Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
I knew it was wrong. I knew it was fucked up.
…I buried that.
We chatted, and my hunger for her grew. She swung those lithe little hips for me and teased me with little flashes of her ass. She gasped quietly, her teeth biting and raking across her bottom lip and her cheeks blushing when I took my thick cock out. Her fingers trembled when she slid them under her panties, touching herself for me.
Coming for me.
I know it’s wrong. I know it’s fucked up. And the man the rest of the world knows would be appalled at the very idea of a girl selling her virginity to a rich man online.
…But the other part of me? The darker side, the hungry side—the hidden side that no one else knows?
Well that man doesn’t give a fuck.
I bought her virginity. I watched her come for me, that little cherry tattoo rippling on her skin as her body writhed for me. And tonight, I’m going to collect it all.
Tonight, she’s going to be mine.
Chapter 1
Marshall
The steam from the shower curls around me as I step onto the heated marble floor of the bathroom. I grab a towel, loosely drying my short, dark hair, then my face before wrapping it around my muscled waist. The mirror is designed to not get steamy, and I stand before it, my blue eyes darting over myself before I allow myself a smug grin.
I’m proud of having taken care of myself. I’m proud to be in better shape than most men half my age. The Navy drilled discipline into me. Life as a private citizen in the financial sector made me hone that. And now, running one of the most successful and profitable hedge funds in history, that dedication and discipline is what gives me my edge.
“Vain little fuck,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head and grinning as I tear my eyes away and start to get ready. I grab my shaving kit and lather up, dragging the blade over my jaw as the ambient heat of the bathroom slowly dries my body. The ink on the bicep and shoulder of my left arm is old—some from way back when I was a young cadet. Some from later. More from when Amy was born. But it’s the relatively new ink on my right-side ribs that catches my eye for a moment. It’s the crest of La Société Rouge, which I got a few years ago, when I became a member.
Seeing it gives me pause. Seeing it sends a pulse of heat through me about tonight.
Tonight, I have plans. A lot of weekends, especially since Amy turned eighteen and started preparing herself to go to college after the summer’s over, I have plans that involve going into the city. But tonight, it’s different.
Tonight, I’m going in for her.
…For Cherry.
We’ve still never talked. I think it’s maybe more fun that way, for both of us. At first, after the auction, I felt off about what I’d done. I questioned my moral compass, or if I was drinking too much. But then, she’d messaged me again through the site. We’d started text-chatting again through the video chat, and whatever reservations I’d had shattered.
Blonde, beautiful, young, untouched, and all mine. And tonight, I’m truly going to make her mine. It’s like nothing I’ve ever done before, and I may still have some reservations. But when my phone goes off as I’m shaving, I glance down, and I grin.
…I also get hard.
It’s my throwaway phone—the number known only to her. She’s using a burner too—I’ve had it run and traced, and I know it’s not a real phone. And when it buzzes and the image pops up on the screen, I growl. It’s a snapshot of her thumb hooked into a lacy pair of black panties, tugging them down just enough to give me the most teasing little flash of hip, of smooth, bare mons stopping just shy of her pussy, of the crease of her thigh, and of course, of her tattoo. The message that accompanies it is a flirty “getting excited for tonight,” followed by a winky-kissy-fucking-whatever emoji. For a second, I’m very starkly reminded just how fucking young this girl is—barely older than Amy. But I shake it away.
She’s old enough.
My cock pulses as I think about what I’ll do first. Taste her, perhaps. Maybe have her strip for me. Tell her to get on her knees with her ass in the air for me.
I nick myself with the razor, and I growl as droplet of blood beads. I glare at it, finishing with the rest of my jaw before rinsing and drying off. A quick tissue dab and the blood is stopped.
There’s the sound of a car in the driveway, and I finish final glances in the mirror before I start to head downstairs. The car would be Amy and her best friend Kendall, coming back from grabbing Kendall’s stuff at her house down the street. Kendall Shaw has been Amy’s closest friend and partner in crime since they were kids. They’re both off to college in a few months—Amy to Northwestern, like her old man, and Kendall to Stanford.