Eden
Three days.
It's been three days since Vaughn touched me.
Since he showed me what my body could do.
Since he gave me my first orgasm and left me trembling and confused and desperately wanting more.
Three days of trying to pretend it didn't happen.
Three days of failing spectacularly.
I wake up every morning with my heart racing and my skin too hot, my body remembering things my mind wants desperately to forget.
The dreams are the worst part.
Every night, they get more vivid, more detailed, more impossible to ignore or dismiss as meaningless.
The first night, I dreamed about the auction.
But this time, when Vaughn bid on me, when he said "two million dollars" in that cold, certain voice, I didn't feel terror.
I felt relief.
Felt something in my chest loosen.
Felt safe, which is insane because he's the one who bought me.
The second night, the dream shifted.
I was in my room, but Vaughn was there.
Not doing anything threatening.
Just sitting in the chair by the window, watching me with those ice-blue eyes.
And I wanted him to come closer.
Wanted him to touch me again.
Wanted to feel what I'd felt that night.
Last night was worse.
Last night, I dreamed Vaughn's hands were on my bare skin instead of over my clothes.
Dreamed his mouth was on mine, his body pressing me into the mattress, his weight holding me down but not threatening—protective, possessive.
Dreamed his voice in my ear telling me I was beautiful, telling me to let go, telling me I was his and that was exactly where I belonged.
I woke up gasping, my thighs clenched together, that familiar ache between my legs that I'm starting to recognize as arousal.
Wanting.
Needing.
Craving something I shouldn't crave from a man who bought me like property.
