Claire: The Forced Virgin Of The Billionaire

Then he was grinding into me and kissing me, running his hands through my hair. I wanted to be afraid but I was so relieved that he wasn’t freaking out that I just let him.

It made no sense in the world but I was letting him. He had that silver cross necklace on again and the cross was dangling over me, touching my throat.

Right now he wasn’t the criminal, he was the guy who’d first taken me on a dinner date, and I kissed him back. His fingers were inside of me and rubbing me and before my actions registered in my brain I rubbed both of my palms up and down his arms to his shoulders and then one of my hands reached down into his track pants and I wrapped my hand around his c**k and squeezed.

He m****d into my mouth and said, “Let’s take this upstairs.” I let go of him and he helped me to my feet and walked, holding my hand, out of the storage room, up the stairs, through the hall, past the kitchen, and back up the stairs to the master bedroom.

The whole way, I was staring at the muscular detail of his naked back, feeling so turned on. So inexplicably turned on.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

Once the bedroom door was shut, he lifted me up gently under my arms and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He kissed my throat while walking the few paces to the bed and then put me down on it and climbed on top of me, kissing me so passionately I was melting. Before I knew it I was out of his robe, out of his shirt and my panties, and he was deep inside me, making love to me. Yes, making love to me.

His lips trailed up and down my neck and shoulders, his hands up and down my body, and he was pumping into me slowly, looking at me like he was savoring it, repeatedly gazing with a smoldering look into my eyes.

It was beautiful.

It was probably what making love was supposed to be like. I’d been f****d before, that too only by him but this was my first time being made love to.

But when the making love thought occurred to me, suddenly I felt like something inside of me was dying. Something inside me was crumbling because he was f*****g with my head and because I knew this wasn’t the only side of him.

This was just one half of who he was. I think he knew I was dying inside, too, because I started to cry and his thumb stroked my lower l*p, then he kissed the tear away and hugged me tight, being even slower, even gentler, and he whispered, “Claire, baby, please. Please.” I didn’t know what he was pleading with me for exactly, but it felt like he wanted me to just forget everything else except for what was happening right now.

Could I? Could I let this happen, let this beautiful f****d up man have me without any tears? I guess I couldn’t.

I had a huge o****m and crying episode at the same time so I held him tight, muffling my m***s with his shoulder. He finished, too, moaning my name, and then he rolled to his side, sank his head into the pillow, blowing out a long breath, and then pulled my back against his front, spooning me.

I glanced back at his face and he looked like he’d been in a bar fight. His eye was rimmed with a deep purple bruise and there were four angry red and scabbed lines down one cheek and another scratch across his nose and part way across the other cheek. His bottom l*p was a bit puffy and had a tiny cut that extended about half an inch below his l*p.

He was looking on the outside like I was feeling on the inside. I put my head back on the pillow. He nuzzled in and kissed me between the shoulder blades, wrapping his arms tighter around me.

I was surprised that all that had ended the way it did. I thought, if anything, him thinking I’d run away — which I’d never thought would be the assumption when I headed to the basement or I wouldn’t have done it — would’ve meant his anger again.

Until I could get out of here, I needed to think before acting, I needed to make that part of my routines now because life wasn’t the same as it was before. I needed to think about what he’d think about things I’d do before I did them.

He could’ve been angry right now because he couldn’t find me. But that’s not what I was getting from him. He was unpredictable and to me, that meant he was even more dangerous than I’d even realized because I didn’t know what to expect next from him.

How, till I got out of here, did I stay on his good side? This side? How bad was he screwing with my head that I’d just allowed him to have s*x with me, that I’d just participated?

We laid there for a few minutes and then he said, “Hi.” His voice was all breathy, all emotional.

“Hi.” I think my voice probably sounded empty or unsure. I didn’t know.

There was a long pause. Then he cleared his throat, “We have dinner at my family’s today. I’d like you to dress like you’re going to church, okay?” He was tracing my ear with his finger and kissing the back of my head.

“Kay,” I said.

“You’ve got clothes like that or should I have something sent over?”

“I went to church nearly every Sunday for the past 9 years. I’m good.”