Buying His Virgin

by Lila Younger

  Yep. The billionaire media mogul Silas Rutherford, owner of not only the most prestigious newspapers and magazines around the country, but countless TV channels, movie production companies, book publishers, and god knows what else under the Rutherford Group umbrella. He’s also notorious for picking his girlfriends from them, but I mean, I can’t fault the guy for dating movie starlets or Pulitzer Prize winning journalists. He pops up here and there on celebrity magazines, but I know him from his decision to be the first to move half his magazines and newspapers into the digital world.

  And okay, it doesn’t hurt that the guy is smoking hot. Like, instant pulsing between my legs hot.

  I can’t believe he’s here in this coffee shop. I’m like ten feet away from him! I wonder if it’s possible to sort of bump into him, maybe catch his eye. I have a million things I imagined saying to him in the middle of the night in bed (and not all to do with writing I promise), but I can’t for the life of me remember it now.

  I whip out my phone and Google him just to be sure. Yep. Strong jaw, hint of stubble, an aristocratic nose and those brilliant, blue eyes. His hair’s been brushed back, but the wind has tousled it perfectly. My heart’s beating double time just looking at him. This guy is the real deal. I shoot a message to Addy so she can share my excitement, because I don’t think my heart can take all this alone. She messages me back immediately.

  TALK TO HIM!

  And then,

  Wait, are you in New York?

  Oops. I forgot I wasn’t supposed to be here. I type as fast as I can.

  Mom and I are doing a mom-daughter date day. We sort of made up.

  That’s fantastic! She writes. Now TALK TO HIM! Seriously, or else I’m never going to let this go.

  She knows me too well. There’s no way I’m going to talk to him, no matter how much I fantasize about it. Maybe if I am more like Addy I would. But all Silas Rutherford is going to see when he looks at me is geeky college student. There’s no way a man like that would ever think that’s attractive. Instead, despite my best friend’s threats, I keep my head down and shuffle on up the line. He gets a hot chocolate (!!!!) from the barista and heads towards a table near the windows. Grabbing the iPad tucked under his arm, he settles in and begins to read. Probably something brilliant like the Wall Street Journal, knowing him.

  “You going to order?” a voice asks irritably behind me.

  I turn to the voice and realize I’ve held up the entire line staring at Silas Rutherford. Cheeks burning, I step up to the barista and put in my order of hot chocolate, and join the clump of people clustered around the coffee machine waiting for their orders. I’m still embarrassed, but thankfully Silas is all the way in the front, so he wouldn’t have noticed. Once I get my drink, I pop a lid on it and carefully move towards the exit. I would take a sip, but I’ve learned my lesson when I burned the roof of my mouth. It’s just safer to wait. I’m so preoccupied with making sure I don’t spill my drink that I don’t notice someone’s backpack they’ve stuck, the loop catching on my flats and pulling my leg out from under me.

  “Ah!” I yelp in the half a second I have before I hit the floor hard.

  The only saving grace I can think of is that my drink tilted forwards, not backwards, because the last thing I need is to have third degree burns on me in addition to the humiliation.

  “Dude, she went flying!” some guy crows from the line.

  I hear a snigger from some other guy in line. Like, what the hell? I quickly scoop my stuff back into my purse.

  And then a nice person crouches down and puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “You alright?” a deep voice asks.

  “Yeah, I’m, I’m fine,” I stammer.

  I look up to say my thanks, and freeze.

  It’s Silas Rutherford. He’s the one who’s nice enough out of everyone in the shop to help me up. Not even the asshole with the backpack is doing anything.

  “Thanks,” I say faintly.

  There’s a hint of amusement in his blue eyes that makes me smile goofily back at him. I try to breathe, but suddenly it’s become incredibly difficult. It’s like my brain forgot how to function. His hand gently pulls me up, the feel of him burning like a brand through my clothes. He’s got big, masculine hands, but he handles me like I’m a delicate piece of china. I’m so close to him that I can smell him, his shampoo and cologne and some undercurrent of male that’s got my nerves electrified. Somehow I still retain enough control of my body that I’m able to get on my feet.

  “How about another hot chocolate for her Arnold?” he asks the guy behind the counter.

  “Right away,” the barista replies.

  Wow, they must know who he is here too, because in what seems like two seconds flat there’s another drink in my hand. I blush and push the hair behind my ears. It’s back to business as usual for everyone else, but I wish the ground would open up and swallow me. Why did I have to be clumsy now of all times?

  “Careful with that one,” he says easily. “Arnold’s hot chocolate is too delicious to end up on the floor.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble. And then, in a move that would make Addy ashamed to be my friend, I bolt out the doors.

  Silas

  I watch her flee out the doors, and I’m surprised to say that I’m disappointed by it. She’s one girl among millions here in New York, even if she is beyond beautiful. As a billionaire, I move among the highest circles of society, the best of the best, so I’m used to seeing a pretty face, but there was something else about her. Was it the lightest spray of freckles across her nose, as if kissed by sunlight? That little bit of imperfection that makes her more real and beautiful than any plastic surgery could provide?

  Who knows? I’m not going to dwell on it though, because she disappeared before I could ask her name, and chances are I’ll never see her again, not in a city this size. I head back to my table, but my concentration is gone. Expense reports are dry enough when I’m focused, but right now I’m distracted. I keep glancing out the window, wondering if maybe the mystery woman would walk by again.

  Eventually, when the rush of people die down, I walk over to Arnold.

  “Did you happen to catch a name?” I ask him as I give him my card to pay for the extra drink.

  “I think it was Olivia?” he says with a grin. “Thought you might want to know.”

  I raise my eyebrows and he outright laughs.

  “Come on. I’ve seen you hit on enough women in my shop to know when you’ve got that look in your eye. It’s like you’re hunting them down. Only this one got away.”

  I’ve been coming to Arnold’s coffee shop for almost five years. He’s located conveniently across the street from my home, and furthermore, he didn’t blab to the press that I like to stop in. That alone wins him points in my book. I come so often that he knows to keep customers away from my table. I don’t ask him to, but I do appreciate it. I’m not one of those bastards that demand to be treated like royalty just because I’m rich as one. It’s not my style, and it’s asking for trouble as far as I’m concerned. I already have my face splashed in enough tabloids.

  Once I’ve paid, I leave the coffee shop and go for a walk. I’m restless, and despite the fact that some of my friends would rather die than brush elbows with the rest of the city, I find it relaxing to stroll through Central Park. The one piece of prime real estate in the city that no amount of money could buy. I had a knotty problem. One of our magazines is losing too many subscriptions, and I have a feeling that I’ll have to close it down within a month. It was a disastrous idea to begin with, but it was my father’s pet project, and despite the fact that he no longer oversees the day to day operations, what he wants he gets. Only now what he wants is dragging down the rest of the company, and I refuse to continue financing something when the rest of our margins are so thin in print media. It’s just a matter of making sure that our employees will have other places to go once the magazine gets shut down. I owe my billions to these employees, and I’m not about t
o let them down.

  Interestingly enough, the girl in the coffee shop had a copy of our magazine in her purse. I push her from my mind, but she insists on popping up in my mind over and over. Damnit, I’m even starting to get hard thinking about her. Her lips, plump and soft, wrapped around my cock... This was not the place.

  I blame it on the lack of sex in my life. While I have a reputation as a player, I’ve settled down a lot lately. The chase, the hunt, the eventual satisfaction... it all seems so damn routine. Every woman seems the same, all of them tall, all of them pretty, all of them after my money. I needed something more, something different.

  My cousin Malcolm’s words come back to me. ‘There’s a site where you can get anything you want,’ he said when I explained why I didn’t feel like hitting up a movie premiere. ‘For men like us, who can afford to buy whatever we want.’ All legal, he assures me. A service only for the ultra-rich, who have no desire to wait, or go through the paperwork and the drudgery, where the only language is money. They call it the Genie Lamp, and for good reason. You want a Renoir to add to your collection? They can arrange it. A guaranteed space in the Ivy College of your choice for your child, it will happen. In addition to requests, they hold auctions, where priceless treasures and man’s deepest desires are up for grabs. No paper trail, no messy scandals. It’s perfect for a man like me, who values privacy over all else. In fact, it’s the reason why I took the penthouse in the first place.

  It would be the perfect way to forget about Olivia.

  I stop so abruptly that I cause a man jogging behind me to swear. I’m an action kind of guy. As soon as I decide on something, I do it. It’s served me well in business, and I don’t see why it can’t apply to other parts of my life. I turn around and head back the way I came. The idea of forgetting about business is very satisfying. It doesn’t take me long to reach the hotel, and I nod at the bellhop as I pass through the ornate double doors. The hotel is busy with guests that I have to weave around, and not for the first time, I think maybe it would be better if I had an apartment of my own. I could certainly afford one, though I’m not sure that I’d be able to get these kind of views. Maybe that’s something I should keep an eye out for on the site too.

  I pull up the site, enter in my account information, and I get a blinking message. There’s a special auction happening right now, for the next fifteen minutes. A bonafide virgin’s up for auction. I’m just about to close the box when I see who’s up for grabs.

  It’s Olivia.

  Jealousy bubbles up in my chest. The thought of her being with someone else makes me see red, and I click the auction. She’s mine, I decide, and nobody else is going to have her.

  Olivia

  It’s not enough.

  Those are the only words echoing through my mind as I stand in front of the camera pointed at me. Even though I’ve been dolled up to the nines, my hair carefully done, my clothes replaced with this silky, airy goddess gown that hugs my ample breasts and flares beautifully over my hips, my makeup put on by what looked like a professional. It’s not enough to buy my parents’ freedom. The number jumped quickly at first when the camera blinked on, but it’s stalled out at four hundred and seventy five thousand. I’ve done everything, but it’s still not enough.

  I glance over at the guy in the corner of the room. He’s the one who turned on the camera, and he’s frowning at his laptop. I was told to turn around, make sure that the bidders could see me, and to ‘look enticing’. He didn’t seem to realize that that’s definitely not my forte.

  “What do I do?” I ask him. “It’s not enough.”

  “Don’t ask me,” he says. “I’m just here to make sure it runs smoothly.”

  “I need more.”

  “Then take off your clothes. Men always like to see that.”

  My mouth drops open at his suggestion. Take off my clothes? Who does he think I am? I can’t do something like that? But then I see the seconds ticking down. I’ve got fifteen before the auction ends. It resets to a minute every time someone makes a bid, and I need somebody to make one otherwise all of this would have been for nothing. There’s no way my parents can come up with twenty five thousand dollars for Pete. And I can almost feel my dreams of Journalism school slipping away.

  Come on Olivia. Get a hold of yourself. If you’ve come this far already, are you really going to let this be where you draw the line? I scold myself. It’s not as if I’m not already sold to someone.

  I look down at my dress. It’s beautiful, the most expensive thing I’ve ever worn. The pale pink fabric clings to me, and the translucent layers are already giving away more than is decent. The gown’s a Grecian style, with two gold clasps holding up the swaths of fabric. It would be easy to take off, and I wonder if maybe that’s why I’ve been put in it. I lift my hand to the left clasp and slowly unsnap it. The fabric releases and drops down, revealing just a hint of my creamy breast and rosy nipples. Already this feels like too much. The camera, an impersonal eye, whirrs as it zooms in. I take a halting breath and lift my hand again to the second clasp.

  This is it. I can do this. But suddenly the timer resets, jumping back up to a minute.

  I freeze when I see the blinking number on the screen in front of me. A million dollars? I think. For my virginity? I can’t believe it. I knew that my first was worth something, but that much blows my mind. Even after paying my father’s debt, my share of the money would easily put me through graduate school at one of the finest universities in the country.

  And to tell the truth, I’m relieved. I’ve never taken off my clothes for any man before, much less an audience of men. I remove my hand from the other clasp and drop it to my side. A part of me wonders if maybe I should take off my clothes anyways, drive up the bid, but I don’t want to. I need money, yes, but I wouldn’t want to give up everything for it.

  The big bid seems to scare off the other bidders, and the number doesn’t climb up any higher. After an excruciating sixty seconds, the auction ends. One million dollars! I let out a sigh of relief, crumpling down to the floor. My whole body is shaky, and I’m so relieved that I almost laugh. Who knew that I’d be so happy to be sold?

  A moment later, the lady who brought me into the room comes forward. She looks like a receptionist, and she’s been with me from the time I stepped into the building until the moment I was led up onto the dais where they filmed me for the auction. She holds out her hand for me to take as I wobble down the dais. I really can’t wait to take off these shoes. I’m not a heels kind of girl, and these ones are extra painful.

  “You’re all done,” she says, way too cheerfully as she clips my dress together again. “One million dollars! Wow! I think Carlos will be very happy.”

  “Wait,” I say, putting a hand on her arm. “What’s going to happen to me next?”

  She just keeps smiling serenely. I’m led through a different door. I wonder if maybe there’s another girl being led to the auction room.

  “The bidder needs to pay, and then you’ll be taken to him. Most of our bidders have rooms in the hotel next door, so that they can acquire their purchases immediately.”

  I really don’t like being referred to as a purchase, as if I’m not a person. Even though she’s the first nice person I’ve encountered so far, I push myself away from her. I have to remember that she doesn’t care about me, not one bit.

  “Do you know who won the auction?” I ask instead. I refuse to say ‘buy me’.

  “There aren’t any names,” she says. “It’s for the buyer’s protection. All we have is an account number where funds are transferred from. It can take a while if they plan on participating in multiple auctions.”

  “You can’t tell me anything?”

  It’s slowly starting to sink in that I’m in a rather precarious position. What if they decide to take me out of the country? And what she said about multiple auctions. Does that mean there are other girls who are being sold? Are they in the same situation as I am? What if I’m made to perfor
m with a whole bunch of strangers in some kind of. Some kind of orgy? It sounds so dirty.

  Her phone pings, and she holds up a finger as she reads through the text. Then she looks up and smiles at me.

  “Seems like your buyer paid already,” she says. “Lucky you. I’m to take you to the penthouse suite. This way.”

  The woman leads me down a set of backstairs and a hallway that brings us back to the sparse front room of the building. We head outside and go directly next door to the hotel. Nobody bats an eye at my outfit. I guess New Yorkers are used to seeing stranger things. A doorman opens the door, tipping his hat as we pass through.

  Despite my circumstances, I can’t help but gasp as I look around the hotel. It oozes luxury and wealth, from the velvet stuffed chairs surrounding the fireplace where people can sit and enjoy themselves on my right, to the sleek, ultramodern bar/restaurant on my left. There’s a gorgeous chandelier hanging above me, with hundreds of delicate crystals. I see more diamond encrusted jewelry, Louis Vuitton suitcases (I know this thanks to Addy), and designer handbags than I can count on the hotel guests. We head past the reception desk, towards the row of gold elevators.

  The lady leads me to the one at the very end with its own separate controls. It dings immediately, and as the doors close, I can see my own reflection in the mirror. I can’t believe the transformation they did on me. I look, well, gorgeous. As good as Addy almost. The blowout, the makeup, the jewelry, all of it looks expensive. I almost fit in with the rest of this place. The lady smiles into the reflection.

  “Almost there,” she says.

  I wonder how many times she’s done this. If the girls she’s led to their buyers were nervous or angry or excited. And who might my buyer be? Would he be old? Balding? Fat? I sort of feel pitiful that my first time is going to be with a stranger, instead of someone I love. I know it’s not that big of a deal, that tons of women give it up to someone other than who they marry, but since I’ve kept mine for so long, I sort of thought maybe I would be different. Maybe it would be special.