Twisted Obsession: The Billionaire's Virgin Bride

ELARA

I slammed the shot glass on the counter so hard that I'm sure a crack shot across the rim.

“Another,” I ordered.

My voice sounded so hoarse, scraped raw, and barely human.

Three hours of crying will do that to a person. Three years of betrayal will kill the rest.

The bartender...a wiry guy with a snake tattoo curling up his throat...shakes his head. “Sorry, sweetheart. Boss says you’re cut off.”

I laugh, a cracked sound. “Boss? What boss?” His eyes flicked behind me, like someone stood there holding a loaded gun to his spine

I followed his stare through the blur of neon lights and bodies, but I only saw a shadow move behind smoked glass. But I don’t care. I need another drink, or I’ll drown in my own heartbeat.

I shoved the empty glass forward.

“Pour. It’s a simple job.”

He didn’t move. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I’m not drunk.”

God, I wish I were.

If I were drunk enough, I might forget walking in on my boyfriend screwing my twin sister in my apartment. I might forget the sound of their skin slapping together and the sound they were making. I might forget how they looked at me like I was the intruder.

I might forget Lucas’s voice:

“Elara told me everything. Your secrets. Your insecurities. You were never the one I wanted. I just needed someone who would help me look serious in my workplace, and you were the easy one.”

My stomach twisted so violently I thought I’d be sick.

I slammed my palm on the counter.

“I said pour.”

The bartender lifted a shaking hand and pointed toward the VIP behind me.

“Orders from him.”

I turned towards the rooms once again to see who it was that kept denying me drinks.

I caught the eye of a man who didn’t pretend not to stare.

He watched me openly, like I was something he was already planning to take apart.

A chill wrapped around my spine.

No. Tonight was already hell... I wasn’t letting some arrogant rich asshole control me, either.

I grabbed my bag and stormed toward the private lounge, heels striking marble like gunfire. The guards stepped aside without objection or question.

Like they’d been waiting for me, but right now I don't care or want to reason why.

I shoved the curtain aside.

The room smelled like expensive whiskey and cologne. Low light flickered over the man sitting at the center, his sleeves rolled to the forearms, his wristwatch glinting, and his jaw sharp enough to cut glass.

He is not handsome. He is Devastating.

His eyes are what hit me hardest; they're cold, dark, and unreadable.

And he was looking at me like I was a problem he was avoiding to touch.

I slapped both hands on his table.

“Let me guess,” I snapped. “You own this bar, so you think you get to control what I drink?”

He lifted his gaze slowly. His voice was calm. Too calm for my liking.

“You’ve had enough.”

“I decide when I’ve had enough.”

His eyes lowered to my shaking hands. “Your body disagrees.”

My breath caught, part rage, part humiliation.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

He leaned back, his voice cool as ice. “The man who decides everything in this building.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a fact, and I can see it in his eyes.

Anger burned hotter than the alcohol ever could. I grabbed his untouched glass of whiskey and swallowed it in one vicious gulp. The burn scorched down my throat. I welcomed it.

His jaw tightened.

“You’re out of your depth, little girl.”

Little. Girl.

That snapped something inside me. 'Little Girl,' I hate this nickname; I can hear Lucas's taunting voice as he was riding my sister, "You greedy little girl, see how you are taking me in so well, unlike your bland sister that wants to keep herself till marriage.

I leaned forward, close enough to smell his cologne... his dark, expensive, dangerous cologne.

“Little girl? You want to control me?” I whispered. “Fine. Give me alcohol. Or give me something else instead.”

His eyes sharpened. “What exactly are you looking for?”

My heart was a live wire. My voice didn’t shake.

I stop between his knees. My cheap black cotton dress, the one Lucas said made me look “fuckable but forgettable,” rides up my thighs.

“To lose my virginity.”

Silence slammed between us, and the interest flared in his eyes.

Slow, predatory interest.

He stood, and I felt small for the first time tonight, not because I was weak, but because he was a storm wearing a suit.

He towered over me, breathing heat against my ear.

“If you’re lying,” he murmured, “I’ll punish the lie.”

A shiver shot down my spine.

“I’m not lying.”

His hand closed around my waist, firm, claiming. Suddenly, I can't feel the existence of the bar anymore. Not the music and certainly not the people. All I can feel is just his body and the weight of my rash decisions.

“Run now, little girl,” he whispered, voice dark and lethal. “If you stay, I’m not letting you go home tonight.”

I lean into his grip. “I stopped running the second I saw my life collapse in front of me.”

Hunger flares in his eyes. He backs me up until my spine meets the glass wall. His mouth finds my ear. “Then let’s ruin you properly.”

His mouth came crashing upon mine in a not-so-gentle kiss. It’s all teeth, tequila, and the taste of my own desperation. I bite his lip hard enough to draw blood; he growls and pins my wrists above my head with one hand. The other slides under my dress, calloused fingers tracing the lace edge of my panties.

“Virgin,” he says against my mouth. Not a question.

I nod, both ashamed and electrified.

He rips the lace away like it offends him. Cool air hits wet skin. I whimper. “Legs around me.”

I obey. He lifts me effortlessly, dress bunched at my waist, and carries me to the chaise. My back hits leather still warm from his body. He follows me down, knees forcing my thighs wider.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I do. His pupils are blown wide, with only a sliver of iris left. “This will hurt,” he warns. “And you’ll thank me for it.”

He frees himself with one hand. I can see his thick, heavy, and veiny pulsing penis along the underside. I should be terrified. Instead, I arch up, already wet and ready.

He presses in a slow and relentless inch. I feel him stretching me, and it burns white-hot. I choke on a scream. “Breathe,” he orders, thumb stroking my clit in lazy circles. “Relax and take what I give you.”

Another inch. My nails rake his shoulders through his shirt. “Please...”

“Please, what?”

“More.”

He surges forward, burying himself to the hilt. The pain is exquisite, behind my eyes. For one suspended second, the world is nothing but the place where we’re joined.

Then he moves.

Slow at first, letting me adjust, letting the hurt bloom into pleasure. My hips learn his rhythm without permission. The chaise creaks and wails. He angles deeper, hitting a spot that makes me see stars. My back bows. “That’s it,” he rasps. “Let me feel you cum.”

That did it. The orgasm crashes over me without warning, so violent and shredding, nothing like the fumbling fingers I’ve known. I screamed and put his mouth over mine, swallowing the sound, fucking me through it until I’m limp and trembling.

He flips me onto my stomach and yanks my hips up. The second thrust is brutal. I fist the leather, moaning into it. His hand tangles in my hair, arching my neck. “Say you’re mine.”

I’m too far gone to care. "Yours"

He spills inside me with a guttural sound, heat flooding deep. For a moment, we’re locked together—sweaty, breathless, and the sticky evidence of our wilderness.

He pulls out slowly, left only to come back with a warm cloth.... where did he get it? ...and he cleans me with clinical tenderness. The contrast makes me shiver.

I expect him to leave. Instead, he sits, pulls me into his lap, and wraps his suit jacket around my shoulders. “Wait a little,” he says. “We will soon get to my penthouse, where I will satisfy you more.”