“That tickles.” I giggle.

  “It’s gonna tickle a lot more in a minute,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “What are you—”

  He slaps the side of my ass.

  Hard.

  Glancing down, I see the outline of a red handprint.

  The anger wells up in me again and my chest tightens.

  “Hey, you—”

  Could be a little softer...

  I think the words but none come out as I drown in a sea of pleasure.

  He flicks his tongue lightly across my clit, and his stubble rubs against the skin of my thighs.

  Holy Heavenly Father.

  Why am I the recipient of my greatest fantasy all of a sudden?

  I’ve though countless times about this very scene. Often, it happened in a shower.

  And while I never masturbated to it—what was it about that word?—now that it’s happening in real time, I’m glad I didn’t.

  Because this is ten times better than any fantasy.

  Waves of pleasure surge through me as he expertly licks my folds. My knees shake. Trembling, I wish I had taken off my heels.

  I almost blow out a moan, but I manage to stifle it.

  Jack pulls back, and looks up at me with a cocky smirk, even as my juices are spread across his face.

  “I felt that,” he murmurs.

  “Felt what?”

  “You. Tensing up. Just let go.”

  “I... I can’t.”

  “Oh yeah? I take that as a challenge,” he growls.

  “What are you gonna—”

  Standing up, he spins my body around then presses my back down so I’m bent over against the wall. I press my palms against the wood and spread my arms out.

  “By the time I’m done with you, Stacy, you’re going to be so corrupted you won’t even want another man. Understand?”

  “Yes,” I blurt out.

  It’s true. I want to forget the past.

  I want to be his.

  I want him to take me.

  I can’t let George be my first. It needs to be a real man.

  I feel his tongue between my legs again, this time from behind.

  “Oh, Jack,” I yell out as he first tongues me softly along my opening, then my clit.

  He grunts, and lets out a muffled phrase. “Fuck yeah, yeah you taste good.”

  My mind loosens, and so does my body.

  I close my eyes and let myself go.

  “Holy fuck that’s good, Boss.”

  He stops for a moment, and sniggers. “Boss?”

  “Yes.” I gulp. “It just came out.”

  “That’s good,” he says. “Make sure you say that again when I’m balls deep inside you.”

  Before I can get a word in, he dives back between my legs, and this time I feel flesh entering me.

  For a split second, I think he might be inside of me, right now, and a rush of emotion hits my gut.

  I turn back, though, and he’s still on his knees.

  That’s the last coherent thought I have for many minutes.

  He launches an all-out assault on my pussy with his face and his fingers.

  “Boss, I’m close.”

  He growls, and I can feel the reverberations of his low voice through my body.

  “I want you to come hard for me, Stacy.”

  I do as I’m told.

  My limbs quiver and I melt into the wall, fall into the ground and float away into the air all at once.

  That’s the first orgasm.

  He doesn’t stop or let up, though.

  I totally let go as he demands—demands—my submission to him in the form of multiple orgasms.

  I didn’t know this was possible.

  When he finally stops, I put my head up against the wall. I’m a sweaty, naked mess of a girl.

  He leans in, and—with a shit-eating grin—kisses me on the cheek, and whispers.

  “That’s a good girl. You certainly know how to make your boss happy. Now your friends are probably wondering where you went. You had better get back to them.”

  His hands run from my cheek, graze my nipples, and they finish by giving me a light spank on the ass.

  “Run along.”

  I drop my jaw and push him away. “Are you...kicking me out after that? No. I refuse. I told you everything about me, but you didn’t say a damn thing about yourself.”

  He leans in and whispers in my ear, “And that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

  I put my clothes back on, narrowing my eyes. “You can’t just make someone orgasm like that and then kick them out. It’s not right. You’re an asshole. You know that?”

  He leans in. “It’s not the first time, won’t be the last.”

  “The auction is tomorrow, you know,” I spew. “And for a minute I was hoping you’d win me. But now, I hope it’s George.”

  “Who the fuck is this George person?”

  “Oh.” I shrug. “He’s a nice guy a year younger than me in the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity who I’m not attracted to at all. And I had this whole fantasy about you winning me. But you know what? I really hope he wins me now. He comes from an oil family. Super rich. Bottomless pit of money to win me, apparently.”

  Jack tongues the inside of his cheek, but his cocky expression doesn’t waiver.

  “Good luck with that” is all he says.

  I want to slap him silly.

  Instead, I turn my chin up and head up the stairs. When I knock, Bilbo opens the door, and I go back to be with my friends.

  Chapter Five

  Jack

  I straighten my tie in the back of my limo as I ride to my Sunday fundraiser at the university.

  I’m an alum, and I used to play football here back in the day. Since I’m the most successful graduate the college has ever had, they want me to make a speech.

  But my mind isn’t on the task at hand at all today.

  It’s on Stacy.

  Or should I say “April?”

  Feeling her melt in my hands gave me a feeling I haven’t had in years. I felt connection. I felt happy. I went to bed last night with a beaming smile on my face as I remembered her fresh scent—like roses and cherries.

  At least, that’s what one part of my mind thinks.

  Then there’s bad Jack, who says I should blow as much money as needed on her, take her to a cabin, and screw her brains out.

  We’ll make what happened Friday in the office and yesterday night seem like child’s play.

  I scrub my thumb across my face and feel the two days of stubble.

  It’s the second day in a row that I haven’t shaved.

  Saturday and now Sunday.

  I haven’t missed two days in a row in three years.

  Since I was with Cara.

  Stacy the fucking intern.

  She’s really fucking with my head.

  I can’t believe she almost got me to talk about what I’d vowed never to bring up again, to anyone.

  I’m over and done with bringing up the past. No point in it. I’m moving on.

  I’ve not felt so hot-and-cold over a girl, maybe ever.

  Stacy makes me want to fuck her silly with my tongue, fingers and cock, then stay with her afterwards and drink cocktails all night.

  And then repeat it all the next night.

  But I had to kick her out. Had to.

  What was she going to do, stay in my dungeon all night?

  Dungeon.

  There’s a word I haven’t used in too long. Cara and I used to...

  Fuck. I shake my head and look out the window at the grass on the streets as we pass by. I should never have crossed that line with Stacy. She’s so fucking young. Twenty-two. I’m thirty-fucking-two.

  Ten years older. She should be finding a nice guy her age to play with. What was his name?

  George. What kind of fucking name is George these days anyway?

  I’m pretty sure the name George got played out sometime in the 1990s when George Foreman stopped being popular. And named all of his kids George.

  If George ends up with Stacy, I’m going to fucking blow.

  Fucking oil-money, trust-fund kid. I’ll see to it that he doesn’t get Stacy.

  There goes bad Jack, talking again.

  “We’re here, sir,” My driver says as we pull up to the fundraiser. It’s in a multipurpose room in the university, the same place where they put on plays.

  The plays Cara used to act in.

  I gnash my teeth and head inside, clenching my fists.

  What the fuck happened to me? I used to like coming to this place. Used to enjoy myself.

  I don’t even think I used to enjoy firing people.

  At least, good people.

  When the fuck did I turn so bitter and sour on everything?

  I don’t want to think about the answer. Especially because last night, for a few fleeting moments, I felt remnants of the old me.

  The Jack Huston who was the life of the party and enjoyed life and didn’t grind his teeth every night.

  Stacy brought that out in me.

  And that is unacceptable. I can’t go falling for some young siren.

  Even a young virgin siren.

  So I had to kick her out.

  That’s what girls don’t get. Sure, guys love sex. We love the scream of a woman when she’s orgasming; we love the feel of a woman’s body as her hot skin knocks against our own.

  But the post-orgasm cuddle when your girl is pooled in a sweaty heap on top of your chest—that’s when we fall in love.

  I flash a fleeting smile at the usher as I walk in to give the speech.

  * * *

  As I walk through the auditorium, I see a bunch of frat guys wearing polos. They all sneak looks at me in my suit.

  I want to tell them, yep, this is how real men dress. In an Italian, custom-made, mother fucking suit measured by a real Italian tailor.

  I’m about to breeze past to the backstage area so I can prep for my speech, but I overhear Stacy’s—April’s—name dropped so I pull up to the bar right next to them.

  “April Ashley’s hot as fuck!” One of them says. “You really think you have enough money for her?”

  “Yeah man, my dad gave me a hundred grand I can spend on her. Worst case scenario, of course. Personally, I don’t even think she’s worth that much, but whatever.”

  The guy he’s talking to has long, shaggy blond hair. His eyes go as wide as they can, because I’m pretty sure he’s stoned.

  “So what are you going to do with her once you’ve got her?”

  The darker haired guy—is this George?—lets out a snort. “I’m gonna take her back to my place and make her fuck me like it’s a porno.”

  “Really, George? I thought before, you said you were just going to give the money back to charity.”

  George. Target confirmed.

  “Yeah, I thought about that. But no fucking way. I’m just going to make her my own personal sex slave for a night. Just fuck her whenever I want. You know?”

  “Right on,” the stoner says.

  My blood boils.

  These are just the kind of jackasses that glide their way through life without ever taking on any real fucking responsibility.

  I clench my fists, and my jaw tightens. Maybe I’ll just beat the shit out these two right here, right now.

  They’ll call the whole thing off. Give Stacy some time to reconsider the fact that a fucking toolbox is going to take her V-card.

  “You know what?” I tell the usher as he waits for me in the aisle. “Just call me up when it’s time for my speech. I’m going to hang back here.”

  After I get my drink, a gin and tonic, I have a fantasy about “accidentally” walking right into George, spilling it all over him.

  And knocking both of those guys the fuck out. Not like it would take much, anyway.

  But then a mantra flashes through my mind that my grandfather told me years ago. It’s something I’ve always lived my life by.

  Don’t get mad. Get even.

  * * *

  Taking a seat in the back, I pull up my phone and notice that the auction’s about to end soon. The room buzzes with an interesting mix of people.

  Young professionals who’ve maybe made the trip here from Washington, D.C. Lots of college students. Community members. Professors. They’re all curious about the brand new stadium opening up that I’m donating a few million for.

  My seat is strategic, a few rows behind and to the left of George, close enough to hear the banter between him and his toolbox friends.

  I’m gonna keep an eye on this fucking guy.

  The event kicks off, which is mostly an awards ceremony for athletics mixed with a few fundraiser appreciation bits and my capstone speech. The host walks out, a guy in a black suit and a cowboy hat, who looks to be in his mid-forties or so.

  I’ve still got some time before I’m called up, so I glance back at my phone to keep tabs on the auction as time winds down. The question nips at me.

  Should you—or shouldn’t you buy April?

  It’s a little surreal. College juniors and seniors raffling off their hymens to the highest bidders.

  I scroll through some of the others, and see a girl named “Jade.” I recognize her as the one who “accidentally” spilled a drink on herself at the bar last night and collided with me. I wonder what her deal is.

  “Ten minutes till it’s all over, and her hymen is mine.” George grins, a little manically.

  I honestly think there might be something wrong with the poor fella. He’s basically frothing at the mouth staring at his phone.

  Clearly, these college boys are more obsessed with their phones than the real life unfolding in front of their actual eyes.

  “Isn’t that Stacy’s roommate? You can’t buy both of them,” his stoner sidekick quips, and I wonder if they’re looking at “Jade.”

  “I don’t think you understand who my dad is. I have a $100K allowance each year, and there’s no way Stacy will go for more for than ten grand. No possible way.”

  I clench my jaw.

  Ten grand? That’s all he thinks Stacy is worth?

  I’ll show him.

  I glance back at the boudoir pictures on Stacy’s profile. As “April,” she’s got on this beautiful, longer, white dress that hides most of her flesh but accentuates her figure in one of the photos.

  She’s beautiful.

  What’s more, I felt something special with her last night that still has my skin tingling.

  I put a bid on her. Twenty thousand. Let’s make this interesting.

  “Whoa, weird!” I hear George say, staring into his phone. “Some guy actually bid on her. Guess I’ll have to go up to twenty thousand.”

  I smirk as I watch the new bid pop up online, then counter with twenty-five thousand.

  “What the hell?” George yells at his phone, and a few people in the audience give him dirty looks for being so loud. I see another bid pop up on the screen for fifty thousand.

  I enter seventy-five.

  He whines and enters one hundred thousand.

  I smirk at my phone, putting in my counter bid.

  I watch as poor George rakes a hand through his hair. “No! It can’t be! Someone bid two-hundred thousand on her? What the...”

  The crowd applauds, and I zone back in just in time to hear the speaker say my name.

  “And it is my pleasure to present our featured speaker of the night, former football star and generous donor of our new athletic field, Jack Huston!”

  I stand up, with the grin of a devil. I shoot a look at George and give him a wink as I stride toward the podium.

  Sorry, asshole.

  She’s mine.

  Chapter Six

  Stacy

  “It’s as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is a poor man,” Sarah says as we sit at the bar, post-deadline for the online auction.

  I squint a little bit at her then turn to the bartender.

  Both Sarah’s and my bids closed at the time this afternoon, and we both need a drink.

  “More wine, please,” I say, tapping my glass.

  He obliges.

  Right after our bids were finished, we headed to the bar as fast as we could. Neither of us really feels like dealing with the real life implications of auctioning off our virginity, which are becoming more real by the minute.

  “So, no comment?” Sarah wiggles her eyebrows.

  “I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”

  “I’m saying Jack fucking Huston just bid two hundred thousand dollars on you. Like, do you realize how many zeroes that is?”

  I take a deep breath as the bartender refills my glass.

  And I smile a little at the innuendo only I understand about multiple O’s.

  I haven’t told her anything about the little thing I have going with Jack.

  Partly because I don’t really feel like getting into it with her—or anyone. And also because I don’t even understand what’s going on myself.

  I didn’t think it was possible to feel the pleasure I have for a man I’m just getting to know. And I definitely didn’t think multiple orgasm were possible. I thought that was something porn stars faked their way through.

  After last night, I know it’s quite possible. But why the heck did he kick me out?

  I swirl my drink before sipping it.

  “So...you’re saying I should just fall in love with Jack Huston?”

  “I’m saying it’s something you should explore. I bet he’d be fun.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I say as I set my wineglass back on the bar.

  Sarah says nothing, her jaw hanging open, as she looks at something behind me with eyes wide.

  “What’s the deal?” I ask.

  “He found us.”

  My heart skips a beat, and I whip around, expecting to see George.

 

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