Claire: The Forced Virgin Of The Billionaire

It is then that I realize that she was completely clueless about what was going on. The reality of the situation hadn’t dawned on her. Yet.

“Let me make it clear to you”, I told her. “You’ll be here in my penthouse for as long as I want.” She takes in a sharp breath as her nostrils flare with anger but she doesn’t say anything, waiting for me to finish.

c*****g my head at her, I continue,” You do as I say and it’ll all be fine. Defy me and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

Scoffing, she doesn’t wait a second to shoot out a comeback from that smart, luscious mouth of hers,” And what makes you think that I’ll obey you? Just like that?” Indignance marred her face. She continues as I watch her in amusement,” Whatever sick plan you have in your head, you should get it out. AND LET ME GO!”, she screams at me, her knuckles turned white as she gripped the duvet even harder.

When I don’t say anything, she again speaks up, her voice now softer than a whisper as she sinks into the bed, trying to make herself seem as small as possible, “I won’t tell anyone about Dennis….” She trails off, making me raise an eyebrow at her. The mention of that bastard makes my b***d boil and even more madder at her for kissing him.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

“Will you kill me?”, she deadpans, looking up at me. Her emotionless eyes caught me off guard and her innocence struck something deep within me. She still had no idea what she was here for.

“No.” I tell her, expecting for her to be relieved and if she was, she didn’t show it.

“But some bad things will happen if you disobey me.”

Her eyes widened at my declaration, the craving to defy me was abundant in her expression and it pleased me to no ends.

“Stay here”, I tell her.

Walking away from her, I take off my suit jacket and place it on one of the sofas surrounding the coffee table. I stroll back toward her as I roll up the sleeves of my button-down shirt.

Claire just stays on the bed, frozen in place, deep in thought. Then for a split second, I notice her gaze flit to the door before moving back to my form. Her eyes glinted with fierce determination when she’d come to a decision.

And just like I’d expected, she makes a run for the exit after swiftly diving out of bed. But I’m by the door even before she nears it.

“You shouldn’t have disobeyed me, Claire”, I say through my teeth. She yelps in surprise when I slam my hands down beside each of her sides on the door, making a zipping sound reverberate throughout the room as goosebumps rise on Claire’s slender arms.

She sucks in a breath when I take a hold of her jaw, keeping my other hand in place beside her head. “Let go of me, you jerk!”, she glares at me and I almost laugh in surprise. She still wasn’t afraid of me. She really was a piece of work.

But she needed to know….. Just to what extent I would go to make her bid to my every command. To make her bend to my will. To make her relish in everything I gave her….. pain and pleasure both.

“Why do you defy me, Claire?”, I husk out, moving my hand from her jaw to tracing her lower l*p with my one finger as she licks her l*p involuntarily, making me m**n.

Claire’s POV

The bastard had gripped my jaw so hard, it was sure to form a bruise.

I beat against him repeatedly, trying to somehow shove him off me. But he doesn’t budge even an inch. I bring my knee up, and kick him in the shin. He g****s in pain and I take that opportunity to free myself from his grasp. I rush to the other side of the room, desperate to get away from him. ‘He was not going to do as he pleased with me’, I fiercely thought.

And then something like fear flashed before me when I noticed Azriel inching toward me, his eyes full of fury and menace. I step backward until my back hits the wall and desperation clutches at my heart yet again.

I summoned as much inner strength as I could muster, despite wanting to cower and weep as I glared at him. I glared hard, “If you think for one f*****g second that you can just steal my life from me you’ve got another—”

He cut me off, physically. In an instant he lunged from several feet away to in front of me, his hand around my throat. He held my throat and then pushed me up against a wall. He towered over me.

He stared down at me, breathing heavily, his lips an inch from my temple, his hand still against my throat, not squeezing but possessive, making a point, “You are so f*****g sexy,” he said slowly in a low and scary voice, his eyes burning into me. His body was flush against me and his e******n poked me in the abdomen, “I can’t wait to be inside of you.”

Holy s**t.

I forgot how to breathe for a second. I finally gulped against his hand and tried to regain my bearings. I was breathless, totally surprised, and pretty much petrified. I tried to slink away from him. He tightened the grip on my throat just a little. My hands came up and I tried to pull on his wrists to get him to let go. He wasn’t cutting off my air supply but it was firm and scary.

His jaw tightened. My nails dug into his wrist until I drew b***d. His eyes darted down and when he saw the b***d, I saw something shift in his gaze, “I was about to dare you to give me a reason but it looks like you just did.”

He let go of my throat and hauled me by the arm to the bed and threw me down on it so I was on my stomach. Then he climbed onto me and pinned my arms above my head. I let out a groaning protest and tried to struggle. I felt his d**k digging into my a*s. Oh no. Please no!

He let one hand go and caught both of my wrists in the other hand, re-pinning them to the bed. His free hand ripped my shots upwards so that the part that was covering my bottom tore. Humiliation, mortification, the plethora of emotions flooding through me was overwhelming.

“Look at this…” he palmed at my rear end and snapped the thong quickly.

“No! Don’t!” I screeched. His palm was hot. Or maybe my skin was hot. I didn’t know which. He rubbed it for a second.

His mouth was right against my ear and hot breath tickled me so I squirmed and then he growled low in his throat, “You’re a very naughty girl telling me No,” then his hand wedged under my h**s and he cupped me between the legs. I gasped. I felt a finger dip into the panties and touch my opening. Oh no. Please no.

He g*****d, “How come you’re wet down here, Claire?” he let out a little chuckle, a supremely pleased one, “Could it be? Do you enjoy being overpowered?”

I squeezed my eyes shut tight and held my breath. His finger circled leisurely and then I felt him gyrate ever so slightly against my behind.

“You do. f**k. And you’re all mine.” His tongue was now tracing from my earlobe up the ridge of my ear, “How did I get this lucky?”

“Not karma, that’s for sure, a*****e. And I will never, do you hear me, never ever be yours,” I grunted and tried to squirm away. Why did I say that? Why was I provoking him?

I was infuriated at the idea of my future being ripped away from me and crumpled up like a sheet of paper. I was furious with my father for doing nothing about this, it didn’t make sense because he didn’t even know where I was but nothing made sense anymore. I was mad at myself for not being stronger, not finding a way to get this guy off of me. He was violating me!

I was also mad because he was right, I was wet down there. And I didn’t understand why my body was reacting like this. Sure, I found him hot when I first saw him, insanely attractive even. But I imagined nothing like this. I’d been wrong, so wrong to fantasize about this guy. This was a dangerous guy who had me pinned to his bed, who’d grabbed my throat, ripped my clothes off, who was violating me, who’d threatened me. Who’d said he owned me. Who’d said scary things that were a nightmare come true to any woman.

“You’re disgusting,” I spat.

His finger left and his weight was no longer on me but then he slapped me hard on the a*s. I shrieked. Then he slapped my a*s again and then stuck his finger in me again. I frowned and held my breath.

“Oh but you are mine,” he whispered, “I like your spirit, Claire. And I look forward to breaking it.”

Despair crested over me at those words. He let go of me then and he was off the bed. I whimpered, devastation filling me, but I stayed still.

I think he stood behind me, staring at me. I could hear him breathing. A few moments seemed to pass and then I heard a zipper and his shirt landing on the floor. Oh no — no, no. I scrambled up and tried to bolt for the door. He was fast. He caught me by the arm and walked me back to the bed and pushed me down and then looked like he was about to straddle me.

“I’m not gonna f**k you tonight, Claire,” he said, watching me scramble up to the headboard, “You can relax.” He kicked off his shoes and toed off his socks and then dropped his suit pants, leaving him in just a tight pair of black boxer briefs.

He fetched a dark blue shirt from some almirah in the room I’d laid my eyes on before but didn’t care to shuffle around in there. He tossed it at me. It landed beside me. He looked so calm.

How could he be so calm with what he was doing to me? What kind of sick psycho was I dealing with?

“You can sleep in that; hurry back,” he smirked and motioned with his chin toward what I’d already discovered was the bathroom door on the opposite end of the room. He was standing there, arms folded. His body was lean and muscular. He looked even better without clothes than I’d imagined but it wasn’t comforting — not one bit.

His left arm was tattooed with a patchwork of black tribal-looking symbols that travelled from just above his wrist up his arm and over his shoulder. He was strong, muscular, someone I’d have a lot of trouble fighting off. He looked at me hungrily, “Like what you see, Claire?”

I shook my head, “Not at all.” I grabbed the shirt and headed for the bathroom, hearing him laugh at me as I closed the door. Once alone in there, I started to blubber like a baby.

I sat on the floor against the door for the longest time, face buried in my knees, a*s on the cold floor. Eventually, I knew I had to go back out there. I heard a door. Maybe he was gone.

I took off my ripped shorts, took off my tank top, which now had a big snag in it, kept my bra and underwear on, and put the blue dress shirt on.

I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked horrible. Tear tracks streaked on my cheeks, my eyes all red, my hair a disheveled mess. I washed my face with hot water and a fluffy white washcloth that had been on the vanity and then hung my clothes up on a hook beside the shower stall. This bathroom was luxurious. The whole master suite was. And I couldn’t wait until I could forget it even existed.

The shirt smelled like him, his cologne. It felt foreign to have that scent on me. I felt bile rise in my throat at the idea of it, the idea of him clothing me in things that smelled like him. It seemed so primitive.