Page 81 of Auctioned

Burned to ashes. Buried in an unmarked grave in his backyard. Thrown into the ocean.

Any of the options sounds plausible when it comes to him.

Yet I can’t stop craving this man. Needing this monster like I’ve never needed anyone else in my life.

Who am I? What have I become?

“You were about to let me down.” My toes dangle in the air. Shoulders burning. I’m at his mercy. I’m still making demands. He can’t take away my hard-earned privileges like food and water. “This isn’t part of our routine. Let me down.”

“You haven’t showered in days.”

Humiliation is a slap across the face.

That asshole. I smell bad because of him, and he has the nerve to be disgusted by it. Well, guess what? I won’t be shamed for it.

Hell. No.

I cut my eyes to his crotch. Back to him. “Your cock doesn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s a given. Fucking your forbidden, virgin cunt is all I could think of since the moment I saw you.” His fingers dig deeper into my skin, hurting me. His words sink into my soul. “For the record, you smell fine. I’m giving you a shower for your own benefit.”

James leans into my armpit, darts his tongue out, and licks me.

Fucking licks my armpit.

I moan instead of laugh. I lift my legs to lock them around his hips instead of kicking him.

My mind tries to wrap around this swift change in him while I watch him.

James is far less troubled by it, tying the rope to the hook. Probably so he won’t have to hold on to the end of it to keep me up in the air.

Another way to hurt me.

“No, no, no,” I whine while my heels sink into his ass. “Please.”

He’s bad news. The last thirty minutes have made him even meaner. Whatever he’s about to do to me will be worse than what he’s done so far. I have to stop him.

“You said…” My throat tightens at the feel of James’s knuckles on my collarbone. Of his fingers hooking into the neckline of my dress.

“Yes?” One pull, and the lacey material rips.

This is my cue to talk faster. Which is really hard when all I can think of is being back to our routine. Being on my knees for him. Drinking from his mouth. Taking his cock and?—

Quiet.

“Before, you asked if I knew why I was here.”

He stops tearing my dress, his fingers hot on the skin above my navel.

“Tell me. Right this minute. The real reason, other than you being a kidnapping psycho.” Demanding anything of James Hawthorne is dangerous. Out of the two of us, he’s the dominant one. He’s in control. But I need to understand him. Need him to see me as a person. He liked our time together. I’m sure he did. He can’t kill me if he likes me. “Why am I being held here?”

A wicked smirk spreads on his face. Slow and deliberate. He lets me watch this terrifying change in him. He hardly ever smiles, smirks, or does anything other than scowl. This can’t be good.

“Scaring me makes you feel like you’re in control over the situation, right?” My chin wobbles. My voice cracks. My legs grow weak, and I release my grip on him. “Well, congratulations.” My dress is gone. He’s torn it all the way down while I was talking. “Mission accomplished. I’m terrified. Now, can we please return to the way things were before? Just don’t kill me. Please.”

The deep breath he sucks in is an omen. A sign for me to prepare for the worst.

“The reason you’re here is…” He’s talking, but he doesn’t answer my question. Doesn’t tell me if it’s a control thing.

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