The Auction: A Dark Romance: Chapter 9

Riggs keeps the conversation light over dinner, asking me about my songs and avoiding more talk about the contract. When I finish everything on my plate, he gets up and clears the table.

I rise to help, but he pours more wine into my glass and says, ‘Relax, Blakely.’

My nervousness reappears as I watch him put the dishes in the dishwasher and toss the takeaway containers in the trash. The cleared table only has the contract, my notepad of questions, and my wineglass on it. I tap my fingers on the wood, staring at the thick stack of papers.

Riggs must sense my anxiety. He steps behind me, places his hands on my shoulders, and rubs his thumbs over the curve of my neck where it meets my back. He quietly says, ‘Pet.’

I lift my head toward the ceiling, glancing up at him.

‘Come sit on the couch with me,’ he orders.

I rise.

He grabs the contract and my notepad, leads me to the couch, then sits. He takes my wineglass, sets it on the coaster, tugs me onto his lap, and inquires, ‘Do you have any more concerns?’

My nerves tap dance in my belly as I ponder the question, mentally reviewing the long list I created on the notepad. I reach for my neck and slide my finger back and forth over the smooth gold collar. I’m unsure why, but something about the collar soothes me.

‘Is that a no or yes?’ he pushes.

‘I, umm…’ I deeply exhale and glance at the paperwork.

Riggs opens the side table drawer and drops the items in it. He closes it and asserts, ‘If you have more things you’d like to discuss, then now’s the time, Blakely. If not, why don’t we keep the contract out of sight and forget about it.’

I blurt out, ‘Easy for you to say. You don’t have fourteen rules to memorize.’

His lips twitch. ‘Thirteen. I got rid of fourteen for you, remember?’ He wiggles his eyebrows.

I softly laugh, relaxing a bit.

His grin falls, and his tone turns serious. ‘I do need an answer from you though. Do you have any other concerns?’

I start to shake my head, then stop.

He peers at me closer. ‘What is it?’

I hesitate, trying to gather my thoughts. Tension thickens in the air, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Riggs pushes my hair behind my ear, demanding, ‘Whatever it is, just say it.’

I take another moment, then say, ‘Rule eleven.’

He arches his eyebrows, asserting, ‘I already gave you my medical records and told you I won’t require you to be tested. What’s the problem?’

‘Not that part of the rule,’ I quietly add.

He furrows his eyebrows, then his expression changes. ‘Ah. I see. I assume you are referring to ‘The sub will not engage in any play with anyone besides the Dom unless the Dom determines it’s in her best interest.”

I nod.

He grinds his molars, then asks, ‘Are you telling me you want to engage with others?’

‘No! Not at all.’

‘Then what is it?’

My pulse pounds hard against the choker. ‘Are you going to want me to do things with other people?’

He studies me, and my gut flips faster. He finally answers, ‘I haven’t thought that far. But I have no desire to share you. However, I would arrange it if it were in your best interest.’

I’m glad he doesn’t want to share me, but his answer also confuses me. I ask, ‘Why would it be in my best interest?’

‘Some people need it,’ he states.

‘What do you mean?’

He doesn’t tear his gaze off me, drags his knuckles down my arm, and claims, ‘Every sub has different needs, pet. It’s my job to figure out what those are, and often, we aren’t aware of what we need the most.’

I tilt my head, letting his answer sink in, but I still don’t understand it. I ask, ‘How can screwing someone else be something someone needs?’

His confidence only grows. He asserts, ‘It just is. Unless you need it and then do it, you probably won’t understand it.’

My heart pounds faster. I lower my voice and ask, ‘And you? Is this something you need?’

‘To fuck other women?’

I nod, blinking hard, not trusting myself to speak without showcasing the emotional roller coaster I’m on. The thought of Riggs with anyone else is too much to bear. I might only be his for a year, but I don’t want to share him. The jealous streak in me would probably kill me.

He slides his hand on my cheek, leans forward so his lips are an inch from mine, and announces, ‘There’s something you should know about me.’

My voice cracks, ‘What?’

He declares, ‘I’m not a Dom who plays around. When I signed that contract, my focus was on you and only you. And as long as we’re in this arrangement, it’ll stay that way. Do you understand?’

Relief washes over me. My pulse lowers a few notches, and I nod. ‘Okay.’

He asks, ‘Are there any other things we need to discuss?’

I contemplate for a moment, then shake my head. ‘No. I think I’m clear on things. Well, as much as I can be with my limited knowledge of certain aspects.’ My face heats again.

The corners of his mouth curve up. He replies, ‘Good.’ He glances at my wineglass and questions, ‘Are you buzzed?’

‘No.’

He stares at me.

‘I’m not,’ I insist.

‘You’d tell me if you were?’

‘Yes. Why?’

He clenches his jaw and drags his knuckles down my neck and breast. I shudder as he asserts, ‘I need you alert when we play, Blakely.’ He traces my nipple with his finger.

I squeeze my thighs tighter together. I assure him, ‘I’m alert.’

‘What’s the safe word?’ he quizzes.

‘Stop.’

‘And when can you say it?’

I arch my eyebrows. ‘Is this a trick question?’

‘No. I assure you it’s not.’

I slide my hands over his shoulders and lace them around his neck, reciting from the contract, ‘When we’re playing and I want you to cease the activity.’

His voice turns stern. ‘Not want.

. You use it if you me to stop.’

Confusion fills me again. ‘What’s the difference?’

He fists my hair and tugs my head backward. It’s not gentle, but it’s also not hard. I gasp in surprise and shift on his lap. He asserts, ‘I’m going to push your limits, Blakely. Want will often be there. Want is a primary defense mechanism that makes us weak. A need is different. There’s no other choice because you’re breaking, and the world collapses around you. It’s so unbearable you’d rather die than continue to go on.’

My chest tightens. I hold my breath, trying to imagine what he could possibly do to me to make me feel that way.

He continues, ‘I need to know you understand the difference. Giving in to want cheats us of our full potential. It keeps us weak and stagnant instead of growing into the person we’re meant to be.’

I nervously chirp, ‘Gee, I thought sex was just sex.’

He reprimands, ‘This is about more than sex, Blakely. This is about learning to submit so you can fully understand your power.’

‘If I submit, I don’t have any power,’ I mutter.

‘Ah, quite the opposite. And one day soon, you’ll grasp what I’m saying. Your inner soul is begging to fully submit. Once you do, only then will you thrive,’ he claims.

I stay quiet, unsure how that would ever be possible. I’m only playing his game where I have to do what he says because I want to be with him. I’m too independent and headstrong to ever be a person who thrives on submitting, even if it’s to Riggs.

He softly chuckles. ‘You don’t believe me.’ It’s more of a statement than a question.

I choose my words carefully, claiming, ‘I think we both know I’m not one to conform or follow the rules.’

The blue flecks in his eyes sparkle. He inquires, ‘Then why did you agree to this?’

There’s only one answer, and I tell him, ‘It’s what you want.’

Satisfaction and arrogance appear on his face. He challenges, ‘And it’s what you want.’

‘No. I—’

He puts his fingers over my lips. His other hand slides under my collar and he presses his palm into my beating pulse. His voice is low, seductive, and so full of confidence, my lower body throbs as if trying to prove to me I’m wrong and he’s right. He argues, ‘We’re wasting time, pet. The rules of engagement begin now.’

My butterflies go crazy. I open my mouth, then snap it shut when he arches his eyebrows at me.

He asks, ‘Did I not answer your questions and concerns?’

‘You did,’ I affirm.

‘Then are you in or out?’

My blood turns to lava burning in my veins. I lift my chin, declaring, ‘I’m in.’

He smiles, then asks, ‘What charity am I writing the check to?’

My stomach flips. I raise my chin, stating, ‘The L.A. Center for Addiction.’

Riggs arches his eyebrows. ‘Interesting choice. Why that charity?’

I try not to be ashamed, but I can’t fight it. I tell the truth, ‘I have a few friends who got clean after going there.’ My gut flips. I add, ‘And I wish my mother would check into the facility.’

Something passes in Riggs’s eyes, making me think he understands how I feel about my mother. Then again, he’s met her and knows her well. He softly replies, ‘That’s a good choice, but don’t get your hopes up. Addiction runs deep.’

I stay quiet, turn away, and blink hard.

A few moments pass, then he orders, ‘Let’s see how well you can follow the rules. Stand up, pet.’

I swallow my pride and rise, tapping my fingers on my thighs.

‘Strip,’ he commands.

Fire races to my cheeks. I stare at him.

‘Do I need to repeat myself?’ he questions.

I swallow hard, slowly unbutton his flannel, and slide it over my shoulders. It falls to the ground at my feet, baring my body.

He assesses me, slowly running his leering gaze over every inch of my skin for longer than necessary. He locks his blues on mine and twirls his finger in the air. ‘Spin.’

I obey, turning so my backside is in front of him, with my heart thumping harder into my chest cavity.

He rises and steps behind me, close enough that I can feel his presence looming yet not touching me. Chills break out along my spine. I shiver as he orders, ‘Go to the window and kneel, pet.’

I turn my head in objection, but he anticipates my reaction. He grabs my chin and provokes, ‘You will not look at me when I give you an order unless given permission. I’ll take you over my knee the next time you defy me. Now, I said to go kneel.’

I take a deep breath, attempt not to glare at him, and wonder why I agreed to this.

I concede and kneel in front of the glass.

He follows me, crouches down, and instructs, ‘Hands folded on your lap unless otherwise instructed. Head bowed. Back straight with your butt resting on your calves.’

I reposition my body and try to look at him with my peripheral vision.

‘Don’t do that. You’ll get punished,’ he warns.

Frustrated, I stare at my hands, twisting my fingers.

‘Stop fidgeting,’ he demands.

I freeze, wondering how long I’ll have to stay in this position.

His shadow falls over me. He continues, ‘You will not speak unless spoken to, or I permit you. It includes when I touch you. Do you understand?’

I roll my eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes, who?’

I sigh. ‘Yes, Sir.’

He crouches in front of me again. ‘Do you think you’re allowed to display an attitude toward me?’

‘I’m not,’ I claim, turning toward him.

His eyes darken so much that it freaks me out. ‘Did I tell you to break your position?’

‘Sorry,’ I add and look back at the floor.

‘Sorry, who?’

I swallow more pride. ‘Sorry, Sir.’

He leans closer, and his hot breath hits my ear. I close my eyes, trying not to shift, and he states, ‘You have two weeks.’

‘Sir?’ I ask, not understanding.

‘To learn proper etiquette. You will not embarrass me in public.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Not the right way to ask,’ he declares.

I stay quiet, unsure what I did wrong.

He continues, ‘The proper way is to ask, ‘Sir, permission to ask where we are going.”

I look up and gape at him, muttering, ‘You have to be kidding me.’

Anger flares on his expression. ‘Do you think this is a joke?’

My stomach flips. I quickly answer, ‘No. Sorry.’

‘Ask me the correct way, and stay in position,’ he commands.

I take a deep breath, tighten my grip on my fingers, and say, ‘Permission to ask where we are going, Sir.’

He waits a minute, then replies, ‘Permission not granted.’

‘What?’ I ask, glancing up again, then quickly look back at the floor when I realize what I just did.

His tone changes as he practically sings, ‘Oh, Blakely, Blakely, Blakely,’ while tracing the edge of the collar.

I resist the urge to mimic him, wondering how I’ll ever get used to this. Maybe I made a huge mistake and should tell him the deal’s off and I can’t do this. It’s just not me.

‘Don’t move,’ he says and leaves the room.

The sound of the clock ticking is the only thing I hear. Too much time passes. My knees hurt, and I’m tired of keeping my back straight. He finally returns and holds out his hands. ‘Rise.’

I take them, happy to stand and glad he’s helping me since my knees feel locked. He leads me to the kitchen, then puts his hand on the back of my neck, murmuring in my ear, ‘Arms out straight, breasts and cheek on the counter.’

I do as he says and shriek, ‘Oh my gosh, that’s cold!’

He slides his hands over my arms and curls my fingers over the edge of the quartz, instructing, ‘You don’t have permission to speak. And don’t you dare move out of position.’ He takes his foot and pushes against my ankles until my legs spread farther apart. His warm palms caress my ass.

Zings assault me. I press my ass against his erection, wondering if this is how he’ll finally take me. The sound of his belt hitting the floor echoes in the air, and I close my eyes, suddenly appreciating the contrast between the cool countertop and my hot skin.

His ripped torso hits my back. Tingles burst near my ear from his breath. One hand curls around my neck, and the other cups my pussy from behind. He locks eyes with me and murmurs, ‘I own you, pet.’

In a normal situation, I’d get upset about that statement. But here, at this moment, with Riggs’s body caged over mine, his seductive, bad-boy expression pinned on me, and his hands where they are, my brain is mush.

‘Tell me I own you,’ he demands, slipping a finger inside me.

My breath hitches. I close my eyes and roll my hips into his palm.

He pulls his finger out of me, and a sharp sting, as hard as it sounds, erupts on my ass.

‘Riggs!’ I scream, my eyelids flying open.

He smacks me again, barking, ‘What is my name?’

‘Sir!’ I call out.

‘Say it,’ he grits between his teeth, rubbing my cheek, then thrusting his finger in and out of me.

My hips automatically shift into him. I whimper and close my eyes again.

Another sharp sting bursts on my ass. I arch my back, but he’s holding my neck down, keeping me against the counter.

He growls, ‘I didn’t permit you to move any part of your body, did I?’

‘No!’ I cry out.

‘No, who?’

‘No, Sir!’

He swirls his finger on my clit, and I groan, attempting to keep still and taking more shaky breaths.

‘Say it! Tell me I own you,’ he orders, shoving his thumb inside me and circling his finger faster.

I cave, shouting, ‘You own me!’

‘And why do I own you?’ he pushes, drilling his blue flames into me.

‘I-I don’t know!’

‘Bullshit! Tell me, pet!’

Tears well in my eyes. ‘Riggs, I-I don’t know!’

‘Who?’ he snarls.

‘Sir!’

‘You want to submit. To me! Admit it!’ he demands, manipulating me to the point I’m about to come.

My vision turns blurry, adrenaline pools in my cells, ready to explode, and he removes his hand. He leans closer, kisses my cheek, and murmurs, ‘I want to hear you say it, pet. You want this because it’s with me. So say it!’

It hits me like a lightning bolt, and I can’t deny his statement. It’s the only reason I’m here. I admit, ‘I want to submit to you.’

His mouth pulls into an arrogant grin. His ragged breath merges with mine. His thumb slides over my forbidden zone, and I clench. He orders, ‘Relax.’

‘Riggs,’ I whisper, suddenly scared.

His voice turns softer. ‘Relax, Blakely.’ He pushes his pointer finger inside my pussy, swirls it against my throbbing walls, and kisses under my earlobe.

I close my eyes.

‘Look at me, pet,’ he quietly demands.

I open my eyes, and he tilts his head, intensely watching me. He praises, ‘Good girl,’ then slides his thumb past the tight ring of muscle.

I gasp, blinking hard, arching but unable to lift off the counter due to his continued grip on my neck and torso over me.

‘Shhh,’ he coos, then slides his thumb in farther. ‘Breathe, sweetheart.’ He demonstrates how he wants me to breathe.

I do what he says, mimicking him until I’m fully relaxed and nothing feels bad.

‘Everything is okay, pet,’ he claims, slips another finger inside me, then slowly creates a twisting pattern.

I whimper, unsure why I’m enjoying what he’s doing.

He keeps his eyes locked on me, calmly asking, ‘Who owns you, Blakely?’

I don’t think about it and answer, ‘You do, Sir.’

He nods. ‘And who do you submit for?’

‘You, Sir.’

‘Who else?’

I try to shake my head, but it’s still pressed against the quartz.

‘Who else?’ he gently repeats.

‘No one.’

‘No one, who?’

‘No one, Sir,’ I affirm.

He kisses my cheek and adds a third finger.

‘Oh God!’ I moan.

‘Shh. No talking, pet.’

I swallow hard, trying to be quiet, but it’s impossible, and I whimper loudly.

‘We have a lot of work to do,’ he claims.

I can’t even contemplate what he’s referring to. The sensations moving through me, I’ve never felt before. It’s a rush of endorphins I never expected, not because I’m coming. It’s from the taboo of his actions and how I want him to continue.

He removes his fingers, and I instantly feel empty. I press my ass toward him. He chuckles. ‘Greedy girl,’ he says, then slides something else into me.

I don’t know what it is, but it’s not his fingers. My voice cracks. ‘Riggs?’

He smacks my ass, and a sting spreads across my cheek. I yelp, and he says, ‘Who?’

‘Sir!’

He warns, ‘The sooner you learn, the better.’ He rubs the sting and asks, ‘You’re surprised, aren’t you?’

I remain silent.

Cockiness flares all over Riggs. ‘Admit you love everything I’ve done to you, Blakely.’

For some reason, defiance reignites inside me.

He smirks. ‘No? I guess I’ll stop, then.’ He backs away from me.

‘No! Wait!’ I blurt out before I can even think about what I’m doing.

He purses his lips and traces the edge of whatever is inside me, commanding, ‘Confess you like it and don’t forget the ‘Sir.”

There’s no way to hide from him. I cave again, stating the truth. ‘I love everything you do to me, Sir.’

A wicked grin appears on his lips. He licks the back of my ear and states, ‘It’s time to practice some more things, pet.’