Page 10

Vivian

I stepped backstage on shaky legs, barely aware of the applause that met me in the dressing room.

Voices buzzed around me—compliments, questions, a few playful jabs—but it all sounded muffled, like I was underwater. My blood still thrummed in my ears, drowning everything else out.

“Damn, a hundred grand?”

“She must’ve offered something real dirty in her little weekend package.”

“I mean, she looked hot. I would’ve bid on her.”

“Guess I need to step up my game.”

Cherry touched my arm, offering a grin. “You okay, Blondie?”

I nodded. Or maybe I didn’t. I wasn’t sure. Everything felt surreal.

I sank into one of the couches near the makeup station I’d used earlier where my weekend bag still sat. My fingers fidgeted in my lap while I tried to focus on anything—my breathing, the feel of the seat under me, the ticking of the clock on the wall—but nothing helped.

Dr. Connolly. The one who’d walked away so easily had just paid one hundred thousand dollars for me.

Why?

Somewhere, ladies giggled nervously as they said goodbye to one another. The auction continued. More girls came back into the room and left. I lost count.

Then Macy’s heels clicked toward me, crisp and unmistakable. I hadn’t even noticed the stage had gone quiet.

She stopped in front of me and leaned in, her voice low. “He asked for you.”

I looked up. “Now?”

Her mouth tightened. “You don’t say no. Not to him. And definitely not after that number.”

I gave a small nod. There was no avoiding it—time to deliver what I’d sold.

“He’s waiting in the main room.”

****

Jeff

Bradford moved to a table near the bar, all smugness gone.

He kept glancing over his shoulder like he wanted to say something but knew better.

Felix Alvarez, still in his three-piece suit to remind everyone how much he worked, leaned in to talk to Bradford.

Hopefully to ask if Bradford’s balls had finally dropped out of his stomach after getting outbid that hard.

Probably not, though. More than likely, it was to position himself so Bradford would feel comfortable asking for a favor someday, then he’d owe Alvarez. Which was exactly what the dude wanted.

That was the thing about this place—it wasn’t just about sex. It was politics. Leverage. Power. Favors.

A glass clinked gently on my table.

“I’ll admit,” came a voice to my left, “I didn’t see that coming.”

I turned as Grayson slid into the booth beside me. He was dressed casually tonight, same as me. Except he’d paired his Levi’s with a light-blue cashmere sweater instead of the navy button-down I had on.

He raised his drink. “A hundred grand’s a hell of a statement.”

I shrugged. “Hopefully she’s worth it.”

Grayson studied me for a beat; his relaxed smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I hope so, too. For your sake.” He took another sip of scotch before adding, “She didn’t look like she belonged up there.”

“That’s because she didn’t.”

He gave a slow nod. “She’s either going to break… or beg.”

I didn’t blink. “She’ll do both.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up in… respect?

“Have fun breaking her. Just be careful she doesn’t break you first.” He paused as he slid to the edge of the booth, then added with a heartless smile, “Though if she does, I’d be happy to take a turn. Ruining pretty things is kind of what I do.”

I didn’t respond, just stared back at him. I’d heard that Grayson could be as big a bastard as me. His words seemed to confirm the rumors.

He gave a lazy nod, then stood and disappeared into the crowd.

Now that the auction was over, the energy in the room had shifted.

Some of the auctioned women were already cozying up to their new owners—settling into laps, whispering into ears, tits pressed against arms. Others hovered nearby, laughing too loudly or gazing up like the man had cured cancer.

It was all an act, but if the men noticed, they didn’t care.

They played along, clinking their champagne flutes like it was the start of a decadent honeymoon.

Eyes flicked toward me now and then. Curious. No one said it, but I could feel the question hanging in the air: Why her? Why that price ?

They were waiting for fireworks.

And they were about to get them.

I faltered with my second glass of Macallan halfway to my mouth when I saw her.

She was as fucking beautiful as the night I’d first seen her. But instead of looking like an angel in white, she was now the devil in red.

I loosened my cuffs and rolled up my sleeves.

Time to collect.

Her eyes skated around the room as she walked toward me, like she was searching for exits. Or allies.

Sorry, sweetheart. There’s no one coming to save you.

When she reached my table, I didn’t say a word, just pointed to the surface of it and ordered, “Up.”

****

Vivian

My feet stopped when I reached his table. He didn’t greet me. Didn’t ask how I was or offer me a drink.

He just pointed at the table like I was a dog and gave me the command of, “Up.”

I hated myself for how quickly I scrambled to obey.

I perched my bottom on the tabletop, careful to keep my knees together as he spun me until I was situated directly in front of him. I could feel the room’s collective breath being held as they watched and waited to see what happened next.

Jeff didn’t look at me after that. Just leaned back and surveyed the room while he sipped his scotch and pretended I wasn’t even there.

Finally, his eyes dragged up my body, unhurried and callous.

“Spread your legs.”

My breath caught.

He draped one arm over the backrest like he had all the time in the world. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

My body tensed. Every cell screamed no . But between my thighs, I was soaked—humiliated and dripping wet. And I knew he was about to find out.

I lifted my bum to hike my dress higher around my thighs, then parted my legs.

He grinned in satisfaction.

“Such a good whore,” he murmured as he traced a finger down my seam. “Already putting on a show for your new owner. Look how wet your cunt is for me.”

Men’s laughter, low, and appreciative, rippled from the nearby tables.

“Look how fucking soaked she is,” someone said.

“That’s a damn good whore right there.”

“I’ll bet she’ll be worth every dollar,” while still another crudely asked, “Is she tight, Doc?”

Jeff’s smile was cruel when he shoved two fingers inside me and chucked darkly, “Oh yeah. But not for long,” before adding a third, then a fourth.

The peanut gallery cackled in delight. “Yeah. Break that bitch.”

“Use that cunt up. You paid for it.”

“Can you make her squirt?”

Jeff tilted his head and replied, “Hmm, I don’t know.” He directed his attention to me. “Do you squirt, whore?”

He didn’t wait for me to reply, just gave an evil grin and said, “Let’s find out, shall we?”

The men whooped and hollered in agreement.

I clenched my stomach, trying to fight my arousal, but every filthy word, every vulgar comment from the crowd only turned me on more.

My thighs trembled, my face flushed, and I hated that I couldn’t stop the slick drip between my legs—or the way my pussy greedily grasped his fingers.

I wanted to come. God, I was desperate for it. But I knew the second I did, it would seal my place in his eyes. Not just his bought whore, but a slut who loved performing for an audience.

My hands sought for purchase against the slick table, to no avail, as I tried to hold on to something—anything—to try to stop my body from responding while he played it like his personal violin.

His fingers curled and pumped with ruthless precision, pressing right where he knew I couldn’t ignore it.

Pressure built fast, and I began to pant.

Then I felt it—hot and sudden, pulsing out of me in a helpless gush.

I hadn’t come.

But my body had given him something else.

The crowd erupted.

“Fuck yes!”

“She squirted —look at that slut drip!”

“Didn’t even get her off, and she made a mess. What a filthy whore.”

“That’s a fun toy you just bought yourself, Jeff.”

My heart slammed in my chest, but it wasn’t just mortification that made it hard to breathe.

It was the awful, aching truth:

I liked it.

****

Jeff

She squirted. Everywhere.

It splashed onto the table, onto my shirt cuff, and dripped down her thighs. And the room went feral .

Fucking perfect.

They all saw it, that her body belonged to me now. Not just because I paid. Because I knew exactly how to use her.

Laughter. Crude praise. More bets about what I could make her do next. But I wasn’t listening to them anymore.

I was watching her .

Eyes glazed. Lips parted. Her whole body shook as she tried to hold back the inevitable.

But I wasn’t going to let her.

“Still holding on?” I murmured, dragging my soaked fingers down her inner thigh, then up again, pressing ruthlessly against her clit.

She whimpered, eyes fluttering shut.

“No,” I snapped. “Eyes on me.”

They opened. Wide. Frightened. Fascinated .

“Everyone’s watching, sweetheart,” I reminded her. “You gonna make a pretty little ‘O’ face when you come for me?”

She tried to shake her head.

I gave her clit one sharp slap and demanded, “Lie back!”

She cried out, and then did as she was told. My fingers were on her again, rubbing hard and fast. No teasing now. No mercy.

I watched her fight it. The way her hands clawed at the table. The trembling in her thighs. The desperation not to give in and the way it broke when she did.

She came hard , gasping my name like a curse.

Her hips jerked, and her cunt spasmed around nothing. My cock strained against my zipper, desperate to fill the hole she just proved she needed me in.

I smiled. Slow. Cruel.

“There it is,” I said, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Now say thank you, whore.”

She didn’t respond fast enough, so I slapped her sensitive clit until she cried out, “Thank you!”

The applause was thunderous.

She just lay there; shaking, soaked, ruined.

Exactly how I wanted her.

Exactly how she was supposed to be.

Mine.