The Billionaire's Virgin(42)

“I c-can’t,” she choked out as his hand reached to cup her breast, her nipple pressing against his palm. The heat of his touch made her tremble even more.

“Sweet thing, no one can take this away from you. It’s yours.”

She gasped as he squeezed her gently then teased her nipple with his thumb, pleasure like electricity jolting every nerve ending. It felt wrong to enjoy this, to let herself have it, and all she could hear was her grandmother’s voice in her head telling her she didn’t deserve it, that she never deserved anything good.

“I’m not allowed,” she heard herself whisper hoarsely. “I can’t.”

But Xavier didn’t let go and she found herself suddenly hauled across his lap, his arm a steel bar behind her shoulder, his hand cradling the back of her head while with the other, he calmly pushed apart the fabric of her shirt, baring her to the waist. Then he put his hand on her breast again, pinching her nipple lightly, drawing another shudder from her.

“This isn’t about what you’re allowed. It’s about what you want. What you need.” His voice was low, commanding, making something inside her go quiet and still. “You want this, Mia. And I think you need it too, which means I’m going to give it to you, whether you think you’re allowed it or not.”

She shut her eyes, closing out the sight of his beautiful face and the terrible blue of his gaze, struggling just a little against him, fighting him even though she didn’t want to. Because the scars her childhood had left on her were too deep and she hadn’t realized until now how deep they went.

But all Xavier did was shift his hold on her, pulling her hands behind her and crossing her wrists at the small of her back, keeping them there in a grip so strong she couldn’t break it.

Then with his free hand he touched her—soft, light touches from her throat to her collarbones, to her breasts and nipples, to her stomach, tracing patterns of fire all over her skin. She shivered, her breathing hoarse in the silence of the room, more tears behind her eyes, though she had no idea why she was crying. Because she didn’t cry, she just didn’t.

“Why are you fighting this?” he asked softly. “Am I hurting you?”

His touch was slow and leisurely and about as far from pain as it could get. But she didn’t want to tell him the truth, afraid of what it would reveal about herself. Yet somehow though, it slipped out anyway. “No, you’re not. It’s just . . . My grandma was always so angry with me. She used to tell me it was my fault Mom left, that I didn’t deserve all the nice things I had.” She sucked in a breath as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb gently stroking her nipple. “Not that I h-had much that was nice. But I guess . . . I kind of ended up believing she was right.”

God, that sounded so pathetic, didn’t it?

Except Xavier wasn’t looking at her as if she was pathetic. His stroking hand had stilled and there was something fierce in his eyes, something angry. “Bullshit.” The word was a growl. “She wasn’t right. What you didn’t deserve was her beating you. Her putting her fucking cigarettes out on your skin. Her leaving you on the fucking street for years.” His voice had gotten deep and gravelly with fury, and she shivered. Not because she was afraid of him, but because no one had ever said those things to her before.

No one had ever told her she deserved anything at all.

Her throat constricted. She looked up at his beautiful face, into those eyes that were bluer and darker than her own patch of sky above her alleyway, her own window into freedom. “Do you really believe that?” she asked thickly, hating herself for the needy note running through her voice and yet unable to repress it. “I mean, I—”

His hand moved from her breast, cupping the side of her cheek in a way that had all the breath leaving her body, taking everything she’d been going to say along with it. “Yes.” The certainty in the word was emphatic, as if he was laying down the law. “You’re beautiful, strong, stubborn as hell, and the most determined person I’ve ever met—bar my father. Your grandma on the other hand, was a horrible old bitch and she didn’t deserve you.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Xavier’s thumb stroked down the side of her cheek lightly, then his hand fell away. “Shall I show you what you truly deserve, Mia? What I think you deserve?”

The tightness in her throat had moved down to her chest and she found she couldn’t speak. Half wanting, half afraid, she could only nod.

Gently, he slid his hand around her breast again, stroking, teasing her nipple. “This feel good?” His voice was all soft and rough and dark.