Claire: The Forced Virgin Of The Billionaire

Granted, it wasn’t very creative but it seemed to distract me from the emotions whirling around in my brain, if only temporarily.

If I played a game, maybe the tone would stay where I could handle it.

I got moist down below with anticipation.

I pushed away my “What the f**k?” thoughts.

A few seconds later I heard the doorknob jiggle and then it went silent.

I stood there, heart racing, almost panting with anticipation.

I waited.

Then I heard a tiny scratchy sound.

Was he picking the lock?

I braced myself.

Approximately 4.5 seconds later the door swung open and he was standing there with this intense look on his face. His eyes lit with something dangerous.

I’m sure I was standing there, wild-eyed, too.

I had his white tuxedo shirt on, with just the bottom few buttons done up and my hair must’ve looked like it’d been in a windstorm.

He was naked and his e******n should’ve been allocated its own zip code.

He leaned on the door frame and folded his arms, “You’re not very good at this game, are you? Where do you think you’re gonna go from here?”

I summoned my inner vixen and shrugged at him, “Maybe I wanted to be easy to catch.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to try to lock me out?” he was trying to be serious but failing.

He gave me a smirk.

I smirked back.

Then he tried to look serious.

So I tried to look serious.

I caught my bottom l*p between my teeth and looked at him for a second, then shrugged and said, “Do you think you need to maybe teach me a lesson for that?”

He grinned at me, “Damn straight. But you made it too easy.”

I shrugged, “Maybe I’ve got a surprise attack planned.”

His eyes went cold, “A what?”

Whoa, a bucket of ice cold water might as well have been dumped on my libido and my smugness right then and there.

Not the right answer given the state of our relationship the past few days.

I shook my head frantically, needing desperately to backpedal “I didn’t mean anything violent… I meant…”

He closed the distance between us and was right up against me, making me gasp in surprise.

His lips crashed into mine and then he said against them, “Drop the f*****g act.”

My heart was thudding wildly.

“Just drop it,” he whispered.

He had my bottom l*p between his teeth and he let out an Mmm sound that reverberated through my whole body.

I couldn’t be a player, I was going to lose.

He was totally in control here right now.

I sucked at this.

“Who do you belong to, Claire?” his mouth was by my ear.

f**k. s**t.

My b***d ran cold.

He moved back an inch or two and looked down at me.

I looked up into his eyes and he looked so sexy, red f*****g hot with l**t.

“Who?” he demanded.

It felt like all the air left my lungs and then like something inside of me snapped, like an elastic band pulled too far, ”You,” I said and a huge weight vanished off my shoulders.

Vanished.

Then it was like a bomb went off in that bathroom.

He hiked me up onto the vanity and violently tore my underwear down my h**s and off of me, and then he plunged his c**k deep into me, one hand on my lower back and the other braced against the mirror.

Bottles and hair tools and cosmetics tumbled onto the floor and something splashed into the toilet.

Something glass smashed.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t take his eyes off mine.

He was, clearly, completely thrilled with that declaration.

I wrapped my legs around him and dug my nails into his back and he let out this primal sound, almost like a growl, and let go of the mirror and had a fistful of my hair in his hand.

I squealed in surprise and pain, and then desire surged through me.

He stopped and looked at me for a beat, breathless, then moved a few times in and out of me.

I bit hard on my bottom l*p, my chest rising and falling rapidly.

He lifted me and then we tumbled to the floor in the midst of curling and flat irons, hair brushes, a broken glass bottle of facial cleanser, broken plastic blush case with chunks of blush powder all over the place, that he shoved aside.

And then my legs were up and over his shoulders.

I pulled the prickly round hair brush out from under my lower back and tossed it out of the way he started to pound the f**k out of me on that bathroom floor.

“Don’t stop,” I pleaded and that must’ve supremely pleased him as he didn’t.

He went harder, he went faster.

He pounded and pounded and I received every single connection of our bodies with a grateful grunt and nails that dug into his backside.

Suddenly I was up and he was carrying me back toward the bed but we didn’t make it.

I was against the wall, impaled on him, my fingers in his hair.

We were sweaty and grunting like wild animals and I knew I’d have crazy s*x bruises and make up smears likely all over my body tomorrow.

So would he.

“Love you so f*****g much,” He grunted.

I was drunk on him; he was my oxygen.

He f****d me slow but hard against the wall and then put me on my back on the bed and kept going, but then fast and with so much force that there were veins showing on his neck and his forehead.

Then he pulled out and got me on all fours on the bed and put one hand around my throat and the fingers from the other got me by the clit and he as he drove into me he twisted his fingers around below until I was trying to crawl away to get away from the intensity of it, screaming out, and then I was hanging off the bed, my butt in the air, my nails clawing at the rug, him holding my h*p with one hand, circling my clit with his other, and f*****g me so hard.

I came hard, whimpering, “I love you, too.” as I cried out into the bed’s dust ruffle.

I told him I loved him?

What the f**k?