Gambling for the Virgin Read online Dark Angel, Alexis Angel

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: ,

Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Gambling for the Virgin

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Dark Angel

Alexis Angel

Book Information:

Her body's for sale. But I want her soul... She wants to sell her body to me for cash. Says I'm the only one with enough power and money to help her. And how can I resist saying yes? With my wealth, I can buy any damn thing I want.
And God, the things I want to do that body...
I can't tell you out here how I'm going to turn her around and squeeze those delicious globes of hers and run my thick python lust muscle between her cheeks as we look out the window at the city I own.
Or how I'm gonna shoot her into orbit five or six times as a warm up before I take her to levels of bliss so powerful that she can't walk the next day. But I will tell you this...
She'll be coming back for more. Because she wants it. She says she doesn't. But I know she does. When she's around me, she can't control herself. But I want...more.
It's not enough to just own her body. No, I want something more. Something that she can't sell. Something that she has to give.
I want her heart. All of her. Everything. Every damn word, deed, and thought. Till death do us part...
**Come enter a world of dark desires in this full-length standalone romance by Dark Angel. No cheating or cliffhangers but it's going to contain very mature themes with potentially dark undertones as well as scorching steamy scenes that will make your ladyparts thank you. HEA? You know it, babe.**
Books by Author:

Dark Angel

Alexis Angel



My small apartment feels safe to me now because I don’t want to leave the four tiny walls of my bedroom.

Not dressed the way I am. The scent of freshly laundered clothes clings to my nostrils, and sets me further on edge, rather than comfort me. I can’t feel at ease leaving home with what I'm about to do.

I can't possibly do this. I won't. That’s what I try and tell myself, because accepting this is hard to do. I grew up without role models. Without parents, for much of my life. No one tried to instill a sense of self-worth in me because no one was around to do it. The remaining members of my family all died in a family reunion house fire, but I'm still fighting the battle to have dignity and to maintain it despite any challenges that life throws my way. And if I do this thing for which I’m preparing, I lose any thread of that integrity I’d hoped to retain.

But I have to think about why I’m doing this. Why it matters more that I give up my self-worth. I'm doing this for my brother. He’s spiraled down as far as I can stand to see him go. The truth is, his drug and alcohol and gambling problems are already so out of control, I don’t know if there’s any further down he can fall. Me? I have almost nothing. In fact, all I have is him. So this is the sacrifice I make because my integrity matters less to me than my brother’s life. If I don’t save him, he'll die. And because I'm poor, and I have nothing but a dead-end diner job, and because I’m not sure what the hell else I want from life, I'm in the unique position of having just one thing to give.

I’m a virgin. I can give my virginity to one of the most notoriously ruthless, cutthroat casino owners that my brother owes the most money to. Giancarlo Sandoval is a notorious womanizer if the rumors are to be believed. I hope they are, because I’m hanging all my hope on it. The tang of fear is sliding down my throat with the chemical sweetness of lipstick further turning my stomach.

Rapping my fingernails nervously on the old wood of my vanity table one last time, I take a final look at myself in the mirror's reflection. I hope that I’ve done a good enough job with this makeup, and with this outfit, to catch his eye and make him consider my offer.

If I knew better what men wanted, I might not still be a virgin. The truth is I’ve never taken a real interest in men, in sex, or even in makeup or looking all that attractive.

Trying to help my brother has consumed the last seven years of my life, and now it has come to this. I’m staring at my too-pale face in the mirror, eyes ringed with more eyeliner and eyeshadow than it has seen in all the previous years of my life combined. A blazing red lipstick coats my lips with a luster that says ‘pay attention to me’ when all I’ve been content to do in the past was to go unnoticed. I smack my lips together, then make a kissy pout to the mirror.

I think I look exactly like someone trying to look desirable. I hope that reads well when Giancarlo sees me. I want to look the right amount of desperate, so that he’ll know I’m really willing to go this far. Hopefully, he’ll keep his word if I get him to entertain my offer.

I run my fingers through my hair one more time, tousling it so that I know it looks as good as it possibly can. I have my hair down in cascading auburn waves, the ringlets actually framing my face instead of being in their usual ponytail.

Looking over my reflection as if I’m looking at someone else, the hollow smile I spread over my face is as empty as I feel. Standing, I think about how I need to be strong. The time to be disgusted by my plan is ending now. Now I’m walking out of my apartment, and into Giancarlo Sandoval’s casino. Now, I’m the girl who’s going to try as hard as she can to strike a deal. I can’t be focusing on how badly I don’t want to do this.

The truth is that I don’t want to do this, but I also don’t want to suffer any of the consequences of not trying. I have nothing else to consider.

When I discovered my brother’s ledger, I was horrified by the story the numbers told. I saw the names, and after Googling for confirmation, I saw that all of these men owned casinos. I knew Tommy gambled. Tommy gambled, drank, slept with a ton of girls, and did whatever drugs came along for the ride. And he’d stopped working a long time ago. When he was doing well, he had tried to shower me with gifts. He bought me this vanity, telling me in one sober moment that he remembered our mother having one like it. But when things weren’t going well, he was scribbling in that ledger he kept in a small memo pad in his coat. His hair was too greasy and unkempt, and he stayed drunk, or high, or both. When he passed out in my bathroom, that ledger had fallen out of his pocket.