Claire: The Forced Virgin Of The Billionaire

Azriel’d give me a look and say it was a bad idea and I’d c**k an eyebrow at him and then he’d f*****g zip it because he’d know he has no room to judge me.

But here I was, determined I was not doing it. I was better than that. But was I?

I pried her off me without waking her and stormed out of the room, smoked two cigarettes, drank three shots of vodka, and then I went and slept like s**t on the shitty fuckin’ futon so I could close the door and shut out the world.

Felicia’s POV

I woke up alone. I went looking for him and found the door shut to his spare room so guessed he was in there. My heart sank. The sun hadn’t yet risen but I wasn’t sleepy any longer so I padded into the master bathroom and did my business and took a shower and then because my clothes were in the room he was sleeping in and I didn’t wanna wake him I went into his closet and snatched back the flannel pjs I’d worn for just a few hours yesterday.

After a minute checking out some of his other clothes, he had a lot of great suits, I went out to the kitchen and after far too long pondering the notion I finally decided I was capable of making coffee without getting permission first.This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

Then, again after a long pondering, I decided it would probably be okay if I turned the TV on. It was odd making decisions for myself, even small ones. What to wear, what to watch, what to drink.

These things don’t seem so insignificant when you haven’t been able to make those choices for yourself. These things were huge. And Drake Clarke gave these things to me.

As I was finishing my second cup, watching the news, he came out of the other room and I heard the master bedroom door close as he went in there.

I fingered my collar and closed my eyes, feeling bad about last night and my meltdown. He must’ve thought I was bat s**t crazy. If they had seen me behave that way, they’d have … they’d have… I shuddered. I needed to pull myself together.

I heard him. I opened my eyes. He was looking at me while pouring a cup of coffee. I painted my face blank and straightened up my posture and said, “Good morning.”

“Hey,” he eyed me cautiously.

He was in chocolate brown suit pants and was carrying a blazer. The pants were slim fitting, he wore a black shirt, black tie. His hair was wet from the shower and he was freshly shaven. As he walked by and I thought about how delicious he looked I caught a whiff and he smelled good, too.

He tossed his blazer on a stool and then reached into a kitchen drawer and pulled out a memo pad and a pen and then started scrawling on it. I stared at his hands, his wrists. He had strong-looking hands. Not rough-looking like someone who works in manual labor, of course, but strong-looking. The knuckles on his right hand were a little bruised from when he’d punched the hole in the bathroom in Thailand.

Looking at his hands took me back to watching him work with his hands transforming a mound of wet sand and making it look like a castle. I saw, in my mind, those hands on my breasts. I swallowed hard. His voice jolted me out of those fantasies.

“I need to work at my office today. Got a shitload to do. Here’s my cell number. And there’s a backup number here for emergencies if you can’t reach me. If you call that number it’s Nino, he works for me now. He doesn’t know anything about you. I’ll tell him you’re a houseguest in case you need him for anything.

He’s a six and a half foot bearded bald biker with a lot of tatts so you’ll know who to expect if you do happen to need him. Otherwise do not answer the door.

The alarm’ll be armed, the building doesn’t get solicitors, and there’s no reason anyone should knock on that door. If there’s an emergency where you need out, like a fire, I’m writing down the emergency code to push to get out. This is the fire code only; you don’t press it otherwise because it’ll dispatch authorities as if you’re an intruder. You unlock the door without pushing this code it’ll ring as an intruder alarm and won’t let you out unless the place is on fire or has a C02 alarm so don’t do that.

Once we have things sorted and you can come and go freely I will program you your own access, which we can do with your fingerprint.” He made a face and took a deep breath and shook his head, like he’d just realized something, then he continued,

“If my landline rings check the call display. Only answer if it’s me or comes up on the call display with my name or the name Nino.”

“Okay.” I said. Then his words come and go freely echoed in my brain.

“You realize how serious I am about you not being able to phone anyone yet, right?” His brows were up and his vibe was pissed off badass personified.

“There’s no one I’d call, Drake. I won’t put you at risk. I promise.”

“Okay.” He stared at me for a beat and then sipped his coffee, “I’ll see you tonight. Make sure you eat, alright? Sorry for leaving you without access to your clothes this morning.” He motioned to me, clearly talking about the pjs.

“I like them.” I shrugged apologetically.

His forehead crinkled and his mouth almost spread into a smile but it looked like he halted it, “You need anything, call me.”

“I will. Have a good day.”

He took another sip of the coffee, poured the remaining contents of the mug into the sink, said, “Good coffee, by the way,” and then went to the door, grabbed his keys, and hit a bunch of buttons on the alarm panel. Then he left.

I sank onto the sofa and wrapped the blanket that he’d covered me with the other night around myself.

Drake’s POV

I’d put codes on my home phone making it password protected to dial out to anywhere but me or Nino. I’d forwarded all but my and Nino’s numbers direct to voicemail.

I didn’t wanna mistrust but with what was at stake and what with not knowing where her head was at I needed to be careful. I considered leaving a guard with her but had a feeling it would be okay, that she’d obey.

It was a busy day but work stress was the kind of stress I could easily deal with. I welcomed it. And having workable problems that I could actually solve put me in a better mood.

I called my place at lunchtime and she answered hesitantly. I asked if she was alright and she said she was. It was awkward.

“You alright?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You make breakfast or lunch?”

“I, um, ate the rest of the pizza for breakfast.”

I laughed, “Breakfast of champions.”

She let out a small laugh.

“I’ll be there around 7:00 tonight. You need me to bring anything?”

She was quiet.

“You there, Angel?” I asked gently. She had asked me not to call her Felicia anymore but she begged me not to make her tell me her real name.

“I’m here,” she whispered.

“Why’re you whispering?” I whispered back.

She cleared her throat and her voice got louder, “Sorry. I’m here.”

“What do you need that you don’t have? Maybe tomorrow as it’s Saturday I’ll take you shopping and let you loose with my credit card. Get you some more flannel pjs, girlie s**t or whatever, too?” I laughed.

“But what about tonight? Anything you need that you don’t have?”

“I have everything I need, Master,” she said softly and f**k, it just about did me in the way she said that.

“Not your Master,” I replied.

She was quiet.

“What do you wanna eat tonight?” I pushed the emotions she was stirring in me away.

“Whatever you want,” she answered.

“There has to be more than pasta you’ve craved and haven’t had in two years.”

She was quiet.

“Babe?”

“PB and J,” she said, no sighed, “Thick soft white Wonder bread. Strawberry jam with chunks of strawberries in it. Kraft smooth peanut butter.”

I laughed a little, “I think I’ll need you to be more specific.”

“I am so gonna get fat,” she said softly.

“Yeah, you are.” I chuckled.

“Hey,” she said softly but indignantly.

“Angel, if I can make it so that the worst thing that happens to you from now on is a little junk in your trunk, I’m all over that.”

“All over my trunk, Master?” she giggled.

I was surprised at her making a joke but her laugh and easy manner made me smile. That giggle was like music.

I’d bet big money that she hadn’t giggled like that too much in the past two years.

“Not your Master,” I whispered.

She didn’t reply.

“So PB & J for dinner?” I said finally to break the silence.

“Yeah,” she said hoarsely and then cleared her throat, “Yes, please.”

** ** **

I hadn’t been inside a supermarket since… I don’t even know. Rosita did all my shopping. It was a weird experience. I seemed to be getting a lot of female attention; shoppers, cashiers, especially at the check-out when I grabbed a bouquet of flowers from a bin by the checkout. I pushed away the nagging little voice telling me I’d give her the wrong idea and instead told myself I wanted to brighten up the apartment for her since she was stuck there all day.

When I got in she was watching TV and she’d jumped like a cat that wants to latch itself to the ceiling at me opening the door. I raised a hand, “Just me,” and then I hit buttons on the alarm panel.

She had her hair tied up in a high ponytail and she was wearing my pjs still. Her face was make-up free but she looked fresh and pretty. The apartment smelled like lemons. Everything was spotless.

“Definitely need to get you more flannel pjs, huh?” I jerked my chin up and dropped the supermarket bag and bouquet on the counter.

“I, I washed them and put them back on. I hope that’s okay. I did your other laundry, too, from the trip, the, uh, stuff I could wash. I saw a dry cleaning bag in the master walk-in so I put your suits in there.”

“You don’t have to clean and do my laundry, babe.” I started unpacking the groceries, “I have a housekeeper come by twice a week. s**t, Rosita’s due here Monday. We’re gonna have to figure out how to play that.” I put my index fingers to my temples.

I shook my head at that thought and then pulled out a crystal vase from a kitchen cupboard and filled it with water and then plunked the flowers in and put them in the center of the island. She smiled at the sight of them.

“So why do you like those pajamas so much?” I jerked my chin up, “Remind you of Alaska?”

She climbed up on a stool at the island. “Everything I have is just uncomfortable for lounging. Or inappropriate for outside the, uh, bedroom.”