“You’re going to be a star,” he says, voice dark with promise.
I look at him, all haze and hunger. “What if I don’t want anyone else to have me?”
He holds my gaze, unblinking.
“Then don’t let them,” he says. “But if you want it… let them see what I already know.”
I melt, right there in my chair.
Without breaking eye contact, I gently reach down and undo the top buttons of my dress so that my breasts are revealed, ivory and luscious. Hunter’s blue eyes gleam, and then with a low growl, he bends his head and gently laps one nipple, before suckling the other. Hot jolts go to straight from my breasts to my cunt and I moan, lashes closing as my head falls back. Oh my god, he makes me feel so good! I’m wet between the legs and mewl again as Hunter suckles deeply.
But after a few minutes, he gives me one last kiss on my left nipple before raising his head.
“I love that you just let me do that in public, sweetheart, because it means you’re ready. You’re ready to display yourself before the men of the club.”
I’m too dazed to answer, so he merely chuckles softly and re-buttons my dress for me. Then, he walks me back to my suite, arm around my waist, hand occasionally dipping just a little to caress my big bottom.
At my door, he kisses me again, softer now, but with a promise that makes my knees want to quit.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “Auction day. Are you ready?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He presses his forehead to mine. “I’ll be there,” he promises. “I’ll be watching.”
I want to ask him if he’ll be the one to win me, but I’m too scared of the answer.
Instead, I let him go, and step inside my room.
For a long time, I just stand there, heart pounding, lips tingling, nipples still hard where his hands and mouth touched me.
I look at myself in the mirror. The girl there is wild and flushed and a little dangerous.
I think she’s perfect.
And if I have to be auctioned off in front of the world, then so be it.
I just hope Hunter bids high.
8
CHAPTER 8 – THE VIRGIN AUCTION
Daisy
The grand ballroom’s ceiling must be three stories high, which means the air up here is thinner, or at least my lungs think so. It’s looks like something between a cathedral and a billionaire’s birthday party, with gold trim everywhere, every surface marble or mirror or crushed velvet. But I’m not out there, among the rich men and their bone-deep confidence; I’m backstage, heart fluttering with my eyes wide.
Sophia is with me, which is the only reason I haven’t bolted yet. The beautiful brunette’s in her element, doing her thing with a makeup brush and a practiced eye, painting a version of my face that looks like I just stepped off a runway. My hands tremble in my lap, clamped together so tight my knuckles turn ghost white.
“Hold still, Daisy,” Sophia murmurs, lining my lips with a color she calls ‘virgin blush.’ “It’s almost go time.”
Every time I try to inhale, it smells like roses and something deeper—sandalwood, maybe, or the scent of expensive furniture.The music from the main ballroom is just a shiver under the floor, but I can hear men laughing, their voices rumbling through the walls, punctuated by little bursts of applause or the sharp clack of glass against glass. It’s a hum, but with teeth.
Sophia leans in, inspecting my eyes. “Perfect, you’re gorgeous,” she pronounces with satisfaction. “The buyers are going to lose their minds.”
I try to smile, but it comes out wan. Instead, I glance at my reflection in the mirror—long blonde hair, soft and freshly curled, skin dewy and perfect. The sheer white gown they put me in clings to every single curve, the fabric so thin that with the wrong backlighting, I might as well be nude. I try not to move, afraid the whole thing will slip off and leave me even more exposed.
My heart pounds in my throat. I tell myself this is just another performance, like the walks with Sophia or the dancing by the pool. But tonight is real. Tonight, I am the show.
