Buying the Virgin novel Chapter 75

I ponder Michael’s words. “You said, You and James can afford…?’ I thought….”

“You thought…. what? He’s the one with all the money?”

“Um, yes.”

“I’m not without. He just talks about it more than I do.”

“Oh… I didn’t realise.”

“Well, you never asked. In fact, I’ll admit that your complete lack of interest in money, apart from the pressing problem of paying for your college fees, is quite refreshing. If more women were like that, I might not have lived the happy life of the bachelor free for so long…”

“I don’t like taking money from you. It feels like…”

He looks at me from the side of his eyes. “Charlotte, we’re getting married. You’re entitled to take money from me.”

I digest this. “You’ve had women after you for your money?”

“There’s been a few.” He grins at me.

The grin is infectious. “Er, one of them wouldn’t have been Marcie by any chance?”

He laughs. “And she hits the gold! Yes, Marcie took a shot at me. That was before Steve of course…. and quite a few others for that matter….” He shudders. “Oh, my God, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Marcie, man’s living nightmare. It makes me itch just thinking about her.” He squeezes my shoulders, still laughing.

“I felt just like that, about that Steve of hers, but you’d better be careful. With Steve knocked out of the running, she might be after you again.”

He snorts. “Charlotte, not if she were the last woman on Earth, would I stick my cock inside Marcie.” He shudders as he chuckles.

I laugh, and he smiles at me, tracing my face with his fingers. “It’s good to see you smile.” I lean into his touch as he strokes my face, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

A breeze springs up and I goose-pimple. Michael feels me shiver. “Want to walk again? Warm up a bit? Perhaps down to the lake?”

We stroll down grassy slopes, the turf sheep-clipped short. At the water’s edge, dragonflies zigzag, lilies spread their green pads across the shallows, framing oyster-pink flowers, seemingly carved from wax. A little way along, old willows line the edge, straddling grassy banks that drop to the narrow gravelly shoreline.

Michael looks around, scanning the landscape.

“What are you looking for?”

He smiles, “Privacy.”

There is no-one about, only the two of us. He leads me by the hand. Under the cover of the trees, in an enclosed bower formed from the weeping of the willow, the air is still and warm, the light dappled green and gold.

He stands before me, my Golden Lover, brushing back errant locks from my face, my hair as rebellious as ever. A hand on either cheek, he bends, brushing his lips against mine; a soft, fleeting touch, utterly sensual, utterly tender.

Even in my current state of mind, my body responds to him, a tingle running through me, smooth and warm. My lips parting, I slip fingers through his hair, drawing him closer.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too.”

“Don’t just say the words,” he says. “When I hear it, I want it to be because you mean it, not because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“Michael, I….”

He presses a finger to my lips, then casts around, looking at the ground. He takes off his jacket, spreading it over the grass. “Lie down,” he murmurs.

Holding me with his eyes, the leaf-mottled sunlight a brilliant halo through his hair, he presses me down, one hand by my waist, one on a shoulder. As I lie back on his jacket, I start to pull up my tee-shirt. He presses my hand down. “No, you’ll be cold. Keep it on. Um, you can take the boots off though.”

Chuckling, I unravel the laces of my walking boots.

He unbuckles my jeans, unzips me and slides them down, along with my panties, leaving me naked below the waist. Kneeling between my legs, he stoops to kiss my belly, my sex.

I lie back, head cradled in the springy turf, eyes closed. The warmth of his breath curls over my thighs, the heat of his lips on my skin. My troubles melt away in a soft haze of arousal. My magical Lover, always there, always my anchor in the storm….

Except….

“Michael… why won’t you believe me, when I say that I love you?”

He raises his head, sighs, and slides up my body, his face settling next to mine. He doesn’t speak, but is unbelting, kicking off boots, shucking off his jeans.

Finally, his erection pressing hard and warm against me, he says, “Charlotte, I’ve had a lot more women than, I believe, you have had men. I know the difference between passion… arousal, lust… whatever you want to call it, and love.”

He settles between my thighs, kissing my neck, hands running over my face.

“And yet, here we are?” I ask.

He raises himself on an elbow, looking down at me, his lips pressed together, and gives a small nod of acknowledgement. “And yet, here we are…” He stoops to kiss me.

“Michael, if what I feel for you isn’t love, I don’t have a label for it.”

He raises himself again, his brilliantly blue eyes gazing into mine, soft, semi-lidded. He strokes my face. “That’ll do.” And he bends to kiss me, opening his mouth over mine.

My pussy responds to him, running warm to his touch, and as he presses himself inside me, I welcome him in. With series of short, gasping breaths, I arch, raising my hips to meet him. He thrusts forwards slowly, in slow strokes, easing in, coating himself in my honey, before gradually, smoothly, he sheathes himself inside me.

Almost in slow motion, he takes me, loving me with his body, his cock kissing me inside.

I don’t cum. In my current state of mind, I am not capable of it, and I think he understands this. But he does, sighing into my neck and hair, as he climaxes within me.

He kisses the soft skin of my throat, then raises himself again, gazing down at me. “Whatever it takes, whatever it is, I will be here for you. Understand that.”

My fingers caress his cheekbones. “I do. Thank you. Knowing that makes me stronger.”

*****

Back at the beach house, Michael holds a large brown envelope.

“Is this it? What Jansen was trying to blackmail you with?”

I eye the envelope. “Yes. I was going to destroy it, but I’d not gotten around to it. It hardly seems to matter now.”

“It matters to you.” Michael pauses, reflectively. “Charlotte, may I? Can I look at this?”

I falter…

“If you say ‘No’, I won’t look.”

“No, it’s alright. If you want to, you should see it too, I think.”

Frowning, he riffles through the brochure and marketing documents, glancing up at me as he does so, then spotting the data key, clicks it into the laptop port.

My courage fails me. “Sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. I can’t bear to watch it. I’ll come back in a few minutes.”

His eyes follow me out of the room, before turning back to where the video has opened up on the screen. I exit the kitchen, hearing behind me:

“Charlotte, it is entirely your choice, but are you willing to undress at this stage, on the podium? It will almost certainly help you to bring a better price.”

“Undress now? All the way?”

“It’s up to you, Charlotte. No-one is going to make you. But the better they can see what they are buying, the better your chances.”

“…. C’mon. Let’s see the rest….”

When I return, ten minutes later, Michael is sitting, staring at a blank screen, looking upset. I sit down, next to him. He breathes in, deeply.

“What was going through your head when you did that? When you stood, naked on that podium, and they bid for you?”