The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(30)

I tilt my head, letting his answer sink in, but I still don't understand it. I ask, "How can screwing someone else be something someone needs?"

His confidence only grows. He asserts, "It just is. Unless you need it and then do it, you probably won't understand it."

My heart pounds faster. I lower my voice and ask, "And you? Is this something you need?"

"To fuck other women?"

I nod, blinking hard, not trusting myself to speak without showcasing the emotional roller coaster I'm on. The thought of Riggs with anyone else is too much to bear. I might only be his for a year, but I don't want to share him. The jealous streak in me would probably kill me.

He slides his hand on my cheek, leans forward so his lips are an inch from mine, and announces, "There's something you should know about me."

My voice cracks, "What?"

He declares, "I'm not a Dom who plays around. When I signed that contract, my focus was on you and only you. And as long as we're in this arrangement, it'll stay that way. Do you understand?"

Relief washes over me. My pulse lowers a few notches, and I nod. "Okay."

He asks, "Are there any other things we need to discuss?"

I contemplate for a moment, then shake my head. "No. I think I'm clear on things. Well, as much as I can be with my limited knowledge of certain aspects." My face heats again.

The corners of his mouth curve up. He replies, "Good." He glances at my wineglass and questions, "Are you buzzed?"

"No."

He stares at me.

"I'm not," I insist.

"You'd tell me if you were?"

"Yes. Why?"

He clenches his jaw and drags his knuckles down my neck and breast. I shudder as he asserts, "I need you alert when we play, Blakely." He traces my nipple with his finger.

I squeeze my thighs tighter together. I assure him, "I'm alert."

"What's the safe word?" he quizzes.

"Stop."

"And when can you say it?"

I arch my eyebrows. "Is this a trick question?"

"No. I assure you it's not."

I slide my hands over his shoulders and lace them around his neck, reciting from the contract, "When we're playing and I want you to cease the activity."

His voice turns stern. "Not want. Need. You use it if you need me to stop."

Confusion fills me again. "What's the difference?"

He fists my hair and tugs my head backward. It's not gentle, but it's also not hard. I gasp in surprise and shift on his lap. He asserts, "I'm going to push your limits, Blakely. Want will often be there. Want is a primary defense mechanism that makes us weak. A need is different. There's no other choice because you're breaking, and the world collapses around you. It's so unbearable you'd rather die than continue to go on."

My chest tightens. I hold my breath, trying to imagine what he could possibly do to me to make me feel that way.

He continues, "I need to know you understand the difference. Giving in to want cheats us of our full potential. It keeps us weak and stagnant instead of growing into the person we're meant to be."

I nervously chirp, "Gee, I thought sex was just sex."

He reprimands, "This is about more than sex, Blakely. This is about learning to submit so you can fully understand your power."

"If I submit, I don't have any power," I mutter.

"Ah, quite the opposite. And one day soon, you'll grasp what I'm saying. Your inner soul is begging to fully submit. Once you do, only then will you thrive," he claims.

I stay quiet, unsure how that would ever be possible. I'm only playing his game where I have to do what he says because I want to be with him. I'm too independent and headstrong to ever be a person who thrives on submitting, even if it's to Riggs.

He softly chuckles. "You don't believe me." It's more of a statement than a question.

I choose my words carefully, claiming, "I think we both know I'm not one to conform or follow the rules."

The blue flecks in his eyes sparkle. He inquires, "Then why did you agree to this?"

There's only one answer, and I tell him, "It's what you want."

Satisfaction and arrogance appear on his face. He challenges, "And it's what you want."

"No. I—"

He puts his fingers over my lips. His other hand slides under my collar and he presses his palm into my beating pulse. His voice is low, seductive, and so full of confidence, my lower body throbs as if trying to prove to me I'm wrong and he's right. He argues, "We're wasting time, pet. The rules of engagement begin now."

My butterflies go crazy. I open my mouth, then snap it shut when he arches his eyebrows at me.

He asks, "Did I not answer your questions and concerns?"

"You did," I affirm.

"Then are you in or out?"

My blood turns to lava burning in my veins. I lift my chin, declaring, "I'm in."

He smiles, then asks, "What charity am I writing the check to?"

My stomach flips. I raise my chin, stating, "The L.A. Center for Addiction."

Riggs arches his eyebrows. "Interesting choice. Why that charity?"