Can't Buy My Love: Billionaire and Virgin Romance Collection Read online

  I don’t want another man but you. I know you probably aren’t used to that much commitment, that it’s not your usual “game” but I’ll work on you. I’ll get myself to stay longer and longer, even after you think you’re done with me. As I think this, I feel my clit and pussy come on him. I squirt heavily on his thumb and cock.

  I’ll get myself to stay and stay, and soon you won’t even have to ask me if I want to anymore, because I’ll just be around. I’ll be with you, and that will be that, for the rest of your life.

  In that moment, Will’s dark, knowing eyes find me. As they do, they seem to read that plot — the plan — of mine. But instead of looking irritated or afraid, he looks drunk. He’s lost on love right as he comes inside me again.

  His seed coats my pussy, saying what he can’t yet: “I love you, Samantha.”

  I lay back feeling happy and content.

  THE END

  Riding His Virgin

  Club Lush Book 3

  Copyright © 2019

  Jamie Knight –

  Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter One - Shay

  Well, now I’ve seen everything!

  It’s one of my best friend’s twenty-first birthday and we are in a place like nothing I have ever seen before. We started the night at your regular, old, run-of-the-mill dance club, and we’ve ended up at a place called Club Lush. And when I say we, I mean all of us NYU college girls, my best friends — Karen, Samantha, Becky, Britney and Melissa, who is the birthday girl. We came over to this side of town originally for a night of fun and dancing. Something special and away from the usual hangout spots. It is Melissa’s twenty-first birthday, after all and you only turn twenty-one once.

  But still, I can’t believe we’ve ended up in a place like this. Club Lush is a sex club, by the looks of it. People are walking by in hoods and masks, on collars and leashes; people are being strapped to the walls and fucked. Some whipped and toyed with using a variety of gadgets I’ve never even seen before, and right in front of us. In front of the dining and drinking tables, that some hostess has led us to.

  When we all piled in the car to come dance this evening, this kind of place didn’t even cross my mind. I didn’t even know this sex club was here, until Britney forced us to chase down this fancy dressed couple like the white rabbit down the rabbit hole in Alice In Wonderland! Britney, who is a fashion design student, can never let a good outfit go by without asking the owner where they bought it.

  I certainly do feel like Alice now. Way out of place. A little concerned and scared, but also curious and intrigued. Gently, I take my seat, and encourage Melissa, the timid one of us, to do the same.

  She wasn’t doing well at the other club we were at. She was worse than a fly on the wall. She was wallpaper! The way she tried to blend in, not talk to anybody, it was sad. It’s also not unexpected, since she’s always been on the shy side, but in a place like this she must be terrified.

  I squeeze Melissa’s hand encouragingly, kindly. My thick, colorful bracelets clack together softly as I do. One has moons and stars on it, while the other is filled with unicorns, my favorite animal.

  “It’s okay,” I tell Melissa, hoping she isn’t going to completely shut down, “I’m sure this will be fun. Interesting and different for sure.” I watch the couples moving and dancing around the floor. People are pairing off and pairing up, like some strange mystical dance. “But twenty-first birthdays are perfect for new experiences, right?”

  Melissa ignores me and looks around with wide eyes.

  I’m naturally energetic. I’m naturally friendly and outgoing, so I don’t have to work at bringing cheer to others. I can comfort to people like Melissa who have very small comfort zones, so that’s what I’m hoping to do for here. Give her a lifeline, so she can do more than just “wait for it to be over” the entire night.

  But it seems like she has already drifted into herself. When I turn to her to give her a reassuring smile, and ask her what she thinks of all this, I see she’s distracted. She’s not paying attention to the fact that I’ve spoken to her, or that there is anyone else at our table with us.

  “Really?” I murmur under my breath.

  Part of me wants to get Melissa’s attention and get her to have some kind of conversation with me before she completely locks up, but I decide against it.

  A shapely woman in a nineteen forties-bombshell gown approaches our table. By her platinum blond curls, her impeccable and striking makeup, she could easily pass for Marilyn Monroe’s twin sister. And that aura…as she’s sashaying toward us, her movements scream authority and grace. All of us, the girls at the table, sit at attention.

  Me? I start to feel a little underdressed. I mean, I did the moment we walked in here, but as this woman nears our table and smiles at us, I feel like my simple black-and-white zebra print dress and matching heels isn’t enough.

  I try nudging Melissa as the woman begins to introduce herself as Lady White, the owner and operator of this establishment. It’s no use, though. Melissa is stuck in her own little world and seems to be going in deeper as Lady White continues.

  “Please do be aware,” the owner tells us. Her long, dark eyelashes size us all up. “If you’re going to stay, ladies, if you desire to be our guests, you will need to participate in tonight’s festivities. Not just giggle or gawk.”

  At this, Melissa practically bolts up out of her chair at the table, and excuses herself. She whispers to me something about the bathroom, something about her nerves, and I don’t question it.

  Karen, my dormmate, seated on the other side of me, runs her hand down one side of her head. Recently, she decided to get her hair done in a kind of messy pixie cut. She also decided to get it dyed red. She rolls her eyes in Melissa’s direction, pulling out a bit of lip gloss from her clutch. “Looks like we’ve got a runner.”

  “Looks like it,” I whisper, trying not to distract the others from what’s going on around the table.

  Completely oblivious to our conversation, Britney asks Lady White, “What kind of activities?” She pauses, then adds, “Sexual, obviously, but what exactly do you have to participate in?”

  “You could be someone’s pet,” answers Lady White. “You could be someone’s toy.” She pauses, gesturing to the area of the club where people are strapped to the walls, and there are tables full of gadgets waiting to be used on them. “You could even be someone’s prisoner, if that kind of thing suits you. Either way, you will be required to serve and submit to the members already present, until you become members, or you show yourselves to be competent in more dominant roles.”

  Britney looks as though she’s got some sort of plan. Some sort of hypothesis or theory she wants to test out — she’s that kind of girl. Self-assured, even in a place like this. She has dark chestnut brown hair looking like it just came out of the seventies with the Farrah Fawcett waves, and boxy but trendy glasses.

  “I see,” she says, “I think I have some ideas now.”

  It seems everyone else does as well, because the moment Lady White wanders away from our table after giving us best wishes for us ourselves and our evening, the rest of the girls disperse. Britney and Becky move off into the crowd somewhere. Samantha heads straight for the bar nearby.

  Karen is about to leave, getting up to go somewhere, when I stop her. I grab onto her, like she’s my own little life raft.

  “Karen. Stay here.” I shout after my friends, “Remember the buddy system, ladies! Pair off and stick together! Don’t get separated unless you know what each other is up to, or who they’re going with!” Just giving this announcement, I’m trembling with all the possible bad outcomes that could happen if they don’t use the buddy system. Especially in a place like this.

  “Would you relax?” Karen snaps, sticking her lip gloss back in her clutch. “If you want to be a mother, go join the Girl Scouts. This is a sex club, and I want to have fu
n. You should too.” She squints at me. “You would if you didn’t try to control everything.” With that, she wonders away to look at the other clubgoers strapped to the wall.

  “I don’t try to control everything,” I murmur to myself, getting up. “I just want everybody to be safe.”

  Since no one else is around, I figure I might as well amuse myself. I make my way out onto the dance floor. There, I see a whole bunch of older, sexier guys. Ones I might actually enjoy spending time with, not like the juvenile guys back at the university.

  “Getting to experience something other than silly, immature guys, would be nice, too,” I tell myself.

  I fluff my rainbow hair back and get into the music. Letting myself drop to the rhythm, I relax, just enjoying the beat and the lights. But for now, I want to just dance. I want to enjoy myself and the music. Not worry about any boys or men. I do enough of that during the week.

  Chapter Two - Colton

  One thing’s for sure about me ‘ round these parts — in New York City, and in this place called Club Lush — I’m not a common sight. I don’t exactly fit in. I’m not a common visitor to the city, or to sex clubs like this either, but I can’t blame that for extra attention I’m getting. Not dressed the way I am, anyway. In my cowboy hat, cowboy boots, vest, plaid long-sleeve shirt, cattle-ranch belt buckle, dark denim jeans, I’m certainly the odd one out.

  But getting a little extra attention doesn’t really bug me. Not if it’s from the right person — the right kind of girl — which I’m hoping I might be able to find before the night’s over.

  “There are a lot of beautiful women here, Colton, lots of luscious bodies and perfect figures,” Henry says hungrily. He hasn’t stopped staring with desire since we walked in the door.

  Henry is the man I’ve come to New York to do business with, or rather finish business with as of tonight. Visiting Club Lush is supposed to be a celebration for closing our multi-million-dollar deal. He’s a fast talker and a slick dresser. He’s intense and demanding. He bought five of my most beautiful show horses. One for himself for every day of the work week, he joked.

  “I’m sure you’ll find a companion for the night,” Henry continues. “Look at all them looking at ya, Colton.”

  I take a swig of my whiskey and look around. Everywhere my eye touches on, there’s some piece of a woman jumping out at me: breasts, hips, lips. The occasional flash of cleavage, and curvy, smooth ass cheeks, followed by long, dark eyelashes, and a curious pause, but nothing that calls to me.

  Not the way I like to be called to anyway. I believe that things have energy, they have presence — like all the horses and cattle I raise — they are their own individuals. They have their own personalities, their own auras, and for me it’s important to find the right one. The one that reaches out and touches you, asks you to come closer and to pay more attention. None of these women so far are doing it for me.

  Sure, they’re all beautiful. They all have incredible bodies. Their makeup is flawless. Their hair and clothing looks like something out of a fashion magazine. But they don’t have the spirit or the soul I’m looking for. They are not exuberant — fluid or alive.

  They look fabricated. Combed and painted to look just perfect but fake — the way Henry seems to like them — but, as I watch him watching the lot of beautiful women moving around in front of us, I’m reminded of the way he looked at my horses. With an eye for perfection. Henry wants what would look good on him or associated with him, not necessarily which of my horses would get along best with him.

  I take another sip of my whiskey and answer him. “I don’t doubt you, but you know I’m looking for something more than just looks, Henry.”

  Henry sips down a shot of vodka before pouring himself another. Like his personality, he gravitates to the sharp and clean alcohols. “You’re only going to be here for one more night, maybe even a couple more hours at that, Colton. Why worry so much about what else they got going for them? It’s not like you’re going to find the woman of your dreams or the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with here!”

  He laughs heartily — cruelly — here, tossing back another shot. I don’t answer him right away. While I know he’s probably right, I’m not sure I would find the love of my life here either, his words irritate me all the same. Something about them just rips at a deep, seeking core.

  Just because I’m not going to be here for long, that shouldn’t be a reason for me not to be choosy. That shouldn’t be a reason that I just pick any girl who looks pretty. Even if I only am with her for a few hours, I want her to know I thought about her. I thought about what kind of connection we’re going to make.

  “You might be right,” I say, from over another sip of my whiskey, “but I’m still going to take my time. You have your tastes” — I gesture to his vodka bottle and shot glass — “and I have mine.”

  “Fair enough,” he replies, looking sideways. “And it looks like you have some admirers again, you little tourist attraction, you.”

  I let my eyes follow his, though I already know what I’m about to see: men and/or women coming up to start a conversation about my clothing. Before we got seated in this here club, I had people coming up to me every few seconds or so wanting to hear where I was from, why I bothered to wear that into a place like this and so on.

  And indeed, there are some men and women coming over to our table. Even without being close enough to hear what they are saying to one another, I know it has everything to do with my cowboy hat, my boots, and general aura. Who knows? I might even still smell like horses, cows and hay. Seems those scents cling to me, even when I’m in the city.

  “Well hello, cowboy,” says one of the men in the group. “That’s some interesting clothing you got on there.” Like everyone else and this establishment, he’s dressed in a fine suit and tie — if they’re not already naked.

  “Yeah, you’re a little far off the ranch, aren’t you?” Says another man dressed in a slick suit and tie.

  “I bet you’re pretty good with tying ropes,” says one of the women.

  She is dark-haired and dark eyed, but like the rest of them, she looks way too perfect. Way too put together. I like my women down to earth. Fresh and full of a zest and lust for life. These women look like they only have the lust part down.

  “Yes ma’am,” I say, “I’m good with tying ropes… on cattle.” I catch myself, realizing that could be offensive. I take my hat off and bow it to her. “No offense meant at all, ma’am, but yes I am quite a hand with some rope. Saddles too.”

  The woman blushes at this. She turns away and tries to get her man to leave our table. The same man who said I was away from my stomping grounds, so I make it a point to answer him next.

  “As for being far off the ranch, yes, I am. Outside of Houston, Texas is usually where you’ll find me. I’ve just come into New York to do a little business and have a little fun.” I gesture to his clothing. “Where I live, you would get those dirty the moment you stepped out of my doors. And those shoes would last you more than a few minutes.”

  I pause, looking over at Henry as one of the other women asks me, “And what kind of business are you here for?” She enunciates “here” filling me with images of things she would like me to do to her: saddle her up on something or ride her. But she is not my type either. She’s too flirtatious.

  “A little pleasure,” I answer, “but I’m not quite sure I found what I’m looking for yet.” I put my hat back on, finish my whiskey. “And I keep telling you you should come out to my ranch.” This is at Henry, who immediately whitens, as do some of the other men and women. “Yeah, I’ll teach you how to wrangle some cattle or stud some horses if you like.”

  I don’t know why I say this last part, maybe to embarrass people, get them to leave us, but I really do want them to know it’s not all that glamorous. It’s not all big-money and big horse and cattle shows. It’s a lot of hard work, a lot of dirty work.

  “We
ll, I hope you find what you’re looking for, cowboy,” says another of the women, but I know it’s not going to be her.

  “Hope so too,” I say, watching Henry get up. “Where are you going?”

  “Out onto the dance floor. Unlike you, I’m not picky.” With that, he finishes his drink, and orders me another whiskey.

  I let him go, deciding that I’ll get up too. I’ll take in the scenery, and if I’m meant to find someone, I will. I decide this, just as my next drink comes. I waved it away, and instead, make my way into the gently dancing, writhing crowd.

  For a few moments I’m stunned and speechless by the moving lights, the play of shadow and club beats, but then I see it — a striking flash of color. A riot of blues, purples, pinks, yellows, oranges and red. At first, as I draw closer, I think it’s the lights on the dance floor, some effect of the decoration.

  And then I see her. The woman attached to the colorful, happy colors. It’s her hair! Not the lights of the club. Her hair is an extravagant rainbow. And the rest of her body — it’s covered in colorful fabric too. Her wrists are covered in bracelets — the kind I would imagine a younger kid to wear — covered in moons, stars and unicorns.

  But the shape of her body, the curves, while they do show up gorgeously underneath her clothing, are accentuated by the wave and curl of her hair. They don’t hold a candle to the most beautiful thing about her. The joy and playfulness in her face. The way she just gives herself up to the music and the rhythm and doesn’t try to hold herself in a certain way.

  Out of all the people here, this girl looks to be truly enjoying herself, truly experiencing something new and different, and not trying to put on a show for anyone else.

  The way she’s dancing, putting her face up to the lights and music, I could imagine her doing that in my cattle and horse fields. The moment I do, I feel a strange tingling. A jolt of joy and warmth.