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Teasing Me

Season 4

Episode 8

“I don’t want to know what kind of porn you watch, but you—”

“Read it,” he interrupts, his voice low and commanding.

I scowl at him, but thumb over the site, scrolling down. Then I freeze, eyes widening. Because I recognize the photo on this page.

It’s me.

I’m in a sundress, not unlike the one I’m wearing now. It’s my senior photo with my hair done up and a cute smile plastered on my face. Innocent, almost too innocent, placed on a site like this. It makes it look like I’m trying to pose this way. Like I’m playing it up, enjoying how angelic I appear.

Underneath, I skim through the details. My name and a description of my life. I’m a pampered rich girl, accustomed to the good things in life. I go to an all-girls’ school upstate, where I enjoy painting and studying classical art. I have never partied, never drank alcohol, never even kissed a man, let alone touched one. I am the ultimate virgin.

My stomach churns. Who could have written this about me? And how do they know?

I mean, of course I haven’t been with a man. How could I have? Dad never let me out of his sight long enough to strike up a flirtation, let alone get to know a guy enough that I wanted to kiss him.

In fact, the only guy who’s ever even come close to touching me is sitting right next to me in this limo now, studying my expression with a smirk on his mouth as reality sinks in.

Only one person could have made this ad.

My father.

“I don’t understand,” I snap, shoving the phone back at Farrow.

Instead of accepting it, he points at a banner near the top. Auction complete, it reads. And beside that, another line. Winning bidder: Floch.

Then he settles in to the seat beside me, so I’m pinned between him and the window. His warm body blazes against mine, his arm on my skin, his hip touching mine.

I continue to scroll through the site, in a desperate bid to ignore the desire that starts to curl through me. I scroll up to the top of the site and read the banner. Virgins for Sale.

“Your father fucked over the wrong people for years,” Farrow says. “Wrote bad checks. Skipped out of town at convenient times. Lied to investors. Robbed Peter to pay Paul, so to speak. He had no other choice.”

“My father would never do this to me,” I snap.

“Admittedly, I might have given him the idea,” Farrow adds, his lip curling with a grin. “It was a few years ago. I pointed out that he does have two very attractive assets that he hadn’t considered using. Innocent, sheltered virgins are something of a rarity in the world these days, after all.”

I feel sick. I’m going to be sick. “My father did not keep us sheltered all our lives just for this.”

“No, no, of course not. He wanted to protect you. Spare you the horrors of the world.” Farrow brushes my shoulder again, trailing his fingers along my skin with the brazen possessiveness of a man who already knows he owns me. “But the idea was there. All it took was a few more years of stress. A few more years of investors laying on the pressure, and your father slowly realizing that if he didn’t choose this, then both he and you would wind up in a far worse position.”

“He agreed to sell my virginity?” I clench my fist around the phone. Fury grows as the truth settles in. “To pay off what, a few bad loans?”

“More than a few, my dear.” Farrow’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “It was this, or your father would have most likely wound up dead at the bottom of the Hudson River.”

I throw his phone, as hard as I can. There’s a moment of satisfaction as I hear it crack against the bar. Then he grabs my wrist and shoves me backwards. Pins me onto the seat beneath him, my arm over my head, trapped in his tight grip.

“That’s quite enough of the throwing things, Miss Badiary,” Farrow says, eyes narrowed. “You will learn to behave yourself.”

“I most certainly will not,” I growl. “I will not agree to this situation, and I will not be forced.”

Farrow catches my eye, grinning. Then he leans in and nuzzles my neck. His lips skim across my skin, not quite a kiss, but enough that I freeze, my breath caught in my throat. His stubble skims over my sensitive skin, a touch so light and yet it sets off electricity in my nerves. I feel like a live wire, ready to spark at any second.

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