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He disappears into the bustling crowd as Tristan Evans steps onto the edge of the stage, a microphone in hand and a devilishly charming grin on his face. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he calls into the crowd, “welcome to tonight’s bachelor auction. We have some incredible men lined up for you. They’re here for your pleasure, for your bidding. Tonight is about fantasy and, for some of you… about letting go your inhibitions.”

The first bachelor is called to the stage. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a confident—yet slightly arrogant—grin. His muscles ripple under his fitted suit, and the tables surrounding us immediately begin to buzz with excitement. He widens his smile, clearly used to the attention.

“What do you think?” Elena leans close and whispers in my ear. “Or too much?”

“He’s definitely appealing,” I admit, referring to his physical appearance. “But we’re going to wait. I knowexactlywho I want for you this evening.”

My disclosure causes Elena to bite at her lower lip. The auction carries on. Man after deliciously attractive man going for a price higher than the last, and I can sense Elena’s excitement building. The next man is introduced, and the spark in Elena’s eyes bursts into a wildfire.

I knew he’d be perfect.

CHAPTER FOUR

CONOR

Do the auction, they said. You’ll have fun, they said. Bull-fucking-shit.

An evening spent leaning against the back wall of the club, with no drink in hand or woman on my arm, while I wait my turn to be auctioned off is not even remotely what I would consider fun.Fucking someone’s hot wife,that’sfun.I finished my glass of Jameson nearly an hour ago, and had I known my brothers had forbidden any of the bartenders from serving me again this evening, I might have nursed it a little more.

Twirling the empty glass in my hand, I watch Tristan auction off some twats who are far too excited about this event.Poor bastards probably can’t get their dick wet without a little help. Each of them flexing muscles and flirting with the crowd in hopes of going for a higher bid.

“You’re up next, big guy.” Layla steps next to me, appearing out of nowhere, and squeezes my bicep. She slides the empty glass from my hand and replaces it with a single.

Not even remotely attempting to hide my sarcasm, I swallow the amber liquid in a single gulp and respond, “Great.”

“Maybe try to pretend this isn’t the absolute worst night of your life,” she quips with a smile and shake of her head. Normally, her brattiness is a trait I am absolutely enamored with. Tonight, I’m so fucking annoyed at being guilted into this event that even her playful bratting is grating on what’s left of my last nerve.

The poorblokeon stage auctions off in record time, but not a record-setting bid. I watch as he eagerly walks into the crowd with a woman old enough to be his grandmother. Tristan gestures for me to join him on stage. Giving me a swat on the ass, Layla is all too perky when she shouts over the crowd, “Go get ’em, Conor.”

At least it’s finally my turn. A few quick bids and I will be done with this fucking auction.

With a confident step onto the stage, I’m catcalled like a hot woman walking past a construction site. I’m an Evans. I’m used to attention. A lot of attention from a lot of different women. But this… this isn’t the same. I’m not used to—nor am I interested in—being paraded around like a piece of meat for the highest bidder. Iprefer to choose the women I bed.

My luck, I’ll get won by the most vanilla couple here—and forced to endure Missionary Martha’s fantasy of a slow, boring fuck while her husband watches.

Tristan rambles meaningless drib into the microphone about what an amazing catch I am and how eager I am to fulfill the desires of the luckylassthat wins me. Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I force a cheeky smile and the chatter of the women in the audience grows louder.

“Who wants to take Conor home tonight?” Tristan asks, and I rub my hand over the stubble on my jaw, trying to hide my irritation with this whole situation as shrill screams of excitement fill the club. “Bidding starts now!”

He no more than finishes his sentence and paddles begin to fly into the air. Bids are called out almost immediately—the usual meager bids that every bachelor received as they stood in my place.

“One hundred thousand!” a familiar voice shouts from the back of the club, her tone high and eager.Shaking my head, I chuckle as Tristan scowls over his shoulder.

“What?” I mouth, shrugging. I can’t see Layla in the darkness at the back of the club, but I can guess with near certainty that she’s grinning from ear-to-ear knowing what that little stunt is going to mean for her perfectarse. If I’m lucky, she’ll be the final bid, and this will be over with.

“One hundred and fifty thousand!” another woman calls, her tone confident that her pockets are more than deep enough to cover her bid.

The bids keep coming, faster and higher.And suddenly, this stupid fucking auction is a whole hell of a lot more interesting!I watch—almost in awe—as the bids continue to climb and the paddles don’t slow.

Tristan continues to work the room, enticing more bids, even though it isn’t remotely necessary at this point. I barely acknowledge the numbers being called, only hearing the hum of the room and excited murmurs of anticipation.

“Twohundred and seventy-five thousand,” a mature blonde calls from beside the stage. I’ve seen her down the viewing hall.She is most definitelynota Missionary Martha.Oh, please let this be the final bid!

From the corner of my eye, I see another white paddle sliding into the air, and I let out a heavy sigh. This can’t possibly go on much longer. As the only single Evans, I expected to be the highest lot of the night. What I didn’t expect was the price that some of these women would be willing to pay for that. A quarter of a million to get fucked by me.I’m a stellar fuck, but even I think that’s absurd.

Tristan leans into the microphone again, his voice cutting through the hum of the crowd. “Do I hear three hundred thousand?” His tone carries my disbelief at this current situation. “Three hundred thousand for my brother, Conor Evans. Any take?—”

“Three hundred thousand,” a sultry feminine voice calls from behind me, the rich, husky tone causing me to spin on my heel to find the source as goosebumps prickle down my arms.

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