Page 2 of Marked By the Billionaire
“No, I don’t want to add to your stress. You’ve got enough going on with the mystery husband thing.”
She slurps again. “Your drama’s keeping my mind off my own. Besides, if I disappear into matrimony with a man whosefavorite topic is offshore banking, you’ll owe me at least ten wild stories in exchange.”
That pulls a small smile out of me. “Deal. Ten storiesminimum. I’ll make them juicy.”
“Good,” she says, voice warm like she’s wrapped me in a hug from states away. “Just promise me one thing?”
I tuck the pepper spray back into my purse and glance toward the fairground gates. “What?”
“Don’t forget who you are in all of this. He may be mysterious, rich, weirdly obsessed with rules, and holds the cash and power,”wow, this is sounding promising,“but you’re the main character. It’s stillyourvirginity.”
My virginity.Truthfully, I’ll be happy to get rid of the stigma. I just turned twenty-one. I should’ve lost this title on prom night years ago, when the rest of my friends did.
“I won’t forget,” I whisper. Then, more firmly, I say, “I’ve got this.”
Sloane sighs like she’s satisfied. “Great! Now go be fabulous.”
The call ends, and I’m left with the fading scent of caramel in the air, the autumn chill wrapping around my nerves, and the reality that just beyond this stand is a big, hot, much older man whose touch is about to rewrite my destiny.
Chapter Two
Wilder
Money isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, yet I’d bet any one of these people wandering this Fall-Fest would pluck out their hearts if I wrapped it in enough zeros. If I wasn’t born with money, I’d be that guy too.
Hardworking, hungry, scraping at every opportunity like it was my last meal, desperate to fill my bank account to the brim. It’s who I was born to be, but lately money isn’t enough.
I need a challenge.
Not thrill-seeking or adrenaline-junkie extremes. I’m seeking an experience most people take for granted. I’m seeking an experience that’ll pull me out of my head and into real life. Something that’ll shake me up, fill my veins, provide me with novelty none of my friends are experiencing.
That’s why the virgin auction makes sense. I’ve bought companies, penthouses, politicians, and favors. Not many of the people I know have chosen to commodify the human experience.
I’m ahead of the curve.
Sure, the virgin auction sounds twisted on paper, transactional and maybe even clinical, but at least there’s truth in it. No pretending, no games, just raw intent laid bare. It’s not love, it’s not a lie, and it’s cleaner than what passes for romance in my world.
Fall-Fest spins around me. Children laugh, hay flies, violins screech through old country tunes, but none of it touches me like it does the other folks. I see smiles and relaxed shoulders, people kicking up dust and gravel as they dance. Long term, I’d like this kind of experience. A weekend where I trick myself into feeling things. Things normal people feel without thought.
Dragging in a breath of deep-fried sugar, I move toward the entrance of the festival, where the girl and I agreed to meet. We haven’t spoken at all except for the short exchange of location. The app doesn’t allow for conversation. The only thing I’ve been privileged to is a short bio, including kinks, a list of showstoppers, a 3-D image of her body, and a close-up of her face.
I’ve looked at the images half a dozen times since I started bidding. There were quite a few rich assholes going after her, so I had to stop everyone in their tracks. One million dollars for an innocent little virgin. Freckles on her cheeks, tits full and sitting high, curves thick and round. She’s a student at Colorado Springs University, struggling to make ends meet, and she claims to be down for anything.
We’ll see about that.
It’s then that I catch a glimpse of her gorgeous frame out of the corner of my eye. She wears a short orange dress with a black cardigan and a side bag that looks like a bat. Her hair is swept back in a long ponytail, and though I can tell she’s tried to cover the dark circles under her eyes, they’re still there.
I wonder what kind of real-life pain she’s carrying.I think this interests me more than sex, if I’m honest. I want to know all the down and dirty details that make a normal person’s life real. I want to experience something genuine through her. Something I can’t experience anywhere else. Somethingno oneelse can.
I tuck my phone into my back pocket and toss my empty cider cup into a trash bin as I round the corner of the tractor pull and toward the woman I purchased. She’s much shorter than I expected, more naïve looking too. The picture she posted was evocative. Now, she looks more adorable than sexy, like maybe she’s here for a storybook date. The innocence radiating from her fires off some primal instinct inside of me. The one where the big, strong man must protect the princess, though I’m fresh out of red checkered blankets.
I adjust the cuff of my shirt and keep my pace steady and deliberate. I see why she chose this place to meet. It’s hometown wholesome, a lot like that outfit.
She stands just past the corn maze entrance, framed by jack-o’-lantern lights. For a second, I consider calling this whole thing off. Seeing a twenty-one-year-old in person, and bidding on one online are two very different experiences. In one, there’s a screen between us. In the other, I’m a fucking weirdo.
That said, I don’t turn back. I stay tucked around the corner a second longer, studying the way her fingers fidget with the strap of that ridiculous bag. This is what I came for.
A thrill.
