Sold at the Auction(15)

But the big man merely dropped a bunch of shopping bags on the ground,  looking around himself, taking in his home as if seeing it for the first  time.

"Yeah, it's a little big," he acknowledged wryly. "But I got it at a good price, bought it from a developer for a song."

I laughed. What was a song? Twenty million? Thirty? The big man just  grunted again, squeezing my ass as he passed me to go into the kitchen.

"Come on baby, let's get something to eat, I'm hungry," he rumbled.

And I trailed behind him, oddly at ease even though I was technically  Mr. Black's prisoner. Because things were good between us. I hadn't  known what to expect after our sensuous bath, I thought I'd be locked up  in the compound and Troy would come and use me whenever he saw fit. I'd  lack for nothing of course, my every need would be met with gourmet  food, massages, manicures, every luxury at my disposal. But a prison is  still a prison, and all the bells and whistles in the world couldn't  disguise what I was really there for.

But oddly, after the bath Troy checked us out of the compound, business-like and no-nonsense.

"Come on," he ground out. "Where's your stuff? Let's go."

I shook my head slowly.

"I don't have any stuff," I said slowly. "Rachel and I thought we were  coming to a private party, but instead, she had that drink, and then we  were tied up and gagged. Is she okay?" I rushed quickly, growing alarmed  again. "Have you been able to find out where she is?"

Mr. Black frowned. Something told me that abduction wasn't how the  Billionaires Club usually operated, that most of the time the girls came  willingly, for the decadence, for the money, to sample a different  life. In fact, I suspected that Miles was going to have hell to pay once  Mr. Black got a hold of him, you can't go around doing whatever you  want when billionaires are in charge. But for now, the alpha male had  other things on his mind.

"I'm sure Rachel's fine," he said, voice neutral. "All the dudes in the  club are okay, I know them. Not well of course," he added, "but you  can't be a part of this group without going through a rigorous screening  process."

My mouth twisted wryly. Miles had allegedly gone through a screening  process too, so obviously the background checks weren't perfect, at  least not for employees. But I held my tongue because this wasn't the  time or place, not with freedom so near. And at the check-out desk, Troy  acted like a true owner, one with rights of possession.

"Here you go," said the receptionist, smiling widely, eyes bland,  handing us a clipboard. "Here are Ms. Danes's forms. We're releasing her  into your charge."

Were those release papers? Holy shit, yes, that was my name at the top  and Mr. Black scrawled his signature at the bottom, like he owned me,  putting a hand on my elbow once again.         

     



 

"Let's get out of this place," he ground out. "Let's go shopping and pick up some stuff for you."

But the enormity of the situation hit me again.

"So now I'm in your care, like a prisoner in a halfway house, out of  jail but still being watched? Is that how it is?" I asked slowly,  trailing behind him as he showed me to a town car.

The big man shrugged elegantly, casually handsome in a grey suit.

"If that's how you want to see it," he drawled, opening the door for me.  "I wouldn't choose that particular metaphor, but yeah, if that's how  you want to see it. I prefer to view myself as a guardian and not your  parole officer, but hey, this jail thing seems to have seized your  imagination."

I snorted a little, not at all ladylike, choked with giggles. Really?  Parole officer? This guy was funny and then some, I had no idea the  billionaire had a sense of humor. And he waggled his eyebrows at me,  slapping me on the ass once more, letting his hand bounce off my  generous rump.

"Come on, git, we have some shopping to do," he said, and with that, I  folded myself into the black car. Besides, what options did I have? We  were still god knows where, among rundown warehouses, not a soul in  sight, the buildings grey and featureless. Getting to a brightly-lit  shopping mall bustling with customers was probably the best way to  re-join the normal world.

But we didn't go to Westfield or any of the huge malls I'm used to.  Instead, the car pulled up at a discreet boutique situated in the middle  of nowhere and a woman, elegant and classy, greeted us at the door.

"Mr. Black," she purred, grey hair in a chignon. How women got their  hair to stay in those things was beyond me, my curls were always an  unruly mop, sweeping about my shoulders. But the woman was all  professionalism. "Mr. Black, so good to see you again. How can we help?"

Troy merely nodded at me.

"Anything she wants," the big man rumbled, and a shopping frenzy began,  salespeople throwing clothes at me right and left. It was just like the  scene in Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts is romanced on Rodeo Drive,  and there was such a variety of options that my head spun, expensive  brocades, the silkiest of satins, even a couple furs.

"I can't," I shook my head after Troy had approved my fifth cocktail  dress. This one was deep purple, hugging my curves, showing off my  assets without being raunchy and gaudy.

He ignored me. "That one, absolutely," he nodded again, and immediately the salesgirls clapped their hands.

"Excellent choice, Mr. Black, excellent!" they cooed. "You have amazing taste, absolutely exquisite."

I rolled my eyes, these women were sycophants with their panting and  gasping, but given the price tags I'd seen on some of these clothes,  they were set for a huge commission.

But still, I couldn't. Waiting until the salesgirls were gone, I put down my foot again.

"Troy, I can't," I insisted, hands on my hips this time, aware of how  ridiculous I looked, barefoot with a cocktail dress on, my curls natural  and unstyled. "This is far too much, you've already paid me for  …  well,  you know, and I can't take more."

The big man threw his head back and laughed, white teeth gleaming.

"No baby, you haven't been paid yet," he rumbled. "The money went into  escrow so you don't have a cent to your name right now. It'll be  deposited once the week is over. Only then will you be paid," he said,  eyes gleaming.

And I blushed. God, financial transactions weren't my forte, and of  course, the money had been placed into a holding account, I couldn't  take the cash and run. But still, I shook my head.

"This dress costs far too much, and what are you going to do with these  clothes after I'm done? Or," suddenly a thought popped into my head,  "are you attending another auction? Bidding on another girl?" I asked in  a rush, not quite believing it. My heart felt heavy, like it was  sinking to the bottom of the ocean, dying a slow death. I scolded  myself. It shouldn't have mattered. What was between us was just a  temporary situation, a financial transaction, I'd been sold for crying  out loud, my body for money. What right did I have to feel hurt if he  pursued another woman? What right did I have to stop him from buying  another girl?

But Mr. Black's big hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"Naw baby girl, there are no auctions on my schedule, not now at least,"  he ground out. "And besides," he said, stepping back. "If you make it  worthwhile and we both have a good time, maybe I'll re-up your contract.  Two weeks instead of one?" he growled, eyes hot on me. "It's a lot of  cash for a young woman," his voice trailed off.         

     



 

But instead of making me feel better, making my ears perk at the thought  of doubling my haul, instead I just felt deflated. I didn't want the  money, it didn't matter to me, just like these fancy clothes didn't  matter. I shook my head again.

"No, you really don't have to," I said, slipping out of the dress  quietly, not looking his way. "Thanks, but I think one week will be  enough."

The big man lifted his eyebrows skeptically, voice as smooth as silk.

"Honey, the way you were in that bathroom, I don't think one week is  gonna be enough. Not even close. The way you craved my sperm? I doubt  it."

And I flushed, growing hot with embarrassment and desire again. Because  yeah, that'd been me, wanton and wet, begging him to put his dick in, to  take my virginity, make me into a woman, unprotected and hot. But I  couldn't handle these wildly swinging feelings, the way I'd gone from  his cumslut to the currrent chill in my chest. Why was this happening? I  was horrifically confused and just wanted to get out of the store, get  out of this perfectly temperature-controlled space with the salespeople  who treated Troy like a god, like he could do no wrong. I wanted to go  home, snuggle in my comfy PJs and maybe cry a little. The past  forty-eight hours had obliterated my defenses, overwhelming me and I  just wanted the comfort of home.