The Billionaire's Virgin Surrogate

By J.L. Ryan

My name is Samantha Taylor, I'm a 24-year-old real estate agent, and I'm broke as hell. Oh, and I'm still a virgin. Michael Holland is a sexy billionaire CEO who owns hundreds of income properties, including the ones I sold him when I was first starting out as a realtor. He's got wealth, power, good looks, and lots of close friends. His family even comes from royalty, with a few barons, dukes, and earls scattered amongst his relatives. He has achieved all of his professional goals and most of his personal ones.

 

The only thing missing from his life is a baby. Because an autoimmune disorder left him with an unusually low sperm count, he's unable to father a child of his own, so he decides to hire a sperm donor and a surrogate. That's where I come in. I mean the surrogate part. I've never had sex in my life and I've always dreamed that I'd get pregnant "the old fashioned" way, making love to the man I love. He's sexy as hell. I want to taste the sweetness of his lips. I want to LICK EVERY INCH OF HIS BODY. I might be still a virgin, but I have skills that will bring him to his knees...

 

Will Michael just use my virginal body as a vessel to carry his child and then leave me as is stated in his surrogacy contract or will my growing belly and sexy skills make him realize that he wants to spend the rest of his life with me, his virgin surrogate?

 

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• Language: English
• Publisher: J.L. Ryan
• Release date: Nov 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9798215443347

J.L. Ryan

J.L. Ryan is a bestselling author who has written over 50 books, including the wildly popular Billionaire Boys Club, Billionaire Games, Billionaire Bachelors, and Adventures In Romance. Ryan has also attended numerous book signings and writer's conventions including Romance Writers Of America Conferences. Living in New York, J.L. enjoys spending time with family and friends, volunteering at a large metropolitan homeless shelter, and working in the dog rescue community.

Book preview

The Billionaire's Virgin Surrogate

Chapter 1

Dear Diary: Today, as I sat in my office putting the finishing touches on a real estate contract, my mind wandered back to my college days. I was carefree and happy-go-lucky. I had very few responsibilities, and the responsibilities I did have consisted of homework, studying for tests,  and working a very part-time job at the campus bookstore. I miss my college days and not having to worry about where my next meal was coming from. I can't seem to shake this depression. All of my friends have cute boyfriends and my best friend is even planning her wedding. Me? I'm stuck in a boring job and barely scraping by on my salary and the commissions I make from closing real estate deals.

I wish I had someone to love me. Not because I need financial support, even though that would help, but for the emotional support that might help prevent my mind from going into those dark places. Every once in a while, I think back to the time when I first met Michael Holland. I was so excited to show him a couple of luxury condos that he had his eye on. He wanted to buy them and rent them out to some clients who were relocating to the United States from London. When the sellers accepted Michael's offers, I almost died. I was so happy because I made my first sales and commissions. The commissions didn't make me rich, but they paid a lot of bills. 

Not only am I broke and worried as hell about paying my rent, but I can't get Michael's sexy-ass image out of my mind. He's so freaking handsome and the scent of his skin drove me crazy. Now normally, I can't stand when guys chew gum, but the way Michael chews gum, Oh My God...he does this thing with his tongue that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life. The man is perfection and he has me so shook that I can't focus on anything else.

He made an impression on me that I'll never forget. I need therapy or something because I can't move forward. Writing in my diary helps me express my feelings, but I need more. Maybe antidepressant meds, maybe behavioral therapy, or some other type of mental health counseling. I don't know. Born and raised Catholic, I've always prayed for things I wanted. I've been praying that Michael would walk through that door again, take one look at me, and ask me to be his wife. Ugh, I do need help.

I've always had this fantasy of marrying rich. I've always had self-confidence issues since I was a child. I wasn't attractive, was overweight, not terribly bright, and very shy. I'd get panic attacks, binge eat, and bite my nails till they bled. Fortunately, I wasn't really bullied, but I often overheard the other kids make snide remarks about my appearance or personality. I got more confident in college, where I lived in a dorm with a roommate, and dated a lot of guys. I mean a lot of guys. They found me attractive and sexy, and they knew that going on a date with me would almost guarantee them a good time.

I'll admit I was a little wild and loose, but I liked the attention. While most of my friends had steady boyfriends, I was always entertaining an endless stream of bad boys, who partied too much, smoked too much weed, and didn't care about their academics. Even though the attention they gave me made me feel good, I always wished that a decent guy would fall in love with me. A guy who was drop-dead gorgeous, smart. respectable, and RICH. I wanted to be the envy of all the girls in my sorority. Maybe my college experience is the reason I'm so obsessed with Micheal. He's perfect for me, even though he doesn't know it. I wonder if he even remembered what I looked like or if he knew my name.

He could be married by now for all I know. For a brief moment today, I was starting to hatch a plan of how I could reconnect with this perfect specimen of a man. I thought about calling him to tell him about a couple of new townhomes that just came on the real estate market for sale and that they were perfect for investors like him. Alas, I decided to not follow through with it. I'll just have to accept the fact that I'll never see him again and just focus on my future, regardless of how bleak it might seem.

Just when I decided to forget about Michael Holland, I detected a familiar scent wafting through the office. An intoxicating blend of citrus, bergamot, cedarwood, and leather. Could it be that one of the real estate agents was wearing a new cologne like Egoiste by Chanel, Paco Rabanne, or Fahrenheit 1988 by Christian Dior? HOLY SHIT!! NO!! It was him...in all his glory.

Chapter 2

Dear Diary: I'm sitting here at my desk, freaking the hell out. What is Michael doing in my place of business? Is he looking for another property to buy? I know that it was him roaming around the office. My mind wasn't playing tricks on me because I smelled him before I saw him. That's the dead giveaway. I've never smelled anyone like him. His scent is unique, and in fact, I believe he once told me that he has his fragrances custom-made for him by a chemist in Paris. In a way, I'm hoping it's me that he wants to see, but on the other hand, I'm terrified that I'll get so flustered by his presence that I won't be able to string a sentence together.

Michael Holland isn't your average guy. Far from it. Oh sure, he's sexy, handsome, educated, and confident, but it goes further than that. When he speaks to you, he makes you feel like you're the most important person in the world. He doesn't care about status or how much education you have. When you're in his orbit, you're the only person that matters to him. I'm sure that this quality is what helps him close business deals with some of the most powerful people in the world. He has charisma and can be very persuasive.

Michael Holland was raised on Long Island, in a mansion that boasted two tennis courts, one indoor and one outdoor, as well as a private golf course, movie theater, a private security team, and even a couple of panic rooms. These types of rooms were specially made to protect his family in the event of a break-in or other security breach. The panic rooms had thick, strong steel walls and bullet-proof doors so that outsiders couldn't gain entry nor shoot their way into the rooms.

It's a protective measure his father felt they needed since they were a high-profile wealthy family. His family also had chauffeurs, gardeners, groundskeepers, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, a yacht, and a fleet of private airplanes. This was the only lifestyle that he knew. Despite his upbringing, he remained unusually humble and sensitive to the needs of other people who were less fortunate than he.

I like writing in my diary in real-time, meaning that I like to document what's happening while it's happening. It's called extemporaneous writing.  If I wait too long, I might forget the subtle nuances and emotions I was experiencing at the time. Anyway, getting back to Michael. He's an accomplished polo player who has an older brother living in Paris. He went to an Ivy League college where he earned postgraduate degrees in quantum physics and engineering.

I guess you could say that I'm a sapiosexual, or someone who finds smart people sexy. It's all about the brain, but looking like a GQ model doesn't hurt either. Why on God's green earth do I obsess over this man? There isn't a snowball's chance in hell that he would be even remotely attracted to me. I can dream, can't I? If he got to know me better, maybe he'd fall in love with me. Well, it could happen!

I have to use my brain. What could I give to Michael Holland that he doesn't have already? How could I differentiate myself from all of the other women who throw themselves at him? This magical thinking of mine really has to stop. Now! Nothing's ever going to happen between