Cherry Pie
Table of Contents
“Chapter 1”
“Chapter 2”
“Chapter 3”
“Chapter 4”
“Chapter 5”
“Chapter 6”
“Chapter 7”
“Chapter 8”
“Chapter 9”
“Chapter 10”
“Chapter 11”
“Chapter 12”
“Chapter 13”
“Chapter 14”
“Chapter 15 — Epilogue ”
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Cherry Pie: A Billionaire & Virgin Romance
Copyright 2017 Virginia Sexton. All right reserved.
Kindle Edition
All characters depicted are over the age of 18.
This book may not be reproduced in any form by any means, without the author’s permission, except for reviewers, who may quote short excerpts.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and action come from the author’s imagination and presented as fiction. Any resemblance to real individuals, alive or deceased, as well as events or places, is completely coincidental.
This book is intended for mature audiences only.
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A sneak peek inside…
“You taste sweet,” he says. “I wonder if you taste that sweet all over.”
“It’s the apple juice,” I say, because I’m an idiot who has never learned when to just shut up. But also, I can’t believe this is happening to me, that this man who could literally be with any woman that he wanted to, is holding me close, dancing with me and teasing me about wanting to kiss me. I’m not sure my heart can take it.
I feel him exhale at the side of my neck and then a tiny nibble of the sensitive skin at my collarbone. “Also sweet,” he says. “You covered yourself with apple juice?”
I can’t help laughing now as he leans back to look at my face, still guiding me with his strong arms. “I love making you smile,” he says.
Then he pulls me close and nibbles my neck again. “I’d like to make you do more than just smile. I’d like to make you call out my name and beg me to taste you again,” he whispers into my ear. It’s like an electric jolt from my ear to between my legs. It shouldn’t be this easy to turn me on — the man hasn’t even touched me — but I’m pretty sure my cotton panties are soaked.
His hands touch the bare skin at the back of my neck and shoulders. Goose bumps follow the trail of his fingertips on my sensitive skin. He looks at my face with an evil smile. “I want to see you flush with desire.”
I turn bright red at that, and he laughs at me. “That’s not what I meant, but it’ll do for now.”
I can feel his erection pressing against me, and I swallow, trying not to think about touching it. His eyes are on my throat now, and I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing. Or maybe the swallowing. Is he imagining me on my knees, pulling it out and bringing my lips to him? I can feel my face heat up as I image running my lips alongside it before opening at the tip of his shaft.
“Tell me,” he whispers. I can’t speak. “Tell me what you are thinking.” His voice is a low growl as he maneuvers me closer to the speakers, drowning out the rest of the party. “It’s written all over your face, Crystal, I want you to tell me…”
—
Also by Virginia Sexton
“Winning Bid”
“His Virgin Payback”
“His Virgin Actress”
“His Virgin Escort”
“His Virgin Heiress”
Table of Contents
“Chapter 1”
“Chapter 2”
“Chapter 3”
“Chapter 4”
“Chapter 5”
“Chapter 6”
“Chapter 7”
“Chapter 8”
“Chapter 9”
“Chapter 10”
“Chapter 11”
“Chapter 12”
“Chapter 13”
“Chapter 14”
“Chapter 15 — Epilogue ”
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About the Author
It’s pretty quiet in Lido’s Loco restaurant for a Friday afternoon, just a few tables taken. It’ll get busier in a few hours when the dinner rush starts, but I’ll be off shift by then. That should be a relief, but all I’m really thinking is another Friday night watching TV in my PJs; how sad is that? Answer: pretty damn sad.
Maddy is working with me tonight, but she’s working late, so she can’t rescue me from my fate.
“Any big plans for tonight?” It’s like Maddy’s read my mind. We’ve worked here together for a year, and she’s become my best friend, even though she can be really annoying sometimes. I have a feeling this is about to be one of those times.
“Just me and a tub of mint-dark-chocolate swirl,” I tell her. There’s no point in lying to Maddy; she knows me better than I know myself. Besides, she’s on until midnight, so I know I’m safe.
“You shouldn’t be alone; you should go out, meet people! There’s a social thing at the Bright Spot. You should go!” The Bright Spot is a bar down the road. Maddy’s always trying to drag me there to meet people. Her idea of ‘a social thing’ is ‘half-price drinks for women before 9pm’.
“I’m good, thanks.”
She shakes her head, and I steel myself for a Maddy rant. “You’re twenty-one and a virgin. That’s not good. That’s hurtling into Maiden Aunt territory. Next thing, you’ll give up completely and adopt a cat or two. Oh wait…”
I throw a dishrag at her to shut her up. “Don’t you be dissing my cats. Their claws are even sharper than yours.”
“Oooooh!” But she lays off for a while and checks on the tables to see if anyone needs anything.
I know Maddy is right. I should go out more, meet people, get laid. But then, I also want to wait for someone special. Someone who has actually fallen for me, rather than some quick one-night stand.
I grab the rags and the spray and go to clean the bay window, taking advantage of the chance to bathe in the late afternoon sun. It’s not like I’m frigid or something. I stretch at the window, reaching up to wipe the entire pane. It looks like someone exploded a Coke here or something, tiny clots of sticky cola reaching up to the top. I don’t mind, really. It’s slow today, and the sunlight shining in warms my skin.
While I wipe, I think about The Bright Spot. Maybe I should go. What if the perfect guy is actually there? I imagine a broad-shouldered man, dark and sexy, walking in and looking around. Our eyes meet across the room. He would stride straight across the room to me, no hesitation in his step. I would smile coquettishly as he bought me a drink. Or maybe he would just hand me a glass of champagne, not bothering to ask me what I want because he knows I want him.
I’m feeling warmer now as I imagine staring into his eyes, no need for words. He takes my hand and leads me into the mens’ room. It’s empty, of course, and he bars the door before pulling me to him, devouring me with his kisses. I imagine his jacket and shirt literally falling off as I touch his hard chest and shoulders. He picks me up and perches me on the sink, fire in his eyes. Before I have a chance to object, he tugs my skirt up and out of the way. He kisses my knees and then my thighs, working his way towards my black lace panties. Without a single word, without even knowing his name, I find myself opening to him. There’s no time for nuance in my fantasy, no need to say a single word. He rips off my tiny panties, dropping the shreds onto the floor. I’m ready for him. He brings his face to my wet pussy, his hot br
eath making me tingle. Slowly, finally, his tongue slides along my folds, pressing his way in. He tastes every inch of me before circling my clit, slowly at first and then faster and faster until I’m screaming, no longer caring who knows we are in there.
“Excuse me, could I have some ice water? Are you all right, honey?” The two little old ladies at table 17 are looking at me curiously.
I guess I’ve been standing here, circling the same spot on the window for a bit too long. “Sorry, just getting the window cleaned up, I’ll get that for you now,” I say, my voice just a little bit hoarse. I do one last big swipe all over the bay window.
I would never do that, of course. Hook up with a total stranger in a bar. I mean, I know that’s just fantasy. But there’s something about the thought of everything just happening, no need for words.
“Crystal,” calls Maddy.
Our kitchen cook, Pete, is looking through the hatch, wondering why I haven’t picked up the order for table 3.
I’m flushed as I try to drive away my fantasy man licking me like an ice cream on a hot summer’s day.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” I dash to the kitchen hatch and then belatedly introduce myself to table 6, customers I didn’t even hear walk in, and get their orders. I need to concentrate.
It would never really happen like that, anyway. I mean, that kind of scene, he’d be into his own pleasure first, right? And imagine having to talk to him afterward and finding out his name is, like, Norman, or something. There’s no way some guy at The Bright Spot would ever live up to my expectations, let’s face it. Maddy hasn’t met anyone great there, either – she just doesn’t like to admit it. She’s convinced I am uptight, but really, I don’t think I’m a prude. There’s just never been anyone hot enough to make me find out just what I’d do, how far I’d go.
The idea of trying to make that fantasy into a reality cools me off, and by the time the door jingles with another customer, the evening rush beginning, I’m ready to be normal staid Crystal Jennings, twenty-one-year-old waitress and virgin.
But I’m still feeling a tiny bit hot about the idea of meeting someone who could make me feel like that. Maybe it’s my fault that I’m a virgin because, even though I know something like that will never happen to me, part of me is still waiting for the type of guy who could take my breath away like that. Who could make me want him just by looking at him. Someone who I would say yes to, no matter what he asked me.
I must still have a dreamy look on my face, because Maddy barely glances at me before she starts to hum. It’s that stupid ballad, My Prince and My Heart.
I shoot her a look. I seat the next guests and hand over menus while Maddy refills the coffees. She comes to corner me as we get everyone settled. I cut her off before she can start again. “I’m looking forward to a quiet night. Besides, those college boys at The Bright are just not my thing. All awkward posturing and greasy hair.”
“I know, I know, you are waiting for your Prince Charming,” she teases me. “Complete with a dozen long-stemmed roses.”
I’m embarrassed, because it’s true. I love the idea. And I know the kind of guys I’m likely to meet would never do such a thing. My pause gives her a chance to gather steam, which is never a good thing.
“But Crystal, maybe you could stop expecting some poor man to be The One on a first date? That’s a lot of expectation to put on someone. Maybe you could settle for The One For A Brief Relationship, or even The One For Tonight? Just until you pop your cherry.”
“Oh my God, Maddy, stop.” I grab a fresh cloth and start wiping down the poppy red tables, but Maddy follows me.
“The longer you wait, the bigger deal it is. Soon, there won’t be a man alive that can live up to your ideals.” She’s cut off by the jangling bells of the door opening. I turn to look, and everything goes into slow motion.
A couple walks in like they own the place, but that’s not why I’m staring. Partially, it’s their clothes. She’s wearing oversized sunglasses and a tiny lace up top with blue jeans strategically ripped in all the right places. Her heels are so high, they’re more suited to a strip club than a franchise restaurant on Pleat Street, although they probably cost more than I make in a month.
But the killer is, he’s… in a tuxedo. I’m not even kidding. And let me tell you, I’ve never seen a man more suited to a tux. Most guys just look uncomfortable or out of place. This guy is smoking hot. His broad shoulders fill the coat, and the top button of his shirt is open, giving just a glimpse of tanned chest. His hair’s slightly overlong, and his jaw has quite a dark five o’clock shadow but, despite this, there’s something that just screams ‘City’ about the man. He exudes power. This guy could definitely be The One For Tonight. I realize I’m staring and glance down at the red table and then at Maddy.
Maddy is staring, too. “Oh my God, Crystal, do you know who that is? That’s Knox Lockwood. Seriously. Knox. Lockwood.”
“Who?”
We are literally both standing there like gaping fishes, staring at the couple. Luckily, they are too self-absorbed to notice. I think they’re arguing. His lips are a flat line as he leads her in, guiding her with one hand on her elbow. She’s swaying a bit as she snaps at him about dragging her away from her friends or something. He puts an arm around her waist, but not in a nice way. I’m not sure if he’s trying to help her stay upright or making sure she doesn’t U-turn and head back out. Probably a little of both.
“Oh, only the most eligible bachelor in three counties,” Maddy whispers. “He’s the CEO of American Land.” She sighs when I still look blank. “Oh my God, how can you not know? Billionaire property tycoon,” she hisses. “He was just featured in the twenty richest real estate moguls in the world. Voted Most Eligible Bachelor in the state of New York by Contessa magazine three years running.”
This makes me feel a little bit better; he’s not some mere mortal who has taken my breath away. He’s a billionaire tycoon.
The woman’s short hair is streaked with purple and blonde and her make-up, or at least what I can see around the huge sunglasses, is applied like she’s a movie star. She must be some kind of super model or something. She snaps her fingers in his face and flips her hair, clearly annoyed. Her fingernails are streaked to match her hair color. I can’t stop staring, but he looks unimpressed. He must have beautiful women throwing themselves at him all the time.
The entire restaurant has gone silent watching them. The couple don’t even notice. They are probably used to being the center of attention. Certainly, I’m pretty sure she is by the flouncy way she’s complaining at him.
“That’s not his girlfriend,” I whisper to Maddy. “She’d like to be, but she isn’t. Look at how he always keeps his face distant from her while she leans in. He’s holding her up, not holding her.” I love people watching. I know they are fighting, but I see a lot of fights in the restaurant, and it’s clear there’s no passion behind his words, no unspoken emotion. She tells him that he doesn’t care, and the look on his face says she’s right. She sees it, too, her face crumpling. I almost feel sorry for her, except that I suspect Miss Purple Hair has always got everything she’s ever asked for. Her desire for him is less about him and more about the fact that he’s completely unobtainable.
Mind you, I sure know how completely unobtainable feels right now. He is the sexiest man I have ever encountered.
They sit down at table 20, in the middle of the restaurant, as he scowls at her, speaking slowly like she’s not paying attention, his voice a dark rumble.
I’m going to have to talk to them, and I’m not sure I can breathe yet. “What the hell is he doing here?” I look for somewhere to put my dishrag and then shove it into my apron pocket.
“I dunno,” says Maddy, pulling a quarter out from her tip wallet, “but I’ll flip you. Heads, I do that table, tails, you do.”
“Maddy, it’s my table.”
“Give me a chance, woman.” She’s still staring at them, completely unembarrassed.
&n
bsp; “He’s with someone!”
“I’m going to serve him, not ask him out. I just want to get a little closer. Close enough to breathe the same air as him.”
I laugh, but the truth is, I know how she feels. “He’s all yours.” I’d rather watch him from afar, anyway. It feels safer.
Maddy glances at me and suddenly changes her mind. “No, you do it.”
“Maddy!” I’m exasperated.
She pats my shoulder. “I’m serious, go! I’ve never seen you look at a guy like that before. Like you’ve just been presented with the biggest ice cream sundae you’ve ever seen.” She fans herself. “Take the table. They’re waiting.”
They aren’t, actually. The super-model is clearly mad about something, and he’s trying to calm her down, which is just making her angrier. I get out my pad, paste a smile on my face, and head for their table.
The entire day has been a nightmare, and this is just the frosting on the cake. Jazzmene is drunk and belligerent, and I need her sober now. I would have just dumped her at her apartment the moment I saw the state she was in, or even just left her getting drunk with New York’s rich and famous IT girls… but with an important event in less than two hours, I don’t have time to organize another date, never mind wait it out while another primadonna primps herself ready for the evening with obligatory beauty salon and cocktails. I’ve got Jazzmene’s dress in my trunk, and the venue isn’t far from here, so I’m hoping I can sober her up enough to get through the evening. Mrs. Scaravelli will kill me if I screw up the numbers for her charity ball, the social event of the year.
“Jazz, babe,” I say, trying to sound soothing.
Yes, it’s a stupid name. Yes, it’s just as fake as her breasts and her mauve hair. I thought she’d make a good date for the charity ball. Her father has almost as much money as I do, and she’s not been shy about spending a fortune on her looks. And it shows. Every inch of her is made-up to perfection. She’s never more than five minutes from her next selfie. If I’m honest, her flawless looks both repel me and intrigue me. Jazz has made it clear to me that she’s interested, but it’s hard to imagine convincing her to get hot and sweaty. I can’t imagine she’d ever mess up her perfectly sprayed-into-place hair style, let alone smear her lipstick. But hell, I needed an easy date, and I thought she might be a fun challenge. That’s before she spent the afternoon downing champagne bottles with her high society friends.