A Virgin for the CEO

Silently, Arianna walked down the driveway from the gate towards the two-story rest house that seemed to tower in the darkness.

It was night, and only moonlight served as the guide to see her way.

The surroundings were quiet save for the noise coming from the crickets. It was a bit cold, but she could endure it, especially as nervousness and stress had made her sweat on her walk from where she was dropped so she could go the short distance to this place.

The noise of the night wasn’t enough to drown the loud thumping of her heart, though. It caused her chest to painfully constrict, the hammering organ pushing against her ribs as if wanting to escape.

She could understand its predicament as she tried not to think of the hell she was expecting to endure in the next hour. She had read about this and heard the women in Madame Venus’ kitchen talk about it.

Sex.

They gave her all sorts of advice, only to be silenced by a ‘shh!’ from one of them a short later on. She had gotten pale because of the terror their detailed descriptions brought her. The end advice was to tell her to look at them. See them.

They were happy.

They could feed their families, send the little ones to school.

They were surviving this cruel world somehow. The consequence if they didn’t get into this trade was too dire to tell her, and some of them had gone through this and never wanted to go back again. At least, Madam Venus very carefully picked their clients, always very private and vetted. They couldn’t hope for anything more.

And it would only be just one night—nothing more—for her. She could move on with her life once this night was over. Her brother would be home. Her mother would not have to worry further about mounting dept due to her heart condition for a few more months, and they would all be okay.

Except, maybe, her.

Focus.

Now that she was back to the present, she couldn’t help but see how she was scantily dressed in dark red silk cloth, the color of the blood that would spill tonight. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking fatalistically.

Her hands were visibly shaking. She reached the bottom of the three marble steps and stopped for a moment to lift her eyes to the house... to one of the windows there where she felt a presence. A pair of unknown eyes watching her progress. But it was so dark she could barely see if curtains blocked the glass panes of that wide window. She couldn't really see if anyone was there, and she might have been imagining him.

But her body shivered.

Yes, Arianna was sure there was someone there. A man—the man—waiting for her to arrive.

She lowered her eyes to the small porch now, dark and ominous beyond the short three steps to get up to it. She gulped the nervousness that blocked her throat.

She closed her eyes and, for a moment, resisted the dizziness just waiting to engulf her. 

No, she couldn't get confused because she was scared. She couldn't afford to be a coward. She thought she was beyond that, had surrendered to the fact that there was no other choice. There was no other way but this.

She had to save Tommy. She had to do this for her little brother. Hands clasping her stomach, Arianna finally moved. She climbed the stairs and went to the large and heavy double doors.

She grabbed one of the cold, brass handles and pushed it back after a squeeze. She didn't know what to expect, but when the door opened effortlessly, she knew she had reached the point where there was no backing down and changing her mind.

No turning back. No running away.

She took the first step into the house.

And screamed when strong hands pulled her inside the darkness.

Enrique watched silently as the woman walked from the gate towards the house.

There was no hesitant step there, but slow and sure. There was a confident sway to her hips that seemed natural… full of grace. He snickered at the description he thought of.

Full of grace... yeah. So much in contrast with the bloody red scrap of sheer material which was her excuse for a dress.

He had to admire her for not wearing anything more in the cold of the night to cover her assets—her means of trade. And she was beautiful... what he could see of her, at least. She had fair skin, a bright contrast to the redness of the cloth that made her seem to float in the darkness. Her long hair, full and soft-looking, cascaded down her breasts and her back in soft, glorious curls.

She was a beauty. Brad did promise she was going to be gorgeous.

He felt heat stung his flesh as he imagined his fingers twisting strands of her hair on the pillows as he claimed her body, his cock thrusting repeatedly and satisfyingly deep into the hot, slick, and tight tunnel of her pussy. His skin started to sweat, and even he was surprised at the graphic drive of his thoughts. 

He looked at the glass of liquor he held in one hand. Lusting over a call girl like he was... he’d never lusted this hard and fast.

He'd never needed a call girl, period.

It must be the brandy.

He looked down again at the approaching woman and felt satisfaction well up his chest. Well and good that for the first time in weeks, he'd felt stirring in his loins that didn't involve the bitch.

After Helene dumped him for someone wealthier, Enrique lived in a swirl of anger and shock too heavy it hurt him to breathe sometimes. He couldn't believe that money was the only reason she stayed with him, and the same reason she then left him.

In their eight-month-long relationship, she’d successfully hidden that part of her from him—the avaricious, materialistic part. He thought he was smart when it came to women after growing up with a mother like his mother, but nooo… how shockingly stupid he could be.

He couldn't believe that the woman he had thought of dedicating his future to, the one he dreamed to get old with, was a big fake. 

He, Enrique Quiroz, was hoodwinked by a woman.

Blindsided by a fucking bitch.

Hadn’t he sworn he would never, ever be like his father?

Enrique's chest filled with bitterness and anger as he continued to watch the woman who started nearing the stairs to the patio. His eyes narrowed when he saw her jerk a little as if hit by something unseen. Like she was scared. Then he smiled. Cynically.

Go on, run away. Be scared. Who said life is easy? It's not going to be like that for you tonight...

But she didn't run.

Instead, she looked up—and stared straight at the exact spot where he stood, watching her behind the protection of his bed-room’s stained window.

It wasn't just a direct stare or the perfect beauty of her face, but the vulnerability there, too, was like a spear that pierced his heart.

He felt it like an emotional assault, and he barely caught the recoil of his own body, as if she had dealt a physical blow to his solar plexus, stealing his breath away.

It's just a trick of the light, he reasoned. Impossible. She couldn’t even see me. It’s the brandy.

When he recovered, the woman was no longer looking up. He sighed, then wondered why he did that. She was just a paid woman. He didn’t even know her.

He turned and drained the remaining brandy from the glass, suddenly very impatient, hurry to get downstairs.

To get to her. To take her.

And conquer her.

Another fucking daughter of Eve.

Get this over with, he ordered himself with gnashed teeth. And get over that look on her face that looked like she was about to burst into tears. Bitches don't really cry, they crack a laugh so pure and evil that makes any self-respecting asshole cry like a baby. 

Get over Helene's fucking shadow. Get over them bitches.

This is for you, Helene. This is for you, mother!

He reached for the door, but it opened. She was already there, and soft moonlight from the outside exposed the shape of the woman's body in the gap. Heat sprung from between his thighs so fast that he almost groaned at the feeling of stretched skin as his cock instantly hardened. She was hotter nearer his eyeballs like this than when he watched upstairs. His hand reached out and pulled her in.

He heard a small scream of surprise, then she caught it abruptly. Too late, the sound had triggered the awakened devil in him. He pushed the door shut with one hand while pulling her towards his hard body with the other.

He raised his hand and his fingers combed through the softness of her hair. His brain registered that it was softer than he had imagined, and he grunted his approval.

He slid his hand down the line of her jaw, pinched her chin and rubbed her skin with his thumb, and felt the soft fullness of her trembling lips. Oh dear… he needed to kiss her.

He could hear her breathlessness, feel the frantic rise and fall of her chest as she breathe fast.

He’d scared her. But he couldn't wait to know if he cared.

He wanted to those lips.

And he lifted her face to his for a hot, wet kiss.