Page 8 of Their Virgin Prize

“The moment is at hand. As I’m sure plenty of you are as well.” The auctioneer’s crass joke is delivered in a tone that’s less smooth now, as if he too is impacted by the scene playing out before him.

Despite Wesley’s earlier reassurances, I can’t risk failing to meet my obligations.

I shimmy out of my panties, slipping my feet from my shoes to do so. Then I shift so that I’m more prominently displayed to both the men on the couches—who are leaning forward, some of them rubbing the crotches of their suits or the hard-ons that are being withdrawn from open zippers all around me—and to whoever might be on the other side of those cameras.

I spread my legs the barest bit, giving them a teasing glimpse of the shadowy spot at the apex of my thighs.

The thought of strangers screen-capturing the moment I’m no longer pure or recording the whole performance and plastering my humiliation across the web for the entire world to view traps the breath in my lungs.

“Stop that.” Briggs climbs onto the mattress, crawling toward me. He uses his bulk to cloak my most private bits again. The weight and pressure of his body over mine should be suffocating. Instead, it’s as comforting as I’ve always imagined one of those fancy weighted blankets might be. “What did Wesley tell you? You’reourprize.”

I relax beneath him as if he’s ironed me flat.

“Good girl.” He drops a light kiss on my nose. “We don’t want you tense when you’re taking us.”

“Who’s going to do the honors?” Grant asks, though it’s not my opinion he’s soliciting.

“I vote we each take a hole.” Wesley smirks.

Wait. What?Is that part of the bargain?

I don’t dare object.

Maybe I don’t want to either.

“Of course.” Briggs rolls his eyes as if it was a foregone conclusion. “But who’s getting dibs on that sweet cunt?”

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Grant’s smile is infectious, though it should horrify me that my sacrifice is only a game to them. He and Wesley join Briggs and me on the bed. Kneeling over me, they form the points of a triangle as they extend their fists a foot or two above my torso.

When their hands meet in the middle, Briggs grins. “Fair enough.”

They bob in perfect unison three times before flashing their selections.

I don’t need to see the results to know who won.

Grant slaps Wesley and Briggs on their shoulders. “Sorry about your luck, boys. You’re welcome to my sloppy seconds. And thirds.”

They’re just kidding, right? My eyes bulge.

The crowd chuckles as if they decide a woman’s fate so cavalierly every day.

Maybe they do.

Why does the idea of that make me squirm beneath them, and definitely not in disgust?

CHAPTER 4

Clover

Oblivious to my warring thoughts, the men spring into action.

Wesley and Grant stretch out on either side of me as Briggs strokes his wide palm over his mouth and chin.

“That’s right. Briggs is going to get you ready,” Wesley coaches. Heat radiates from my living guardrails, chasing away any lingering chill. They lean inward, their shoulders touching as they make a teepee above me, obscuring most of me from view. “He loves to bury his face in a pretty pussy, and you’re going to need some help to take Grant.”

They’re a well-oiled machine. They’ve already flown into motion as if they’ve choreographed their approach without so much as a word between them.

It’s clearly nottheirfirst time.

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