Virgin Wanted (BWWM Billionaire Romance) (3 page)

Alisha

Marcus Whitelaw is
gorgeous
, and I’m not one to use that word lightly. I’m talking the heart-stopping, panty-melting,
unable-to-stop-myself-from-immediately-imagining-him-naked
kind of gorgeous.

When I first step inside the office, he’s standing with his back to me, gazing out on the sprawling city skyline below us that’s shown off impressively through the amazing floor-to-ceiling windows that make up three of the four walls of his office, but the moment he turns around to look at me? Well, let’s just say that his beauty hits me with the full force of a steamroller, knocking all the air from my lungs and all sensible thoughts from my head.

He’s
tall
– way over six foot – and the immaculately tailored lines of his beautiful navy suit tell me that underneath that sumptuous blue cloth, he’s
built
too.

But the absolute jewel in the crown is his face. It’s perfect, flawless (and did I mention
gorgeous
already?!). His big grey eyes pin me firmly in place the moment they set upon me and I actually feel myself getting sucked into them – like he’s sending out some kind of crazy traction beam. Meanwhile his thick, sensuous lips curl into the faint suggestion of a smile, lighting up his perfectly symmetrical face, which is framed exquisitely by thick blonde hair and
the
most chiseled, sculpted jawline I’ve ever seen before on man or woman, not to mention the most beautiful cheekbones, too -- cheekbones that would be the envy of any model. Even the dusting of light brown stubble that flecks his tanned, honey-colored skin only adds to the appeal, along with the way his collar is a little rumpled, and his tie is pulled open, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of his thick manly neck.

And you know what’s weirdest of all?

I feel my body responding to him – in a way it
never
does. You see, I guess part of the reason I’ve remained a virgin my whole twenty-one years of existence, is that I’ve just never found guys
that
attractive – certainly not the way all my girlfriends did back in college seemed to do, gushing and cooing over ‘cute’ boys and so forth. I just couldn’t ever quite see what all the fuss was about.

But right now?

Right this moment, staring into the eyes of this absolutely flawless, gorgeous man?

Well, suddenly it’s like all those dormant hormones have kicked in at once.

I can feel my nipples tightening beneath the cups of my bra, and my clit starting to throb in my panties, almost
painfully
.

“Miss Adams?” he says, in that beautifully rich, low voice of his, the maddening trace of an accent making me wonder just
where
in the world he comes from, and I nod, unable to speak, still rooted firmly to the spot by his beautiful eyes. “Please, take a seat.”

He gestures to the sumptuous tan leather chair that faces onto his large mahogany desk, while he casually strides around it and sits down facing me. And when I finally begin to walk again on my now-unsteady legs, sure enough I feel an embarrassing
dampness
in my panties.

“Thank you so much for taking the time to come and see me, Miss Adams,” he continues, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk as he threads his long tanned fingers together, the glinting flash of his Rolex watch almost dazzling me for a moment as a beam of sunlight that’s cascading through the glass walls of this office strikes it dead-on. “I hope it hasn’t been too much of an inconvenience for you to travel all the way here from ... Where was it, Philadelphia?”

Damn
, I think, trying to ignore the weird ways my body is crying out to him,
even the way he speaks is hot
.

There’s just something so damn sexy about how
formal
he is – how
businesslike
and
polite.

“I, uh, I’ve never been to New York,” I stutter awkwardly in reply, cursing myself at how clueless and small-town I sound right now. “So it’s been really fun just visiting somewhere new. Thank you for the opportunity ...”

And I know I should just shut up here and let him do all the talking; explain exactly what the ‘job’ he’s advertising for entails. But for some reason I just
keep
on talking, feeling my mouth running on regardless.

“It must have cost you quite a bit of money to do this. I mean, I can’t be the
only
girl you’ve paid to fly out here, right?”

At this he smiles enigmatically and raises one thick, perfect eyebrow, resting his sculpted, stubble-flecked chin on his interlaced fingers.

“Actually?” he says in that strange, captivating accent. “You’d be surprised,
Alisha
, by just how few girls there are in your ...
position
...”

The moment he says my name, I feel a shiver run down my spine. It’s crazy. The way my body’s responding, it’s like he’s hypnotized me.

“So how many other girls
have
applied?” I continue, suddenly desperate to know the answer, even though I still don’t know what exactly it is he even wants me
for
.

“I should admit there have been a few,” he admits. “But none as beautiful, none as
perfect
as you.”

I feel another deep pang of embarrassment, my face flushing with heat as he says this.

Is this guy for real?

I don’t know what to do or say with a flat out compliment like that, and find myself just wishing I could somehow change the subject.

“This is, um, an amazing office you have here ...” I offer meekly.

He laughs, once again pinning me with his smoldering grey-blue eyes.

“I’m guessing that nobody has ever told you how beautiful you are,” he says, slowly, deliberately, that deep voice of his resonating right through me.

I shake my head, shifting uncomfortably in my chair, my clit throbbing even harder despite myself.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” he continues.

I feel my heart begin to drum, too. Is this kind of questioning really necessary?

“Uh-uh,” I say quietly, shaking my head again, deciding to tell the truth.

“And why is that, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, hearing the trembling nerves in my voice now, just wishing to God he’d change the damn subject. “I guess I’ve just never been that into boys ...”

Before now
, I think. But Marcus Whitelaw isn’t a ‘boy’ is he? He’s a
man
... The most beautiful, gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Shit.

I need to keep it together here. I still don’t even know what the hell he wants from me ...

“What about girls?” he says with a playful smile, catching me totally off guard.

The heat increases in my cheeks, sizzling now, as I shake my head again.

“Girls either,” I say in an almost whisper. “So, Mr Whitelaw,” I continue, trying to summon any remaining scraps of confidence, “what exactly do you want from me? I mean, I still don’t know why you’ve even paid for my ticket here. What is it about girls ... like
me
that you like exactly?”

At this, he sits back casually in his chair, obviously thinking the question over, taking his time before he replies.

“That’s a good question,” he says slowly. “Well, Alisha, I suppose I should be a little more forthcoming about our possible
arrangement
. As you can probably guess, I am a very busy man. I have a lot of responsibilities here at Whitelaw Enterprises. And I imagine there was perhaps one particular word in my advert that drew your attention to it, was there not?”

“There was,” I admit, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow me.

“And what word was that, Alisha?”

I blush even harder, squirming in my seat. Is he really going to make me
say
it?

“Virgin,” I whisper.

“That’s right,” he says. “Virgins fascinate me, Alisha. I find myself drawn towards the mix of innocence and curiosity that a girl like you no doubt possesses. After all, aren’t you dying to find out what all the fuss is about?”

I turn my burning face away from him, unable to speak. But he continues on regardless ...

“There’s nothing more intriguing to me than opening up a young woman to all the sexual possibilities – all the many things that lay before her. However, increasingly, as I’m sure you’re aware, a virgin is a hard thing to come across. And so I find myself in the rather frustrating position of having to
advertise
for one ... And even then, there weren’t exactly hundreds of suitable applicants if you know what I mean ... But enough about me. I want to know a little more about you, Alisha. Have you done
anything at all
with a boy?”

I think hard about my limited experience: nothing more than a few fumbled kisses, a few awkward fondles, then shake my head, feeling my heart booming loud in my ears and my cheeks so hot now they feel like they might catch fire.

“Very good,” he replies with a smile. “I think that you’re
exactly
what I’m looking for. So, I suppose you’d like me to explain a little more about the arrangement, correct?”

I nod, totally lost for words – totally transfixed and pinned into place by this strange and captivating man.

It all feels so unreal; like something out of a corny novel.

“I would take possession of you for one week. And during that time, Alisha, you would be
mine
– to do with as I pleased. Do you understand what I mean by this?”

“I, uh, I think so ...” I croak in reply.

“I want to
take
you, Alisha. I want to teach you. I want to
taste
you. And by the end of the week ... I want to
have
you. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

I can tell that he’s getting excited as he talks. There’s this devilish, animal glint in his eye, and I feel my palms going clammy and a cold sweat breaking out on my skin. I feel myself shaking my head and moving, too, getting ready to push myself up out of my seat and get the hell out of here. I mean, I guess I
knew
deep down that it was gonna be something sexual – something skeezy and creepy. But even so, I feel totally uncomfortable as he speaks, totally out of my depth, and now all I wanna do is leave.

“I’m sorry,” I begin, pushing myself unsteadily to my feet. “I think there’s been some kind of mistake ...”

“Oh, come off it, Alisha,” he chides, his voice growing cold all of a sudden and his mouth curling in a venomous sneer. “What the hell did you
think
an advert for a Virgin Wanted would be about? Did you think I was asking you to come here to help pet kittens?”

“I’m really sorry, Mr Whitelaw,” I repeat, backing away from him now, feeling churned up, my head spinning, my stomach twisted with nausea, not to mention just a little bit
afraid
of him.

And as I move away, he gets up from the desk too, walking out from behind it, striding quickly towards me, towering over me, his eyes so cold and piercing.

“You’re telling me that you’re about to walk out on
one million dollars
?” he hisses.

I stop dead in my tracks, scanning his face. But this is no joke – he’s being totally and utterly serious.

“One
million
dollars?” I repeat in a whisper.

He nods his head, slowly.

“You heard correct, Alisha. One million dollars. For a single week of your time. For possession of your body. For possession of your virginity.”

“Can I think it over?” I say, my brain reeling and whirling, like I’m suddenly in some kind of crazy dream.
One million dollars?
I mean, that would totally transform my whole entire
life
...