Cherry Pie Novel – I put my v-card for sale online, only for it to be bought by my best friend’s dad. MarshallBane is the man who I’ve known since I was five, also my neighbor. He was my first crush—the first man to ever give me butterflies before I even knew what the feeling was. “What the heck, Kendall!” He hisses. “I—Mr. Bane—” “What the heck were you doing on that website?!” He spits. It’s not anger in his eyes. It’s more like… shock. A touch of fear. A dash of concern, and a whole cup of lust. “Me? What were you doing on that website?!” I spit right back. “I’m an adult, Kendall!” he roars. “So am I!” “Barely!”
A week ago, when I broke, I clicked an online auction. She looked young, though the site listed her as twenty. Young, stunningly gorgeous, and hot even though there was this air of total innocence about her. Blonde hair, full, pouty lips, a body made for sin. A body made for me. One look, and something broke in me. A switch flipped. A gear turned. A spark went off, and the fire was lit. Beautiful, tempting as original sin, and for sale. The starting bid was $250,000. And the prize? Her chastiy. No face. No name. Just the website screen name of “Cherry Pie”. The name made more sense later, when I won. Later, when we video chatted in silence—only typing, no talking—I figured out the “Cherry Pie” nickname cheekily came from the tiny little cherry tattoo on her hip, right in the little crease of her thigh, barely covered by the edge of her little white lace panties.
That’s all I saw—just her from the mouth down, somehow looking both confidently hot and innocently nervous at the same time. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was screwed up. But the other part of me? The darker side, the hungry side—the hidden side that no one else knows? Well that man doesn’t care. I bought her chastiy. I watched her come for me, that little cherry tattoo rippling on her skin as her body writhed for me. And tonight, I’m going to collect it all. Tonight, she’s going to be mine. – When I was cleaning myself at home, I heard the girls giggling it up downstairs. Amy and her best friend Kendall. Kendall Shaw has been Amy’s closest friend and partner in crime since they were kids. They’re both off to college in a few months.
My jaw tightens as the lithe little blonde uncoils herself from the pool chair and stands on her coltish long legs, toned from track and swim team. And Jesus Christ, she’s wearing tiny army green bikini bottoms that tie at the sides, and a slinky tank top that barely falls over them. My jaw tightens even more, and I force my eyes to stay level and appropriate, all the while shaking my head at myself. Don’t be a creep. I shake it away, clearing my throat and doing my damnedest to pretend little Kendall Shaw hasn’t grown up in a very, very distracting way. “Uh, what are you girls doing tonight?” I grumble out, clearing my throat again. Amy beams wickedly. “Well, we were going to have a Party of Five marathon, but someone decided to go ahead and get themselves a date, in the city.”
Amy wags her brows at a very blushing Kendall, who quickly drops her gaze to the ground as she’s pokes at a tuft of grass sprouting through a crack in the paver stones with her uncovered foot. “It’s nothing, Amy,” she mumbles, blushing furiously. “It’s just this… this thing.” “Yeah, a date.” Amy snorts. “She met him online.” Kendall groans and I chuckle, shaking my head. And yet, for whatever reason, on the inside, there’s a flash of… , what is that. Fury? Worse, jealousy? The idea of Kendall going off into New York all by herself, all blonde and innocent and waifish—basically prey—to meet some prick she met online makes my blood run hot. “Do you know this guy, Kendall?” There’s more of an edge to my voice than I intend, and I clear my throat as I take a sip of my iced coffee to wet my mouth. Not my iced coffee. Kendall’s, which I’m still holding.
I can taste the fruitiness of that very pink lipstick she’s wearing from the straw, and something hot burns inside of me before I shake it away. God, hold of yourself. “It’s really fine, Mr. B. He’s a nice guy.” I nod, swelling the numbness in the back of my throat. “I’m sure he is. You need a ride or anything? I’m going in soon myself.” Her eyes snap to mine, and there’s a little flash of something there before she blushes and shakes her head. “Oh, no, thanks. That’s okay. I’m just going to take the train later.” “You sure?” She nods. “Right, well, you guys order dinner before Kendall leaves if you want, I’m going to—” I’m turning, I think to finally hand Kendall her iced coffee, when suddenly, I see it. It’s the sun that does it. A cloud moves out of the way, and suddenly, the rays shine through and right into Amy and Kendall’s faces. Amy turns away from the glare, but Kendall quickly brings a hand up to shade her eyes. And that’s what does it. Her tank top rides up, and maybe they way she’s stretches pulls her bikini bottoms down just a tiny bit. But whatever it is, for one half a second, I see it.
It. And then, it’s gone. …But it’s not really gone. Not when I know what I saw. “What. Is. That.” Amy’s brows shoot up, and she grins widely. “Oh!” “Language!” She ignores my tone and beams at me. “Wait, you haven’t seen it yet?” She grins at Kendall, who turns red. “Kendall got a tattoo!” “Show me.” My voice is edged, icy. Broken. Kendal stammers. “Amy, he doesn’t want to see—” But Amy reaches out, and before her friend can stop her, she yanks up Kendall’s tank top. And suddenly, the floor drops out from under me. Because suddenly, I’m looking right at a small, tiny little tattoo on Kendall Shaw’s inner hip, right by the edge of her bikini bottoms. A little tattoo of two cherries. “It’s two cherries! Isn’t that cute?” Amy gushes. God. It’s Kendall. Her—the girl—my girl. The one I’ve bought. The one I’m supposed to meet in a few hours at my penthouse in the city in order to screw her senseless for the very first time. The one who’s chastiy belongs to me, is Kendall.
Shaw. I’ve stroked my shaft to her. I’ve watched her undress. I’ve watched her touch her little private part under her panties until she soaked them through with her cherry. I’ve lusted after her. And I’ve bought her for the night, tonight. Her date. I’m her date. – Kendall How is this even possible? My mind goes blank, my heart racing and jumping into my throat so fast that I feel like it might actually defy science and medicine and leap right out of my mouth. My mouth which is totally dry and hanging open in abject horror. How is this possible? Of course, it’s possible. I put my freaking chastiy up for sale on a private, exclusive website for wealthy men of means. Did I ever, in a million years, imagine one of them would be Marshall freaking Bane? No. But here we are, and I swear, my heart’s about to break my teeth on its way out of my mouth.
My eyes drop back to his undressed chest—his insanely chiseled, muscled, not-a-freaking-ounce-of-fat-on-him chest. I mean are you kidding me? There are guys half his age who would kill for a body like that. My eyes slip lower, to his ribs, and when I see it again, I feel a hot flush tease through me. I know that symbol. It’s the mark of the club—The Red Society… the place where I went to sell my v-card to a rich guy. And through their exclusive website, I did sell it—to a man who I only ever saw from the lips down. A man with tailor-fit shirts that came unbuttoned easy on camera. A man with a perfect, sculpted body. A man with a tattoo of the crest of the club on his right-side ribs. A man who had me strip for him, and who sent shivers down my spine when he told me to come for him. A man with a shaft so big that I actually went numb for a second the first time he pulled it out. A man who’s supposed to take my chastiy, tonight. …A man who I’ve known since I was five.
My best friend’s dad. My neighbor. I sold my chastiy to Marshall Bane. Part of me wants to scream at myself. I want to be furious with myself for not knowing who he was. But then, how the heck would I have? I’ve seen Mr. Bane shirtless before, but I guess not for a few years—during which time, he must have gotten the new ink. And in our video chatting, he always just unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall open across his perfect chest and rippling abs. It never came off entirely, which is why I never saw the tattoos on his bicep and shoulder which I know I would have recognized. …Believe me, over the years, I have spent a lot of time examining Mr. Bane’s body. From a distance. Through sunglasses. When I knew he wasn’t paying attention. Because the thing is, if money wasn’t a problem? If my life was like everyone I know thinks it is, and not actually falling apart from the inside out? I mean if that were the case, forget selling my chastiy to Mr. Bane.
I’d freaking give it to him. Because Marshall Bane is a god. He was my first crush—the first man to ever give me butterflies before I even knew what the feeling was. He was the first man to make my pulse race, and my skin prickle, and my body… react. Tall, built, gorgeous. A body like Thor, and a James Bond smile that does all sorts of things to a girl if she’s not careful and stares at it too long. And that voice. God, that voice. His voice alone could get me pregnant; I swear. The bottom line is, I’ve lusted after Amy’s dad—feeling terrible about it too—for years. I’ve fantasized. I’ve daydreamed. I’ve woken up soaking and aching for him from fever dreams. Marshall Bane was the first man I ever thought about when I touched myself.
He’s the one I pretended I was smooching when I smooched other boys. He’s the man I was prepared to close my eyes and imagine tonight, when I met with the man who’d bought what I was selling. …Except, that man is him. I want to believe it’s statistically impossible, but here we are. And we both know it. He’s seen the tattoo on my bikini line, and I wonder for a moment if part of me knew the second his face darkened seeing it outside. But now, face to face, both of us eyeing each other’s tattoos and knowing the truth, there’s no hiding from it any longer. Slowly, Marshall shakes his head. “What the heck, Kendall!” He hisses, his jaw tightening as a shadow crosses darkly across his face. “I—Mr. Bane—” “What the heck were you doing on that website?!” He spits. It’s not anger in his eyes. It’s more like… shock. A touch of fear. A dash of concern, and a whole cup of lust.