The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(15)

I can't help my growing smile. That's the Blakely I know. Defiant and confident. Fearless in some ways. And I'm going to enjoy every moment of getting into her mind and breaking her until she trusts only me.

She adds, "Besides, you already made it clear."

I'm so fascinated with her I can't remember what she's referring to or tear my eyes off her calm chaos fighting with a brewing storm. I question, "What did I make clear?"

Something dark enters her storm. It broods in a way that sends adrenaline shooting through me. She leans closer, her sea salt and driftwood scent I've tried to erase from my memory but couldn't, floating in the air around us. She traces my skin around the opening of my shirt and states, "You stated that you were going to do to me whatever you felt like at the moment. Is that not true?" She pouts, batting her eyes.

I need to fuck her.

No. She needs to learn what this is about, not what she thinks will happen.

If I fuck her now, there's no going back.

Patience gets rewarded.

She needs to learn who's in charge.

I grab her hands and pin her wrists behind her back so hard, her chest arches into my pecs. Her breath hitches, and shock fills her delicate features.

I reply, "That's right, pet. You're going to see sides of me you never knew existed. But before we start, what is it you think I want to do to you right now?"

Confusion replaces shock. "I-I..."

I tighten my grip over her wrists.

"Riggs," she whispers, scrunching her beautiful face.

I put my mouth an inch from hers, wanting to kiss her but knowing if I do, it'll mess everything up. And there's no do-overs in my world. I have one chance to break her. There won't be any way of using her to destroy her father if I act like a little boy and give in to my raging hard-on.

Her gaze drifts to my lips.

My erection strains against my zipper and I fight the debate.

No, I can't afford either scenario to blow up, just to give in to the temptation of coming inside her.

I ignore my aching cock and release her, demanding, "Stand up."

She hesitates.

I reach down, grip her armpits, and lift her to her feet.

"Riggs?"

I spin her, push her over the table, and splay my hand across her spine.

"Riggs, what are you doing?" she cries out, turning her head to look at me, her cheek pressed against the wood.

I palm her ass, then lean over her, asserting, "This cheap, fake leather, along with this gaudy bra, is to never again be on your body. Do you understand me?"

She stays silent.

"When I talk to you, I expect answers," I warn.

She nods, blinking hard. She manages, "I understand."

"You will never wear anything unless I approve it. Are we clear?"

Her lips quiver. She closes her eyes.

I slam my hand on the table next to her face.

She jumps, and her eyes glisten.

"Answer me," I threaten.

"Y-yes," she replies.

"Good girl," I praise, dragging my knuckles down her spine. I step back and demand, "Turn over."

She slowly spins, her expression both defiant and fearful, with confusion increasing by the second.

I make a circular motion with my finger, ordering, "Take it off."

She hesitates.

"I won't tell you again without imprinting my hand on your ass," I warn, even though when I eventually spank her, she'll love it so much she'll beg me to do it some more.

She swallows hard.

I cock an eyebrow, taunting, "Ah, you're already craving my handprint branded on you, aren't you? Tell me, Blakely, did you think about it when you stepped on that stage tonight?"

She stays quiet.

I grind my molars, studying my new plaything, reminding myself that everything comes with time. "Off. Now," I command.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly reaches for her bra. She moves one strap at a time off her shoulders, not tearing her gaze off me, then reaches behind her and unclasps the hooks. She drops it on the table and lifts her chin higher.

I hold in my groan and don't push her to remove her panties. I count to sixty, staring at her pink nipples, watching them get harder with every passing second as her breasts move up and down faster.

Real breasts.

So un-L.A.

But it’s her vulnerability that almost makes me come in my pants. I finally point to her lower body, commanding, "Keep going."

A small tremble in her finger is the only indication she's nervous. Other than that, she appears as cool as a cucumber as she slides them under the thin material and drops the thong to the floor. She steps out of it and continues to give me her exposed stare.

Minutes pass while I fixate on her bare body. Then I motion to the bar. "Go get me a scotch."

She glares at me.

There's the Blakely I know.

"Did I stutter?" I ask.

She clenches her jaw and huffs at the ceiling, then spins and goes to the liquor counter. She fills a crystal tumbler to the top with scotch and returns.

I go to the kitchen, pour it into the sink, then hand the glass to her. "Two fingers. Never more. Now, try again."

She tilts her head. "Why are you doing this?"

"The sooner you learn not to question me, the better your time here will be," I inform her.