The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(54)

I should be training her, pushing her to her limits. She should be broken by now, ready to submit on a moment's notice, and aware of all the protocols.

She's clueless.

For the first time ever, I'm going to fail as a Dom. But the thought of my reputation and ego taking a hit isn't what's bothering me.

I'm going to lose Blakley.

Every night, I make the long drive from the city, reprimanding myself for my inaction. Yet the moment I step through the door and see her, or search the house only to find relief when I discover her safe in bed, my mind plays games with me. Everything I used to feel confident about seems broken. Nothing I would normally do with subs seems like it'll work with Blakely.

She's not intimidated by me. She's able to stand up to me and not even flinch. None of my other subs would have dared to repeatedly argue with me, even the one I nicknamed Brat.

I've always known Blakely was different. I suppose it's what drew me to her, but nothing prepared me for her insubordinate behavior or how out of control it would make me feel.

And the last thing a Dom should ever be is out of control. Irrevocable mistakes can get made, and subs end up hurt. It's irresponsible and dangerous.

So she's got me questioning everything I used to take pride in knowing, but I'm unsure how to stop it.

A bolt of lightning streaks across the ocean, snapping me out of my thoughts. I turn off the cold water, dry myself off, and brush past Blakely. I go into my closet and select a T-shirt and a pair of joggers.

Blakely's glare never leaves me. I can feel it burning along my skin.

I pull my shirt over my head, then step into the joggers.

"Are you going to ignore me all day?" she asks, her voice full of irritation and hurt.

My heart pounds harder. I take a lungful of air and lock eyes with her. "Is there something you need, Blakely?"

She pins her eyebrows together, tilts her head, and crosses her arms.

The defiance I loved at the start now scares the shit out of me. I should have control over it by now, and I don't. Everyone at the club will see it tonight. Only a few hours stand between us, then they'll take her from me, and I'm clueless about what to do about it.

I step in front of her. "I'm waiting for an answer."

She lifts her chin, but all I hear is hurt and fear in her voice when she asks, "Is this your way of letting me go?"

My pulse pounds between my ears. "Meaning?"

"Are we not going to the club tonight?"

"Yes, we are. Be ready to go by six."

She blinks hard, her eyes glistening, and looks away.

Since I'm a dick, I ask, "Do you have another question?"

She meets my gaze. "Are you going to tell me what I'm expected to do tonight?"

Every cell in my body seems to throb with hot blood. Even she knows she's not ready. I hate myself for putting us in this position. I debate how to answer and finally reply, "Do what you're told. Don't argue with me. Trust me and only me."

She stares at me.

My anger at myself flares. I accuse, "But you can't do that, can you?"

Her face hardens.

"Like I told you last week, tonight's in your hands," I declare, then brush past her and go into my office. I shut the door, then quietly bang my head on the wall, hating myself for no longer knowing what direction to lead her.

I take the seat at my desk, open up my laptop, and try to get lost in work. It's Saturday, and while I could have gone to the L.A. office, I didn't want to make the drive twice. But I soon regret it when the sound of the piano and Blakely's emotion-filled voice hit my ears.

I listen to her for hours, unable to leave the room, fearing she'll stop playing. When she finally does, it's past two.

I venture out of the office and find her staring out the window. It's still raining, and the waves are several feet high.

"Have you eaten today?" I question.

She spins toward me. "I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat. It's going to be a long night," I inform her.

"At least I know one thing about tonight," she mutters, then turns back toward the window.

I stop thinking, go over to her, slide my arm around her waist, and step flush against her back.

She freezes.

I murmur into her ear, "If you stiffen up like this tonight, you won't be coming back here."

She slowly tilts her head, pinning her glassy blues on mine. "Do you even want me here?"

Blood rushes to my head so fast that I have to focus on fighting the dizziness. I reply, "Is that what you think? That I don't want you here?"

Her bottom lip quivers. "I might as well have been invisible."

"You're anything but," I declare.

Another streak of lightning bursts through the sky as thunder booms. She jumps, and I chuckle, which feels like the first time I've laughed in weeks.

She takes a deep breath and smiles.

"Come eat. I'll make you lunch." I lead her over to the island and pull out the barstool.

She sits but states, "I really don't think I can eat." She puts her hand on her stomach.

I put my hand on her forehead. "Don't tell me you're sick."

"No. Just nervous."

I nod. "It's normal."