by Alexis Angel
“That obvious?” I ask, finding my voice.
He shrugs. “Maybe it’s the way you’ve nearly chewed your finger off since I’ve been sitting here watching you.”
Watching me? How long has he been watching me? I look down at my fingernails and cringe. So much for that manicure. Now I get to be an awkward as fuck virgin up on stage in addition to having mangled nails.
“I’m Wes,” he says, that smirk still in place.
And damn it, if he doesn’t have my heart stuttering again. His eyes are an unusual greenish-grey, and they have me hypnotized.
The smirk grows wider. “And you are?”
“Oh,” I say, my face flushing as I jerk my gaze from him. “Celine. I’m Celine.”
I look all around the train, trying to focus on anything but Wes. He has me totally flustered. I just don’t know how to act around men.
So why the hell are you about to sell yourself to one?
I press my lips together, wishing for the millionth time there was another solution. But this is it. If I want to stay in New York and have a real chance at the life I want, I need money.
It’s not like the first time is supposed to be special anyway, right? It’s just an initiation. Like jumping into a freezing pool. You acclimate, and things get better after that. Best to just get it over with so I can move on to the fun part.
Except I can’t even hold a conversation with Wes here, so I don’t know that the having fun part is coming my way anytime soon.
“What are you doing tonight?” Wes draws my attention again. Apparently, he isn’t catching on to the fact that I can’t seem to form a coherent sentence.
I shift uncomfortably. “Just going to this club,” I mumble.
That seems to interest him. He leans in closer. “Me too. What club?” There’s a spark in his eye.
Shit. Why did I have to say that? Like I really want to tell this stranger that I’m going to some underground club where they auction off women for sex.
Wes seems really nice. Someone that I might like under another circumstance. You know, if I wasn’t trying to psych myself up to hand in my V-card. Or if I didn’t become a bumbling mess in the presence of his kind of sexiness.
“What do you do, Celine?” He changes the subject, obviously aware that I don’t feel comfortable telling him where I’m going. But that question isn’t much better.
I don’t have a job. This is my last ditch effort to make enough money to go to school at NYU. And if things work out well enough with the auction, the lady I spoke with said there were other exclusive opportunities to make money. Whatever that means. I was afraid to ask.
“Your mother must have really drilled it into your head not to talk to strangers,” he teases, flashing a lopsided grin that makes his entire face look less intimidating. He reaches down and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger.
Even though I would normally be even more freaked out than I already am by his attention, I can’t help smiling back at him this time. That smile is totally disarming.
“You’ve got me,” I say, laughing. “And I’m nothing if not a good girl that follows the rules.”
He hums. “Just what I thought.”
I think I see a flicker of something in his eyes, something heated and greedy, but it’s gone in a flash.
“College student,” I blurt out, then want to smack myself for being so inept at simple conversation. Again, no surprise here that I’m still a virgin.
His eyebrows lift in amusement, and I continue. “That’s what I do. You asked what I do,” I add awkwardly. It’s almost true. It will be after tonight.
“What do you study?”
“Screenwriting.” I don’t know why I tell him that. I don’t usually tell anyone that, afraid they’ll think it’s ridiculous.
Wes smiles again. “You know, Celine, I’d love to take you out for coffee sometime. Get to know you better.”
I shake my head quickly. “I can’t. I have to be somewhere.”
“Me too,” he says, almost regretfully. “How about tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I find myself saying before I can think better of it. God, what am I thinking? I can’t go have coffee with this guy. After tomorrow I may end up being some kind of escort or something.
The thought makes my stomach churn.
“Perfect,” he says, pulling out a card and pressing it into my palm as the train slows to a stop.
I look up. This is where I get off.
I didn’t want to do this to begin with, but now after talking with Wes, I really don’t. Figures that the first time I’m able to have a real conversation with a hot guy it would be on my way to auction off my virginity.
31
Wes
Strolling slowly toward the club, I can’t get my mind off Celine. I should have gotten her number. She might never call me. Not that I should care. I don’t get hung up on any one girl. In fact, I’m willing to pay the highest price to ensure that not only do the girls I’m with know there’s no chance of it being anything more than sex, but I also have a very particular kind of girl I like.
But my dick doesn’t seem to remember that. It’s completely focused on the memory of that sweet, shy girl on the train. I continue down the sidewalk, stepping to the side when a group of burly guys in western gear, complete with cowboy hats, passes by me going in the opposite direction. It barely registers, even though they should stand out like a sore thumb in this city. But that’s New York for you. A little bit of everything.
Instead of wondering about them, my mind goes straight back to Celine. Screenwriting. I smile. That was my dream once upon a time. Before I got dragged into the grittier, darker businesses that thrive in basements and old buildings. Before I headed up Pure, the most elite escort service in Manhattan. We specialize in auctions. Of the virgin variety.
I should be glad I didn’t get Celine’s number. Because pure is exactly what she seemed to me. And I have no business messing up yet another girl. I do that enough every day of the week.
Sighing, I push open the glass door of my destination, then follow a maze of hallways that lead to a stairwell that opens up to a giant ballroom. This is my life. Wishing it were different is pointless.
“Mr. Brightman,” my assistant greets me, clipboard in hand. “Everything is all set. The last girl just arrived. Ready to get started?”
I glance around the dim room, the white tablecloth tables scattered in front of a stage, wealthy men scattered around drinking cocktails and eating overpriced gourmet appetizers.
“Let’s do this,” I say, snagging a bottle of Scotch from the bar before settling into a table at the back of the room. I may or may not bid on a girl tonight, but I always come to the auctions, staking out the scene from the shadows, making sure my business is operating just how it should. When you deal in such delicate matters, you can’t trust it to just anyone.
I pour myself a finger of the amber liquid, then knock it back as Celine’s sweet face floats in my mind again. I have a feeling I’ll be going home alone tonight. If she does happen to call me, I don’t want some girl there in the way.
The emcee of the event makes his way onstage, going through his usual speech. But the men here know the drill. None of them are new to this. Still, part of the fun is the show. The experience.
When he’s done talking, a line of beautiful young girls parade out onto the stage, lining up in their evening dresses as if it’s a beauty pageant. Each one hoping to go home with the prize.
I shake my head and wonder for the millionth time how the fuck I got this deep in this shit. They have no clue what they’re doing. How this could mess them up, haunt them for the rest of their lives.
I pour another drink as the emcee begins to introduce the girls, barely paying attention. Until he gets to the end of the line.
“Celine,” he says smoothly. “Eighteen years old.”
My head snaps up from where I’m staring into my glass.
No fucking way.
; But there she is. My sweet, shy girl from the 6 Train. Standing on my stage smiling out at the crowd of horny bastards just waiting for a chance to take her home.
I grind my teeth so hard I’m afraid they’ll be reduced to dust. What the hell is she doing here?
Auctioning her virginity?
I rake my hand through my hair, agitation taking over me as the crowd murmurs over her. Of course they fucking do. She’s gorgeous. Sweet. Innocent. Pure. Exactly what they come for.
She’s going to go to the highest bidder, and she’s going to command quite the price. I know this.
And it makes me come unhinged.
I sit on the edge of my seat for the next hour, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to be okay with some bastard going home with this girl. Trying to understand why I care so much. This is what I do. It’s my job. It’s business. I never get involved emotionally. Or really think too hard about what I’m doing, if I’m honest.
But with her? I can’t handle it. I want her for myself. And not as a prize because I bid the highest. I’m not even sure why. I just know that I saw something in her eyes on the train. Something innocent and hopeful. Something that reminded me of myself once upon a time. And I don’t want to kill that.
By the time the emcee gets back down to the end of the line, nearly twenty girls have been sold to the highest bidder. He stops in front of Celine.
“And our lovely Celine. Quite the prize.”
I bristle at his choice of words, a surge of protectiveness rising in me. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t just go up on stage and pull her down, tell her she can’t do this. She signed up for it.
The bidding starts, climbing rapidly and shockingly high, and my agitation builds along with it.
When the bids slow, and it’s just down to two men, I can’t take it anymore. I stand up from my seat and call out, “Five hundred thousand dollars.”
32
Celine
A murmur goes through the crowd as my jaw nearly hits the floor. What just happened? I thought it was insane that these men were approaching two hundred thousand dollars in their bids. I never imagined that kind of scenario when I signed up for this. But half a million dollars?
I can’t even wrap my head around that. And half of it will be mine?
Even the emcee seems flustered. “Mr. Brightman?” he asks, as if he’s unsure what’s going on.
“You heard me,” a clear voice states from the shadowy back of the room.
I swallow hard. This has suddenly become all too real. Before, terrifying as it was, it was still kind of abstract. Now, this man that I can’t see has actually bid on me. And won, apparently.
I’ll be going home with him. Having sex with him. Losing my virginity to him.
I feel lightheaded, and my ears are roaring as blood rushes through my body. My knees feel weak, and I swear I’m about to fall out on the floor.
“Very well then,” the emcee says, then turns to me just like he did all the women that went before me. “Celine? You’ll be accompanying Mr. Brightman this evening.”
Accompanying. How quaint. I force a smile and step forward, squinting my eyes, trying to see into the shadows.
A tall man steps forward, slim but strong, and my stomach flips, my breath coming fast.
I lick my lips, not sure how to act.
He steps into the light, and my whole world seems to shift.
“Wes?” I whisper, my hand flying to my mouth. I’m embarrassed. Humiliated. And also strangely relieved in a way I don’t quite understand.
He gives me that smirk, but his eyes are troubled. “Celine.”
Reaching a hand toward me, Wes helps me down the three steps in front of the stage. Good thing, because I feel like I might collapse.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers in my ear as he laces his fingers through mine and leads me back to the table he was sitting at.
His voice is comforting, reassuring. As if he can tell how out far out of my depth I am. He pulls out a plush velvet chair and guides me into it, then gestures for something. A waitress I didn’t notice from the stage appears out of nowhere to pour me a glass of champagne. That’s when I notice all the other girls that were on stage are now being wined and dined by the men who bought them.
Hands down, this is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen in my life. And that’s saying something. Growing up on a farm in Kansas was full of weird shit.
I shake my head, daring to lift my eyes to Wes. “What is going on here?”
He stares at me, his eyes slightly narrowed. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing auctioning off your virginity?”
The last part comes out as more of a hiss, and suddenly I’m thrown on the defensive. “Who are you to ask me that? You’re here buying it.” Gone is the shy girl who could barely form a sentence when I sat with him on the train. Now I’m just indignant. Who is he to judge me? He doesn’t know the first thing about me.
As if he can see what I’m thinking, his gaze softens and he reaches for my hand again.
I can’t deny the spark of awareness that hits me at his touch, the searing zing that shoots up and down my spine. I’d be crazy not to notice how sexy this man is. Hell, I noticed it plenty on the train. But now, it’s different. I’m hyper-aware of the fact that this crazy hot man has every intention of having sex with me tonight.
And though the idea was terrifying just moments ago, the tingles he’s sending through my body as he caresses the back of my hand with his thumb makes me think it might not be that bad.
Who am I kidding? I’m pretty sure that sex with Wes would be mind-blowing. That thing I said earlier? About the first time being bad and just needing to get it over with? Scratch that. Because I don’t think it would be anything like that with him.
He shocks the hell out of me when he says, “Celine, you don’t have to have sex with me. That’s not why I bid on you.”
I’m not sure if I should be insulted or relieved. “What you do mean?”
“Just that you are obviously doing this for a reason. But I can also see that it’s the last thing you want to do. So I’m giving you an out.”
I press my lips together, my eyes burning. “I need the money, Wes.” That’s a bitch to admit, but it’s true.
“You’ll get your money.”
“You bid half a million dollars,” I say, stunned. “And you’re willing to pay that even if you don’t get what you paid for.”
He smiles. “I’ll make you a deal. Come home with me tonight. We can just hang out. Watch a movie or something. Then we’ll go get that coffee tomorrow, and you can tell me all about that screenwriting program.” He shrugs. “After that, we’ll see. We’ll take it day by day.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He wants to pay half a million dollars to basically date me? Without the guarantee of sex?
And what’s even crazier is that I feel disappointed.
33
Wes
Celine’s laughter is contagious. I’ve learned this in the last few days. She’s also crazy funny.
“You really should consider comedy,” I tell her, as she tells a story with such perfect timing that I can just see her writing scripts for sitcoms.
“Now who’s being funny,” she teases, bumping her shoulder against mine as we eat takeaway Chinese on my couch in my penthouse.
Things are just that easy between us. True to my word, I didn’t make her hold up her end of the contract. We haven’t had sex. But it’s been right at the front of my mind every single day I’ve spent with her this week. Which is every day.
I want her. Badly. But I’m also enjoying getting to know her. Something I don’t take the time to do. And I’m finding that it’s fun, this whole dating thing. At least it is with her. She’s just as amazing as I suspected.
We finish up dinner, and I carry everything into the kitchen to throw it out and grab a bottle of wine.
Celine follows me into the kitchen, but when I top off her glass, she j
ust sets it down on the marble countertop and turns to me.
“Wes,” she begins, nerves evident in the shake of her voice.
“What is it?” I ask, setting my own glass down and pulling her toward me, resting my hands on the curve of her hips.
She relaxes into me as if we’ve been doing this forever, as if she’s totally comfortable with me. “I think we need to talk about this.”
“This?” I pretend I don’t know what she means.
“Us.”
And fuck, I love the sound of that. Never thought that was something I’d want to hear. But from Celine, it sounds like something I’ve been missing out on.
“What about us?” I ask, pulling her closer.
She bites her lip, and I want to kiss the worried expression right off her face. Even though I’ve yet to even kiss her. Another first. I want her to know that I don’t expect anything from her other than what I said.
She blows out a breath. “I want to give you my virginity.”
My eyebrows fly up. “We talked about this. You don’t owe me anything.”
She fixes her gaze on me, the shy girl nowhere to be seen tonight. “I said I want to.”
“We can do that. When you’re ready.”
“Tonight,” she says.
And fuck, I’m instantly hard. It’s taken everything in me not to strip this girl down and toss her on my bed and fuck her brains out yet. And here she is offering it up to me.
I can’t argue with that.
Lifting a hand to her face, I push her hair back, trailing my hand down the long column of her neck, past her collarbone to the dip between her tits. I watch her face the whole time, loving how her mouth drops open, how her chest heaves as her breath catches.
I dip my head down, needing to taste those lips that have tempted me for days. I brush my mouth across hers, lightly at first, feeling her fingers tighten and dig into my shoulder.