The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(31)

I try not to be ashamed, but I can't fight it. I tell the truth, "I have a few friends who got clean after going there." My gut flips. I add, "And I wish my mother would check into the facility."

Something passes in Riggs's eyes, making me think he understands how I feel about my mother. Then again, he's met her and knows her well. He softly replies, "That's a good choice, but don't get your hopes up. Addiction runs deep."

I stay quiet, turn away, and blink hard.

A few moments pass, then he orders, "Let's see how well you can follow the rules. Stand up, pet."

I swallow my pride and rise, tapping my fingers on my thighs.

"Strip," he commands.

Fire races to my cheeks. I stare at him.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" he questions.

I swallow hard, slowly unbutton his flannel, and slide it over my shoulders. It falls to the ground at my feet, baring my body.

He assesses me, slowly running his leering gaze over every inch of my skin for longer than necessary. He locks his blues on mine and twirls his finger in the air. "Spin."

I obey, turning so my backside is in front of him, with my heart thumping harder into my chest cavity.

He rises and steps behind me, close enough that I can feel his presence looming yet not touching me. Chills break out along my spine. I shiver as he orders, "Go to the window and kneel, pet."

I turn my head in objection, but he anticipates my reaction. He grabs my chin and provokes, "You will not look at me when I give you an order unless given permission. I'll take you over my knee the next time you defy me. Now, I said to go kneel."

I take a deep breath, attempt not to glare at him, and wonder why I agreed to this.

I have nowhere else to go.

That's a lie. I did it because it's Riggs.

I concede and kneel in front of the glass.

He follows me, crouches down, and instructs, "Hands folded on your lap unless otherwise instructed. Head bowed. Back straight with your butt resting on your calves."

I reposition my body and try to look at him with my peripheral vision.

"Don't do that. You'll get punished," he warns.

Frustrated, I stare at my hands, twisting my fingers.

"Stop fidgeting," he demands.

I freeze, wondering how long I'll have to stay in this position.

His shadow falls over me. He continues, "You will not speak unless spoken to, or I permit you. It includes when I touch you. Do you understand?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes."

"Yes, who?"

I sigh. "Yes, Sir."

He crouches in front of me again. "Do you think you're allowed to display an attitude toward me?"

"I'm not," I claim, turning toward him.

His eyes darken so much that it freaks me out. "Did I tell you to break your position?"

"Sorry," I add and look back at the floor.

"Sorry, who?"

I swallow more pride. "Sorry, Sir."

He leans closer, and his hot breath hits my ear. I close my eyes, trying not to shift, and he states, "You have two weeks."

"Sir?" I ask, not understanding.

"To learn proper etiquette. You will not embarrass me in public."

"Where are we going?"

"Not the right way to ask," he declares.

I stay quiet, unsure what I did wrong.

He continues, "The proper way is to ask, 'Sir, permission to ask where we are going.'"

I look up and gape at him, muttering, "You have to be kidding me."

Anger flares on his expression. "Do you think this is a joke?"

My stomach flips. I quickly answer, "No. Sorry."

"Ask me the correct way, and stay in position," he commands.

I take a deep breath, tighten my grip on my fingers, and say, "Permission to ask where we are going, Sir."

He waits a minute, then replies, "Permission not granted."

"What?" I ask, glancing up again, then quickly look back at the floor when I realize what I just did.

His tone changes as he practically sings, "Oh, Blakely, Blakely, Blakely," while tracing the edge of the collar.

I resist the urge to mimic him, wondering how I'll ever get used to this. Maybe I made a huge mistake and should tell him the deal's off and I can't do this. It's just not me.

"Don't move," he says and leaves the room.

The sound of the clock ticking is the only thing I hear. Too much time passes. My knees hurt, and I'm tired of keeping my back straight. He finally returns and holds out his hands. "Rise."

I take them, happy to stand and glad he's helping me since my knees feel locked. He leads me to the kitchen, then puts his hand on the back of my neck, murmuring in my ear, "Arms out straight, breasts and cheek on the counter."

I do as he says and shriek, "Oh my gosh, that's cold!"

He slides his hands over my arms and curls my fingers over the edge of the quartz, instructing, "You don't have permission to speak. And don't you dare move out of position." He takes his foot and pushes against my ankles until my legs spread farther apart. His warm palms caress my ass.

Zings assault me. I press my ass against his erection, wondering if this is how he'll finally take me. The sound of his belt hitting the floor echoes in the air, and I close my eyes, suddenly appreciating the contrast between the cool countertop and my hot skin.