

  “Chapter 9”

  “Chapter 10”

  “Chapter 11”

  “Chapter 12”

  “Chapter 13”

  “Chapter 14”

  “Chapter 15”

  “Chapter 16”

  Free Bonus - Virginia Sexton’s mailing list

  About the Author

  I arrive at the office early, as I always do. There’s only one security guard on duty at that time of day and he nods to me as I pass through the lobby, just as he always does. No need to show my pass because he knows me well. I ride the elevators up in blissful silence — they don’t start piping the Muzak in until eight or so.

  The elevator doors open onto the thirty-sixth floor, where the Bradley & Prescott offices are. The main reception desk is still empty, as it always when I arrive, and I stride past it, admiring the way everything in our lobby looks clean and pristine. These are some of the most expensive office suites in the city, and you can tell just by looking around.

  I like to be here early, because when the CEO gets in before everyone else, it puts the fear of God into them. Makes them think they need to work harder to keep up. And there’s nothing I like more than pushing people to work harder.

  Today, though, instead of being greeted by the silent soaring hallways and the low hum of the air conditioner, I hear an obnoxious whirring. A grinding noise. An assault on my ears.

  Irritation winds its way through me. One of the secretaries, maybe, in early to finish something she didn’t have the brains to wrap up last night before she left.

  The noise gets louder as I approach the executive offices. My office space, the one I share with only my business partner and mentor Richard Prescott, and our two executive assistants. Richard isn’t usually in until ten or so, so I don’t know who’d be making a ruckus in there so early.

  I round the corner and do a double take.

  The redhead is bent over Richard’s desk, rifling through a stack of papers. She’s wearing some kind of denim shorts, so tiny that I can see the curve of her perfectly round ass.

  It definitely isn’t Margie, Richard’s usual assistant. In fact, I have no idea who it is. She’s feeding papers one handful at a time into a big loud shredder, and I can see a pair of white ear buds feeding into her ears as she wiggles her ass in time to whatever tune she’s listening to.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, my voice stern and commanding.

  She spins around, startled. Her hand goes to her heart, barely covering the cleavage that spills out of her tiny tank top.

  “Jacob! You scared me.”

  Holy fuck. I know exactly who this is.

  “Lily. I haven’t seen you in ages. Must be, what, four years now?”

  She nods, smiling. “Five, probably. Look, no more braces.” She flashes her pearly whites at me, but all I can see are her full round lips. Perfect cock-sucking lips.

  My dick surges in my expensive suit pants as I take in her tight body. The tits spilling out of her tank top. The hint of taut stomach visible between the bottom of her shirt and the top of her shorts. The long creamy white legs that go on for days. Who knew Richard’s daughter had grown up to be such a stunner?

  “Right.” I do the math in my head, figuring she must be eighteen now. It shows — her body is pure nubile perfection, all tight curves and smooth skin and a springy sort of gymnastic energy. She’s even wearing crisp white sneakers, the kind that make me think of cheerleaders.

  Ah, Christ. My cock rises again and I shift my weight to the opposite foot, trying to mask the obvious tent that’s forming in my suit pants.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She gestures at the pile of papers on the desk. “Dad said he’d take me out to lunch today if I could help him with some paperwork.”

  “Ah. Nice of him.” I lick my lips as Lily twists her long red hair to re-knot it on top of her head. The movements make her tits bounce, and I realize she isn’t even wearing a bra. Of course she’s not, because she’s eighteen and she’s got fucking perfect breasts.

  “Well, don’t let me keep you from it,” I add.

  “Okay,” she says, smiling. “Oh, I brought cookies.”

  “Cookies?” I look at her with confusion, which makes her giggle. Jesus, that giggle.

  “Cookies. I made them.” She gestures at a tin that I now see sitting on the desk.

  I smile slyly. “I’m good, thanks.” Because nothing could be as sweet as that view.

  She shrugs and turns back to the desk, her tight ass jutting back towards me again. I take a step towards her. It’s not intentional — it’s almost as if I’m being led by my
cock. It’s hard as hell now and it’s looming like a missile towards her tight ass. All I want to do is bend her over that desk, rip off those ugly shorts, and drive my cock right up inside her. I’d start with her pussy, and when she was sore and raw from too much fucking, I’d take her ass too. I’d take her in every hole, and then we’d go around the world a second time.

  I take another step towards her, and another, until I’m just behind her. I lean forward just enough so that my hard cock can graze against her ass.

  She jumps, startled, and then giggles, but she doesn’t turn around or stop me. I press harder against her, letting my cock, still sheathed beneath my pants, ride just between her thighs.

  “Jacob,” she murmurs, and my name on her lips is like an aphrodisiac. My cock surges again, nudging against her, and she giggles. Her skin is so flushed it looks like it’s on fire. Which is about how I feel right now too. What is happening to me? Sure, I love beautiful women, but the sight of Lily at this desk is just about driving me out of my mind.

  “Hello Jacob.”

  I whip around when I hear Richard’s voice, flashing him a guilty smile.

  “Richard. Good morning.”

  I expect him to look pissed — after all, I was grinding up against his eighteen-year-old daughter — but instead he nervously wipes at his brow, which is coated in a sheen of sweat. He glances down, noting my erection, and then looks back up at me. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard.

  “Do you have a moment, Jacob? We need to talk.”

  Sarah sets the shot glass down in front of me with a wicked grin.

  “Drink up, birthday girl.”

  “What’s this?” I stare down at the concoction in front of me. I don’t recognize the contents, but knowing Sarah, it can’t be anything good.

  “It’s called a Redheaded Slut,” Sarah says. Her already Cheshire-Cat-like grin stretches out even wider. “Jägermeister, peach schnapps and cranberry juice. The name seemed perfect for you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Maybe in opposite world. Do they make a virgin version?” I may be redheaded, but no one could accuse me of being a slut, that’s for sure.

  “I think that would just be called cranberry juice,” Sarah teases, then pretends to pout. “And what would be the point in that?”

  “Thanks a lot.” I sigh.

  “Come on. I didn’t mean it like that,” she insists, although I know she did a little bit. Sarah and I have argued about this so many times, I’ve lost count. She’s my best friend, but she just doesn’t understand why, after all this time, I’m still virgin.

  To be honest, I don’t really understand it either. But I look at most guys, and all I feel is… meh.

  Just… meh.

  In my whole life, there’s only been one guy I ever felt something for. Only one guy who’s ever given me that fluttery feeling I’m always reading about in books. That guy was my dad’s former business partner, Jacob Bradley. But there are so many things wrong with that, I don’t even know where to begin. He worked with my dad, he’s way older than me, and, oh yeah, he’s currently serving a four-year prison term for insider trading.

  Not exactly boyfriend material.

  “Just do the shot with me, okay?” Sarah says. “Look, I’ve got one too. I’m not redheaded and you’re not a slut, but together we cover all the bases.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Fine. I’ll do the shot with you.”

  “Yay!” Sarah is so easy to please. Being friends with her has always felt natural, ever since the first day we met. We were in kindergarten, and we both wanted to play with the same doll, so we were forced to share. We still laugh at the memory, and refer to that time as ‘when we had joint custody of Becky.’ It’s just one of our thousands of inside jokes.

  “Ready?” Sarah asks now, holding her shot glass up to her shimmery pink lips.

  “Ready.” I pick up my own glass and then join her in throwing it back. I’m expecting it to be foul but it’s actually surprisingly tasty, even though it burns a little going down.

  “Whew!” We both exclaim in unison, slamming our empty glasses down on the high-top table we’re sitting at.

  Sarah had insisted on taking me out to a club for my birthday, even though I wasn’t really much of a club person. It was my twenty-first birthday, she pointed out, and what was the fun of being legal if I wasn’t going to take advantage of my newly acquired legal privileges?

  And that was how we had ended up at Club Malibu on a hot Saturday night, drinking Redheaded Sluts and tapping our feet along to the throbbing dance music.

  “I think we should go dance,” Sarah announces.

  “I don’t think so,” I say, shaking my head and wrinkling my nose. I don’t mean to be such a stick in the mud, but dancing is so not my forte. I have the moves of a newborn giraffe, and my lanky frame is about as graceful.

  But Sarah looks determined. “We’re either going to go dance or we’re doing more shots. Take your pick.”

  She folds her arms and puts on her most serious expression, so I know she means business. I laugh, throwing my hands up.

  “Fine,” I relent. “Let’s go dance. I don’t think I could do another shot unless you want to be picking me up off the floor.”

  “Well, for the record, picking you up off the floor on your birthday is exactly what best friends are for,” she says grinning. “But I’ll accept dancing for now.”

  We make our way out onto the crowded dance floor and start grinding to the beat. Though the rest of the club isn’t too crowded, it’s wall-to-wall people out here, and I instantly feel about ten degrees warmer with all those pulsing sweaty bodies flanking me.

  Luckily the crowd also makes a good camouflage for my awkward dance moves, and after a few minutes I actually start to feel myself loosen up. I let Sarah spin me in a circle and dip me dramatically, like we’re in a Gene Kelly movie instead of a sexy club.

  It’s from this horizontal dip position that I spot the two guys making their way towards us. I awkwardly wrench myself back to standing and try to get Sarah’s attention.

  They appear at our sides almost instantly and start dancing with us. They aren’t exactly good dancers — they just do that grinding thing that all guys seem to do in clubs like this. The one who sidles up to me looks to be about my age, with spiky blonde hair and a gold cross earring in one ear. I can see a faint blonde mustache inching across his upper lip.

  The guy dancing up on Sarah is slightly better looking, with slicked back dark hair and a tight black t-shirt. She seems to be having fun so I force myself to smile at Blondie and let him keep dancing with me.

  As the music intensifies, though, so do their moves — and not in a good way. Soon Blondie is really grinding up on me and I realize with a shock that I can feel his erection pressing up against me from behind. I turn around to express my surprise, but he just grins and makes a lewd gesture with his mouth.

  I grab Sarah’s arm and pull her off the dance floor.

  “What are you doing?” she hisses at me, looking back forlornly at her dance-floor Romeo.

  “He had an erection,” I whisper. Or at least, I try to whisper. I actually have to shout it for her to hear me over the music.

  Sarah laughs. “So? They wanted to have some fun. That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

  I put my hands on my hips. “You know I don’t… have that kind of fun.”

  Sarah rolls her eyes. “Come on, Lily. Can we stop this already? You’re like a little old lady in a hot twenty-one-year-old body.”

  I smile at that. She’s not wrong — most nights, my idea of fun is sitting home with Dad, drinking tea and watching Family Feud.

  “I do have fun,” I promise her.

  “Yeah, but you don’t have sex, and that’s the best kind of fun.” She flashes me a wicked grin.

  I gnaw at my lip. I can’t really argue with her because I have no idea if what she’s saying is true or not. Having never had sex, I have no idea how it compares to, say,
watching Family Feud or getting a pedicure. I’m sure it can’t be that much better though… right?

  I glance back out at the dance floor, to where Blondie and his dark-haired friend have already moved on to another couple of girls. For a second, I let myself imagine what it would be like to have sex with him. To feel his fingers pinch my nipples. To feel his tongue against my clit. To finally feel someone’s cock slamming into my tight wet pussy.

  But all I feel is… meh.

  The thought of letting Blondie, or someone like him, be the one to take my virginity is just too depressing for words.

  “I think you should go for it,” I tell Sarah honestly. “There’s no reason my boring life should interfere with your chance to have fun.”

  Sarah looks offended that I would even suggest such a thing. “I’m not going to ditch you for a guy,” she says, appalled. “Especially not on your birthday. Seriously. I’m sorry I keep trying to push you — I respect your position even if I don’t totally understand it. So, let’s get out of here and do something you want to do instead. What do you think?”

  I grin. “I think that sounds great. Dessert?”

  “Dessert would fabulous. What about that cheesecake place you wanted to try? It’s just a couple of blocks away, isn’t it?”

  She offers me her arm and I slip mine through hers gratefully.

  “Cheesecake,” I say, as I let her lead me out of the club. “Now that’s the perfect birthday.”

  I may not have had sex before, but I think I can safely say there’s no way it can compare to the pleasure of really good cheesecake.

  Right?

  I take a deep breath of fresh air. It doesn’t matter that it’s the exact same air I breathe every time I’m out in the prison yard, it somehow feels different today.

  Now that I’m a free man again.

  My driver, Kristoff, is already parked outside the prison, waiting with my limo SUV. I take a moment before I climb into the car, enjoying a few more breaths of fresh air and one last look back at the prison where I’ve spent the last three years.

  Three years of my life lost. And all because of him — Richard Prescott. My business partner. My mentor. My one-time friend.