The Auction: A Dark Romance: Chapter 8

As soon as I pull out of the driveway, I call my personal shopper, Isabella. She handles all the wardrobes for my subs.

She chirps, ‘Riggs, to what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Isabella, I need a full wardrobe,’ I state.

She softly laughs. ‘Right to the point. Can always count on you for that. What size is your girl?’

‘Her shoe size is seven and a half. Clothes are a six, maybe an eight. I don’t know. Get me an assortment,’ I demand, not sure what size Blakely is, but pretty sure she’s a six or an eight.

‘Got some meat on her, huh?’ Isabella says.

I groan inside. The L.A. standards of women being a size double zero drives me insane. Blakely’s got curves in all the right places, and boney women don’t do anything for me. Still, I’d reprimand her if Isabella wasn’t so good at what she did. But she’s my go-to for clothing, so I reply, ‘She’s curvy, not a stick.’

‘No problem. I’ll have a bunch of choices for you. Are you coming here, or do I need to meet you?’ she asks.

‘I have some things to take care of. I can text you when I’m on my way, but my guess is it’ll be early afternoon. Is that enough time?’ I inquire.

‘Definitely,’ she replies.

‘Great. I’ll pull up, and your staff can bring it out to my car,’ I instruct, not wanting to deal with parking issues.

‘No problem. Talk soon,’ Isabella states and hangs up.

I continue battling traffic on my way downtown. I park in a lot and walk into the music store. It’s the best in L.A.

Within seconds of walking in, a middle-aged sales guy approaches me. He pushes his glasses up his nose and says, ‘Welcome. My name is Kyle. Can I help you, sir?’

‘What’s the best piano you have?’ I question, knowing hardly anything about pianos but convinced Blakely needs one. I’ve promised her she can work on her music the next year and she’ll be better for it when she leaves, so I need to keep my promise.

A look of excitement appears on his face. He leads me through the store and stops in front of a crystal piano. It’s completely transparent, and I have to admit, it looks like a masterpiece. I’m sure the price tag is as well.

Kyle states, ‘This is a Heintzman & Company. They’re made in Canada.’

‘Not a Steinway?’ I inquire, throwing out my limited knowledge of pianos.

He shakes his head. ‘We have Steinways if you want one, but this is a top-of-the-line, rare item.’

‘What’s the price tag?’ I ask.

‘3.2 million, plus tax. It includes shipping anywhere in California,’ he states.

I whistle.

He adds, ‘If you want something a little bit more economical—’

‘No, that’s not necessary,’ I state. It really is a beautiful piece. I can imagine it in the beach house, and I can picture Blakely sitting on the matching crystal bench with her fingers dancing over the keys.

Kyle’s face lights up. ‘Fantastic! It’s a great choice!’

‘Better be for the price tag. When can it be delivered? I’m out in Malibu,’ I inform him.

He motions for me to follow him, answering, ‘Let me look at the schedule.’

It takes twenty minutes to check out and arrange for next-day delivery. Satisfied with my purchase, and convinced Blakely will love it, I get back in my car and head toward Skid Row.

It’s another area of L.A. I hate as much as Compton. It’s not quite as bad, but over the years, it’s gotten worse and worse. Plus, I’m not comfortable leaving my Porsche there.

I call my contact Chainsaw when I’m outside of his house. Rumor has it he got his nickname because he cut off his father’s legs with a chainsaw when he was eight. I don’t know if I believe the story, but I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s one of the meanest sons of bitches I know. We met when I was living in Compton. Over the years, he’s done several jobs for me.

‘Riggs,’ he answers.

‘I’m outside. You here?’ I ask, wondering why I didn’t call before I got here.

‘Yep,’ he replies.

I order, ‘Come meet me outside.’

‘I see you’re still demanding,’ he teases.

‘Not leaving my car outside, man. You know how I am,’ I claim.

He grunts. ‘Maybe you should get a beater for the hood.’

‘Not a chance.’

He adds, ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’

I wait, watching my mirrors, only semi-confident that no one would try anything on Chainsaw’s doorstep. Relief hits me when he finally steps outside.

He opens the passenger door and slides in. We slap hands, and I notice he’s added three more tear tattoos under his eyes. It’s common with gang members, which I’m sure Chainsaw is. Which gang, I don’t know or care, since I don’t ever mess with him. Each tear is a sign that he’s killed someone and proud of it. I assume the tears represent rival gang members since he’s probably killed way more than only three people since I last saw him.

Chainsaw questions, ‘What’s the job?’

It’s why I like him. He’s straight to the point, like I am. I state, ‘I have a guy I need you to pick up. He works security for the front door of Cheeks. His name is Snake. Make sure it’s him you pick up and no one else.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Chainsaw says, as if I’ve insulted him.

I ignore his tone, adding, ‘Take him to my warehouse.’

‘Will do. Do you know his schedule?’

I shake my head. ‘No. I’m assuming he’ll be there tonight, although I could be wrong.’

‘I’ll call you when it’s done,’ Chainsaw states.

I hand him a yellow envelope of cash. ‘Call me when he’s at the warehouse.’

Chainsaw arches his eyebrows.

I continue, ‘Don’t finish him off. I want to make sure I’m there.’

His lips form into a sinister smile. ‘I love it when you like to jump in and play.’

I grunt. The warehouse is only for these types of situations. It’s not the first time Chainsaw’s handled business for me. I normally like to have him do everything so my hands are clean, but Snake messed with Blakely. This is personal.

‘I’ll text you when he’s there,’ Chainsaw states, then gets out of the car with the yellow envelope.

I peel out of the neighborhood. I’m heading toward Malibu when another call comes in. I hit the answer button on my dashboard screen and say, ‘Jones, what’s going on?’

He relays, ‘There’s movement in the US accounts going into the offshore ones.’

‘Fuck,’ I mutter. Hugh is really testing my patience. I can’t wait to take him down. I add, ‘I need you to hurry up and get me access to the Cayman accounts.’

‘I’m on it, but I thought you should know,’ Jones says.

‘Thanks, man. Keep me posted of any other activity,’ I demand, then hang up.

Traffic’s bad like always, and it’s later than I anticipated when I pull up to the boutique. The staff loads my trunk, and I fight more traffic on the way back to Malibu.

I make another stop to pick up dinner at a local farm-to-table restaurant. I down a beer while I stare at the waves crashing into the rocks, waiting for the food to be made. For the millionth time today, I wonder what Blakely is thinking about the contract.

By the time I get home, it’s almost dark. I don’t realize how anxious I’ve been all day about leaving her on her own until I walk in and see her standing at the window.

Her arms are crossed, and she’s wearing one of my flannel shirts. She has the sleeves rolled, and her hair is tied into a loose bun.

It’s another thing I really like—seeing her in my clothes. Knowing she’s naked underneath and waiting for me to come home gives me such a hard-on. I consider going against my rule and fucking her tonight even though her birth control won’t be effective yet.

I push the thought to the back of my mind, knowing it’s a bad idea. If you give a sub too much too soon, it can backfire on the training process.

She’s drinking red wine, tapping her finger against the glass. My heart beats harder. She’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t realize I’m there.

I glance at the notepad on the table, but it’s shut. The contract’s neatly stacked and sitting in the middle of the table where I left it.

I’m not sure how to take things. Is she lost in thought because she wants to back out, or is she lost in thought thinking about all the things in the contract that I’m going to do to her?

I creep up behind her, inhaling her sea salt and driftwood scent, wondering how she always manages to smell so good and the same. She has no perfume here, so it has to be her natural scent. I slide my arm around her stomach, tugging her into my frame.

She jumps and gets flustered, turning her head to pin her blues on me, admitting, ‘Riggs, you scared me.’

I glance at the wineglass. ‘Sorry. You drink red now?’

‘You said to help myself,’ she reminds me, then smirks. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t break rule thirteen. I’m not abusing it.’

I’m pleased she memorized what rule it was, but I also have to make sure she remembers that I’m the boss. I warn, ‘You’re begging for a punishment with that tone.’

She spins into me and tilts her head, giving me a look I can’t decipher. Is it apprehension and nerves? Is it disappointment?

My stomach flips again, and my fears race through my mind.

I decide to only show confidence and ask, ‘Did you call and quit your jobs?’

She shakes her head, not flinching, as if challenging me.

My nervousness increases. I ask, ‘Because you wanted to disobey me and see how I’d punish you or for some other reason?’

She hesitates and answers, ‘I don’t have to work until tomorrow. I thought it would be best if you answered my questions first, before I upend my entire life.’

I don’t like her answer. That means there’s a possibility she’s not okay with something and might decide to walk.

I release her. I point to the table, pull out a chair, and motion for her to sit. ‘Let’s eat dinner and talk.’

She obeys, and I grab two plates, the bottle of wine, and another glass. I refill hers, pour one for myself, and make two plates of salad, sea bass, and couscous.

I sit across from her and nod for her to begin eating.

Her lips twitch. ‘You’re making me nervous.’

‘That so?’ I question, hiding the fact that I’m also nervous. I don’t want her to know that.

She takes a few deep breaths and continues staring at me.

‘Eat,’ I order, pointing at her plate.

She takes a few bites, as do I, but I’m no longer hungry. She puts her fork down and asks, ‘Can we start the conversation?’

Relief hits me. I can’t handle the suspense anymore. I coolly state, ‘If you’d like.’

‘I would.’

‘Okay. Ask me anything.’

She opens her notepad, and I glance at the page full of ink. She pulls it closer to her so I can’t see it, furrows her eyebrows, and her cheeks grow redder.

I reach across the table and grab her hand. ‘No need to be embarrassed. I expect you to have a lot of questions.’

Surprise fills her expression. ‘You do?’

‘Yes. You’re new to all this. If you didn’t have any, I’d be worried,’ I assure her.

A nervous smile appears, and she glances back at the page, then asks, ‘Why can’t I be alone if I want?’

I don’t hesitate. ‘Because I’m in charge and know what’s best. If I feel you shouldn’t be, then I won’t allow you to be.’

‘Why wouldn’t it be best for me?’ she questions.

‘I’m going to push you past your limits as you know them,’ I claim.

‘What does that mean?’

‘I can’t answer that. You’ll discover what it means through our sessions.’

‘Sessions?’

I reply, ‘When we’re together.’

She taps her finger on the table and stares at me.

‘Next question?’ I ask.

She picks up her pad and studies it, then says, ‘So whenever we do anything sexual, it’s called playtime?’

I shrug. ‘For the purpose of this contract. You can call it whatever you want. Does that word bug you?’

She thinks a minute, then shakes her head. ‘No, it’s okay.’

‘Great. What else is on your list?’

She hesitates, then clears her throat. ‘Ummm… It says I can only come when you permit me.’

I can’t help the curve forming on my lips. ‘That’s correct.’

I can see the confusion in her eyes. ‘How do I stop it if you’re touching me?’

I work hard to keep from smiling so she doesn’t think I’m patronizing her. I answer, ‘You’ll learn.’

Moments pass with tension filling the air. ‘Next concern,’ I assert.

She looks at the paper, then questions, ‘Can you give me an example of an accessory?’

I keep it light and easy so I don’t scare her off. ‘Sure. A blindfold is an example.’

Panic fills her face. She turns toward the window and taps the wood faster.

‘Is something wrong with that?’ I ask.

She reaches for her neck and grasps her collar, admitting, ‘They put one on me last night.’

‘To bring you here?’

She shakes her head. ‘No. Yes, they did, but I meant my father’s men. It was just briefly.’

Anger rages through me, thinking about what her father’s done to her. And I’m not thinking straight because I should have asked her this morning what the men look like or if she knows their names. They’re going to see my wrath as well. I file it in the back of my mind for another discussion and soften my tone, asking, ‘But you allowed them to blindfold you to come here?’

She looks at her list, lifts her chin, and asserts, ‘Yes. It’s fine. Umm…’ She swallows hard.

I wait for her to continue, not sure if I should push the blindfold issue or not. I need to know if she’s got some sort of PTSD from it. I don’t want to trigger her.

Her face turns maroon as she blurts out, ‘What if you don’t fit?’

‘Sorry? I’m not following. Can you be clearer?’ I ask.

‘In me.’ She looks down at her finger, which is tapping like she’s a master typist. She adds, ‘You’re pretty big.’

I do everything I can to not laugh. I put my hand over her finger and demand, ‘Blakely, look at me.’

Mortified, she obeys but winces when her eyes meet mine.

I firmly state, ‘I assure you that you and I will fit together.’

‘How do you know?’

I can’t control it anymore and smile. ‘I just know.’

My assurance doesn’t seem to convince her. She asks, ‘Are you going to hurt me?’

‘When I penetrate you? No.’

She points out, ‘The contract discusses bruises. And hot and cold play. I don’t want to be lit on fire.’

I lose all sense of control and chuckle.

‘It’s not funny!’ she reprimands.

I neutralize my reaction. ‘Sorry. I will not be setting you on fire. Promise.’

‘No?’

‘No. And I assure you, any pain you feel will result in a high you’ve never felt before,’ I claim.

She stares at me.

‘What else is on your list, pet?’

‘Where do I go for the lab tests?’

‘Have you been tested before?’ I question.

She nods.

‘When?’

She ponders my question a moment and replies, ‘Maybe two years ago.’

‘Okay, so you’ll need a new test,’ I claim.

‘But I haven’t had sex since then,’ she blurts out.

I gape at her, unable to hide my shock.

Her cheeks burn again, and she asks, ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘Sorry. Why haven’t you had sex?’

She shrugs. ‘I’m not dating anyone. So where do I get the test?’ Her finger starts to move under my hand.

I pick it up and run my thumb over the back of her hand, stating, ‘You don’t have to.’

‘Why?’

‘Your tests were fine two years ago?’

She nods. ‘Yes.’

‘Then there’s no need to do it.’

She peers at me closer.

‘What did I say now?’ I ask.

‘Do you take everyone’s word?’

I lean closer. ‘No. But you aren’t everyone, are you?’

She holds her breath, and I can’t figure out whether it’s good or bad.

I motion to her list. ‘Anything else?’

She hesitates. A mix of fear and hurt fills her expression.

I get up and walk around the table. I sit next to her and slide my arm around her. ‘What is it, pet?’

She scrunches her face, and the emotions intensify. I wait her out until she reveals, ‘How long does it take before you know if I’m unsatisfactory for your sexual needs? Is it right away or months into this?’

Shock fills me that she’s worried about rule fourteen. I gather my thoughts to try to assure her, stating, ‘You don’t need to worry about rule fourteen.’

‘I don’t?’

‘No.’

‘How do you know? We haven’t really done a lot,’ she asks.

I slide my hand over her cheek, tracing her lips with my thumb. She briefly closes her eyes, and I reply, ‘That, right there.’

She opens her blues in question.

‘You react to me, pet. You did when you were eighteen, and you do now. And my body responds to yours.’

‘It does?’ She takes a deep breath.

I grab her hand and put it between my legs, torturing my cock with her touch, declaring, ‘That’s because of you. And it’s been like that since I saw you on stage last night.’

Her lips twitch.

I add, ‘So rule fourteen doesn’t apply to you.’

Her smile grows.

I remove her hand and point to her plate. ‘Eat. You’re going to need your energy.’