The Bidding War (69th St. Bad Boys Book 2)

by Chance Carter

  The Bidding War

  69th Street Bad Boys

  Chance Carter

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 1

  Cherri

  How did I get here?

  How did an innocent girl, a good girl with a good upbringing, end up sitting on this leather couch, surrounded by crystal chandeliers and fur carpets, by candlelight and fresh flowers, waiting for a virginity exam?

  I know what you’re thinking. Believe me, I know how it sounds.

  What girl in her right mind would allow this?

  I glance around the room. It really is the most opulent place I’ve ever been. The walls and floor are made of shiny, white, Italian marble. The windows are draped with plush, red velvet curtains. There’s a fire in a huge fireplace in front of me. And the rug in front of the fire is an actual polar bear fur, complete with the head. It’s face looks like it’s permanently roaring, maybe because it’s so tired of being this close to such a big fire.

  Despite the fire, I shiver.

  I’m dressed in expensive black lingerie. The whole nine yards. Stockings up to my thighs, garters hooked to my waist, a pair of tiny panties with a slit right over the lips of my pussy. The bra, if you could call it that, cups my boobs comfortably but fails to cover my nipples. Diamond earrings and a simple white pearl necklace complete the ensemble.

  There’s no other way to put it. I look like an expensive prostitute.

  It pains me to admit it, but it’s the truth.

  There’s a huge mirror on the far wall, floor the ceiling, and I glance at my reflection. Who ever thought the curvy, shy, well-behaved girl from Des Moines, Iowa would end up in a place like this?

  The Avalon.

  Fifth Avenue’s most expensive and exclusive address. The playground of billionaires.

  I’ve come a long way since leaving my grandfather and the farm.

  But have I made the right decision?

  I shut my eyes and let out a deep breath. My stomach is in knots. I’ve never been so nervous.

  There’s a brisk knock on the door and I turn toward it. It opens and a man in an impeccably tailored black suit enters. He’s tall, with a broad chest and dark features. Even through his six thousand dollar suit I can see his body is built like a Greek god. I recognize this man. Yes, I do. I saw him at a bar. I was with Kelsey. She was consoling me about something, we were drinking far too much overpriced wine, and this guy walked up to us. He was charming. He tried to pick me up.

  Of course I turned him down. Good girls from Des Moines do not go home with charming men in expensive suits in fancy bars in New York city.

  It’s just not the way I was brought up.

  Which sounds ridiculous, I know that. I mean, look at me! I’m sitting here, dressed like this, waiting for him.

  He gives me a handsome smile and starts walking confidently toward me. My heart starts pounding. I’ve never even been with a man before. Not ever. I’m a virgin. A good thing, given this is a virginity test, but a decidedly bad thing when you consider how absolutely terrified I am right now.

  “You’re Cherri, I take it.”

  I look up at him and nod shyly.

  “You’re young,” he says.

  I nod again. “Nineteen, sir.”

  “Please, call me Clint. My father was Sir. There’s no need to make me sound even older than I am.”

  “Clint,” I say, the name sounding strange on my tongue.

  He doesn’t look old. Well, he’s probably in his late thirties, but he’s in perfect physical condition and has looks that would make any of the girls back home swoon. I don’t know if I’m glad he’s hot, or even more scared. If some old doctor was testing me it would be easier in some ways. Less embarrassing. Looking at Clint, I’m suddenly terrified my body will betray me during the exam. What if I get wet? What if he realizes I’m aroused? There really is no hiding anything when you’re letting a man get as close as he’s about to get.

  There’s a bottle of champagne in an ice-bucket and he takes it out and opens it. The loud pop startles me. He smiles and pours two flutes, handing me one.

  “Please,” he says, “try to relax.”

  “Relax, right.”

  He smiles. Our eyes catch and I wonder if he has the same flash of recognition I had when I first saw him. If he does, he doesn’t mention it.

  He takes a sip from his glass and I do the same.

  “So, you’re aware of why we’re here?” he says.

  I nod. “You want to make sure I am what I say I am.”

  “Well, you can understand my need, I’m sure. At the price I’ll be bidding for you, I have to make sure I’m getting what’s promised.”

  I nod. I don’t like that he’s mentioning the auction. It makes me feel cheap, it reminds me that I’m basically going to whore myself, but I guess I’ll have to get used to it. When you’re selling your virginity to the highest bidder, you really can’t afford to be coy.

  “You know there’s no way to really tell a girl’s a virgin, right?” I say to him.

  He looks at me and smiles.

  “Oh, believe me, sweetheart. I know the difference.”

  I feel my cheeks redden as I look into his face. I have to look away.

  “Oh, you see,” he says, grinning, “that smile, those red cheeks, you don’t get that from a girl who’s been around the block a few times.”

  That makes me even redder and I struggle not to get up and run away.

  He sits down next to me and my body goes rigid in apprehension.

  “Oh, relax sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Sure you’re not,” I find myself saying.

  I never meant to be so combative.

  He grins again.

  “Well, not unless you want me to.”

  I look at him and look away again. The truth is, I really am a virgin. I’ve never even gotten close to losing my V-card. I made out with a grand total of two men in my life. One of them was Jonny Mathews, the boy I’d been best friends with for as long as I can remember. That was not something I’d ever recommend. It felt like making out with my brother. I mean, Jonny and I had bathed together as babies. We’d had sleepovers as kids where we shared the same bed. His mother looked after me when … when the accident happened. My parents died on a very strange date, the day of my first birthday, and suffice to say that single fact really did a number on my self-esteem for quite a bit of my life. I like to think I’m over it now, but the fact is, no amount of counseling and therapy can ever truly make up for the loss of your parents.

  Not that I’m complaining. I wouldn’t dare complain about my life. Not one single detail of it. Not for one single second.

  I’ve been blessed by God every day of my life and believe me when I say I know that’s the truth. My grandfather, the best man you’re ever likely to meet in this life, gave me a childhood that was truly a gift. He was kind to me, attentive, and made sure every day of my life that I knew I was loved, I was protected, and I was cared for. I love him dearly, and the fact that I’m here, doing this, selling my virginity to some rich New York billionaire, would break his dear heart.

&n
bsp; But that’s on me.

  I’m doing this for my own reasons and I don’t have to explain them to anyone else.

  I’ll live with my decision.

  In today’s world, a woman’s got to do what she’s got to do, and as far as I’m concerned, if you can justify your actions, if you can sleep at night, if you know what you’re doing and why, then God will forgive you for the shortcomings.

  “I want you to know I don’t want to hurt you,” Clint says to me, yanking me from my thoughts.

  “You better not be planning to hurt me,” I say, “because the contract I signed was pretty clear on that point.”

  He raises his hands like he’s completely innocent of even the thought of hurting a young woman. Something I find hard to believe, to be honest, given the circumstances of our meeting.

  “This is as new to me as it is to you,” he says.

  “Believe me, this is newer for me,” I say back.

  I’m surprised at myself. I’m usually all sweetness and good manners. I’d never speak like this to a man, especially a man who’s old enough, albeit just barely, to be my father.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” I say.

  “Something tells me you’re going to either way.”

  “Yes,” I say, “I think I have a right to know something about the man who’s about to … touch me, the way you’re about to.”

  He nods.

  “That’s fair.”

  “You’re not married, are you?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  My heart instantly slows down a little. Honestly, in all of this craziness, the one thing that terrified me most wasn’t that I’d be selling my virginity to a complete stranger, it wasn’t that I was committing the biggest sin my Iowa imagination could conceive of, it wasn’t even that I’d have no say in the age and appearance of my buyer. No, my biggest fear was the one thought that the man who bought me would be married.

  I’d tried to have them enter a clause in my contract that specified that my buyer had to be single. They practically laughed me out of the office. And that was the closest I got to backing out. If it wasn’t for the call from my grandfather, the call about the chemotherapy, I’d have been out the door.

  “I’m very glad to hear that,” I say.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he says. “I can tell you want to know about me, so I’ll give you the rundown. My name’s Clint Anderson. I was born in LA but I’ve lived in New York since I was eleven. I moved here after my dad got a job at a Wall Street hedge fund and I’ve followed in his footsteps. At thirty-nine, I’m the second youngest billionaire in the history of Wall Street.”

  “Who’s the youngest?” I say, trying to pop his bubble of perfect confidence.

  He looks at me and laughs.

  “You see, that’s what I’m looking for. That feistiness. That wit.”

  I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or complimenting me.

  He reaches out and touches my cheek with the back of his hand. He’s a real man. I’ve never been in a situation as intense as this before. And I’ve never been romanced, or seduced, or whatever the correct word is for what he’s doing to me. The way his fingers brush my cheek makes me blush all over again. I can feel my face flush with heat and my eyes fill with water. It’s not that I don’t like his attentions, it’s just, it’s too much. I don’t know how to respond, how to react.

  I look at him and with all the nerves I’m feeling, I might burst into tears.

  “Relax,” he says, letting his hand slide down my cheek, along the curve of my neck, and over my shoulder.

  For the first time since he entered the room, I remember just how naked I am. I look down at myself. I’m huddled into the side of the couch, as close to the edge as I can get, as if trying to hide, but there’s nothing for me to hide behind. My legs are crossed tightly, for whatever protection that’s worth, but my nipples are bare and exposed, pink and pert, erect as they’ve ever been.

  I shut my eyes and let out a little shudder of embarrassment.

  His hand caresses my shoulder, and then he moves his fingers down over my breast until they reach the nipple. I hold my breath, my eyes still shut. He takes my nipple between his thumb and forefinger as if it’s a grape he’s testing for ripeness.

  “How does that feel?” he says, his voice calm and deep, exuding confidence.

  I can’t answer him. I’ve lost all my feisty wit now. Something I’m sure he knew would happen.

  I realize that my virginity must be the most obvious thing in the world to a man like this. Once you know women, you know how to read them. This guy knows how to read me. I can tell. I feel so naked, so exposed, in front of him. He’s confident, he’s self-assured, he must have women throwing themselves at him wherever he goes.

  If that’s so, then why is he here, doing this?

  Surely he doesn’t need to buy women for sex.

  I open my eyes and glance at his face. He’s looking at my breasts now, gently fondling them, toying with the nipple closest to him.

  “You’re exquisite, Cherri.”

  I say nothing. I can tell you one thing, though. No one’s ever called me exquisite before. I wasn’t exactly one of the popular girls at school. I was what they politely call a late bloomer. I get attention now, mostly for my curves, which men in New York seem to have endless appreciation of. But I’ve never been able to think of myself as something men find attractive. It’s foolish I know, because men find all sorts of women attractive and surely I fall on someone’s radar, but when I look in the mirror, all I see is the frightened girl from Iowa who’s never even made it past first base.

  “Lie back,” he says.

  I’m all bunched up, as closed off to him as I can possibly get. My legs are crossed, my arms are crossed below my boobs, my eyes have been closed for most of this encounter. I can tell he’s getting further toward his goal and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. The sooner I cooperate, the sooner this will be over.

  I lie back on the couch, swinging my legs up onto it. He gets up and leans over me, getting a better look at my … assets.

  I lean back my head and shut my eyes.

  It’s not that he disgusts me, because he doesn’t, he’s actually hot as hell, but I’m too shy, too embarrassed to look at him.

  I feel his hands on my neck again, over both breasts, his fingers squeezing my nipples again, a little tighter this time. I squirm under his attentions and feel myself getting wet between the legs. I can’t help it. I try to will my pussy to stop embarrassing me but it’s impossible. I let out a sigh of pleasure as his fingers toy with my nipples and I instantly regret it.

  I open my eyes and look at him. His eyes catch mine. I know he heard my sigh. He’s got me now. It was an admission of guilt. An admission of pleasure.

  Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he slides his hand down to my panties and puts it between my legs, forcing them open, just an inch or two.

  He’s still looking at me, and he leans down closer, stopping just inches from my face. His face is right in front of me. His lips, masculine and seductive, are so close. I imagine what it would be like to kiss them.

  I try to remember why I’d been so adamant on having the virginity test contract amended to say no kissing. This examination is part of my obligation for the auction, but apparently there are some men who try to take advantage. I’ve even heard of auctions being cancelled because a client went too far during the virginity test.

  He’s allowed to touch me with his hands but nothing else. That means no lips. No tongue. No mouth.

  He’s leaning above me so close now that I feel his cool, fresh breath on my face. As he looks into my eyes, his finger grazes the lips of my pussy. I’m gushing for him now. There’s absolutely no room for doubt. I’m turned on. I’m putty in his hands. In any other circumstances, he’d be pretty close to having my virginity right now, absolutely free of charge.

  When you’ve had a life as innocent as mine, it really doesn’t take much for
a dashing man like Clint to get your head spinning.

  I feel my legs opening wider of their own accord, as his finger enters me for the first time.

  I moan quietly in pleasure and his face lowers down even closer to mine. His lips are literally less than an inch from mine now. I open my mouth. I want him. I want his lips on mine. I want his tongue in my mouth. His finger slides into my pussy and curls upward, making a beckoning motion. He hooks his finger into the inside of my pussy and finds a spot I didn’t even know existed. Pleasure gushes through me like an avalanche. I moan again and squirm under his touch.

  His lips are so close I can almost feel them graze mine.

  I open my legs wider, giving him freer access to me, and as his finger beckons the spot inside my pussy that’s overloading me with pleasure, he lets his palm touch against the folds of my clit. That does it.

  I moan and squirm, wrapping my legs around his torso. I reach up with my arms and grab his shoulders, trying to pull myself closer to him. I imagine it’s his cock inside me. Heaven only knows what that would feel like. I may not know much, but I do know a cock is about ten times bigger and a million times more exciting than a finger.

  As his finger slides in and out of me, a look of determination comes across his face.

  I know he’s toying with me, I know he’s doing this just to dominate me, but I don’t care. I want to be his toy. I want to be dominated by him. I cry out as my orgasm explodes inside me, rushing through my body like those pictures they show you in history class of the nuclear tests during the Manhattan Project.

  I scream and dig my nails into his shirt.

  Ugh. What I wouldn’t give to rip that shirt off.

  But of course I can’t do that. I can’t break my own rules. I can’t giveaway the goods. I need the money this auction will pay.

  My grandfather’s life depends on it.