Sold to the Billionaire: A Virgin Auction Romance Read online

  “It happens quite often,” Miranda assures me, as if that’s what I’m worried about. “And of course, all gifts are yours to keep. Our clients enjoy lavishing our Honeys with presents.”

  What follows is a bunch of legal jargon, and I take the time to slowly read over everything. The last thing I want is some kind of loophole that I’m not aware about. But everything seems to be okay. They definitely uphold the concept of safety and privacy for both the client and their Honeys, which is a relief. I’m just about to sign, when Miranda places one polished, red nailed hand on mine.

  “Tessa, I’d like to make sure that you want to do this,” she says seriously. “Our clients are here to have a pleasurable time, and that includes your pleasure too. They will know if you have doubts and hesitations.”

  “I do,” I tell her, as earnest as I can, and it’s true. I’m ready to do this, get rid of my virginity once and for all. Make a better life for me and my mom.

  “Good,” she says, releasing my hand.

  I sign on the dotted line, and Miranda briskly sweeps away the paperwork. We go over a few questions, what I would be willing to do, what I won’t (and wow, there are so many different terms that it makes my head spin). I feel like I’m limiting myself by saying no, but Miranda assures me that first timers often feel best with just the basics.

  “Alright,” she says. “Now let’s go transform you into a real Honey Fox.”

  Chapter 3

  Miranda wasn’t kidding when she said they were going to transform me. I’m taken into a room, which looks almost like you’d expect at a dentist, with a long, padded chair for me to sit on, a big mirror in a corner, and all sorts of rolling tables. There’s some cupboards along a wall, and a second chair where I could sit so that they could wash my hair. A team of women are already waiting for me when I walk in with Miranda. She introduces me to all of them, pats my shoulder, and leaves me to it. I guess they already received instructions ahead of time, or they’re so used to the job that they don’t need to be told how to get me ready for tonight’s auction, because they spring into action, stripping me down and leaving me with a paper sheet over myself before getting down to work.

  They wax and shave me, ripping off every last bit of hair off my body. My hair, normally tied up in a plain ponytail, gets washed and cut and curled. My nails are buffed and painted in with a light shell pink polish. They put this mask on my face that hurts like hellfire when it’s ripped off, leaving my whole face feeling raw. The glasses are gone, replaced by contacts. My makeup is professionally applied, my brows thinned by some crazy threading technique that leaves me stinging. If it had been done over the course of a day, I might have been fine. But since everything happens all at once, with at least three or four people hovering over me at any given time, I feel like I got through the wringer by the time they finish with me.

  Lastly, they drop off a bikini, plain white, on the table, as well as a box of shoes, and then each person packs up their tools and heads out.

  “Wait,” I call out to the makeup artist.

  She pauses at the door.

  “My clothes,” I say. “What should I do with them?”

  “Depends on what happens. If your client wants you to go with them, then all of your belongings will be sent. Otherwise you can pick it up before you go home.” She gives me a reassuring smile. “That doesn’t happen very often, so I wouldn’t worry about that. I think in all the years I’ve worked here, I’ve only seen it a handful of times. Miranda is very good at finding out exactly what our clients are looking for.”

  “Have you,” I pause, trying to find a way to ask. “Have you worked with a lot of girls like me?”

  “A virgin?” she says, and I blush. “Not too many of you these days. At least, not legal adults anyways. You’re a rare prize, and for men like these, men who are used to getting it all, that makes you very desirable.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever heard myself called desirable, much less thought of myself as such. It lights a warm feeling in the pit of my belly. I wonder what this whole thing is going to be like. It’s certainly not the way I’ve ever thought I’d lose my virginity. I just hope it isn’t too terrible. I wonder if it’s possible to back out now.

  “It’s normal to have doubts,” she says softly, and I look up quickly. Her face is kind. “I’ve seen it on a few Honeys when they first start. But I promise you, that you don’t have to worry. We have a 90% retention rate you know.”

  I wonder what’s happened to the other 10%. I want to ask, but I have a feeling that she won’t know. Besides, do I really want to know? I need to just buck up and get this done. I have to remember that this is going to change me and my mom’s life. She waves at me and leaves, closing the door behind her. Once she’s gone, I get up and push the sheet off of me, not that it really did very much to hide what’s underneath. I go over to the side where the bikini is and pull it on. It’s small, smaller than I would have liked. The top is literally a handkerchief with strings, and the bottoms aren’t much better. I try to pull the edge over my cheeks, but it’s impossible. The strings tie up at least. I survey myself in the mirror.

  I look sexy. That much is undeniable. They’ve transformed me, my breasts, heavy and proud, are clearly defined by the triangle bikini top. The air in the room is slightly chilly, and my nipples have peaked in the mirror. I run a hand down my sides, my hourglass shape completely on display. I know that some men really like their woman skinny, like twigs, and I hope that that’s not the case tonight. I never felt truly at ease in my body, and I’ve definitely never worn so little. The skimpy suit might as well not be on me for all they cover up. I open up the box of shoes. The nude heels are high, and I slip into them doubtfully. I’ve never been a stiletto kind of girl, and it takes me a few minutes to get my balance in them. At least they make my legs, thick as they are, look longer and leaner, and my ass look round and full. I give the bottoms another tug, and then I leave the room.

  There’s a woman waiting for me, typing away frantically on her cell phone. When she hears the door open, she quickly gestures me to follow. I try to keep up, but the heels are difficult, and I’m paying more attention to trying not to fall on my face than I am to her words. We go down a winding path, and then down some stairs.

  “The auction’s already begun,” she informs me, and waves me into a room to wait. “You’re number four. As soon as the girl leaves, you can go through the door.”

  There’s a couch inside, and that’s pretty much it. The door she’s talking about on the far side has a shaded window, and I walk over to take a look. The scene before me makes my eyes widen in surprise. There’s a woman on the stage, a beautiful brunette. She’s got a bikini like me, although hers is on the floor. I guess she took it off. Her legs are spread, and she’s pleasuring herself on the stage. I glance to the far side of the room, but the windows are tinted. There’s no way to see who is bidding. The number of bids keeps jumping as she works her fingers into herself, her other hand massaging her breast.

  Am I supposed to do that too?! I wonder. I’ve always been shy, and I can’t even imagine trying to go up onto the stage like that, and then taking off everything for who an audience. I swallow hard. Could I do that? I tear my eyes away from the window and pace around the room, but then I rush back to the window as if tugged by an invisible force. The woman’s fingers are flying faster, the numbers jumping higher. It’s like the bidders are caught up in the frenzy of her pleasuring herself, and I watch as she comes visibly in front of them, her wet cream sliding down between her folds to the stage. The bids finish too, and the final number reads $488,000.

  That’s an incredible sum! The woman’s slumped back on the stage, spread eagled, and the lights dim, a curtain falling down between her and the bidders. Two women in black come out and help the brunette off the stage. There’s a quiet buzz, signaling that the door is open for me to enter. I pause, hand on the latch. If I go out there, I won’t be able to back out. Here’s my last chance. I take a deep
breath, steadying my thoughts, and then I walk out on the stage.

  *******

  My legs are trembling as the two women in black lead me out of the room. I don’t know where we’re going, but it doesn’t matter. All I hear is the dinging of the bells as the bids climbed up, all the way to $900,000, and then a sudden jump up to a $1.2 million. Over a million! For a chance to have sex with me?! I think in disbelief. One of the women congratulate me.

  “I think that’s a new record for a Honey,” she says approvingly. “Because of you we’re all going to get a nice bonus this quarter.”

  The other woman beams at me too, as if I’d done more than just stand there while money is thrown at me. I still can’t believe it. That’s more than enough money for mom and me to live comfortably. Hell, it could even buy us a brand new house with change to spare if we really wanted to.

  “What happens next?” I ask them.

  “You get to meet him,” the taller of the two tells me. “And after that, it’s up to him.”

  Him. There’s a him now. Someone who I’ll have to talk to, to impress, to give myself over to. It occurs to me that I know absolutely nothing about the man, only that he wants me so badly he was willing to put down a bid big enough to scare everyone else off.

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “No. That information is strictly controlled,” the short lady tells me. “All we do here is help the Honeys after they finish on stage.”

  We stop in front of a door.

  “Here we are. You go on through. He should be by in a little bit, so just make yourself comfortable.”

  The two of them turn around, probably to help the woman after me. I open the door and to my surprise, it’s a beautifully decorated room. There’s a huge bed in the middle, and more than a few sex toys on one of the tables. Mirrors allow me to see exactly what’s happening on the bed, and the headboard has two silk scarves already tied to it. I’ve read the Fifty Shades trilogy, and I know exactly what those are for. I wonder if I’m going to get tied to the bed, bound, unable to do anything but submit to what he wants me to do. The thought makes my pussy pulse, a sensation that surprises me. I didn’t expect to be turned on by my situation at all, but I am.

  Of course, the man who bought me probably won’t be half as sexy. He’s rich, so there’s a good chance he’s old, or ugly, or something, that would force him to pay for sex, virgin or not. That or there’s something wrong with him. I’m not sure which I would prefer. Neither, to be honest, but that choice wasn’t given to me. I pray that he’s at least nice.

  I know that I have to wait, so I head over to the dresser. There’s all kinds of stuff here, a vibrator, lube, and some very realistic dildos. One of them is huge, surely too big to ever fit down there? I touch it cautiously. One end has a few buttons, I’m guessing for extra stimulation. It’s made of some kind of soft plastic that almost feels like real skin. Honestly, I’ve never actually touched a real cock before, and I run a finger down the veiny shaft, wondering if this is what it’s going to feel like. I put it back down and reach for another toy. It’s got bumps all along it, but I’ve never seen anything like that before. What exactly is it supposed to do?

  “So you’re ready to have some fun?”

  The low voice makes me jump out of my skin, and I drop the toy back on the dresser like it’s a hot potato. My cheeks are flaming as I whirl around.

  “I wasn’t trying-I mean-I’m not-”

  My voice dies out. This guy looks nothing like what I expected. He’s hot as hell for one thing. Like, hot with a capital H. And O. And T for that matter. Seriously, I think I won the lottery when it came to some guy buying my virginity. He’s got these dark green eyes that are studying me with laser intensity. He’s got the face of a model, with perfect cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a nose that’s practically aristocratic. Jet black hair, the only part of him that’s tousled and loose. The deep, self-assured voice is just icing on the cake. I’ve never seen a man that perfect. He’s wearing a well cut suit, probably tailored to his muscular body, wide shoulders, strong thighs. God, I can already imagine how it would feel to press up against all that hard muscle. My body’s on autopilot, and it likes what it sees. I can feel an ache between my legs, one that I’ve yet to feel for any man before.

  Or familiar, now that my poor brain has a chance to catch up. Because as someone who’s grown up in Las Vegas, this is a face that I’m very familiar with. It’s Spencer Belmont, the man who practically owns half the Strip. In his photos, he was handsome. Here, in person, with his confidence and absolute control, he’s all sex.

  “Relax,” he says with a smile that melts the last bits of my brain still functioning. “We won’t start off with the toys right away. Best to ease into that sort of thing.”

  “Oh. Okay,” I say, slumping with relief. But then I process the rest of his words. Does this mean he is going to use that thing at some point on me?

  “Only if you want to,” he says, reading my mind. “And by the time I’m done with you, sweet Tessa, you will.”

  The roughness in his voice is a promise that sends a shiver down my spine. It tells me that he’s definitely not afraid to dominate and control me. His green eyes haven’t left mine, and I can almost feel his gaze sweeping over me, making my panties wet.

  I’m in so much trouble.

  “Sit,” he says, taking a spot on the bed.

  The bed where he’s going to ravish me.

  I try hard not to think about that as I do what he says. There’s about two feet of space between us, but his presence more than fills it up. In fact, I’m finding it seriously hard to breathe in general. His eyes bore into me, through me, a sensation that leaves me lightheaded. I feel like this is the part where I’m supposed to do whatever it is I’m expected to do, but I’m lost. I’m not sultry or sensual, or any of those things, and the fear of slipping up has me frozen, even though there are a great many things I’d like him to do to me.

  “You’re a virgin,” he says, matter of factly.

  I nod. My mouth is completely dry.

  “Have you ever had anal sex?”

  “No,” I say in surprise. Were we going to?

  “Good. I wasn’t sure, since you were fingering those beads.”

  My eyes dart over to the dresser. Is that what they were for? I can’t even fathom how it would work.

  “What about blowjobs? Handjobs? Has anyone ever touched your breasts?”

  Shakes to all of those too, though now that he’s brought them up, all I can think about is Spencer doing every one of those things to me, and how much I want it. My nipples are pinpricks of need and desire, pushing against the fabric of my swimsuit.

  “It’s not an act with you, is it?” He muses. “That whole sweet, innocent virgin isn’t something you’re putting on for me. You actually are this pure.”

  “Of course,” I say uncertainly. “Why would I try to fool you?”

  He laughs.

  “You’d be surprised,” he says softly. He puts a hand on my cheek. “But you, you’re the real deal. You’re as pure as you look. It’s going to be a pleasure corrupting you Tessa.”

  I should be embarrassed by his description of me. It’s true, I’m looking for a man to take my virginity, to make me bad, if we really wanted to get down to it. I should not be this hot and bothered. My face is at least a hundred degrees, making me as easy to read as a book.

  “Are we-are we going to do it now?”

  Spencer gives a low chuckle, one that makes my heart bang against my chest. Jesus, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to survive this if he keeps this up any longer.

  “Yes, we are most certainly going to do it now,” he says.

  His eyes turn dark, and all that desire I feel for him threatens to engulf me completely. We’re only an inch apart, his perfect lips within reach. I don’t know who kisses first, him or mine, but suddenly we’re crashing into each other, kissing hard. His hand holds onto my neck, pulling me against him, letting me feel his
hard member through his dress pants. His tongue probes my mouth, and I open up to him, letting him deepen our kiss. Our tongues come together, pleasure crackling through me as he slides past my lips. When we part, both of us are panting.

  “Let’s start by taking off that bikini.”

  I swallow hard and do as he says, reaching behind me to untie the strings, first the bottom, then the top. I toss it away. I’ve never shown my breasts to anyone, but the way he’s looking at me, hungry and appreciative, makes me feel sexy and amazing. His possessive gaze sets my skin on fire. His breath’s speeding up, the only indication that his control is slipping. My pussy is getting slick for him, swelling up beneath the white bottoms I’m wearing. I want him to take me, devour me, use me as he sees fit. It’s new to me, and I can’t do anything but follow it right now. Slowly I pull off my bottoms, drop it at the side of the bed.

  Spencer comes up beside me, his hand trailing gently over me. His tough is light as a feather, but it sends desire rumbling through me. His fingers trace up over my arm and over my collarbone. I’m breathing hard, somehow turned on by the slightest connection to him. I’m almost shaking as he traces the curve of my breast, my nipples quivering as he finally touches the puffed areola. His fingers feel rough against the sensitive skin, a delicious sensation that makes me want more. My back is arches, desperate to feel more, to have more of him. When he pinches my nipple, sending desire down to my clit, I moan.

  He pauses for just a moment, and then his mouth is on my nipple, sucking my breast into his mouth. I close my eyes, giving myself over to the feeling of his tongue as it surrounds my pink tip, waves of desire radiating through me. I feel want in every fiber of my being, my heart racing as he does the same to my other breast. His eyes flash to mine, hungry, and I toss my head back again, giving into it, because isn’t that what this is all about? Surrender? Ecstasy? Finally discovering what the fuss is all about? His hand massages my neglected breast, fingers pinching and sending delicious zings of pain as he nibbles with his mouth on my other peak. Moisture gathers between my legs, making me slick and hollow.