Bought: Highest Bidder(29)

"It's fine," she says, once again refuting the truth.

"It's not fine," I whisper, shaking my head gently. She doesn't hold my  gaze, and her shoulders hunch forward. That never should have happened.         

     



 

I consider my next words carefully. "Are you happy with not being able  to find your release any other way?" I ask her. However she chooses to  cope is just that, her choice. But this wouldn't be upsetting her so  much if she was happy. I just need to hear her say it.

She shakes her head and looks up at me with pure vulnerability in her  eyes. Tears fall down her cheeks. "No, no, I don't want this." I pull  her soft body into my chest and hold her while she cries harder than  before.

"Have you talked to anyone about this?"

"I have a therapist," she says, wiping under her eyes. I lean across the  bed and grab a few tissues for her. She takes them graciously,  whispering, "Thank you."

I nod my head. I think a therapist is far better equipped than I am. I'm  out of my realm of expertise. I know I can help her. I can train her to  find her release. I know I can give her that. I can show her she's  capable.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes again, and I don't like it. I don't need her  to tell me she's sorry. I need her to tell me she wants me to help.  That she believes I can help her.

"Don't be. I'm here for you."

"I can give you what you need," I say quietly.

She nods her head, but she's not really understanding.

"I'm going to show you how deserving you are." Her sad expression stares back at me, she's exhausted and emotional.

And I'm sure she's hungry. One need at a time. I'll take care of her.

"Come, treasure. I need you to clean yourself up for dinner." She  sniffles and nods her head, but before she can move off the bed, I wrap  my arm around her waist and bring her closer to me.

"First, tell me something."

"What?" she asks warily.

"Anything," I tell her. I just want her to talk to me.

"Anything?"

I nod my head and repeat, "Anything," and kiss the tip of her nose. She  smiles and curls up slightly, leaning next to me and looking across the  room.

"I like lemon flavored Italian water ice the best."

A small laugh leaves my lips in a huff. "Lemon?" I say with a smile.

She looks up at me, expectantly. It takes me a moment to realize what she's waiting for. "Cherry. I think I prefer cherry."



"You need to have your bracelet on," I tell her, grabbing her wrist and  slipping the triple-ringed bracelet on before we can leave. Security  knew she was coming while I waited for her. But I don't want to piss  them off parading her around without the required membership bracelet. I  hold her waist as we walk to the door. She's much better now that I've  given her time to get ready. She needs touch though. She's still  hurting. I can see it in her eyes.

I lead her out of the room, my hand along her back and it's only then  that I realize she's not collared. I can't allow that. I want everyone  to know she's mine.

"To the right, treasure," I say and pull her slightly, my fingers  slipping around her waist, my thumb brushing easily along her hip and  bringing her closer to me as we enter the Club X store, Sex and  Submission.

"You need a collar." She smiles slightly and looks up at me as the words  hit her. That touch of shyness comes over her as she brushes her hair  behind her ear. I love that about her. That sweet bashfulness that she  has.

I should have already bought her a collar. From the moment she set foot  through those doors, she should have been labeled as mine. I'll have to  get her a necklace, too. I always want a symbol of my possession around  her neck.

The shop's walls are made of glass and arranged in a way that makes it  look as though it's all purposefully arranged decoration. Just like the  rest of the club, it shines with luxury.

Dahlia's eyes lock onto the collars on black velvet display stands the  moment we enter. There are a variety, but none of them are good enough.  She should be draped in gold. Just as she was when I first saw her. I'll  get her something temporary for now, but as soon as we're home, I'm  buying her one that's deserving of her beauty.

Dahlia walks toward the collars of her own accord and then freezes,  looking back at me with frightened eyes. I merely nod and stay by the  register.

She gently touches a few collars, but doesn't pick any of them up  although she goes back to one three times before she finally settles on  it.

It's a simple flat silver band with a single loop at the front, and a lock and key closure.

Knowing she won't be able to take it off once I put it on her sends a  thrill I can only partially understand shooting through me.         

     



 

I'm more than happy she chose one with this type of closure, and I make a  mental note to make sure her next collar has the same. I glance at the  price tag on the underside before making my way to the register.  $15,000. Dahlia seems somewhat uncomfortable behind me, a question on  the tip of her tongue, but she doesn't ask it.

"Member ID?" the woman behind the counter asks softly as I pass her the collar.

"Mister 646D," I answer. I could use my name, but I still prefer the anonymity.

"And would you like it now, or shall I box it for you?"

"I'll have it now." I quickly take it, along with the lock and turn to  my treasure. She lifts her thick locks up and shivers as I slip the  metal collar around her neck. I'm tempted to put the lock in the front,  so everyone can see, but I place it on her as it's meant to go and run  my hands down her shoulders and kiss her hair before slipping the lock  into my pocket.

"All set?" I ask the attendant. They charge my tab rather than requiring cards to be used. It's more convenient this way.

"Yes, sir. I hope you two have a delightful evening."

I can't help but glance at the collar around my treasure's neck as we leave. Her fingers gently touch the silver band.

"Do you like it?" she asks me as we walk through the hallway and to the restaurant for dinner.

"I love it, because it shows them all that you belong to me." Her lips  part with a lust-filled gasp, and she reaches for my hand. Before she  can pull it away, like she's done so many times before, I snatch it and  give her a gentle squeeze before bringing her hand to my lips and  kissing the underside of her wrist.

The hallway is empty, and the faint sounds from the playroom diminish  the closer we get to the dining hall. Dahlia looks back twice at the  sounds of a whip and then again at the sounds of a loud moan.

Her innocence pulls a smirk to my lips.

I nod at Isaac, the first person I see as we walk through the grand  entrance and make my way over to him, proudly leading Dahlia toward him.  I watch as he takes her in. She's not dressed as she should be. But she  wasn't prepared, and I have no intention of taking her to the playroom  now. Just dinner, and then home. We'll come back for a show and she can  get a taste of what the club has to offer. But only once I know how to  help her better. I need to make sure every action aids in her recovery.

Isaac tips his beer at me as we take a seat in his booth. It's in the  back of the hall and facing the stage with a good view of everyone else.  Working security, he's always chosen seats with ample viewing and easy  access to an exit. Some things never change.

Dahlia's quiet as we take our seats and she's so tense, it seems she's  not even breathing. "Relax, treasure," I whisper into her ear and gently  kiss her cheek.

"How are you enjoying Lucian's company, Dahlia?" Isaac asks, and her  eyes widen for a split second, wondering how he knew her name. I have no  intention of telling her, so she can continue to wonder.

"I'm..." she pauses, considering her words. "It's better than I ever  hoped it would be." There's clear sincerity in her voice, and it fills  my chest with a warmth I haven't felt in quite some time. Pride runs  through me.

"She's a natural," I say as I gently brush her hair, watching a soft blush rise to her cheeks.

"You got lucky," Isaac says, tipping his beer at me.

"Where's-" Dahlia starts to ask, but then closes her mouth and stares down at the table.

"Where's?" he asks her with a raised brow. She's slow to reach his gaze, and I place my hand on her back.

"You were engaged in conversation, treasure. You can speak your mind."

Isaac's brow furrows as he says, "He's been keeping you sheltered." He  takes another swig and then leans across the table, closer to Dahlia.  "He's been selfish not to bring you around." A small huff of a laugh  leaves Dahlia's lips, and she smiles slightly.

My shoulders tense slightly at the accusation, not because I'm jealous  of Isaac, not because the humor is lost on me, but because it's true.

I don't want to be here. I don't want to have to wear a mask. I don't  want to hide, and at the same time, I don't want to be watched. I don't  trust people. I haven't in years. Most notably because of Tricia.