The Billionaire and the Virgin

  And he was in fucking heaven, himself, her wet cunt like a hot glove, and her body taking everything he was giving her. He continued to thrust into her without finesse, working her over until his balls were slapping against her skin with every thrust, and she was giving these breathless little moans, and her tits were jiggling with every pound of his cock into her.

  “Oh,” she moaned again. “Oh, I think I feel something—”

  “Squeeze me with your legs, Marjorie,” he instructed her, angling her hips again. He hadn’t found her g-spot yet, but she was squirming and moving so much that it was hard to pin down. But when she obeyed and her legs clenched tight around him, he grabbed her hips again and raised her higher, and his cock pumped into her again.

  This time, her eyes flew open. “Oh fuck! What was that?”

  A laugh burst from him. “That was the perfect angle.” And he stroked into her again.

  “Oh fuck!” she cried out again, and then she gave another little shrill cry as he pounded her once more. “Oh my fuck!”

  “You coming, sweetheart?”

  “Fuck!” She yelled in his ear, and he felt her cunt quiver around him.

  That was all he needed to know. He pushed into her, hard, rough, and she gave a little scream, her body clenching around him as she came.

  He thrust rough and hard and then he came himself, his release finally roaring through him so fiercely that black spots swam before his eyes and he momentarily lost his breath. He gave her another slow stroke, finishing his orgasm, and then fell forward onto her, their damp skin sticking together as they both sought to catch their breath.

  And . . . damn if that wasn’t an amazing fuck. The best he’d ever had. With a gusty sigh, he gave her another quick kiss and then rolled off of her so he didn’t crush her with his weight.

  Marjorie made a soft sound of protest as he did. “You weren’t heavy. I liked the way you felt.”

  “I like the way you feel underneath me,” he said, skimming a hand down her sweat-damp flesh. “But I should probably take this condom off.” Reluctantly, he hauled out of bed and went to the bathroom and cleaned himself up. Then, he returned with a damp washcloth and gestured at Marjorie. “Let me do the honors.”

  Her face flushed bright red, but she obediently opened her legs for him, and he bathed her tender tissues, noting that she had bled a little, but not a ton. Good. He hadn’t wanted to hurt his virgin.

  Virgin no longer, though. He couldn’t help feeling a little pride at that. Marjorie was now his, body and soul. He returned the washcloth to the bathroom and then climbed back into bed with her, dragging her body against his and tangling his legs with her long, slim ones.

  “Stay the night with me,” he told her, pressing kisses against her shoulder blades as they spooned. “I sleep better when you’re against me.”

  “I have to wake up early,” she cautioned him, but she didn’t move a muscle to get out of bed.

  “I’ll set the alarm. Just stay with me.”

  “Always,” she murmured softly, and as his hand cupped her breast, her hand covered his.

  And it felt fucking perfect.

  “I love you,” she said softly to him.

  Rob only squeezed her tighter against him, dread clenching in his stomach. She might love him now, but what about tomorrow, when she learned the truth about who he really was?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  For some reason, Rob was sweating, even though the temperature on the thermostat read a balmy 74 degrees. Marj adjusted his tie for him and then smoothed a hand down the shoulders of his black formal jacket. “You okay?”

  He gave her a distracted smile. “Great. Peachy.”

  Marjorie nodded, but didn’t bring it up again. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Rob was unhappy at having to attend the rehearsal dinner with her, but she didn’t want to back down. This meant something to her. This meant he’d come out in front of all of her friends and would show them just how much being with her meant to him.

  And she needed that. She needed that badly. So she put aside any twinges of misgiving at Rob’s stiff attitude. Last night had more than made up for any hint of distraction today. Dreamily, she put on the last touches of her makeup in his mirror and tried not to think about how incredibly intimate—and mind-blowing—losing her virginity had been. She’d expected it to be good. With Rob, she’d expected it to be great. But she hadn’t quite anticipated three leg-noodling orgasms in a row that sent her screaming over the edge, and cussing. The way he’d been able to bring her body to orgasm had been downright shameless, and she was already anticipating tonight. Gretchen had laughingly given all of the bridesmaids expensive sex toys as gifts yesterday, and Marjorie had blushed, mortified, when she’d received her intimidating looking “rabbit” vibrator. Now she was wondering if Rob would use it on her and how that would feel.

  But then her lipstick was finished, and she looked at the clock, and it was time to go. “I suppose we should head on down,” she told him.

  “That’s fine,” Rob said, his voice surprisingly toneless. “I’m ready when you are.”

  She emerged from the bathroom and smiled at him, hoping he’d approve of her dress. It was a peachy thing made of a floaty chiffon that tied under her breasts and her neck and made her long form look willowy. She’d loved it, but it was too flimsy and formal for anything but a wedding. Tonight, however, it was perfect, and she felt a bit like a princess, especially with her sparkly heels . . . and her very own Prince Charming on her arm.

  “Shall we go?” she prompted when he didn’t move.

  He looked over at her then, and it seemed as if he was focusing on her for the first time. To her surprise, he pulled her against him and took her mouth in a hard, passionate kiss that made her dazed with pleasure. When he finally pulled away, she was breathless and her trembling fingers moved to his lips to wipe her lipstick off. “W-what was that for?”

  “That was because you’re beautiful and I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.”

  Marjorie smiled. That was close to an admission of love. Close. “I love you,” she said softly. “Thank you for coming with me.”

  The smile he gave her was grim. “No need to thank me.”

  Marjorie fought the impending sense of doom as they left Rob’s room and headed down to the lobby of the hotel. The Red Ballroom had been reserved for the rehearsal dinner, and it was on the main floor, down a private hall. And Marjorie held Rob’s hand, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt beautiful and confident despite the fact that she was six inches taller than her date in her high heels. With Rob, it didn’t matter, because he made her feel beautiful no matter what.

  When they got to the double doors, there was a bodyguard in a tuxedo checking names. They stood in line with other chatting, formally dressed people, but Marjorie didn’t recognize them. Rob seemed to grow even more nervous, and his hand was squeezing hers tightly. Was Rob . . . shy? Was that the problem? He didn’t seem like the type.

  They got to the door, and Marjorie smiled at the man with the clipboard. “Marjorie Ivarsson and date.”

  “Date’s name?” the man asked, scanning his list with a pen.

  Odd that they should ask. “Rob Cannon.”

  The guard looked up and frowned at them. “Please wait here.”

  “Marjorie,” Rob said as they stepped aside. The guard slipped into the room, closing the double doors behind him.

  She frowned. “Maybe the wedding party is supposed to go through a different door? I didn’t ask.”

  “It’s not you,” Rob told her. “It’s me. I should leave.”

  “What? No, I want you here with me,” Marjorie told him, panic and hurt threading through her. “You’re my date. I don’t see why that’s an issue.”

  “You’ll see,” he said in a low, defeated voice.

  The doors to the dining hall swung open and out stormed Logan. He was followed by two big men in tuxedos that were clearly security, and
they headed straight for Marjorie and Rob.

  “You piece of shit,” Logan snarled, pointing at her date. “I can’t believe you have the balls to come here.” He rushed forward and grabbed Rob by the lapels of his jacket.

  Marjorie gave a little scream, looking on in dismay. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s okay, Marjorie,” Rob said, an unnatural smile on his face. He put his hands in the air, as if conceding a battle. “My friend Logan here is just a little upset I came to his party.”

  “I warned you a dozen times about fucking with my wedding,” Logan said, and for a horrible moment, Marjorie thought Logan was going to punch Rob.

  “I invited him,” she said, stepping up when it didn’t look like Rob was going to defend himself.

  Logan looked over at her, as if seeing her for the first time, and then back at Rob. His sneer grew worse. “Really? Even after I warned you?”

  “Warned him?” Marjorie asked. “Warned him about what?”

  “Nothing, sweetheart,” Rob said. “Logan’s just losing his temper over nothing.”

  “Over nothing? She’s a nice girl and she deserves better than you. I told you to fucking stay away from her.”

  Why would Logan want Rob to stay away from her? Confused, Marjorie looked from one man to the other. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll go where I want, when I want,” Rob told Logan. He looked utterly furious and resigned at the same time . . . as if he’d been expecting this. “You sure as fuck can’t tell me who to date.”

  Logan’s lip curled. “Isn’t that what you wanted, though? A way to get my attention? Well, you have it.”

  “Fuck off,” Rob snapped. “This isn’t about that.”

  “Isn’t it?” Logan said. “You’ve been blackmailing me by threatening to sic the press on my goddamn wedding for the last week and a half. And now you’re sleeping with one of the bridesmaids as your ticket in? That’s low.”

  Wait . . . sleeping with her to get into the wedding? Marjorie’s eyes widened and she looked over at Rob. “That’s not true, is it?”

  “Of course it’s not fucking true,” Rob shot back, giving her a briefly wounded look for doubting him.

  Marjorie’s voice was quiet. “Then what does he mean about blackmailing him?”

  He looked at Logan, and Marjorie could visibly see Logan’s jaw clench. The man looked terrifying. She knew he was protective of Brontë, but she couldn’t quite grasp why he was flying out here to defend her from Rob. Then, Rob moved toward her and took her hand. Dazed, she let him grip it, and he gave her a little squeeze and leaned in. “We need to talk, you and I. Somewhere private. I’ll explain everything.”

  “I told you to leave her alone,” Logan said in a warning voice. The two bodyguards behind him started to move forward.

  “No,” Marjorie said, interrupting. She put a hand up to stop them, and then looked at Rob. “I’ll go with you. But I want answers.”

  He nodded and began to tug her forward by the hand, down the hall. “Come on. We need some privacy. Let’s go to the gardens.”

  She let him drag her along after him, her mind swirling with questions and worry. People stared at them as they rushed past, and she felt a bit of humiliation at being turned away at the door to the reception dinner. What on earth was wrong with her date? Why did Logan hate him so much?

  And what had he meant by “blackmailing”? She’d spent most of the week with Rob and he’d seemed happy to be in her company. In fact, he hadn’t wanted her to leave his side.

  But still . . . why did Logan think Rob was using her to get to the wedding? And why was Rob being so weird about it? An unhappy gnawing settled in her stomach, making her feel ill.

  This all had to be a mistake. It had to be. A misunderstanding of some kind.

  As they walked out into the gardens of the resort, though, a trio of men came down another path, heading toward them. They had cameras on their shoulders and the one in the front carried a microphone. Oh, no. Marjorie tensed even as the men approached.

  “Well, hello there, gorgeous. You interested in playing Tits or GTFO—oh, hey, hi there, Mr. Cannon.” The man with the microphone looked surprised. And confused.

  “What are you doing here?” Rob said, his voice a snarl. He pushed Marjorie behind him protectively. “I thought I told you fucks to get off this island.”

  “It’s all right,” Marjorie murmured, running a soothing hand down Rob’s sleeve. He was so furious that she was worried there’d be a new scene in the gardens and then they’d be surrounded by people again. “Let’s just go—”

  “Sorry, boss,” said the man with the microphone sheepishly. “We’ve been getting some good filming so we figured it wouldn’t hurt to stay another day or two.”

  “You figured wrong. I told Smith that you guys were to leave the island. You’re all fucking fired.”

  Betrayal made her skin prickle with realization. Stomach churning, Marjorie jerked her hand from Rob’s, the conversation finally sinking in. “‘Boss’? These men are your employees?”

  Rob turned to look at her, frustration clear on his face. “Let’s just go to the gazebo and talk, Marjorie, please. I’ll explain everything.”

  “Start explaining now,” she said, hands on her hips and a horrible, nightmarish ache in her heart. This was beyond hurt, beyond disappointment. She felt like ice, all frozen inside. Somehow, though, she managed to stay upright even though it felt like her heart was breaking into a million tiny pieces.

  “Fine,” Rob said, and raked a hand through his hair nervously. He looked around and then gestured at a nearby carved stone bench. The camera crew stood there awkwardly for a minute, until Rob turned to them. “Get the fuck out of here. You’re all still fired.”

  Trembling, Marjorie sat on the bench and clasped her hands on her knees, forcing a calm to her expression that she didn’t quite feel. She watched, sick to her stomach, as Rob sat next to her and then rubbed his face again.

  “I’m not the man you think I am, Marjorie,” Rob told her, clearly miserable.

  “I think I’m starting to understand that.” Her voice shook a little despite all her attempts to appear strong and in control. “So who are you really?”

  He gave a small, ironic chuckle and a shake of his head. “I kept waiting for you to google me, you know? To look up all my dirty misdeeds and then throw them in my face. I just never expected you to actually trust me. No one does, you know.” He rubbed his jaw and glanced over at her. “For the record, all the shit in the tabloids is fake.”

  “What . . . things in the tabloids?”

  “The coke, the models, the late-night parties. It’s all just PR. That, and once your rep hits a certain point, you can’t blow your nose in public without everyone assuming you just did lines in the bathroom.”

  “Rob, I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Marjorie told him. “Start over. I don’t know what any of this means. Is Rob even your real name?”

  “It’s my real name,” he agreed. “Robert Cannon, owner of The Man Channel and a few other networks.”

  “The Man Channel,” she murmured, trying to think. “It sounds sexist.”

  “It is. We specialize in lowbrow humor, tittie shots, and whatever we can get away with on basic cable.”

  She recoiled. That sounded . . . revolting. “Why? Gosh, why?” It was exactly the sort of thing she hated. “Why peddle women?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know. Because there’s money to be made there, and I’m good at it?” He rubbed his neck, clearly uncomfortable with having to explain himself. “When I was a kid, I grew up in a group home because no foster home wanted an eight-year-old boy with attitude problems. I had nothing to my name but three shirts and two pairs of pants. Nothing. Nada. When I hit eighteen, they tossed me out, patted me on the back, and told me to go earn a living. So I joined the Army. And after two years in the Army, I didn’t re-up. I hated it. I wanted to be my own boss. My own man. All my life, I’d answered to someo
ne. So a buddy and I got drunk one night and we started spitballing ideas. I don’t know who came up with the whole ‘Show Me Your Tits’ idea for a show, but it worked. We started doing videos and they got carried on late-night TV, and then eventually we made our own network. I bought out my buddy and continued expanding on things until I made The Man Channel a household name. I made it from nothing.”

  “I think it’s awful,” she told him with a small shake of her head. “You’re preying on women.”

  “I’m not ‘preying’ on anyone,” Rob said in an irritated tone that told her he’d had that conversation before.

  “You are. I’ve seen clips of the show. The women are drunk or pressured by the men to the point that they feel like they have to give in. That’s not fair.”

  “It’s just a stupid show, Marjorie.”

  “It wasn’t so stupid when they came after me,” she said quietly.

  To that, he said nothing.

  “And those men with the cameras are your employees,” she said slowly. “And they’re here to mess up Logan’s wedding.”

  “Yes—no, actually. Okay, fuck.” He raked a hand through his hair again. “Where do I start. So I came to the island wanting a business deal with Hawkings for a new channel. I figured if I caught him on vacation, I might loosen him up. I had no idea he was here to get married. Anyhow, I nearly drowned and you saved me, and from that point on, it became my goal to find out who you were, because I was already half in love with you at first sight.” He looked over at her, and his expression was tender and hopeful.

  Hers remained horrified.

  He sighed. “Right. Anyhow, I was leaving that night when I ran into you in front of the hotel, so then I decided to stay a few more days to get to know you. In the meantime, Logan finds me in the bar and won’t give me the time of day. Said I was not doing the kind of business he was interested in and to get off the island because I was fucking up his wedding. I got pissed and told my Tits crew to come here and make a nuisance of themselves. Once they accosted you, I told them to leave. It seems they don’t take orders very well.” He grimaced.