The Virgin Actress: A Billionaire and Virgin Romance Read online

  The Virgin Actress: 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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  Also by Virginia Sexton

  “The Virgin Escort”

  “The Virgin Heiress”

  Table of Contents

  “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”

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  More from Virginia Sexton: “The Virgin Payback”

  About the Author

  “Cammie!” Felicia yells into my phone. “I’m at the Gallery Walk! Where are you?”

  “Mmpf,” I say, teetering on one heel, while I draw eyeliner on my eyelids. “Almost ready. Slimy Boss tried to get me to work late tonight and you know how well he likes it when I say no.”

  “Jesus fuck already. When are you going to either report that nasty bastard or get a new job?”

  I sigh, then pick up my lipstick and start coloring in my lips. “You know I can’t. What would I do? It’s not like I know enough to do anything and you know I don’t want to be a waitress. Besides, only waitresses that serve booze make decent tips… and I’m not old enough to do that.”

  “Girl, you’re eighteen. You’re expected to let loose!”

  This is an old teasing argument between the two of us. Felicia knows how much my Aunt Anne sacrificed so that I could go to college, something she never had the opportunity to do. After my parents died in a car crash, Aunt Anne took me in and ensuring I could go to a good college became her mission in life. After she died, right after I finished high school, I’ve tried to live up to her expectations. It’s hard though, because I really have no idea what I want to do for a career and I feel lost most of the time.

  “Yes, yes,” I say, doing a quick check over my outfit and makeup. My one and only little black dress, a scarf across my shoulders to cover the hack mend job I did on that busted seam? Check. Nicest pair of heels? Check. I throw my makeup back in my bag and rush for the bathroom door, crossing my fingers that Slimy Boss doesn’t spot me dressed like this. “Okay, I’m on my way. Be there in five.”

  “Good!”

  “Hey, Eddie. Watch my bag, alright? I’ll be back in a few hours to pick it up.”

  “Sure,” he says, glancing up from his phone and staring at my boobs. Ugh. While I spend my time trying to study, he spends his time texting his friends and playing video games on his phone.

  “Thanks!”

  I walk as fast as I can toward Felicia and the Gallery Walk. It’s the first Thursday of the month and the night all the galleries stay open so that they can show off their new exhibits. Felicia and I love the art and people watching, but we also love the free snacks and free wine. Gallery Walk is one of the monthly events we never miss. We’re both broke college students, so anytime there is free food, free booze, or free entertainment, we are there.

  Felicia gives me a big hug when I arrive. She looks ready to party, wearing a micro-mini-dress that leaves little to the imagination and platform heels that make her long legs look even longer.

  “Don’t you look posh?” she says, looking me up and down, her brown curls bouncing as she shakes her head. “I thought you were going to wear that red skater skirt you found last week.”

  “I was, but I spilled coffee on the top I wanted to wear with it and I couldn’t find anything else I liked. So, I grabbed this.”

  “Well, you look really good. We do need to find you some fake pearls, though. You could totally rock the Breakfast at Tiffany’s look!”

  “You think?” I ask. That’s a huge compliment, even for Felicia.

  “Totally. Alright, Dannison’s has crab cakes, Basic Art has chicken skewers and decent wine. I haven’t been anywhere else yet.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I say, hoping the ambient noise in this gallery is enough to cover the sound of my grumbling stomach.

  “You know,” I say, four galleries, several free snacks, and four plastic cups of wine later, “I really should have stayed and worked late tonight. I told you my rent’s going up, right?”

  “Jesus. Again? There really need to be laws against the thievery of landlords!” Felicia says, rolling her eyes and draining the last of her wine. “I need more wine. Time for another gallery!”

  “Yeah, again,” I say, weaving between women whose dresses I covet. It’s not just that they’re dressed expensively, but that they’re dressed creatively, too. These are the type of women that do not shop even at department stores, except for underwear, maybe. Their clothes look handmade and often one of a kind – art pieces in themselves.

  I grab Felicia and stop her from her charge to the door. “Look at that dress,” I hiss, cutting my eyes to a woman standing a few feet away. It’s red silk, hand-painted with a blocky abstract design, and it’s molded to her body.

  “That’s custom, for sure,” Felicia says, her eyes going wide in appreciation.

  “That dress probably costs a quarter’s tuition. Remind me why I’m going to college?” I lament, feeling overwhelmed by frustration and envy. Even when my parents were still around, we never had much money. Most of my clothes came from tag-sale days at thrift stores – we didn’t shop there because you could maybe find good clothes, we shopped there because even clearance-sale prices at department stores were rarely in our budget.

  Felicia’s voice softens and she wraps her arm around my waist. “You’ll have dresses like that one day. I know you will. If there’s one thing I know, you will make it big, probably bigger than you even dare to dream.”

  “Stop,” I say, a smile spreading across my face. I’ve never been comfortable with compliments and Felicia knows it. Besides, I know she’s lying, because how in hell am I ever going to afford custom clothing? Maybe I should buy some lottery tickets? “Now let’s get going before all the good food is gone.”

  “Oh my God!” Felicia says, handing me a glass of wine and a napkin full of cookies. “Isn’t that Mr. Sexy Suit?”

  I whip my head around and scan the crowd. In a tingly whoosh, all of the blood in my body converges…down there. Mr. Sexy Suit is standing by a garish, extremely oversized painting, talking to the artist, while a drop-dead gorgeous woman hangs on his arm, looking bored out of her mind and not bothering to hide it.

  “Yes, it is,” I whisper, clenching my thighs together. He works at the corporation that is headquartered in the building I work in. I’ve been ogling him for months. He’s older than the guys Felicia and I look at, but he’s way sexier than any man I’ve ever seen in perso
n – all taut muscles over his tall frame, high cheekbones, piercing hazel eyes, and dark hair slicked back. I’ve worn out more than one bullet vibrator while fantasizing about him.

  “Damn. He’s old, but I’d fuck him any way he asked me. Doesn’t matter how he wanted it or what he wanted to do. That man is hot,” she says, drawing out the word “hot” into at least five syllables.

  “Shhh! And I don’t think he’s that old!”

  Felicia laughs. “You’re still fantasizing about him, then, huh?”

  “Let’s. Go.”

  I grab her arm and pull her out of the gallery.

  I’m thankful when a cool breeze greets us as we step outside.

  “You are so flushed!” Felicia laughs. “When are you going to give it up and fuck someone already? There have been at least three hot guys tonight checking you out.”

  “You know why,” I say, flustered that she’s bringing this up again. “I promised Aunt Anne – college education, no boys until I graduate.”

  “I know,” Felicia says. “But I still think you need to let loose. You have no idea what you’re missing… Oooohh, look at him,” she says, pointing at a guy in ripped jeans and a faded concert t-shirt. “I wouldn’t mind sitting on his face tonight.”

  “Stop!” I say, my face burning from embarrassment. The idea of some guy’s face between my legs…it’s thrilling, but it seems totally filthy!

  “Girl… One day. You will know exactly what I’m talking about and you will ask, ‘Felicia, why didn’t you make me understand just what I was missing?’”

  “Maybe,” I concede. “Maybe. I don’t know when I’d even have time, between school and work. You’re my only social life.”

  “We are going to change that,” she says, weaving her hand through my arm and guiding me towards the next gallery.

  I do want to lose my virginity, but I want it to be special. I know Felicia says sex isn’t a big deal, but to me, it is a big deal. My parents loved each other and I want the same thing. I don’t want to just feel like I’m a notch on some guy’s bedpost and then wonder whether or not I’ll ever hear from him again. Or, worse, get pushed out of bed afterwards, like Felicia once had happen, and be told to order an Uber or walk home. I’ve heard so many stories of bad dates and bad boyfriends, I’m honestly a little scared to open myself up to anyone like that. I don’t want to be hurt.

  —

  By the time we make our way to the bus stop, my purse is bulging with pilfered snacks, I’m a little drunk on wine, and I can’t stop thinking about Mr. Sexy Suit.

  “God, I could fuck Mr. Sexy Suit,” I blurt out, covering my mouth.

  “Camellia White!” Felicia laughs. “I knew you had it in you. You should talk to him!”

  “Are you kidding?” I yell. “He must be a millionaire! And did you see that woman he was with tonight? I don’t care how pretty you want to tell me I am, but I am totally not in her league, much less his.” With a sigh, I add, “He’ll always be just a fantasy.”

  “You’re selling yourself short, sweetie,” Felicia says. “He would be lucky to have someone like you.”

  I wave away her drunk compliments. Yet the thought of his body, hovering over mine, him pinning my hands above my head so that I was fully exposed and open to him? It makes me feel even hornier than I already am. I’m counting the bus stops until I can hop off and get home and jump into bed with Mr. Silver Bullet. Which reminds me.

  “Hey, I’m heading off at the next stop. I need to pick up my bag from work,” I say, pulling the cord for the next stop.

  “You want me to go in with you, in case Slimy Bastard is there?” Felicia offers.

  “Nah, I’ll be fine,” I say, crossing my fingers and hoping for the best.

  “Alright. See you tomorrow!”

  “Bye!”

  The bus lurches to a stop and I nearly stumble as I get off. I pause for a moment, surprised at how drunk I am. Did I really have that much wine? Probably. Though, it’s not like we had that much to eat. Still, what we had to eat was better than the ramen or thin canned soup I would have had otherwise.

  I swipe my keycard at the front door, then freeze as I walk into the spacious marble lobby. Eddie is gone and Slimy Boss is at the desk.

  “Goddamit to hell,” I mutter. I start to turn and leave, but he looks up and speaks before I can escape.

  “Camellia,” his voice drawls. “Is that you?”

  Bracing myself, I pull my scarf around me and try to cover up as much of my cleavage as possible.

  “It is, Mr. Watson,” I say, plastering a smile on my face. I focus on walking slowly and steadily, so that I don’t reveal how drunk I am. “I just came to pick up my bag. I won’t keep you.”

  “Oh, you can keep me as long as you want,” he says, standing up and puffing out his chest. His uniform shirt strains over his beer belly and I can see a food stain on his tie.

  I resist the urge to gag. He really thinks he’s sexy and appealing. When I stand up after grabbing my bag, he’s standing so close to my back that I can feel his body heat. He pushes aside my long blonde hair and his breath on my neck makes me physically shudder.

  “If you showed up to work like this all the time, I’m not sure how I’d get any work done. I’d have to,” he says, his voice raspy, “take you back to my office and lecture about appropriate attire for the workplace. Maybe I’d need to discipline you.”

  As soon as he touches my shoulder, I jump sideways as if I was touched by a live electrical wire. The mere idea of him touching my body is absolutely revolting and makes me gag.

  “Haha,” I say, trying to laugh off yet another come-on from him. Aside from graduating and landing an excellent job, my top dream is for Slimy Boss to get fired, even though I know it will never happen. He’s been here for a decade and will probably be here until he retires.

  I’m saved by the sound of the beep of someone’s keycard at the door. We both turn to look.

  My mouth literally falls open when I see it’s Mr. Sexy Suit, though he’s alone now.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say quickly, then make my way to the door before Slimy Boss can say anything else.

  Mr. Sexy Suit glances at me, then does a double-take, not looking away immediately. He must think I’m a fool, because I’m sure my mouth is still hanging open.

  He catches my eye and a slight smile plays on his lips. My body burns as he rakes his eyes up and down my body. My body temperature skyrockets and looking back at Mr. Sexy Suit makes me hot again and increases my need to get myself off to an almost unbearable level. Seeing him twice in one day has me needing release something fierce!

  My senses on overload, I push my way through the revolving door and onto the street. I’m ready to splurge and take a cab home, even though it will mean pilfering free food or eating cheap ramen for a few days, but I stop myself. I turn and head towards the twenty-four-hour pharmacy two blocks away.

  I need fresh batteries for my vibrator.

  “I’m telling you,” Raymond yells over the music, “you’ll only get the deal if you meet their conservative standards.”

  We’re sitting on the second floor of the newest warehouse club in town, a shiny black table between us, and a writhing mass of bodies below us on the dance floor. This may be the club du jour, but it looks like all the rest – wide empty spaces, dark lighting, heavy curtains ‘artfully’ draped along the walls. It’s passable, but not unique.

  “Fuck that nonsense,” I say dismissively. Conservative standards, my ass. Are they fucking blind to the controversies their so-called exalted church members get into? “You know how I feel about double standards. Besides. You know I don’t lose. I’m not going to compromise or pretend.”

  I pause, realizing Raymond is ignoring me while he pushes one hand up the skirt of a stunning blonde and has his other hand around the waist of a statuesque redhead. He looks at me and tilts his head.

  “Aren’t you going to enjoy the evening?” he asks, glancing at the women in his
hands and the other women hovering by our table, their eyes begging for an invitation to join us.

  Normally, I would have a woman or two of my own, too, but I’m keyed up tonight, and not in a way that these women are conducive to. Sure, I could easily take one of these women home, but I’m not in the mood to deal with the sending them home after the quick release of a fast fuck.

  “Not tonight, man. I gotta figure out this deal. I’ll party another time.”

  Raymond looks at me in surprise. It’s rare that I decline the opportunity to bed one of the stunning women this city has to offer. This city has a lot of eager, stunning, extremely fuckable women, and I have a lot of stamina and desire, not to mention a tower of power that makes women whimper.

  I push my way through the partying crowd, stomping as I start troubleshooting how to seal this deal without bowing to the stupid, backward whims of these goddamned bible thumpers. I get they’re concerned with image, but don’t they realize how much fucking money they’ll make from this deal? I didn’t get to be a titan of industry by making bad deals and losing money. Every damn deal I work on is a success – and I know they know it.

  “Car, sir?” The doorman asks, holding the rope for me to pass through.

  “No, I’ll walk. Thanks,” I say, tipping him anyway. People think that everyone falls at my feet because I’m rich, and okay, some do, but people fall at my feet because I pay them. I have countless employees on my payroll, in one way or another. It costs a few pretty pennies, but it makes my life easier and it’s a price I’m willing to pay.

  I walk towards my office building, oddly glad to be free from the noise and crowdedness of the club.

  So, Blake, how are you going to win this one?

  I run through all the possibilities, but as I swipe my keycard to my building, I realize none are right.

  “Godammit!” I say, startling the security guard. Mmm. It’s the pretty one. I wonder if she carries handcuffs…

  “Sir?” She says, her voice wavering. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window and see that I look like an enraged bull. No wonder she looks scared of me. Not that I care.