The Auction: A Dark Romance: Chapter 11

Riggs washes my hair and body, then turns off the shower. He reaches for a towel, wraps it around my head, then uses another to diligently dry off every inch of my skin.

I’m still shaking, holding on to the wall so I don’t lose my balance. He rises, tightens the towel around his hard frame, and avoids looking at me. He leads me into the house, steering me directly to the bathroom inside his suite, and declares, ‘There’s a hair dryer under the sink and a comb and brush in the drawer. Help yourself.’ Before I can respond, he kisses the top of my head and disappears.

I find the comb, untangle my hair, then locate the dryer. It’s a top-of-the-line European one, and I doubt Riggs uses it. Even the comb and brush scream they’re for a woman. I peer closer at them, wondering if any other women he’s been with have used them or the dryer.

There’s no hair on the tools, making them appear new. Relief fills me, and I turn on the dryer and don’t turn it off until my locks are no longer wet.

I study my reflection, wondering if I appear any different, reminiscing about what I just did with Riggs in the shower.

Kissing him was more than I bargained for. It was an explosive mix of passion and something I’ve never experienced before. I can only describe it as euphoria out of control.

Our bodies fit seamlessly, proving he was right and all my worries were in vain. And he controlled every moment of it, even when he was waiting for me to sink down on him. I felt his dominance as much as I felt myself give in.

I don’t know if that’s the submission Riggs has been talking about, but if it is, I want more of it. Something about letting Riggs be in control feels right.

Maybe I’ve gone crazy. Perhaps it’s his experience that gives him the right to be the one in control. Either way, I want more of him.

I stare at myself harder.

Riggs’s voice flares in my head, My butterflies take off again, and I take a deep breath, feeling in my heart that we’ve turned a corner.

My face flushes, thinking about what I just did with him—something I thought I would never do with anyone.

I didn’t like it.

I loved it.

Every moment of Riggs inside me, holding me close to him, kissing me like I was his possession and he couldn’t get enough, was beyond my expectations. I never came close to imagining what he was capable of doing to me or how every sensation in my body would come to life in ways I didn’t know were possible.

Muffled voices tear me out of my disturbing thoughts, which is good. I don’t need to go down this road.

I leave the bathroom. Two sets of identical outfits are on the bed. One is a size six, and the other is a size eight. Each set is a designer pair of white silk shorts and a thin cashmere sweater. A delicate gold lace bra and matching thong sit next to it.

A pair of flip-flops and a pair of stilettos sit on the bed. A note is next to them.

I stare between the note and shoes, my butterflies kicking off in nervousness and anticipation, unable to decide which pair to choose.

Plus, I haven’t worn anything luxurious or designer since I left my father’s house. Everything I buy is from thrift stores or no-return clearance racks, as I was just trying to survive in L.A.

I drag my fingers over the silk, then the cashmere, and finally the lace. I put on the size eight and leave the other set on the bed.

Which shoes?

More anxiety fills me, but a fire in my core can’t be ignored. I reach for the stilettos, feeling ridiculous since we’re in his beach house but wanting to feel sexier for him.

I step into Riggs’s huge closet, perfectly organized with a row of designer suits on one side and casual clothes on the other.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror and assess myself, deciding I look hot and the stilettos are a good choice. The material of the shorts and sweater is thin, so the gold shows, but it’s the current fashion trend and is meant to display a woman’s undergarments and skin. I normally think see-through material looks trashy, but something about this outfit makes me feel sexy and empowered.

I turn in the mirror and study my booty. I might be imagining it, but I swear I can see his handprint on it, with the gold separating the red marks on each cheek. I tug my shorts down and swallow hard. My heart beats faster as I assess Riggs’s faint handprints and the gold lace glittering between them.

My cheeks were tender during our shower encounter. Riggs’s fingers gripped me, controlling the speed of his thrusts, reminding me of how he spanked me the previous night. I loved it all. If anything, it added to my pleasure.

I gently touch my cheek and wince.

Men’s voices break my thoughts once more. I walk out of the bedroom and freeze.

A piano sits in the corner of the room, perfectly positioned so the person playing can either view the water on the left or the living space on the right.

And it’s not just any piano. It’s a Heintzman & Company crystal piano. It sells for over $3 million. I know it well.

Well, I’ve never seen one. I’ve only heard about its beauty and seen it online. But it’s my dream piano. I never thought I would get anywhere near one, much less be staring at one at a beachfront house I’m staying in.

Two delivery men and Riggs stand near the piano, talking, but I hear nothing. I continue gaping.

Riggs’s firm voice snaps me out of my trance. He orders, ‘Pet, come look at your new piano.’

Heat fills my cheeks. I’ve almost gotten used to him calling me pet. In some ways, I prefer it. The endearment makes me feel more like his. I’m unprepared to hear him call me it in front of others, and something feels unsettling about it.

He locks eyes with me as if he’s waiting for me to dare to defy him.

One of the delivery guys shifts on his feet. The other ogles me, assessing my body, then stares at my collar until my cheeks are on fire.

Riggs sees it all, and his arrogant expression grows while his challenging gaze never falters. He sternly repeats, ‘Pet, come look at your new piano.’

Wanting to get the delivery man’s eyes off me, I lift my chin and step next to Riggs.

He protectively slides his arm around my waist and locks eyes with the guy who was inappropriately looking at me.

The man squirms as tension builds in the air.

‘What do you think about the piano, pet?’ Riggs questions, glancing down at me.

I smile, answering, ‘It’s gorgeous.’

He slides his hand on my ass cheek. ‘Not as much as you. Aren’t I right, gentlemen?’ Riggs questions, not taking his eyes off me.

Embarrassed, I hold my breath, unsure why Riggs is asking them.

Ogler blurts out, ‘She sure is.’

Riggs’s jaw twitches.

He slowly looks at the ogler, then questions the other man. ‘And what do you think?’

He nervously agrees, ‘Yes. She’s very beautiful.’

Approval fills his expression until he turns back to the ogler. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments.

Tensions mounts, and the man looks like he’s going to break out in a sweat under Riggs’s dark glare.

I start to feel bad for the guy. I place my hand on Riggs’s bicep and declare, ‘It’s amazing but too much.’

He waits another tense moment, then turns to me and replies, ‘I told you that in a year, you’ll be way ahead of where you are now.’

My heart swoons, and I blink hard. I’m not used to anyone supporting my dreams.

‘Do you write music or just play?’ the ogler asks.

Riggs’s jaw twitches. In an authoritative tone, he asks, ‘Is there anything else you need?’

The other delivery guy clears his throat, stating, ‘We just need you to sign here.’ He pushes a clipboard in front of Riggs.

He scribbles his name and then points to the door. ‘Please wait outside for me. I’ll be just a moment.’

Confusion fills both men’s faces.

‘Sure,’ the one with the clipboard replies.

The ogler gives me a final glance and follows his co-worker outside.

Riggs steps over to the kitchen island. He reaches for a black leather notepad and crystal pen, then returns to me. ‘These are for you.’

I run my hand over the smooth leather and open it. The left side is blank. The right has rows of staves, which are five parallel lines for drawing musical notes. I gape at it, overwhelmed.

Riggs waits for me to speak.

I finally lock eyes with him. ‘This is too much.’

‘I promised to take care of you as well as further your career,’ he states.

‘But this…this…’

‘What?’ he questions.

I blurt out, ‘I always assumed you’d be a lot like my father.’

Riggs’s face hardens. He claims, ‘I’m nothing like him.’

I add, ‘You’re partners. I figured you have the same beliefs and would look down on my musical ambitions.’

‘I gave you that impression?’ he seethes.

I shake my head. ‘No. I-I just assumed—’

‘You assumed wrong, Blakely,’ he snaps.

I gasp, unprepared for his anger. ‘I’m sorry. My attraction for you should have made me realize you aren’t anything like him. I didn’t mean it as an insult. I’m grateful for everything. Really, I am.’

His face softens, and he nods. ‘Fair enough.’

I glance behind me at the piano, still shocked he bought it. I gush, ‘It really is beautiful.’

He grips my shoulders and spins me toward it, tugging me against his hard body. His hot breath hits my ear, and he murmurs, ‘You know what’s going to be even more beautiful?’

Zings fill my stomach. I tilt my head up, asking, ‘What?’

A sinister expression explodes across his face. His fingers trace my collar, then gracefully unclasp it. He removes it, then kisses the curve of my neck, murmuring, ‘Your upgrade.’

‘What’s that?’ I question, reach for his head, and slide my fingers through his thick locks, shivering from the touch of his lips.

He retreats, grabs my hand, and holds it to my stomach. I feel naked from the lack of his lips and collar.

He tosses it on the counter and dangles another one in front of me, dipping it between my breasts, then dragging the thick gold metal over each of my nipples until they’re hard.

My core lights on fire. I whimper, grasping his thigh to steady myself.

He takes my hand and pins it on top of my other hand, warning, ‘You have a lot to learn, dear pet.’

Confused, I lock eyes with him.

He orders, ‘Take a good look at your new collar.’

I obey, studying it with curiosity. This one is more intricate, with different-sized rings around the entire band. It’s at least three inches wide, whereas the other was maybe only two.

He takes my hand and moves it toward the collar, demanding, ‘Feel it.’

I touch the rings, surprised to learn they aren’t molded to the band when one lifts.

Riggs traces my jawbone, then turns my chin toward him. His dark gaze lights with fire. He asserts, ‘What’s going to be even more beautiful is you, restrained in this, to whatever I choose, and begging me.’

I swallow hard, whispering, ‘Begging for what?’

His lips twitch. ‘That depends.’

Hot blood races through my veins. I dare to ask, ‘On what?’

He clasps the collar around my neck and spins me into him, studying me for a few moments, then finally replies, ‘On whether I’m punishing or pleasuring you.’

My mouth turns dry, and I squeeze my thighs together. If his pleasure is like what happened in the shower, bring it on. If his punishment consists of spankings like last night, I’m more than okay with it. But I’m not telling him that.

He steps back and releases me. He picks up the notepad and pen, walks to the piano, and sets them on it. He grabs his keys and says, ‘Work on your music, Blakely.’

I snap out of my shock, and he’s almost to the door when I cry, ‘Wait!’ I run over to him and toss my arms around his shoulders. ‘Thank you! It’s my dream piano.’ I try to kiss him, but he turns his head, so my lips kiss the air. I freeze, and my stomach dives.

He removes my hands from his neck and pins my wrists above my head, stretching me as far as possible. His face darkens.

I don’t know what I did wrong, but my pulse creeps up, pounding harder and harder between my ears until I can barely hear the waves crashing outside, even though the slider door is open.

Riggs questions, ‘Did I give you permission to touch me?’

Confusion and hurt fill me. I stutter, ‘I-I just wanted to show you my gratitude.’

Every moment that passes with him scowling makes me feel smaller and smaller.

I inquire, ‘Why are you acting like this?’

His features darken further. He threatens, ‘Don’t confuse what happened outside with our agreement, pet.’

Anger and frustration swirl within me. I blurt out, ‘What does that mean, Riggs?’

His blues turn to stone. He tightens his grip on my wrists, adding more pressure until I’m on my tiptoes. He grasps my chin with his other hand and leans into my ear, keeping his voice calm yet sharp, stating, ‘Review the contract if you don’t understand what it means and take this as a warning. The next time you break rule seven, there will be consequences.’ He retreats, leering at me, assessing my reaction as if it’s fun for him.

My insides quiver. How can someone be so passionate an hour ago and supportive of my dreams yet sound so hurtful?

He never flinches or releases me, as if daring me to cave and be the first to move. It continues for so long that my toes begin to ache. I’m determined not to show him any weakness, but my legs begin to wobble.

I glare at him, which only makes his sinister smile appear. He chuckles, then declares, ‘Your defiance will be your downfall.’

‘Meaning?’ I seethe.

He removes his hand off my chin and drags his knuckles over my cheeks, neck, and breasts.

I shudder from the tingles erupting under his touch, reprimanding myself for responding to him.

Arrogance overpowers his features as he claims, ‘Every moment I give you is my choice, Blakley. I created the rules. I decide what happens here. Don’t ever forget it.’

My mouth turns dry.

He warns, ‘I assure you I’ll enjoy administering your punishments as much as giving you pleasure.’ His lips curl tighter as he adds, ‘And the punishment won’t be something you enjoy.’

I try not to react, but the shaking in my legs gets more intense. And I’m confident by his expression that I have a horrified look on my face. How can I not?

Once again, I’m being naive. Everything was in the contract I signed and then agreed to after he made me read it all day. It’s not the first time he’s mentioned punishments, but would he really do something awful to me?

My curiosity about how far he would go grows.

Unable to control my balance, my body bows into his.

He circles his arm around my waist, grips the tender spot on my ass, and uses it to prop me up. He keeps my wrists in the air, not giving me any relief.

He continues studying me, as if he can see deep into my soul and read all my thoughts. It takes everything in my power not to flinch or look away.

‘Ah, this is going to be more fun than I planned,’ he announces.

My breath hitches. I blink harder, wishing I understood everything he’s referring to and where he’s coming from on all of this.

He finally releases me and steps back. ‘I have work issues I need to attend to. Work on your music.’

He spins and reaches for the doorknob. The door opens, and the two delivery men stand near their truck in the driveway.

I shouldn’t care that he wants to leave after what he just did. I don’t consider myself a clingy person. But something about him leaving after all the different exchanges we had this morning makes me panic. I blurt out, ‘When will you be home?’

He freezes, and his shoulders tighten. He turns his head, lowers his voice so the others can’t hear, and in a stern voice answers, ‘When I decide.’