Buy Me (Mistress Auctions #1)(2)

“Oh, he will. Men love a good chase, and I love being chased. I think it’s just part of our game now, and Samantha doesn't seem to care. She keeps getting her ten percent, and we keep having a good time.” It’s then I see something like a twinkle in her eyes.

“And if someone else outbids him and wins you?”

“One thing I can tell you about the men out there is Samantha knows what she’s doing. She makes sure the girls being auctioned off are high quality, and ensures bidders are of an equally high standard”

The word ‘quality’ makes my stomach turn. It’s almost like I’m at a cattle auction or something. If the men out there are such great catches, what are they doing here?

“If these men are so good why can’t they find women on their own? I know why I’m doing this; I need the money. But I’m sure if they’re rich enough to spend fifty thousand dollars on a mistress for a month, they could easily find a woman on their own who wouldn’t cost them so much.”

“You really are quite innocent aren't you?” The way she says it doesn't seem mean or hateful, more like she’s come to a realization. “Likely most men would end up paying the same price either way. Gifts, dinners, and trying to get a woman into bed, it adds up. Here, things are simple and to the point and wrapped up rather nicely. They don’t have to worry about missing a date with you or calling you every day. They can come and go as they please, and we aren’t supposed to question that. Everyone here knows what they’re getting, and this isn't necessarily about finding love. You’re about to be bid on by some the richest and most powerful men in the world. They like discreet, and Samantha makes sure they get that.”

Adjusting the straps of the white nightie, I look into the full-length mirror. I look...sexy. Not something I ever really think when I look at myself. I’m more a jeans, shirt, and cowboy boots kind of girl. I like functional and comfortable.

My black hair hangs in waves down my back, almost to my ass. I actually forgot how long it really was because I always keep it in a ponytail and out of my face. The eye make-up Red put on me makes my silver eyes seem to shine, and whatever she put on my lips makes them look plump and full. Maybe they’re that way on their own and the lipstick makes them more noticeable. I see myself in the mirror but it doesn't feel like me.

I grew up working on our farm on the outskirts of Las Vegas, manly raising sheep and a few hogs. I wonder if whoever buys me will have me accompany them to events or if I’ll just be stored away in a condo somewhere. I know nothing about going to formal events, or even wearing heels. I could possibly kill myself in them.

I wanted to go to school, but I had to do my part since my mother passed away three years ago. I realized over time that she took so much more with her than just herself when she died. The farm has slowly been slipping through my fingers. It’s hard keeping a farm functional in the desert, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t hold on to it. My father talked me into not going to college, saying he needed all the help he could get, and once it was all settled, I could try to enroll. I just couldn't say no. He’d always bring up my mother and talk about how hard things were now that she’s gone.

I'm second guessing myself and this decision as I wonder if I'm just delaying the inevitable downfall of the family farm.

I shake off the negative thought. I can use this money to pay off the farm loan he owes the casino or I can use it to start somewhere fresh. Or maybe, just maybe, I can get enough to do both. Pay off the loan, wipe my hands clean of everything, and move on.

My father keeps dragging himself into the city every night to gamble and drink until he can't even walk. I have to go pick him up at least four times a week, and oftentimes I need help getting him out to the car. He’s a big man, and I’m barely five feet four. I may weigh a little more than I should, but that sure isn't muscle adding to the pounds. All my extra weight seems to go to my ass, hips, and boobs, and that does nothing to help me. The last time I had to go get him was the worst. He didn't have the money to pay for the private poker tournament he’d entered, and the debt needed to be paid or they'd be taking the farm. I‘d been busting my ass trying to keep that place from the bank to begin with, barely making ends meet, and my father just pissed it all away in one night like it was nothing. Like we didn't have other families who also depended on that farm to make a living. He didn’t think about the salaries we needed to cover, and that it wasn't just about us. If the farm was only about us, I’d have left years ago.

I was just thankful it wasn't the Cortez Casino that I got the call from this time. Maybe he wasn't even allowed there anymore, because it had been a while since I'd gone there to get him. Each time was more humiliating than the last. The owners, Aaron and Justin Cortez, always looked at me with sad eyes, then it would follow with one of them asking me to dinner in one of the fancy restaurants they had at their casino. They would openly hit on me in front of each other, and I was starting to think it was a game for them to see who could get to me first. I had no plans to do anything with either of them. They’re the richest men in the city and have a reputation that goes with that. I didn't need their pity or to be a part of any games they were playing. I didn’t understand what they were getting at, but I didn’t have time for it. They’d ask if I needed someone to talk to, and hell, I probably did. Over the years my friends seemed to slowly drop off one by one. Some going away to college and others frustrated with the lack of time I had to spare to hang out with them. But I didn’t want the Cortez brothers pitying me, and I didn’t need their charity, I needed a father who could pull it together. I didn’t have anything other than the farm, and it’s probably why I’m still a freaking virgin.