The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(29)

I lean closer. "No. But you aren't everyone, are you?"

She holds her breath, and I can't figure out whether it's good or bad.

I motion to her list. "Anything else?"

She hesitates. A mix of fear and hurt fills her expression.

I get up and walk around the table. I sit next to her and slide my arm around her. "What is it, pet?"

She scrunches her face, and the emotions intensify. I wait her out until she reveals, "How long does it take before you know if I'm unsatisfactory for your sexual needs? Is it right away or months into this?"

Shock fills me that she's worried about rule fourteen. I gather my thoughts to try to assure her, stating, "You don't need to worry about rule fourteen."

"I don't?"

"No."

"How do you know? We haven't really done a lot," she asks.

I slide my hand over her cheek, tracing her lips with my thumb. She briefly closes her eyes, and I reply, "That, right there."

She opens her blues in question.

"You react to me, pet. You did when you were eighteen, and you do now. And my body responds to yours."

"It does?" She takes a deep breath.

I grab her hand and put it between my legs, torturing my cock with her touch, declaring, "That's because of you. And it's been like that since I saw you on stage last night."

Her lips twitch.

I add, "So rule fourteen doesn't apply to you."

Her smile grows.

I remove her hand and point to her plate. "Eat. You're going to need your energy."





9





Blakely





Riggs keeps the conversation light over dinner, asking me about my songs and avoiding more talk about the contract. When I finish everything on my plate, he gets up and clears the table.

I rise to help, but he pours more wine into my glass and says, "Relax, Blakely."

My nervousness reappears as I watch him put the dishes in the dishwasher and toss the takeaway containers in the trash. The cleared table only has the contract, my notepad of questions, and my wineglass on it. I tap my fingers on the wood, staring at the thick stack of papers.

Riggs must sense my anxiety. He steps behind me, places his hands on my shoulders, and rubs his thumbs over the curve of my neck where it meets my back. He quietly says, "Pet."

I lift my head toward the ceiling, glancing up at him.

"Come sit on the couch with me," he orders.

I rise.

He grabs the contract and my notepad, leads me to the couch, then sits. He takes my wineglass, sets it on the coaster, tugs me onto his lap, and inquires, "Do you have any more concerns?"

My nerves tap dance in my belly as I ponder the question, mentally reviewing the long list I created on the notepad. I reach for my neck and slide my finger back and forth over the smooth gold collar. I'm unsure why, but something about the collar soothes me.

"Is that a no or yes?" he pushes.

"I, umm..." I deeply exhale and glance at the paperwork.

Riggs opens the side table drawer and drops the items in it. He closes it and asserts, "If you have more things you'd like to discuss, then now's the time, Blakely. If not, why don't we keep the contract out of sight and forget about it."

I blurt out, "Easy for you to say. You don't have fourteen rules to memorize."

His lips twitch. "Thirteen. I got rid of fourteen for you, remember?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

I softly laugh, relaxing a bit.

His grin falls, and his tone turns serious. "I do need an answer from you though. Do you have any other concerns?"

I start to shake my head, then stop.

He peers at me closer. "What is it?"

I hesitate, trying to gather my thoughts. Tension thickens in the air, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Riggs pushes my hair behind my ear, demanding, "Whatever it is, just say it."

I take another moment, then say, "Rule eleven."

He arches his eyebrows, asserting, "I already gave you my medical records and told you I won't require you to be tested. What's the problem?"

"Not that part of the rule," I quietly add.

He furrows his eyebrows, then his expression changes. "Ah. I see. I assume you are referring to 'The sub will not engage in any play with anyone besides the Dom unless the Dom determines it's in her best interest.'"

I nod.

He grinds his molars, then asks, "Are you telling me you want to engage with others?"

"No! Not at all."

"Then what is it?"

My pulse pounds hard against the choker. "Are you going to want me to do things with other people?"

He studies me, and my gut flips faster. He finally answers, "I haven't thought that far. But I have no desire to share you. However, I would arrange it if it were in your best interest."

I'm glad he doesn't want to share me, but his answer also confuses me. I ask, "Why would it be in my best interest?"

"Some people need it," he states.

"What do you mean?"

He doesn't tear his gaze off me, drags his knuckles down my arm, and claims, "Every sub has different needs, pet. It's my job to figure out what those are, and often, we aren't aware of what we need the most."