Cream Pie by Madison Faye
Sneak Peek - Cherry Pie
Having a crush on your best friend’s hot dad is perfectly normal.
Accidentally selling him your v-card in an exclusive, illicit online auction? Yeah, not so normal.
I’ve had a crush on Marshall Bane – “Mr. B” – since I first knew what a crush was. I mean, the man checks every single box: gorgeous, dominant, richer than sin, and built like a Greek god.
…He also happens to be my best friend’s dad.
When dire financial straits force me to put my v-card up for auction at an exclusive club, I know it’s a terrible idea. But, I’m out of options, and a million dollars is a million dollars, right?
Except, my mysterious auction winner?
Marshall Bane.
Totally beautiful, totally forbidden, totally more than twice my age, totally-has-had-me-twisted-up-tangled-up-and-aching-for-him for years Marshall Bane.
This is forbidden. It’s inappropriate. It’s damn-near breaking the law.
Selling my v-card to my best friend’s dad is so wrong. But you know what’s worse?
...Being this excited for him to collect.
As with all my books, this one is safe, with no cheating, and a HEA guaranteed.
Chapter 1
Marshall
The steam from the shower curls around me as I step onto the heated marble floor of the bathroom. I grab a towel, loosely drying my short, dark hair, then my face before wrapping it around my muscled waist. The mirror is designed to not get steamy, and I stand before it, my blue eyes darting over myself before I allow myself a smug grin.
I’m proud of having taken care of myself. I’m proud to be in better shape than most men half my age. The Navy drilled discipline into me. Life as a private citizen in the financial sector made me hone that. And now, running one of the most successful and profitable hedge funds in history, that dedication and discipline is what gives me my edge.
“Vain little fuck,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head and grinning as I tear my eyes away and start to get ready. I grab my shaving kit and lather up, dragging the blade over my jaw as the ambient heat of the bathroom slowly dries my body. The ink on the bicep and shoulder of my left arm is old—some from way back when I was a young cadet. Some from later. More from when Amy was born. But it’s the relatively new ink on my right-side ribs that catches my eye for a moment. It’s the crest of La Société Rouge, which I got a few years ago, when I became a member.
Seeing it gives me pause. Seeing it sends a pulse of heat through me about tonight.
Tonight, I have plans. A lot of weekends, especially since Amy turned eighteen and started preparing herself to go to college after the summer’s over, I have plans that involve going into the city. But tonight, it’s different.
Tonight, I’m going in for her.
…For Cherry.
We’ve still never talked. I think it’s maybe more fun that way, for both of us. At first, after the auction, I felt off about what I’d done. I questioned my moral compass, or if I was drinking too much. But then, she’d messaged me again through the site. We’d started text-chatting again through the video chat, and whatever reservations I’d had shattered.
Blonde, beautiful, young, untouched, and all mine. And tonight, I’m truly going to make her mine. It’s like nothing I’ve ever done before, and I may still have some reservations. But when my phone goes off as I’m shaving, I glance down, and I grin.
…I also get hard.
It’s my throwaway phone—the number known only to her. She’s using a burner too—I’ve had it run and traced, and I know it’s not a real phone. And when it buzzes and the image pops up on the screen, I growl. It’s a snapshot of her thumb hooked into a lacy pair of black panties, tugging them down just enough to give me the most teasing little flash of hip, of smooth, bare mons stopping just shy of her pussy, of the crease of her thigh, and of course, of her tattoo. The message that accompanies it is a flirty “getting excited for tonight,” followed by a winky-kissy-fucking-whatever emoji. For a second, I’m very starkly reminded just how fucking young this girl is—barely older than Amy. But I shake it away.
She’s old enough.
My cock pulses as I think about what I’ll do first. Taste her, perhaps. Maybe have her strip for me. Tell her to get on her knees with her ass in the air for me.
I nick myself with the razor, and I growl as droplet of blood beads. I glare at it, finishing with the rest of my jaw before rinsing and drying off. A quick tissue dab and the blood is stopped.
There’s the sound of a car in the driveway, and I finish final glances in the mirror before I start to head downstairs. The car would be Amy and her best friend Kendall, coming back from grabbing Kendall’s stuff at her house down the street. 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—Amy to Northwestern, like her old man, and Kendall to Stanford.
Needless to say, they’re no dummies.
To help ease the coming separation, and since Kendall’s mom and stepdad are going to be traveling all summer, I offered to have Kendall stay with us all summer. I mean, it’s just Amy and I in a fucking fourteen-thousand square foot house. I’m fairly confidence we have the room. That and Kendall’s a really good kid. Kind, gracious, smart as a whip, and funny. Which is even more impressive if you’ve ever met her pushover of a mother and her skeezeball of a stepfather.
I can hear the girls giggling it up downstairs, so I finish getting ready in the bathroom, and then it’s off to my wardrobe to change. Dark jeans, a white button up, Armani jacket, Cartier watch, and a very, very hard cock at the anticipation of what’s to come later tonight in the city.
Namely, Cherry, on my cock.
I jog down the stairs, spotting Kendall’s bags in the foyer by the side door, and then following the trail of destruction back through the house, into the kitchen. Two discarded Starbucks iced-coffee cups sit on the counter—almond milk, one sugar for Amy, and regular black with a smudge of pink lipstick on the straw for Kendall. There’s giggling from outside, and I grab the two coffees, taking swig from Amy’s as I head back through the kitchen, out to the back door that leads out to the pool.
“Hey, dad!”
“Hey, pumpkin.”
I smile as Amy pokes her head around from the lounge chair facing the pool she’s sitting in. An instant later, Kendall’s long blonde locks tumble into view as she swivels her head around as well.
“Hey Mr. B!”
I grin. “Mr. B.” is our compromise. Kendall won’t call me Marshall, because I guess it’s weird to call your friends’ parents by their first names. And I think “Mr. Bane” is entirely too formal for having known her since she was five. So, Mr. B it is.
“Pack enough for two months, Kendall?”
Amy rolls her eyes. “Dad.”
I stick my tongue out at her as I step out onto the back patio. Amy whistles.
“Well well well! Guess someone’s going out tonight!”
This time, it’s me who rolls my eyes at her.
“Just a work thing in the city, calm down.”
“Well, it looks like you’re dressed up to get lucky.”
Kendall snorts, blushing bright red. I just roll my eyes again.
“Calm down, kiddo.”
Amy sighs. “I’m allowed to be worried about you, dad. It’s not healthy to be single this long.”
“And who says I’m single?”
The girls eye each other before giggling all over again.
“Har har. Here. I’m assuming you still want these seeing as you haven’t sucked the cup dry.”
I gesture with the coffees as I step over towards the two of them.
“Thanks.”
Amy jumps up in her jean shorts and t-shirt, snagging her coffee from my hands.
“So, what are you two up to toni—”
Kendall gets up, and my fucking mouth goes a little numb.
Fuck. Me.
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 fucking creep.
I’d be lying if I said Kendall isn’t, well, gorgeous. It’s fucked up, and all sorts of wrong to even put her in that context, seeing as I’ve watched her grow up. But basic biology is basic biology. And stripped of social niceties and decorum, I’m just a red-blooded man, looking at a fucking stunning girl who makes that red blood goddamn boil.
But 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 bare 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 fucked up reason, on the inside, there’s a flash of… fuck, 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. Shit. 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.
Get. A. Fucking. 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.”
There’s a coldness to my voice, and my head suddenly feels like it’s swimming. It’s like the air gets thinner. I try and tell myself to be reasonable. That there’s not a chance in hell that I saw what I think I just saw. That I’m just worked up about tonight, and half-hard, and just horny.
…Because there’s no fucking way I really just saw that, on Kendall.
Amy’s brows shoot up, and she grins widely.
“Oh! Shit!”
“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.
Fuck. Me. Fuck fuck fuck…
Kendall goes to playful swat Amy’s hand away. But she missed, and suddenly, her hand connects with mine. The unexpected slap sends her iced coffee that I’m still holding dropping to the stone patio. The plastic cup cracks and shatters, and black iced coffee and ice cubes going splashing and skittering everywhere, including all over my jeans and the bottom of my dress shirt.
Kendall gasps, her hands flying to her mouth.
“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, Mr. B! I’m—ohmygod, I’m so—”
“It’s fine,” I say, or mumble, I’m not really sure which. The world spins, and it feels like every one of my senses is operating through a gauzy film.
“Shit,” Kendall grabs her pool towel, whirling back to dab at my shirt, but I’m just numbly shaking my head.
“It’s fine,” I say again, my tongue like lead as I turn.
“Spare shirt.” I mumble, walking like a zombie for the pool house. It’s closer than then house, and besides there being a washing machine in there, I keep a spare business wardrobe there as well.
“Just gonna grab a spare shirt.”
The words fall like bricks from my mouth as I turn, numb, and somehow stumble my way away from them, towards the pool house.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
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 fuck her senseless for the very first time. The one who’s virginity belongs to me, is Kendall. Fucking. Shaw.
I’ve stroked my cock to her. I’ve watched her undress. I’ve watched her touch her little pussy under her panties until she soaked them through with her cum. I’ve lusted after her. And fuck me, I’ve bought her for the night, tonight.
Her date. Fucking I’m her date.
My pulse roars in my ears as I stumble into the pool house, slamming the door shut squeezing my eyes closed.
Oh, this is officially fucked up. This is very, very, very fucked up, on so many damn levels I can actually feel it in my gut, twisting like a knife. I groan, shrugging my jacket off and then yanking my coffee-stained shirt open and peeling it off as well.
Soroyally fucked up. And what’s even more fucked up?
…I’m hard a steel.
I’m panting, muscles bunched and shoulders heaving with breath, when suddenly, the door crashes open behind me.
“Mr. B, I am so fucking sorry. Can you please let me take care of the dry clean—”
I turn, shirtless, and our eyes lock. But then, mine drop to her hip again, my gaze zeroing in on the little cherries inked there. And hers? Well, her eyes drop too… right to the crest on my ribs.
…She’s seen it before.
She saw it on our webcam chat, when I was shirtless with my cock out, stroking my thickness as she played with her little pussy for me under her messy panties.
And just like lightning, it hits her just like it’s already hit me. I watch her words falter. I watch her face drain of color. I watch her lips fall open and her eyes go wide as saucers.
“Oh fuck…” We both say it at the same fucking time, the words tumble from both of our mouths together. Our eyes slide back up, locking, and suddenly, I know I’m fucked.
Fucked, lost, and hard.
…And it’s all for her.
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