Page 3 of Freak

Summer

H aving a successful business meeting—which this was—required more than being professionally dressed.

It demanded prowess in dominating others and unbendable focus.

I was punctual and mentally prepared, avoiding the distractions of watered-down punch bowls and tequila shots, as I approached the makeshift auction stage with cutthroat intentions.

Veronica deliberated with the upcoming auctioneers in the corner, as a few unfamiliar women drooled into each other’s ears.

“Did you hear Rafael was up for bid?” One said to the other, debating on ways to pool their money together, but also arguing on who’d actually attend the date.

My attention to the auction stage was as focused as any other high stakes negotiation, that was until I heard my name.

“Summer?” Jake fixed his face like a jigsaw, his eyes and lips shifting from confusion to shock. “Holy shit.”

I ignored him.

“When did you get in?” he asked, finding space by my side. His belly wasn’t as big as it used to be, but his hair had thinned considerably, making his scalp visible, even in the darkened party.

“This afternoon.”

“How long are you in for?”

“Why is everyone so curious about that?”

“You look grea—” Jake paused, letting the song “Party Rock Anthem” fill the void of his sentence.

I tried not to cringe.

I knew what he was going to say, and I knew why he paused. The flattery of being told I looked great was second to the surprise he showed when he caught sight of my dirty little secret.

Peeking up from my dress, and wrapped around my thigh, was the leather strap to what I wore underneath.

Its small, twenty-four carat, gold buckle was attached to a harness that contoured my body, and circled my breasts.

No bra, no panties, just leather. I knew he wanted to look more, to see how my bare ass was framed with elastic straps, like a fuckable treat.

He shifted his cock in his pants, peeking at my pierced nipples that pebbled from the ice cold room.

“I’m here for business. You can leave now,” I instructed.

He moved closer.

“I’m the new head football coach now. You know… Since Coach Amada passed.”

I tried not to furrow my brow. To say I was surprised was an understatement, but the control I had over my expressions had taken years of self-discipline.

Hearing that Rafael’s dad had died certainly challenged that.

Immediately I thought of a multitude of questions.

When did it happen? How? Was Rafael crushed, and did it hurt?

I straightened my posture, resisting the urge to clear my throat.

“Good for you,” I finally answered.

Jake balanced his bidding paddle in his hand, taking a sip of his tequila, unable to shoot it back like a real adult.

“You see Veronica? We’re expecting our fifth child.”

“Ok.”

“Ok?” he leaned. “That’s all I get?”

The music began to slow as the DJ stilled the lights over the stage. Veronica greeted everyone, explaining the various charities that our proceeds would go to. Everyone clapped.

“You deserve more?” I asked.

“Usually people congratulate others when they hear they’re having a kid.”

My face soured, not by the washed up jocks that entered the stage for bidding, but by Jake. I side-eyed his boyish grin as women hollered for the potbelly boys on stage.

“Congratulations?” I asked. “On what? Your four walking creampies? If you want a balloon for shooting a load in Veronica Tess, then you can find some by the exit.”

This didn’t seem to bother Jake, in fact, he licked his lips.

The music began to pick up.

“Our next eligible bachelor is a four-time MVP state champion, a collegiate all-American, who graduated top of his class at Stanford University…”

Jake brushed his small cock against my thigh, as he leaned into my ear, “You know, if you want kids, I can help you, too… I got a full sack just for you, freak.”

“You can find this handsome doctor at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago, Illinois as the chief surgeon of pediatric cardiology…”

“Depends. Do you have big balls?” I asked, staring straight at the stage.

“The one, the only… Rafael Amada!”

I wasn’t sure what to expect as I saw Rafael walk onto the stage. I imagined someone like Jake, wrinkled and stressed, burdened with the lack of hair and enthusiasm. But that wasn’t the case at all.

I was completely disappointed—positively enraged.

Out from the curtains, in perfect six-foot-two stature, was the pinnacle of a man; lean and sharp, Rafael’s dark, thick hair was pulled all the way back, his skin colored by vacations, but worn devilishly well with the perfect creases of a furrowed grin.

Rafael’s dark eyes circled the crowd as he unbuttoned his Armani suit, his surgical hands delicately, but decisively, positioned like manicured machines created for saving lives or yanking hair.

I hated that I almost stumbled at his sight, or how my bladder twisted itself inside out. I was there again, in the closet, on the verge of wetting my fifteen-thousand-dollar dress.

“Thank you…” Rafael growled into the mic, a pleasantry that felt directed at me. Thank you for still caring, thank you for wasting your thoughts and mental space on a high school memory.

It pissed me off.

“Big fucking balls,” Jake replied, reminding me that the slug was still near my ear.

“Shall we begin the bidding at two hundred?”

Immediately, paddles lifted in the air.

Fuck. Being mentally prepared had left me physically unprepared for the event, as the price began to climb.

“I have three hundred, can I get three-fifty? I have four to the lady in green…”

Jake whispered into my ear, his body brushing against mine, “Let me take you to the locker… give you the full package.”

Without looking, my hand reached toward his crotch, his timid shaft poking above what little balls I felt. I could hear the smile in Jake’s voice, before it suddenly shifted.

“Summer! What the fuc?—”

I squeezed the sentence out of him, his chest bellowing over to my shoulder, and I twisted his nuts like lemons for juice.

“Lift your fucking paddle.” I instructed sternly, catching the attention of Veronica who batted her unknowing eyes.

“We got six hundred… can I get six-fifty?”

“Good boy,” I cooed, squeezing harder. Jake froze, his balls like a leash that I yanked as soon as the price began to climb.

“You crazy bitch…” he groaned.

“That’s right,” I answered, “and if you think of disobeying me, I’ll ensure what future assholes you have swimming around these tired, old balls, come out walking with a limp. Now lift that fucking paddle.” I seethed, momentarily gloating as his shaking hand pathetically lifted for Veronica’s eyes.

“Nine hundred! Can we get a thousand?”

The ladies behind decided on a price, agreeing that their future date would be settled on a battle of rock, paper, scissors. “One thousand, two hundred and fifteen dollars…” One shouted, then added shortly after, “and eleven cents.”

I dug my sharp, black nails into Jake, his eyes on the verge of tears as his hand shot up.

This time, I announced my price.

“Ten thousand dollars!” My voice cleared the room as I released Jake, his stumbled steps mirroring the bewilderment in Veronica’s gaping mouth. I was certain her water was about to break.

With the surprise of my voice came the silence of the auction, the quieted gasps met with the most intense eye contact I’d ever received from Rafael Amada.

I stopped my lip from trembling, my narrowed expression digging into his mocha eyes, challenging him to blink as he slowly realized who I was.

“SOLD! To Summer Evans, in the black Valentino!”