“Si, try to enjoy yourself. Your buyer looks very handsome.”
Cringing at the word “buyer,” I smile weakly and let one of the bouncers guide me to the waiting area in that lovely library room.
The other girls are milling around, talking to the club member who bought them. Some look really old, a couple look sweaty and a little drunk. There’s a man just finishing his financial transaction with Signore Mancelli, looking impatient and irritable. He turns to look at me and I suck in a gasp.
Well, shit. He’s gorgeous. Tall and hugely muscled, wearing a suit that’s clearly bespoke because normal suits don’t fit over shoulders like his. Black hair with reddish tints in the light, dark eyes, dark like he lives in the shadows doing nefarious things.
This guy is everyone’s type.
Slipping his phone back into his jacket pocket, he strides toward me, his long legs eating up the space and making me back up two steps. He must see that he’s freaking me out because he slows down, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Ivy. You’re even more beautiful up close.” His voice is deep and smooth, I can’t really hear an accent, maybe something slightly British.
“Thank you?” I wince. “Um, thank you. You’re a very pleasant surprise yourself.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his stern mouth.
“Shall we go?” He puts his hand on the small of my back and his touch jolts me forward. His hand is warm and firm and when I try to step away from it, his fingers dig in subtly, a warning.
He leads me through a series of halls, all dimly lit. I see why when we pass a group of people staring raptly at a huge viewing window into a room where one of the girls from the auction is tied to a black leather bench, getting flogged by her buyer. Based on her blissful expression, she’s enjoying it but the whole scene makes me stumble on those stupid high heels again.
His hand moves to my arm, steadying me. “Careful, darling.”
“What’s- what’s your name?” I try to sound confident, though all the courage I’d tried to build up is escaping like air from a balloon.
He’s silent for a moment. “Michael.” He sounds amused, though I’m not sure why.
“N- nice to meet you, Michael.” He leads me into a room furnished with an elaborate four-poster bed with thick, heavy wood posts covered in a sumptuous red velvet cover. The bed has a dozen pillows piled up, some with shapes that don’t seemto make sense. Other than a big wing chair and a dark wood armoire, the room is bare. It does not have a viewing window, for which I am profoundly grateful.
He’s opened the armoire and looking through whatever’s inside and I get a chance to ogle him. A dark gray suit and a crisp white dress shirt on a man is my kryptonite. Maybe this won’t be so terrible after all. His sleeve slides up as he reaches for something and I see a tattoo peeking out from his shirt cuff. A dagger that looks like it’s impaling his skin.
“Sit on the bed.”
His back is to me, but when I don’t move, he says, “Now, darling. Do as I say.”
A million Euros. Nate will get better. It’s just one night.
Gingerly seating myself, I put my hands on my lap, focusing on my breathing.
Putting something on the bed, just out of my view, he stands over me, cupping my cheek. “So beautiful,” his voice is a little raspy. “Are you going to be my good girl?”
“Y- yes?” I don’t know what I expected, maybe that we’d talk for a minute, at least a bit more than exchanging first names. There’s a tray with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and an assortment of cured meats and cheeses, but he doesn’t even glance at it. “Do you think I could have a glass of wine?”
His dark brow rises, but he nods, walking over to uncork the bottle and pour me a glass. I hold my hand out for it, but he cups my chin in his hand.
“Open your mouth.” Putting the glass to my lips, he makes me drink as he holds it, watching my throat work as I swallow the wine. It’s a red, smooth, and rich. Naturally, they would servenothing but the best here. It still ends up tasting like ashes thanks to my anxiety, but maybe I can drink enough to make the next few hours easier.
After he lets me drink half a glass or so, he pulls it away. “Close your eyes.”
When I do, he slips something silky over my eyes, running a finger under it to make sure it fits snugly. I feel his hands on my hips lifting me to the center of the bed.
“Lay back against the pillows.”
“You’re a man of few words,” I smile weakly, but I scooch back until I feel the pillows against my back.
“That’s because I’m more interested in admiring you than talking.” His voice is very close and I startle a little. I didn’t even hear him move, and I can feel his breath on my cheek. He smells like mint and scotch, clean cotton, and expensive cologne. He presses a rough finger against my lips, as if telling me to be silent, then the calloused tip of it slides over my chin, down my throat and between my breasts. His hand slides under my dress, cupping one breast as his thumb moves over my rapidly stiffening nipple.
It’s just biology,I tell myself.It doesn’t mean anything.
