Billionaire Boss’s Virgin
Chapter 1
Samantha
I have no idea what’s going on. I’m standing here in this schoolgirl getup my boss put me in. I was supposed to be dancing tonight.
My first night on the job. I spent all day on the verge of being sick, but I’m not stupid. There’s good money in stripping, especially at the Calla Club, and I need every penny I can get.
As soon as I can get it.
The opening dance is an introduction. All the girls file out, letting the men in the audience get a good look at what they have ahead of them. That wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t the only one on stage.
I don’t even know how I got this job. I’ve never done anything like this.
All I know was that my boss, Harry, took one look at me when I came in for my interview and hired me on the spot. Big boobs and a round butt are more important than experience, I guess.
After the opening dance, I make my way back to the dressing room. Everyone who isn’t on stage is back here, seated before brightly-lit mirrors, adding more eyeliner, more lipstick. Adjusting boobs so they spill just right.
I glance down at my own overflowing top. I’m buttoned into this tiny little white top, two buttons straining to hold it closed, the bottom of the shirt tied at my rib cage.
What the hell am I doing here?
But I know exactly what I’m doing here, so I make my way to an empty spot at the mirror and swipe more pink gloss over my full lips.
Mostly, I’m focused on not throwing up. I close my eyes and hear the music I’ll be dancing to in my head. I picture myself up there, dancing, giving the audience the sinuous, sultry moves they’re lusting for. Taking off the top, then teasing them before I take the tiny skirt off.
Yeah, so I had to watch videos of strippers to plan this dance. I’m trying to pretend this is any other performance. I’m just playing a part.
Naked. While hoping that men shove money into my G-string.
“Sam.”
I spin around and spy Harry leaning against the door to the dressing room. “I need you to come with me.”
Oh, shit. Is it possible to get fired before I even start? The thing is, Harry actually seems like a decent-enough guy. So I follow him, rehearsing how I’ll beg him to let me dance. I’ll do better than I did in the intro. My nervousness must have showed or something.
My steps slow as we get closer to the office, but he walks past it and up a narrow set of stairs.
He opens a door at the top and glances at me, then gestures for me to step inside.
This room…it’s not what I expected. I mean, really, I have no idea what to expect about any of this, but a room full of men in suits, sitting there as if they’re about to start a business meeting or something, is about the last thing I thought I’d find here. There’s a raised dais at the front of the room, five other girls standing there in their stripper get-ups.
Harry waves me toward the stage. “Make me proud, girl.”
I numbly make my way up to the little stage, and a few of the other girls smile at me. They seem excited, almost giddy.
Is this where I’m dancing? What is this? These men are clearly rich.
Better tips, probably.
Well. That’s what I’m here for, after all, I think, doing the endless, impossible math in my head. How much I need to make per night to save Pops. I take another deep breath. Just another type of performance. I was born to perform. I can do this, too.
I keep my eyes down, well aware of eyes on me. My stomach twists, and I wish I was wearing just about anything else. The tight white blouse, the skimpy plaid skirt, the knee socks and ridiculously high heels… I’m barely wearing anything at all. My long black hair is put up in pigtails.
I feel like an idiot.
Money. Think of the money. Think of Pops.
There aren’t many well-paying jobs for girls like me. I’ll take what I can get.
Harry steps up to the stage, and as he does, I glance up. But not at Harry. No. At the man in the front row. He’s sitting there, legs spread wide, arms crossed over his chest. Wearing a suit, like the others, but he looks like a cross between a businessman and a male model. Dark hair, with just a hint of wave to it. Dark, intense eyes. His suit is impeccable and clearly expensive. He’s totally polished, except for the dark stubble along his jawline. Somehow, that makes him even more devastating.
His eyes are on me. Calculating, intense. I force myself to tear my gaze away from him, but I swear I can still feel him watching me.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Harry says. “You are my esteemed guests, and I’m pleased to welcome you to tonight’s auction. Highest bidder for each girl gets a week with her. No questions asked.”
I shoot him a panicked look.
“My girls are worth it,” Harry says. “They can live for months off of one good auction should one of them get chosen now,” he adds, meeting my eyes, raising his eyebrows as if to say “shut up and take what you can get.”
I do.
This was never part of the plan. Dance a little. Probably get groped. But this? A week at the beck and call of a man I’ve never met?
I’m about to protest when Harry speaks again, addressing the men.
“We’ll start the auction with Gracie over there. Starting bid, one hundred thousand.”
My jaw snaps shut, and any thoughts of trying to get out of this float away. A hundred grand would save my father. Not completely, and not forever, maybe, but it’d be a hell of a good start.
I watch the other dancers get auctioned off. One goes for a quarter of a million. One for just over a hundred thousand.
The entire time, the intense, gorgeous man in the front row is looking at me.
Not him. Let one of those other men buy me instead. They look like lawyers or doctors or something. Benign. Something in him, his intensity, the way he watches me, makes me feel like he’d turn my life upside down in about a minute flat. Anyone else. Anyone else.
Just not him.
“Which brings us to Samantha,” Harry says, and I take a deep breath.
“I want different terms,” the man from the front row says, and his voice is a deep rumble, rough, almost hoarse.
“We don’t usually—”
“One month. One month, at my command. You get your hundred K.”
“A month is a long time,” Harry argues.
“She’s gonna be the one doing the hard labor. It’s up to her,” the man says.
I force myself to meet his dark gaze. “I need a million dollars for a month. Up front,” I make myself say.
“That’s a lot of money, even for a sweet little thing like you.”
“You said it was up to me. That’s what I need.”
His gaze holds mine, and I’m sure he’s about to say no. Laugh at me.
One million dollars would get my dad totally in the clear. We could start over. I could go back to school. And if he ever gets involved with the goddamn Mafia again, I’ll kill him myself.
The man is still looking at me, unblinking, still with that calculating, hard look in his eyes.
“Everybody out for a minute,” he says in a quiet voice that makes it clear he expects to be obeyed.
And he is. Everyone—the dancers, the suits, even Harry—file out without a complaint. Harry closes the door behind him, and then it’s just him and me.
“Samantha, huh?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“I’m Dante.” I nod. The name suits him, elegant and edgy all at once. “Stage name or real name?”
“Real name. I’m too new for a stage name.”
“What do you mean?”
“This was my first night.”
He studies me for a while. “Why do you think you’re worth a million dollars, Samantha?”
I glance down. “Because it’s a month. And because I’ll do whatever you want without complaining.”
“You sound desperate.”
“I kind of am.”
He stands up and takes a few strides toward me. It takes everything in me not to back up a step. He walks around me.
“Is this how you usually dress, Samantha? Is this how you’ll dress for me?”
“I’ll dress however you want me to.”
“Do you usually dress like a whore?”
I close my eyes. “No,” I whisper.
He reaches out and runs a big, calloused hand down the side of my waist, and I tremble. Not all of it is from fear. I’ve never had a man even touch that much bare skin before, and it’s a shock.
Not entirely an unpleasant one, and that’s sick, because what kind of girl wants a strange man touching her?
“Why are you so desperate?” he asks, standing in front of me, hands off me now. “Look at me.”
I force my gaze up to his.
“Why?” he repeats.
“My father owes someone money. He’s running out of time.”
“That’s your father’s problem.”
I shake my head. “It’s my problem. He has no way of paying the money he owes. He’s a dead man otherwise.”
“Gambling?”
I shake my head. “He took out a loan to pay for school for me. Arts academy,” I add in a whisper. “And then he lost his job.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
He stands there in silence. “One million. You’re at my beck and call. You stay with me. What I want, you give me.” I nod.
He reaches out and unties the knot in my shirt with a flick of his fingers. The fabric falls away, and my breasts spring free. I can barely breathe as he stands there looking at me, appraising me.
“Can I touch you, Samantha?” he asks in that low, smooth voice. In its own way, this calms me, even if only a little bit. I get the sense that this man won’t try to force himself on me, when he so easily could. He easily stands nearly a foot taller than me, and he’s built like an athlete: broad shoulders, biceps flexing even under the suit he’s wearing.
“Yes,” I whisper. I need this. One million dollars. My life will never, ever be the same. I’ll do whatever he wants, as long as I get my fresh start.
I can only assume he’s done this before. Does he come here every few months, buy a week with a girl, and move on? His fingertips graze the side of my breast, and I bite back a whimper. I’m trembling. My stomach is fluttering and my heart is pounding. This is terrifying, and yet the second he touches me, it feels like I’ve lost the ability to think.
Instead, I focus on his fingertips tracing the side of my breast, circling around my nipple, which is already an almost painfully hard peak. He brushes his thumb over my nipple, and I do whimper then.
“Very, very nice. It’s a good little act you’ve got going on. Tie your shirt back up. I don’t like anyone else looking at my property.”
I nod and quickly do it, and he stalks to the door and lets Harry back in.
Within moments, Harry’s been paid and this man, this man who owns me for a month, has transferred a million dollars into my bank account.
“Get your things in order. Pack. I’ll pick you up in a couple hours. What’s your address?” he asks. I rattle off my address and apartment number, then my phone number. He leaves the room without another word, and I take a few minutes to try to settle myself down.
One month at his beck and call. One month with a man who outright owns me.
There’s no way I’ll come through this and still be the same as I am now.
I’ll take it all. I saved my father’s life. I can handle anything else.
Chapter 2
Dante
I have no idea what the fuck came over me. I was there to meet with some dipshit my father was supposed to be meeting with. The dipshit never showed, but she did.
I don’t get off on the whole stripper thing. Why pay to watch some stranger parade around for a bunch of assholes when you can have your own private show, complete with a blowjob afterward?
And then I saw her. Big blue eyes. Long, silky black hair. Big, luscious tits, sweet little rounded stomach, and the kind of hips I could see myself gripping hard as I rammed into her.
I had heard about Harry’s little auctions. My brother uses Harry’s services sometimes. It took a few words, a little extra cash, and Harry included her in the auction.
But a million dollars? I must be out of my fucking mind. I can get a girl without paying.
But I won’t get this one. Or have her pledge to do anything I want.
And there’s a whole lot I want to do to her.
I pull up to the address she gave me. It’s in a shit part of the city, and when I take the elevator up to the fourth floor, it smells like piss. I walk down the hall until I’m outside 4E. I knock, and a moment later, she’s peeking out the door at me.
“One second,” she says in her soft, sweet voice, and I nod.
I hear a chain slide, and then she’s opening the door for me.
One look at her, and I’m fucking hard again. She was cute at the club, but now she’s wearing a little button-down top and a pair of jeans that fit her curves like a glove. Bare feet. Still wearing makeup, but not plastered all over her face like it was at the club. The pigtails are gone, and her hair tumbles down her back.
“Are you ready?”
She nods and picks up one of the bags on the living room floor. I take it, then grab the second one.
“Is it okay if I bring a laptop?”
“Bring whatever you want,” I tell her, and she grabs a small bag in addition to the ones I’m carrying.
I can’t take my eyes off her. I should have sent a driver instead.
This woman, the sight of her, the smell of her, the things I imagine doing to her…all of it has me feeling like I’m already out of my mind.
“Come on,” I growl at her, and she jumps a little at my tone.
Fuck. I don’t want her scared. I have no idea what the hell’s come over me tonight. But that’s a lie. I know exactly what it was, and it’s wrapped up in the curvaceous, silky-haired, soft-spoken little thing leading me to the elevator.
One month. Mine.
I plan to make the most of it.
We take the elevator down to the ground floor. She’s kept her eyes down the entire time, and I have to confess that I didn’t expect a stripper to be this shy. I mean, she did say it was her first night, but I assumed she meant her first night at the Calla Club.
This woman, out of the slutty costume and the fuck-me heels, doesn’t strike me as the stripper type. And I just paid a million dollars for her, making her, very likely, one of the most high-priced escorts in the world.
I nearly laugh. I must be out of my goddamned mind.
We make our way to the door and I open it for her. She murmurs a quiet “thanks” and as she walks past me, the scent of her envelops me again, just as it did at the club. She smells like something sweet and citrusy, and I wonder if that scent is everywhere, if, were I to sample her sweet pussy later, I’d be surrounded by it, covered in it.
I’m so fucking hard I can barely walk.
“We’re over here,” I mutter, nodding toward my red and black Bugatti Veyron with more than a little relief that it’s still there. I half-expected to find some dickhead in the process of trying to steal it. I glance at Samantha, and she’s staring at the car, then glancing at me.
“I should have asked for more,” she says, and the hint of self-deprecating humor in her voice almost makes me laugh. “Now I think I sold myself short.”
“Well. I know this car gives me a good ride. How good a ride you are remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” I ask, raising my eyebrow. She blushes prettily and glances away.
I open her door and wait as she slides into the passenger seat. I close her door then toss her bags into the trunk, taking a deep breath before I get into the driver’s seat.
The engine purrs to life and I pull away from the curb. It’s about a twenty-minute drive to my apartment in the South Beach neighborhood. The huge steel-and-glass tower overlooking the bay is the first building I was in charge of for my father’s construction business. I oversaw every part of its construction, and when it opened up, I took the top floor for myself.
I never take anyone there. Even Marlena, who I was technically engaged to for a little while, never slept there.
And I’m taking this stripper there.
Did all of my brain flow down to my dick or something?
“So your dad’s in trouble with the Mafia?” I ask, shaking off my irritation over wondering what the hell I’m doing.
“Yeah. He was doing a good job paying them back, and I kick in everything I can, too, but it’s not enough since he lost his job.”
“What kind of work does your dad do?”
“He’s an electrician. He’s been trying to get started as an independent contractor since losing his job, but he’s not great at putting himself out there and getting business.”
I nod. I’ve seen that before. Good, skilled tradesmen are irreplaceable on a job site, but many of them are happier working as part of a firm than going out on their own. It strikes me that I can probably find the guy something.
Later. I’ll deal with that later. “He took out this loan to pay for some kind of arts academy for you?” I ask, glancing over at Samantha.
“Yeah.”
“What kind of art?”
She sighs. “Acting. I’ve wanted to be on Broadway since before I even knew what Broadway was.”
Something in her voice catches my attention. “Tell me more about that.”
She’s silent for a few moments, and I wait it out. I can be patient, but she’s going to answer me whether she thinks she wants to or not. Finally, she says, “My mom was a Broadway actress. I remember seeing her on stage. When I was little, we used to make blanket forts in our living room and eat baklava and watch musicals. I knew every word to every song of ‘Singing in the Rain’ by the time I was five,” she says, and a glance shows me that there’s a sad little smile on her lips that makes my gut twist, just a little.
“And where’s your mom in all this? Did she leave your dad?”
Samantha shakes her head. “She’s gone. Breast cancer,” she adds softly, and I want to kick my own ass for bringing it up.
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen,” she answers. And then she sighs. “I knew I wanted to be like her. She was so graceful, so talented. Her voice was like honey. I kind of felt like, if I made it, I was making it for both of us. She wasn’t ready to be done yet.” And then she gives this bitter little laugh. “So I went to the same academy she went to for three years. Pops insisted on helping me. There was no way I could have afforded it, even with the scholarships I got,” she adds, and I nod. “And now, he’s in danger of losing his life because of me.”
The self-hatred in her voice makes me want to pull over and hold her. Which is fucking stupid. This is a business arrangement, a way for me to have an easy, no-strings escort for all of the mind-numbing but necessary events I’m forced to go to over the next month. I should be thinking about that, not about how to help her fix her life.
But the fact is, I’m already finding that, to my total surprise, I actually like Samantha. She is so far from the jaded whore I expected. She’s intelligent, well-spoken, driven. And despite her nervousness, she’s the rare woman who seems to know her own worth. I would have laughed in the face of anyone else who’d told me to pay a million dollars for the privilege of hiring her as an escort. I respected her for telling me what she needed. And we made it clear: we are both here for an arrangement: I’ll use her services as often as I need, and she’ll accompany me to the boring-ass events my father makes me attend. And when the month is up, when it is time for me to start my next project, she’ll be gone.
Easy.
“Well, you fixed that. The money’s in your account, but you won’t have full access to it until the month is up.”
“That’s all that matters,” she says quietly, and we drive the rest of the way to my place in silence. She doesn’t say anything when I pull into the parking garage, though I can tell by the expression on her face that she’s impressed by the building.
We step onto my private elevator, and she glances around. The sides of the elevator are glossy black, and I can see her reflection in it. A flash of me fucking her against the wall, seeing our reflection from every angle, has me hard again.
Tonight. I’m going to have her tonight. We just have some bullshit to get through first.
Chapter 3
Samantha
When the elevator doors open, Dante leads me down a short hallway. Dark wood paneling, marble floor. Everything gleams. He unlocks the door at the end of the hallway and steps aside, waving me in.
The first glimpse of his penthouse gives me a definite “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto” kind of feeling. The same dark wood paneling from the hallway wraps around the wide-open area, except for one wall of windows, which looks right out over the bay. A kitchen and dining area are at one end, expensive-looking stainless steel appliances and black granite everywhere. Wood floors span the area. At the other end is a large living room with dark gray furniture and a large fireplace.
“Your room is this way,” he says, heading down a hallway. I follow, taking in the gleaming floors, the expensive looking artwork on the walls. He opens a set of French doors and steps into a room. I follow.
This room looks out over the bay as well. Another set of French doors leads out onto a small balcony. There’s a fireplace, a king-sized four-poster bed, an antique-looking dressing table, and a dresser.
“Bath is this way,” he says, opening another door and turning the light on. A huge clawfoot tub, sleek white tile.
“We need to lay out some rules here,” he says, and I nod. “You will live with me until the month is up. When I need to attend an event, which is often, you will accompany me. You will wear what I tell you to wear. You’ll be where I want you to be. You’ll take care of yourself. Pamper yourself. Eat well. When I want you to spend time with me, I expect you to do it. You’ll eat your meals with me.”
I bite back a comment about how bossy he is. But of course he’s bossy. He just paid a million dollars for me. He can be as bossy as he wants.
“Speaking of events, you’ll be accompanying me tonight. You’ll wear this,” he says, opening the closet doors. My jaw drops at the sight of the stunning red Valentino evening gown and matching shoes.
“How did you know my size?” I ask dumbly.
“Harry has all of your measurements,” he answers, and I nod. Of course.
“Be ready to go by seven. Wear that. I assume you can handle your hair and makeup, or do I need to call someone?”
“I can manage just fine,” I say, trying to keep my voice pleasant. What an arrogant ass.
“Good. Get ready. And when we get there, don’t talk unless you’re spoken to.”
I bite back a smart ass reply, settling for a curt nod instead. He stalks out without another word, closing the doors behind him.
“Don’t talk unless you’re spoken to,” I mutter, mimicking Dante’s gruff, commanding tone. I look at the gown again. It’s obviously expensive as hell, and I know before I even pull it on that it’ll fit me like a glove. I run my fingertips over the silk and shake my head.
Okay. So this was not what I expected. I mean, really, I had no idea what to expect. A month of lap dances? Thirty days of me prancing around naked whenever he told me to? I don’t know. From the hungry way I’ve caught him looking at me, I get the distinct impression that he’s thinking he’d like me to spend a lot of time on my back or knees.
I also know, from the way he behaved at the club, that whether that happens or not will be my choice. This isn’t a man who needs to force a woman, or a man who needs to pay for sex. I know that as surely as I know my own name. Why I’m here at all is a mystery to me, but I’ll take it. This is saving my Pops. This is giving both of us a fresh start.
And, yeah…part of me is scared to death that Dante’s going to want more. And another part of me wonders what he’ll be like if I decide to give him what he wants.
I grimace. I would lose my virginity to a man who is paying me. I’ve held onto it for so long, much longer than any other girl I knew, expecting that my first time would be with a man I was head over heels in love with. I knew there are men out there who are more than happy to use a woman and then toss her aside. I promised myself I’d never give myself to someone who didn’t respect me.
And here I am. Contemplating the possibility of giving myself to a man who is paying for my time. I’ve been thinking about how he’d feel inside me since the first time his dark, hard gaze met mine, and I’ve barely stopped since.
My stupid, romantic dreams versus my father’s life. It wasn’t even a debate. I can fall in love later. My father was running out of time, and I couldn’t lose him, too.
I spend some time doing my makeup and pulling my hair into a perfect chignon. It looks sleek and sophisticated. It goes with the dress.
I am playing a part. Acting. All I need to do is keep reminding myself of that.
When I slide the dress on, it fits as perfectly as I suspected it would. It’s a gorgeous, off-the-shoulder gown that clings to every one of my curves. There’s a slit up one thigh, and my breasts are on the verge of spilling out of it.
I’ll have to remember not to breathe too hard, or Dante’s going to have to worry about a lot more than me speaking to someone without being spoken to.
I dab on some of my perfume and look myself over. I don’t recognize myself. Well, almost. This is the me who goes out on stage and wows the audience, an actress made for a role.
Maybe, at my core, that’s all I truly am.
***
When I step out into the living room, Dante’s standing at the windows, holding an amber-colored drink in one of his hands. He turns and looks at me, and his eyes darken.
“Much better than that slutty schoolgirl costume,” he says, and I nod. It isn’t exactly a compliment, but why should I expect one?
He sighs. “Well, let’s go.” We head out, and he rests his hand at the base of my spine as I walk past him out of the penthouse. The heat of his palm sears my flesh through the slinky fabric of my gown, and I nearly trip. I do wonder, for about the hundredth time since he told me we were going out, why he didn’t have a date for this. I thought about asking him but changed my mind. It was probably best if we didn’t talk to each other too much. I don’t need to get to know him. I just need to make it through the month.
A black stretch limo is waiting in the garage, and the chauffeur helps me into the back. Dante follows, and within moments we’re driving away. I glance up at him to see him sitting in the seat across from me, dark eyes on me. His gaze flicks down to my chest and I blush.
“It, um,” I begin, clearing away the weird little catch in my throat at the way he’s looking at me, “It fits perfectly. This dress probably cost more than the house I used to live in,” I add with a nervous little laugh. Why the hell won’t he stop looking at me like that, like I’m some kind of package he’s just dying to unwrap?
“It does. I had a feeling you’d look good in red.”
I blush and glance away, and when I look back at Dante, he’s wearing this little smirk that has me pressing my thighs together.
He gives me one more assessing look, like he’s picturing me without the dress or anything else, and then he looks away. “This event is going to be boring as hell. Stay on my arm unless I tell you to go elsewhere. Smile and nod when people introduce themselves to you. If you’re forced to answer any questions, you’re an old friend of mine accompanying me for the night. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“But, in general—”
“I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Don’t speak unless I’m spoken to. I got it.”
“Does that bother you, me telling you what to do?”
I shrug.
“Answer.”
“You’re the one shelling out the big bucks, right? I’ll keep my mouth shut all you want, boss.”
“But it bothers you,” he presses, and I wonder what the hell he cares.
“Lots of things bother me. Right this second, I’m finding that you’re bothering me with questions that are pointless for me to answer.”
“Did you just politely suggest that I shut up, Samantha?” he asks, and there’s a gleam to his gaze that has me squirming, just a little.
“I didn’t think I was all that polite about it, but sure.”
“Man, I could think of a few fun ways to put that sassy mouth to use,” Dante mutters, and I shoot him a glare that feels mostly like a farce, because my body’s about to combust at the deep growl in his voice. He looks out his window again, and I force myself to stop drooling over the way his muscles bulge under his tux, or how large his hands are, or how they felt when he touched me earlier.
It’s going to be a long night.
