A Virgin for a 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 debt 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've been 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 was.

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, had been 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 bedroom’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 was just a trick of the light, he reasoned. Impossible. She couldn’t even see him. It was 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 taste those lips.

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

In the attack, Arianna’s brain didn’t even get the chance to numb itself. She was pulled inside, her mind consumed and screaming in the terror of uncertainty.

His head went down and tasted her lips before she could even see his face. She just saw that he was tall. She felt pain as his big, heavy body pushed against her and pinned her to the back of the door he had shut with a bang behind her.

He was a big man, and his fingers grasped at her hair, his teeth nipped at her jaw when his lips slipped from her lips as if he wanted to kiss her whole face, which made her gasp. But he assaulted her mouth again, licked her lips with a careless, wet kiss, and she drowned in the aggressive assault of his lips.

Arianna closed her eyes as the smell of alcohol assailed her nostrils. Hands went down and slid between them and cupped her breasts, and she stifled another scream.

He squeezed, but not as hard or harsh as she thought he would. As if he was sizing them up, testing their softness. Then he grunted against her face as if he was satisfied, since his lips was kissing her cheek now, as if he was finding trouble locating her lips again. He was quite drunk.

Then his hand on her breast slid down and grabbed one of her thighs to lift around his lower torso. Another hand cupped her behind the back of her head and angled her face so that he found her mouth successfully this time, and his offensive kiss caught her gasp at the bulging hardness, as hard as a rock, that pushed at the apex of her thighs.

Naked... he... was naked under the material that her hand was grasping now, which was a silk robe. She recoiled in horror as what was about to happen to her truly struck her.

'My god, my god, don’t be like this. Don’t. Don’t be so scared!'

But she was more terrified than before. He would take her there against the door, just like that. And who knew what else he planned to do to her tonight, drunk as he was?

She couldn’t run. Couldn’t escape.

No one knew where she was now except Madame Venus. Her mother would die in despair if she knew what her only daughter was going through right now, or where her youngest child was.

No one was going to save her from this brutal monster.

She forced the bitter cry down and pushed the fear to where it couldn’t overcome her. She couldn’t make any move that showed revulsion. She didn’t know much else, but she at least knew this. He might hurt her further… and then complain about her later. Madam Venus could consider the job a fail… and then what?

Tommy. He can’t stay there. I can’t let him suffer for doing some-thing to help our mother! I have to survive this. I have to get out of here in one piece.

The man raised his head and barked angrily at her. “Kiss me, damn it! Are you a brick, whore? Kiss me now!”

She stared, her mouth gaping. She was grateful she couldn’t see his face in the dark interior of his house. She did not want to see him or recognize him anywhere. Nor did she want him to see her and remember her if they stumbled upon each other outside, in the future. So she looked down.

Then she remembered what he ordered her to do, and she winced.

Kiss.

She didn’t know how to kiss.

She hadn’t even been this close to a man, with his whole body plastered all over her like glue. She hadn’t been with any man. How was she to kiss him?

She remembered what Madame Venus told her.

“Just be beautiful. You show more flesh. Put color on your face. When he sees how beautiful you are, he knows what to do.”

That was the sage advice in the hooker’s manual, she hysterically thought.

“You don’t have to work hard. Just lie there on the bed and bear it and it will be all over before you know it,” the consensus of the other girls.

But there wasn’t even time for bed. He was trying to do her right there on the door!

“Damn it!”

She managed not to jump at his bark this time.

'Kiss him. Right.'

She raised her face, but he was sighing heavily. He stepped back and swayed a little. As her leg was still around him because he still held her thigh in place, her hips were pulled towards him, and a gap appeared between their upper bodies.

And he stopped, then looked down at her quizzically.

She could see the outline of a straight nose and the shadow of arched eyebrows. Strong jaws, and—

Before she could catch herself for looking, he had encased her in his arms, lifted her to him and carried her further inside. The moonlight penetrated the thin curtains in this part of the living room, and it was a spacious place.

With a gigantic couch.

He slid her down his hard body, and she cringed as she felt that rigid part of him again. She could now see his intent eyes as he pushed her a little to look down at her clothed body, as if contemplating what to do with it. She shuddered as she watched his hooded eyes. She couldn’t help it. There was tension in him that still made her want to run.

Then he moved.

For a drunk man, he was fast, and she heard the tearing of cloth. She would have screamed again but he’d claimed her lips again, surer in his direction this time, his hands throwing away the remnants of her dress.

Then, in the next instant, the cups of her bra were pulled up and over her breasts, its straps entangling in her upper arms so he cursed and tore those, too, with his bare hands. She was lifted off her feet and was unceremoniously dropped on the couch. Her breath whooshed out of her chest.

Bra off. Dress off. She was only in her panties as she lay there.

She was numb by now. Her hands were fists, crossed over her breasts. Inside her head was a litany of prayers to a god who seemed to have forgotten her, but she stubbornly prayed because there was nothing else to do.

When her father died, her grandmother was crying so hard, screaming how god had forsaken them. But even when her Arianna’s heart was also breaking, she felt it wasn’t true at all. God wasn’t the driver who’d gotten drunk and ran over her father on the freeway. It wasn’t god who’d killed him and left his wife a widow and his children fatherless. It was a man, not god.

She closed her eyes and instructed herself that she would not open them again until it was over.

And she waited.

And waited.

Her skin remained exposed to the cold draft of the evening air as she continued to lie there, until she heard the gasp of the man hovering over her.

Arianna almost fainted from fear. What had she done wrong now? What had she not done yet?

He was waiting for something.

She opened her eyes, and the man was just staring down at her. She stared back. It was lighter now in there. She could see his face clearly.

A handsome face, one that was very familiar to her that her heart stopped.

It was Señorito Enrique!