Claire: The Forced Virgin Of The Billionaire

“You’re going to do your best to please me and make up for this poor attitude tonight.”

He gathered my hair at the nape of my neck and pulled a little so that my chest was off the floor. I pushed my hands into the rug to support myself, whimpering.

“Right now you can please me by apologizing.”

He grabbed my a*s and then started rubbing his hand up and down.

“Claire…” he was letting me know he was waiting and I suspected, ready to strike again. He squeezed my rear end.

“Sorry,” I spat, hating my life with a passion.

“You want me to make you come again, baby? You’d better do better than that.” he whispered. I couldn’t even think. My brain was filled with a list of expletives that wanted to scream out of my mouth but I held my tongue.

“Hmm?” he slapped my a*s again. I was going to be full of welts in the morning. And my knees were on fire from rug burn.

“I’m sorry.” I whimpered, thinking ‘I hate you, I hate you, I f*****g hate you’.

I didn’t want him to make me come, I wanted him to stop and go away.

“That’s better,” he said, then he started to trail light k****s up and down my spine, “Good girl,” he murmured against my skin, “Good girls get to come.”

I wanted to cry out, to say no but I was immobile. The k****s gave me goosebumps and my n*****s hardened. His hand cupped me and he started to rub my clit again.

The moisture was there. It wasn’t mine but it was there and I guess that’s why my body started to respond. f**k, this made no sense. My a*s was so sore, I was so scared, and yet I was starting to breathe heavier.

“I love that sound. Music to my ears. Training you might be easier than I thought. From now on, if I spank your a*s, I want you wet. It makes me very happy when you’re wet and trust me, you want me happy with you,” he whispered this into my ear and then nibbled roughly on my earlobe. Then he flipped me so that he was on his back and I was straddling him.

“Do you want my c**k inside you, baby?” he asked, pulling at my h**s and then sliding inside of me.

“I hate you, I hate you, I f*****g hate you!” I cried, shaking my head frantically, wanting desperately to get away.

His eyes radiated danger and he slid the rest of the way in. His eyes burned with fiery emotion, almost angry looking, a muscle working in his jaw, “Oh f**k, yeah.” He took my n*****s and started to tweak them, making them go harder. He started bouncing me on him, pulling himself up to sitting, still inside of me, and then he held onto my back tight, kissing my neck passionately, breathing heavy.

“I need to feel you come around me, Claire,” he mumbled into my hair.

“Come hard, baby.”

He reached and rubbed my clit over and over in tiny circles with his thumb, while pushing in and out of me. It was building. f**k, but it was building. I didn’t understand how it could be after what had already happened.

I started with pushing him away, and then I dug my nails into his chest as I pushed. I felt my body clench around him as he kept the rhythm going, pushing inside of me, kissing me, rubbing at my center.

He slapped my a*s again and then squeezed it; it made it like his d**k dug deeper into me, hitting a highly sensitive spot inside and then I went off like a cannon. I screamed out as the o****m gripped me and twisted me up in knots. Now I was digging my nails into his back and pulling him to me. He g*****d my name right into my ear and then it was over, I’d uncoiled like a spring and now I was boneless.

We were both covered with sweat, my a*s was probably covered in welts, my knees raw and bleeding from the carpet, his chest and back probably covered in nail marks and then he grabbed me by the chin and said. “From now on, whenever we f**k, you’re going to call me daddy or master!”

He kissed me hard, closed-mouth, but possessively, and then lifted me up, still straddling him and gently put me on the bed. I winced in pain as soon as my bottom touched the sheets.

“Turn over,” he told me, “Stay there.”

I rolled over onto my stomach, filled with despair, silently crying, tears streaming down my face, onto the bed. I saw a light go on and realized he’d gone to the bathroom.

He came back and slathered some cream all over my sore bottom. Then he left and I guessed he washed the cream off his hands because I heard the water running. Then he climbed into bed beside me and leaned over and ran his fingers through my hair gently, then pulled my torso on top of his body.

I tried to pull away but he gripped me tighter, “Uh-uh,” he warned. Tears burned in my eyes and I went limp and just let him pull me close.

What the heck? I came harder than I’d ever come so far and it happened the second he slapped me that final time. What kind of twisted hellish rabbit hole was he dragging me into? He refused to let me go despite that I tried to worm away.

I silently cried myself to sleep on top of him, dripping tears all over his probably scratched up chest. And all the while he said nothing, just laid there stroking my hair; I could feel that he loved every single minute of it.

Sick bastard.

As I started to drift off to sleep I heard him say, “I’ll take good care of you, baby. You’re doing good; so good.”

What on earth was I in for with this man?

Azriel’s POV

I stared down at her face while she slept kind of diagonally across my chest, no blankets on as her bare a*s had been covered in cream. She was so f*****g perfect.

The fight was something I’d wanted, needed, and she gave it to me but it’d infuriated me when I’d found her dry unlike last night. But then the way she responded after that couldn’t have been more amazing. She was already giving me everything I craved and I knew that I could easily take her down the roads I wanted to travel down.

I could take her there, get what I needed, and then comfort and care for her afterwards. But what I was doing niggled at me. And that meant I was losing control. And I had to slow down, so I didn’t break her too far.

The crying herself to sleep on top of me was the f*****g cherry on the top. I’d never wanted that before. When I was done, I was done. But with her, I wanted to hold her afterwards, feel her tears hit my chest, whisper comforting words into her ear.

I could break her down and then care for her after, and the feeling when she went soft in my arms and fell asleep… Yeah, I’d made her cry but because she was mine, I’d comfort her afterwards.

It was a beautiful thing. A twisted but beautiful thing.

She was right, I was a sick f**k.

I’d been with plenty of women who’d let me tie them up, who’d loved when I slapped or whipped them, but they’d never affected me like this.

The b**m club I’d joined a few years back made it so that I always got what I wanted without having to look too far. I’d go in, give a look, maybe have a drink with a woman, sometimes two women. Sometimes I’d just lift my chin at a woman and it was enough for her to know.

I’d walk out and leave, someone would follow, I’d get what I wanted, and it’d be over.

They were usually way too f*****g eager so sometimes, depending on what I was in the mood for, I had to f**k with their heads and make them afraid…see the fear to get me hard.

Some were so seasoned at the lifestyle that it just wasn’t a challenge for me because there was no fear, only anticipation. I enjoyed the cat and mouse game but it had to feel real.

Sometimes I had to go what some might call a little too far to get the result I wanted and then when it was over, I never wanted to go back for seconds. They didn’t know what I really needed. Until now I guess I never knew what I really needed.

This girl, this gift to me that was sound asleep on top of me was so responsive, the perfect amount of defiant and afraid at the same time, and she was mine. All mine. I’d give her everything.

She’d want for nothing. I’d give her everything she wanted and I’d avenge her for anyone who’d ever crossed her. I’d never wanted to give a woman so much before. I’d never wanted to take so much from her at the same time.

I wanted her to give me everything she had, every emotion. I went to sleep filled with emotions I’d never had before. Possessiveness, need, and fear. Fear of what, I didn’t know.

In the middle of the night I woke up to a scream. She was thrashing beside me, in the throes of some nightmare, probably a nightmare about me. I grabbed her, “Claire!”

She woke up, confused. I pulled her against me and kissed her forehead, “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

She was stiff in my arms, she was trembling, she was having trouble shaking whatever she’d dreamt about.

She tried to pull away but I wouldn’t let her go. I cooed in her ear and stroked her back and kissed her over and over. When she stopped fighting but cried herself back to sleep on me I laid there deep in thought for a long time, pain swelling in my chest.

Finally, she went soft and I heard her breathing even out and so I closed my eyes. I slept like s**t. I made her stay. She didn’t want me. Suddenly I wanted to be the source of the comfort, the one she reached for, not the source of nightmares.

In the morning I woke up with her laying on top of me, her head on my chest and her leg draped over my thigh but I gingerly got out of bed before she woke.

I saw her backside was still pink, still covered in my fingerprints and I caught sight of one of her knees and it all scraped looking, I guess from when I dragged her back to me across the carpet.

I felt a strange pull in me. I didn’t want to see her eyes open. I couldn’t explain why but I just didn’t want to see sadness in them.