I stare blankly for a moment before I figure out what she means. They need to see my… I don’t even want to finish the thought. It’s repulsive.
Yet, in fairness, anyone could just claim to be a virgin, couldn’t they? If someone is going to spend millions of dollars, a little proof isn’t totally unreasonable, is it? If I were buying a priceless piece of memorabilia, I’d want the provenance, right?
Still, in the back of my mind I hear Radha voicing her disapproval. How many red flags do you need, Wendy?
She gives me a paper with a bar code, which I photograph with The Virgin Exchange app on my phone. “This will allow us to track in our system that you have passed the exam,” she explains.
Unhappily, I spread my legs and close my eyes. “I thought I was going to see a doctor,” I mutter.
“I am a doctor,” the woman replies. “And this isn’t my only job here. I’m on-call for emergencies too.”
“Ahh.”
I hear the squeak of plastic and open my eyes long enough to see Dr. Nora putting on a disposable latex glove. “Any allergies?” she asks.
“No.”
“Are you on any medications at the moment?”
“No.”
I half expect her to ask if I’m sexually active, but the answer to that should be pretty obvious.
Then I feel her fingers very gently, and only for a few seconds.
“Okay, you’re done,” she says, pulling off the glove. She takes back the paper with the bar code and scans it. “Have a nice night,” she says, giving me a smile.
Yeah, sure.
—
Leaving the “exam” room, I understand why many of the other women seemed upset. That was not the most uplifting experience of my life. And what’s more, a serious doubt creeps into my mind about the auction. If being inspected like a piece of meat felt so degrading, how could I possibly go through with all the twisted games Orson wants to play? And could I even sell my virginity at all? I know I can back out of the auction if I want, and now might be the time.
But then I think about the Eiffel Tower. Big Ben. The Leaning Tower of Pisa. The Parthenon.
Radha’s right about one thing: I am going to drive myself crazy.
By the time I get to the hall, many of the buyers have arrived, though there are fewer than last time — I guess the ones who aren’t bidding either don’t feel like showing up, or weren’t invited.
I spot Cash by the bar and head over to meet him, and my mood begins to pick up — I find myself trotting rather than walking. When he sees me, his face lights up with a big smile. Like all the men here, he’s wearing a black tie and tuxedo. The sight is breathtaking.
“Wendy,” he says. “I’m glad you came.”
“Me too,” I reply. Even though we’ve spoken every day, I realize that I’ve missed him. Talking online really doesn’t compare to seeing him in person.
“You look fantastic, by the way. That’s a lovely gown.”
“Thank you,” I say. “You look good too.”
As he catches the bartender’s attention to order me a glass of wine, I see that the other women have also apparently gotten over the examination and now dance and laugh with the others.
“Hey,” I say. “Earlier, a few of the other girls were giving me some nasty looks. What’s that all about?”
Cash chuckles. “You’re the belle of the ball, Wendy. They know there’s a pair of billionaires fighting over you, and they’re jealous.”
“Oh,” I mumble, stunned. I’d never imagined they could be jealous of me.
“You could make more than all of them put together, if you go through with this,” Cash adds. “And they know it.”
He’s grinning like a kid just let out for recess, and it’s going straight to my core. I try to ignore the ache inside, but I feel a dampness spreading through my panties, and realize, who wouldn’t want the attention of this man?
“So, what happens after you win an auction?” I ask, trying to change the subject — though not entirely. “Do you go and gloat to Orson?”
“No,” he laughs. “He knows when he’s lost.”
That’s mature, at least. “What about the girl? Have there been a lot?”
“A few,” he admits. “What about them?”
I can imagine being in their shoes: I’ve just been promised thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of dollars, and all for the pleasure of making love to a man as handsome and charming as Cassius Swain. Now I’m convinced Radha’s the crazy one — who wouldn’t want that?
“Well, what do you do after a win?” I ask “Open up a briefcase full of cash and then go somewhere to do it?”
Laughing more, he shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, Wendy, I take the girl out on a very nice date — a fancy dinner, some kind of show, a visit to a wonderfully romantic spot… something she’ll never forget. And then she gets the money.”
“Would you take me out on one of those dates?” I ask, feeling a little high from just the thought of it. “I’d like to see what you have in store for me.”
“Of course, I’d love to,” he says, his eyes growing lustful and eager.
“Good, I’m looking forward to it. Wining and dining and… wait,” I say. “What about the sex? Do you and the virgins…?”
With a shrug, Cash says, “If they want to, and I like them, then I don’t turn them down.”
My mind is racing, trying to put this together. He doesn’t turn them down? “So, you’ll spend hundreds of thousands of dollars to win a woman’s virginity, and then not even… get what you paid for?”
He shakes his head, suddenly looking very serious. “I don’t force people to do anything they don’t want, Wendy. That’s not the kind of person I am.”
“Sure, I get that — but then why still pay?”
“Because I’m obligated to,” he replies.
“And the girl isn’t obligated to have sex with you?”
“The auctioneer might say so, but not me.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to add. His admission has caught me completely off-guard. How can somebody spend all that money for nothing? The idea boggles my mind. Strangely enough, it reminds me of Radha and her stubborn insistence on paying for the trip to Europe. She might be surprised to hear how much she and Cash have in common.
“Do you think I’m going to do that?” I ask nervously. “Just take your money and not… go through with… it?”
“I’m not worried,” he says, giving me a wink. “You’re here for the money but that’s not all you’re interested in, is it?” He takes my hand in his, and then using his other index finger, traces a path up my arm and to my neck, and then my lips. “You want to be touched.”
When he takes his finger from my lip, I almost cry out, pained by its departure. However, his hand moves around to my back, pulling me in close to him, “You ache to be claimed,” he continues, caressing my bottom. “And I think you want me to be the man who claims you.”
His hand maneuvers up my dress and between my thighs, feeling my tender entrance and massaging it softly. I look around, terrified that someone is watching, but also I want him to go harder. It feels impossibly good, and I gasp after not knowing I was holding my breath.
“I would love to be your first, Wendy, and the pleasure…” — he says, pulling away his hand to show me his fingers, which glisten from my wetness — “…would definitely be yours.”
My legs wobble, blood rushes to my head, and I moan in frustration, wanting Cash now.
“But I won’t force you,” he says instead. “The money is yours no matter what.”
“That’s really cool,” I mumble, my heart still pounding.
He waves it off. “It’s really not that big a deal.”
I’m about to argue it is, but stop. I’d nearly forgotten: he is getting something, isn’t he? He doesn’t need the sex — he just needs to beat Orson.
“Cash,” I say, feeling a surge of dread. “Which is more important to you? Being with
me, or winning me from Orson?”
For once, the look on his face crumbles like a building that’s just had its foundations rocked. “I…” he stammers.
“Is someone talking about me?” comes a new voice, stealing Cash and I away from the question. We turn to see Orson Bishop with an ugly grin on his face.
“Mr. Bishop,” Cash says coldly. “Always a master at showing up when you’re least wanted.”
“Don’t be rude, Cassius,” he replies. “You’re supposed to be the nice guy, remember?”
Wait, what is he talking about?
“Shut up, Orson,” Cash growls. “I’m a lot nicer when you’re not around, believe me.”
“Of course you are. Wouldn’t want to tarnish the white knight’s shining armor, would you?”
“Orson, I swear-” he starts, though he cuts himself off.
The older man turns to me, and his expression reminds me of a jack-o-lantern, gruesome and horrific in its mirth. “Mr. Swain gets mad so easily, Ms. Hart. He thinks he’s good at this game, but there’s something he always forgets.”
Game? Glowering, I ball my fists. Through my teeth, I ask, “What’s that?”
“Cash is king,” says Orson. “Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, whoever has the most, wins.”
“That’s not true,” I counter, but it comes out weak and unconvincing.
Orson chuckles. “Of course it is. Look at Mr. Swain’s business. It’s booming ever since he gave his staff a nice, fat raise. He acts like some kind of visionary man of the people, but all he did is flash some cash. He didn’t befriend all of his employees; he didn’t learn their names and their life stories. He just… paid them.”
Cash’s face darkens like a storm cloud. I’ve never seen him so mad. The smoldering intensity thickens the air with raw, barely contained passion. “You need to walk away,” he says. “Now.”
“Not until I’ve got what I want: Ms. Hart.” He looks at me hungrily. “She’s no idiot. When she sees the millions and millions of dollars I’ll bid, ten times more than you’ll pay, she’ll do what makes sense; she’ll bow down to the king.”
I’m about ready to slug Orson. I’ve never felt so infuriated. Being spoken of as though I have no agency in the matter, as if I’m just a trophy on a table waiting to be scooped up — it’s demeaning. Radha would be dragging me away, cursing out the both of them, if she saw all this.
“She’s not a whore, either,” rumbles Cash, trying to contain his rage. “She’s not going to be bought buy a sadistic creep like you.”
“That’s better, Cassius. Stand up for your damsel and-”
“Enough!” I shout, not caring if it causes a scene. “If the two of you want to treat this like a game, then we can play a game,” I tell them, watching both of them so I can be sure they’re listening carefully. “I’m going to choose both of you for the auction, and then we’ll see who’s playing to win, won’t we?”
“Wendy, think about this-” Cash starts, but I silence him with a glare.
“No. The two of you are lucky I don’t back out of the auction completely right now. Don’t think I won’t.”
Orson can’t help but smirk when I say this, but he’s wise enough to keep his mouth shut.
“You both better play your cards very, very carefully,” I warn. There’s so much more I’d like to add, but I’m reeling, awash in fury. I feel on the verge of breaking into tears, and I refuse to let them see me cry. “I’m leaving. Good night,” I conclude, twisting and marching away.
“Let the games begin,” Orson snickers, but I don’t stop.
I watch Wendy leave, teetering between running after her and waiting to see what Orson does. His eyes point straight at her ass, unabashedly.
The bartender quickly looks away when I turn to him, pretending he hadn’t been following the entire display. “Bourbon, please,” I say to him. “A double.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies, grabbing a glass and a bottle of Four Roses. He takes them so quickly he nearly drops both.
“Relax,” I say, though I’m the one who needs to calm down. The bourbon will help, but I’m seeing red — livid, both at Orson and myself. He pushed all my buttons, but I let it happen. I should have known better.
Orson settles into a stool next to me at the bar and says, “I’ll have one too.”
I ignore him and mind my drink, sipping slowly. The liquor helps, but not much, not with Orson sitting there looking smug.
“I think that went well,” he quips when he finishes his drink.
“Shut the fuck up, Bishop.” There’s a gnawing in my gut trying to tell me to walk away now before this gets bad, but I can’t. When it comes to Orson Bishop, I do not back down, even when maybe I should.
“You had a chance to have Ms. Hart to yourself, you know? I didn’t think she was going to let me bid,” he continues, ignoring my warning. “You just did me a huge favor. You drove her to keep me in the auction.”
He’s right, of course. There’s no denying it, though I still want to knock his teeth out. If he was wrong, I wouldn’t care.
“You had this all wrapped up, and now you’re going to lose.”
I throw back the rest of my drink and slam the tumbler down on the bar. So far, the only person really listening is the bartender, but I can hear the murmurs in the crowd. People are starting to watch the two billionaires having words. “Are you finished?” I snap, trying to keep my composure and maybe end this quickly.
“Not really, no. You’re usually a smooth operator, Cassius. I’ve never seen you so worked up, and I’m trying to figure out why.”
“You just bring out the best in me.” I catch the bartender’s eye, point to my empty glass, and hold up two fingers.
“No, this is different,” says Orson. “It’s because you like her, obviously.”
“Bullshit,” I say, too quickly. The bartender brings my second bourbon, and I nearly inhale the drink as I knock it back. “This is a fight between you and me; Wendy’s just the battlefield.”
Orson laughs and calls for another drink of his own. “Don’t lie, Cassius. You’re fooling no one. You really like Wendy Hart. That’s too bad — it’ll make losing the auction to me that much worse.”
My nostrils flare as I rise up out of my seat. “You’re in for a real disappointment, Bishop. Wendy is never going to sleep with you. It doesn’t matter how much you bid; she’ll quit the auction before she takes your money.”
Patiently and gracefully, Orson gets up too, and his impressive height looms over the small crowd that’s quietly assembled.
“Don’t be naïve,” says Orson. “Whether it’s my money or yours, she’s going to take the money. You think she’s different? She isn’t. You’ll see, Cassius. She’s just another whore, like all the dumb virgins we’ve bid on before.”
My fist swings in an arc so fast I barely realize it’s happening. Knuckles impact Orson’s cheek, sending him sprawling to the floor. He grunts as he lands but recovers quickly, getting back to his knees and then his feet.
The hall goes silent, waiting for all hell to break loose, but Orson doesn’t throw a counter-punch. Instead, he swipes a napkin from the bar and wipes away the blood beginning to drip from his nose. “That’s your move, Cassius?” he asks.
He’s right, again. If this is a game of chess, then I just swept the pieces off the board. It may have felt good, but no one ever throws a fit when they’re winning.
A pair of security guards approach us, one on either side of me. Bodybuilders with more muscles between them than an entire rugby team, they barely fit into their tuxedos. On a good day, I might be able to take one of them, with a little luck. “Mr. Swain,” one begins.
“Yeah, save it,” I interrupt. “I’m going.”
Orson chuckles softly and sits back down at the bar. “Been fun, Cassius. See you next week.” His laugh rings in my ears as I exit and doesn’t stop for the rest of the night.
“You did what?” Radha shrieks.
“I may ha
ve lost my cool a little bit,” I admit, getting up from the couch. I’m still wearing my dress from The Gala, since I fell asleep here while watching TV. I nearly knock over the melted remains of a pint of rocky road I left on the floor, and my face still feels puffy and raw from crying. Radha had joined me, but I couldn’t bring myself to say what had happened until now. It still feels like something from a dream.
“I know you’re not used to having guys fight over you, but this isn’t the way it’s supposed to work,” Radha groans. “Can’t you see this is getting out of control?”
“No, now I’m in control for the first time!” I argue. “I can play the two of them off each other to get what I want, and if I don’t, I can call the whole thing off whenever I want.”
“You can call it off, but that’s it, Wendy. If you want the money, you have to sleep with whoever wins the auction. If Orson wins, are you willing to either do what he wants, or go home empty-handed?”
“Yes,” I grouse, though I don’t know if I really mean it.
Radha sighs and takes my place on the couch. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she mumbles.
Me too.
—
A few hours later, after I’ve had time to change, clean up, and have a lunch of carrot sticks and peanuts instead of more ice cream, my phone buzzes with a new alert from The Virgin Exchange — a text from Cash.
I’m sorry about last night, Wendy. Please call me when you get this.
I shut the door to my room and take a deep breath. Then I make the call.
To my surprise, the screen of my phone goes blank for a moment, and Cash’s face appears. “Hey,” he says, looking happy to see me.
“Hi. How’s it going?”
“Not the greatest. Last night was a shit show, and I’m sorry you had to see that.”
I nod. “Thanks. He was provoking you, though — I see it now.”
“It’s no excuse,” he replies. “And, you may not know the rest.”
“The rest?”
He grins sheepishly. “After you left, he said some things, and I punched him a little.”
“A little?”
Winning Bid: A Virgin Auction Romance Page 6
