Claire: The Forced Virgin Of The Billionaire

Just how dark and evil was he? How many people had he killed? What kind of illegal stuff did his family participate in? Was he involved in profiting from the s*x slave rings he’d threatened me with?

This morning when we were shot at and he turtled over me and it did something to me. Something I couldn’t quite name but it was like the night he rescued me in Mexico he’d sliced me open and then when he climbed onto me this morning to protect me, that open wound still there, he climbed right inside of it, of me. But because of the way he’d seesaw between dark and light I felt like I was always on eggshells. The light was nice; it almost verged on puppies and rainbows in my heart sometimes. The dark was scary. But then the dark could also be exciting. I’d even invited it, with volunteering to play s*x games, with provoking him. What was my problem? Was I just a stupid little girl playing games out of my depth? Yes, way out of my depth. Way.

He sang into my ear the very last line of the song, “For you are mine, at last.” Then he looked into my eyes and the loft was silent and nearly dark except for the little glimmer of candlelight from the table and the stars outside the opened doors, or no wait, those were fireflies twinkling out over the field or the pond. Fireflies. Oh, man! How could I keep my guard up at this rate?

It was a magical moment, dancing in candlelight and firefly light, wearing only his shirt, him half naked and gorgeous, up where there was no one but us, in his special place that he’d only ever shared with me, and he was full of light right now, not darkness. For someone who didn’t do relationships he sure knew how to set a romantic scene. The music stopped and we were still dancing, dancing to the sound of nature outside.

If it could often be just like this, would it be enough for me? Would I be able to live under his regime, under his rules, in a world of crime and danger? Did I have a choice in the matter? How dangerous was his life? What sorts of illegal things did he do? I still didn’t even really know.

He was still looking into my eyes; I was looking into his. It was like we were both stripped bare. He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckle just above where the engagement ring sat. Then he looked at the ring for a beat and dropped to one knee, making my heart skip a beat, “Claire, I want you. I want you to be mine forever. Not because I’m bending to my uncle’s will, not because I have to get married to take over for my uncle. I want to marry you because…” He stopped and looked away for a second. Then he looked up at me again and took a slow breath and said, “I’m about to say something to you that I’ve never said to another woman so know that when you hear this.”

I gave him a little almost imperceptible nod, suspecting I knew what was about to come out of his mouth but not sure that it was at all possible he was about to say what I suspected was about to come out of his mouth. But then he said it.

“I’m in love with you.”

I think my mouth dropped open. His eyes took on a fierceness, “Right here, right now, decide to give me a chance. Forget, for a second, everything on the bad side of the scales you’ve been weighing out and think only about the possibilities. Will you wear this ring voluntarily? Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” I said without even pausing first. This beautiful, powerful, rich man who could have almost any girl in the world wanted me. Me. The half foster kid with the f****d up life, the lowlife father, a bitchy stepmother, no money, nothing all that special about me. He wanted me. How could I say No? I didn’t even factor in the consequences of saying No because right then, I wanted him, too. I wanted this beautiful moment to be real. I wanted my life to be a life, not a life sentence. I wanted this man who would not hesitate to be a human shield to keep me safe from gunfire; I wanted this big strong beautiful man who would fight a pile of scary dudes with big guns because they tried to hurt me. I wanted to feel the safety of his arms, the insane pleasure his body was capable of giving me. I wanted to dance in the moonlight with fireflies; I wanted him to be mine.

I fell down into his arms and wrapped my limbs around him. He pulled me close to him, so close it felt like he was trying to absorb me.

His hands went under the shirt and gripped my bare back and he buried his head into my chest and just held me and let me hold him for what felt like a really long time. I rested my cheek on the top of his head and melted into him. After what felt like a long time, he lifted me up as he stood, like I weighed nothing, and I was about to wrap my legs tighter around his waist but he hoisted me over his shoulder and I squealed in surprise. He tossed me onto the bed and then playfully pounced on me.

Then, he made love to me, tenderly, sweetly, his eyes liquid with unshed tears, and when he brought me to climax, I held onto him for dear life, wanting to freeze the beauty of that moment in time. I cried afterwards, a different kind of crying. A big cathartic release and he held me tight, caressing me. We were both shaking. It felt so real and so right.