Page 98
Story: Auctioned
Topher won’t.
I stroke her hair some more, watching her soft lips, and listening to her softer breaths.
I stretch this moment for as long as possible.
This space in time where I’m not a lawyer. Not a father. Not a glorified extortionist. Not a man forced to follow in his family’s footsteps.
I let myself be James Hawthorne around her.
Whoever that person is.
My heartbeats are unusually erratic. It’s bothersome.
Four days.
Things will fall into place after that. Once I’m back in the office, I’ll get my shit together and figure this out.
Or this illusion will end, and I’ll send her off.
Until then, it’s fine. After forty-three years of being exactly what everyone’s been expecting of me, what I’ve been expecting of myself, I can be this.
Sick. Obsessive. Seduced.
Making all the wrong decisions.
Ordering items that don’t belong in this house. Items that’ll be gone when she’s no longer here.
A break. I deserve this goddamn break.
“James?” Her voice is hesitant. Her muscles flex. Pulse rising. She’s woken up, noticing the change in me.
I feel it too. The adrenaline flooding my veins, it’s there.
I’m not a good man. She’ll do well to remember it.
“Sonnet.” Wrong. So fucking wrong of me to dive my hand deeper into her hair. To yank on it so her face tilts up. This need to look her in the eye. “Hello.”
“How long have I been out this time?” She searches my eyes, hoping I might be less of a bastard after last night, I guess.
“Just the night. Which you needed. You look well-rested.”
Lies.
Ophelia is far more than that.
Her large dark eyes stare at me. Her lips are full, pink, and swollen.
The fear reverberating from her is intoxicating. The wonder. The need.
Well-rested. What a fucking understatement.
“Thank you.” When she sees I won’t hurt her, she relaxes against me. “How’d you sleep?”
I stare at her without saying a word. I’m out of my depth here. I don’t do intimacy. I can’t give it to her.
“James.” Ophelia laughs, the sound joyous even though I’m tugging harder on her hair now. My cock hardens at that. “It was a simple question. Unless you didn’t sleep tonight.”
“I slept well.” Her deep gaze is fucking with my head. With my soul. “If you think small talk will make me spare your life, think again.”
I stroke her hair some more, watching her soft lips, and listening to her softer breaths.
I stretch this moment for as long as possible.
This space in time where I’m not a lawyer. Not a father. Not a glorified extortionist. Not a man forced to follow in his family’s footsteps.
I let myself be James Hawthorne around her.
Whoever that person is.
My heartbeats are unusually erratic. It’s bothersome.
Four days.
Things will fall into place after that. Once I’m back in the office, I’ll get my shit together and figure this out.
Or this illusion will end, and I’ll send her off.
Until then, it’s fine. After forty-three years of being exactly what everyone’s been expecting of me, what I’ve been expecting of myself, I can be this.
Sick. Obsessive. Seduced.
Making all the wrong decisions.
Ordering items that don’t belong in this house. Items that’ll be gone when she’s no longer here.
A break. I deserve this goddamn break.
“James?” Her voice is hesitant. Her muscles flex. Pulse rising. She’s woken up, noticing the change in me.
I feel it too. The adrenaline flooding my veins, it’s there.
I’m not a good man. She’ll do well to remember it.
“Sonnet.” Wrong. So fucking wrong of me to dive my hand deeper into her hair. To yank on it so her face tilts up. This need to look her in the eye. “Hello.”
“How long have I been out this time?” She searches my eyes, hoping I might be less of a bastard after last night, I guess.
“Just the night. Which you needed. You look well-rested.”
Lies.
Ophelia is far more than that.
Her large dark eyes stare at me. Her lips are full, pink, and swollen.
The fear reverberating from her is intoxicating. The wonder. The need.
Well-rested. What a fucking understatement.
“Thank you.” When she sees I won’t hurt her, she relaxes against me. “How’d you sleep?”
I stare at her without saying a word. I’m out of my depth here. I don’t do intimacy. I can’t give it to her.
“James.” Ophelia laughs, the sound joyous even though I’m tugging harder on her hair now. My cock hardens at that. “It was a simple question. Unless you didn’t sleep tonight.”
“I slept well.” Her deep gaze is fucking with my head. With my soul. “If you think small talk will make me spare your life, think again.”
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