The Auction (2)

Dahlia

I tried to focus on anything, anything else but the tall imposing god in the room, but it was hard. It was almost impossible to look anywhere else but at him.

I could tell his body was ripped even beneath the suit he wore. I pegged him at late forties or early fifties, which put almost a twenty-year difference between us.

I was fidgety, my palms clammy, even though the air conditioning in the room was perfectly fine.

He had his back to me. It was hard to tell what he was doing from where I sat. What could I do? What did escorts normally do? Should I go to the bathroom? Should I sit on the bed?

I glanced at the bed, suddenly overwhelmed by how huge it was. There was enough room for him to turn me inside out whichever way he desired. Somehow the thought made me blush instead of filling me with dread.

I began playing with my fingers, having nothing else to do. “Do I take off my mask?” I blurted out.

He turned around to look at me. I sucked in a deep breath as his piercing dark eyes locked on mine.

Even with his mask on, there was no denying the desire swirling in those dark depths. “If you like,” he answered softly.

I was thrown off guard by his response. I didn’t think he would give me the option to choose. He was still gawking at me.

I lowered my gaze, unable to meet his eyes. My heart pounded loudly in my chest.

“Take it off,” he said suddenly, his voice deep and commanding. “I want to stare at your beautiful eyes.”

I froze at the change in his tone. I had been foolish to believe I had a choice in this. Who was I kidding?

I sold that choice the moment I stepped onto that stage to be sold like cattle. My fingers shook as I reached behind and undid my mask, slowly setting it aside.

He walked toward me, his stride slow and steady. With every step he took, the pounding in my chest grew stronger. When he reached me, he cupped my cheeks and stared into my eyes. “You have really beautiful eyes.”

I knew that. I had heard it all my life, followed by whispers that they looked like a witch’s. He stared at me with fascination, like I was a rare exhibit in a museum, which wasn’t that far-fetched from my reality.

I licked my lips and tried to pull away, but his grip tightened around my delicate neck. He held me in place, those intense eyes drinking me in. I couldn’t pull away.

I couldn’t hide. My cheeks grew hot, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. “Would you take off your own mask?” I asked in a small voice.

“No.”

I furrowed my brows. It was strange that all I knew about the man I was in a hotel room with was that he was tall and muscular, with dark hair and dark eyes. That wasn’t nearly enough for a police sketch.

“Does it bother you that you are in a stranger’s bed?” he asked. There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “That you are about to be fucked senseless by a man whose face you don’t know…” He chuckled dryly, his hands sliding downward until they wrapped firmly around my neck.

I swallowed hard.

His fingers tightened, cutting off the air in my lungs. I gasped.

“Easy there now, baby doll. Take a deep breath and relax.” He inhaled and exhaled slowly.

I did as he asked.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, his thumb brushing lightly against my lips before easing his grip.

My cheeks burned at his words.

“Lay down on the bed,” he instructed.

I hesitated for a moment and started to reach for my shoes.

“No.”

I sucked in a breath before lowering myself onto the bed. My eyes followed him as he walked back to the table, and that was when I saw it. I wondered how I had missed it before.

Two champagne flutes and a bottle of champagne sat beside a bowl of strawberries, an ice holder, vibrators and dildos of different shapes, and leather cuffs. It was a BDSM lover’s mini paradise.

My throat dried up. This was unfamiliar territory for me. One of those fantasies I never acted on. I should have known. A man didn’t pay that much money for vanilla sex he could get anywhere. These events were meant for people with peculiar tastes, and his seemed very peculiar.

I clenched the sheets tightly. “Can I at least know your name?” I asked. If I was going to let him use all of those things on me, I deserved to know his name.

“Can you tell me yours?”

“Dahlia,” I answered simply.

He hummed. “A pretty, delicate flower. Dahlia…” He rolled my name off his tongue as if it were the most exotic thing he had ever said.

“Now that you know mine, can I know yours?”

He turned around with a cuff in his hands. “But that is part of my charm, Dahlia.” He grabbed my hand and slipped the cuff onto my wrist. “You don’t know who I am. I could be so far away.” He yanked my hand and locked it to the hook on the bedpost.

I craned my head to look. Of course. We were in a hotel room built for this. How did I miss it at first?

“Or I could be someone you walk past every day. I could be a regular at your favorite coffee shop. I could be anyone.” He paused and cuffed my other hand.

Now I was lying on the bed, wrists bound above me. My dress had shifted to the side, exposing more cleavage, and I couldn’t fix it. He followed my gaze, his lips curling into a smug smile.

“You will always know me as the man who gave you pleasure like you have never had before. I am going to ruin it for you,” he whispered. “When you are in bed with another, you will have flashbacks of me. All I want to do is pleasure you, little flower.”

I swallowed hard. This was a first. Pleasure me? Was he really doing all of this for me?

He walked back to the table and returned with a silk scarf.

“Trust me,” he said as he tied it around my eyes.

Trust? I didn’t even know what he looked like, and yet I didn’t protest. How could I trust a man who wouldn’t even tell me his name? And still, there was no denying the butterflies swirling in the pit of my stomach. Heat pooled between my legs.

A scraping noise echoed across the floor as if he were dragging the table closer. The sound seemed louder now that my sight was gone, every other sense heightened. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I could hear the rustling above me.

The bed dipped beside me, and I knew he was close. His cologne enveloped me. I felt him straddle me, his strong thighs pressing against mine. His hot breath fanned my face, closer, closer, until his lips pressed against mine.

I froze. I hadn’t thought this was part of our arrangement. This was intimate. But his kiss was exactly how I imagined it would be. Dominant.

His lips battled mine for control. His hands slid around my neck, lightly choking me. When I parted my lips, his tongue probed inside, tasting, teasing, claiming. He tasted of champagne.

I arched my back, desperate to run my fingers through his hair as I kissed him, but my hands were bound. His grip on my neck held me steady as he deepened the kiss.

He tugged on my lower lip, sucking at it before giving it a sharp nip. I flinched, but he quickly soothed it with his tongue.

I was stunned beyond words.

When he finally pulled away, I mourned the loss of his lips instantly.

“You taste divine, little flower,” he said huskily. “I could taste you all day.”

At that point, I wasn’t sure if it was my lips he savored, or the faint taste of blood. I was too far gone to care either way.