“It’s like Jane Austen meets Fifty Shades,” I say, regaining a bit of my calm as we walk and talk.
She snickers. “Sometimes,” she replies, and then opens a big mahogany door into what looks like some sort of a drawing room—a huge pool table, a marble fireplace, plush Turkish carpets, and hunting trophies mounted along the walls. “Unless you end up with one of the assholes. I don’t think you have, though.” She raises a perfectly-groomed, beautifully-shaded eyebrow. “I saw who bought you. Yummy.”
Yummy, for sure.
But what will he be like? How will he treat me?
What happens now?
“We’ll see,” I say, more to myself than to her. The very thought of him makes me start shaking all over again.
The organizer leads me across the room, showing me to a beautifully-upholstered sofa. Damask, I think it’s called. Lush and rich. Already waiting on the other side of the big room, in a dark blue velvet chair, is one of the other girls, inspecting her manicure and wiggling her foot like she’s waiting to be called into a dental appointment.
She reminds me of a Polynesian Princess. So exotically pretty in every way. Just seeing her there looking so unrattled makes me instantly less nervous. But not by much.
“You okay?” she mouths my way.
I don’t know her at all but I’m still grateful for the girl-power solidarity. I nod and mouth the same question to her. She nods in return but then clenches her fists, mouthing, “Nervous.”
You don’t look it I want to say, but instead, I just nod and tell the truth. “Me too.”.
The organizer gets me a glass of sparkling water and then turns to go.
“Just try to relax. I’ll send your buyers in,” she offers with an understanding smile, then she’s gone and the room feels chilly and ominous.
My heart is beating so hard that it makes my eyes quiver. No sooner do I hear the organizer’s high-heeled footsteps fall away than they’re replaced by heavier footfalls coming closer.
I nearly jump out of my seat when the doorknob clicks, then it swings open and I cannot breathe.
First enters the other girl’s buyer. He’s shorter than me, thin, balding. He walks up to her, offering his hand for a timid, limp handshake.
And then I hear the even-heavier footsteps that I know must be his. Daniel.
As soon as he enters the room, everything in my head goes quiet.
Whoosh.
The air changes. His very presence intensifies the energy in the room. It’s just him and me and this crackling desire between us.
He walks forward, not even glancing around the room to see who else is there, like a man who knows what he wants and is going to take it.
And what he wants is me.
Without even thinking, I extend my hand to shake his. But he looks at it and makes this sort of grunting sound, takes another step into me, and pulls me forward, hands on my ass.
His cock is pressed to my belly, hard and warm even through his pants. I inhale his scent, let myself get swept up in his power.
A rush of super-heated lust pumps through my veins. I reach up, placing my hand on the back of his neck, running the pad of my thumb along the shell of his ear. It makes his eyes flutter shut, only for a moment, and I feel his groan more than I hear it.
“I hope I didn’t bankrupt you,” I manage to whisper.
“Fuck no. But it would’ve been worth it, even if you had.”
CHAPTER 4
Marshall
I’m so goddamned conflicted.
On one hand, I want to rip off her dress and fuck her bareback right there on that fucking pool table. Spill her wetness and virgin blood all over the felt, splatter it with my cum while the loose balls roll all around her.
I want to give it to her so hard and deep that she forgets every-fucking-thing except my name.
But on the other hand, I don’t want her first time to be that way. Not at all.
There’s something about her that makes me want to protect her. To keep her safe. To make sure she has the best of everything. Including me. Including this.
I take a step back, to give myself a second to get my fucking bearings. But as I do, she scoops her long hair off to the side, over her shoulder. It’s the color of fucking sunshine and her eyes are sweet, melted chocolate.
Jesus fucking Christ. Her neck is as fucking sexy as anything I’ve seen in my life.
And I’ve seen a lot.
I choke back the fucking moan I’m about to let loose like I’m some star-struck Timothee Chalamet tween girl and clear my throat, focusing on her silky flesh.
The curve of her neck is illuminated from behind by the fire crackling in the fireplace. Instinctively, I run the backs of my fingers down that perfect curve. It makes her shiver.