Page 66 of Highest Bidder

Not anymore.

Vivian sat perched in my lap in a booth at Velvet Underground, a little smirk on her lips while we watched Grayson swoop in on a woman I’d never seen before. Two minutes later, he was escorting her toward the private suites.

She leaned in. “Damn, he’s got game.”

I kissed her temple. “He didn’t with you.”

She sipped her bourbon and rolled her eyes. “Neither did you that night.”

My hand slid between her legs. “But I own you now. Do I need to remind you of that by putting you back on the table and showing everyone again who you belong to?”

Her pupils dilated, but she shook her head.

“No, once was enough.”

We only came back because my membership was already paid through the end of the year, and Vivian missed Kit.

That was the excuse, anyway.

The truth? We liked watching. Together. And, on occasion, being watched.

There was power in knowing no one here could touch her. That even when they watched, they only got the show.

The real thing belonged to me, forever—if she said yes when I asked her on her birthday in June.

****

The next morning

Vivian

Jeff said I wasn’t allowed to touch his espresso machine.

So obviously, I touched it.

I was still half-asleep, standing in his—our—kitchen, wearing nothing but his wrinkled shirt from the night before and a little dried cum he’d left on my thighs. My ass was sore. My throat ached in the most satisfied way, and my hair smelled like his cologne.

In other words, I felt perfect.

I’d almost figured out the grind setting when Bear—our black, fuzzy rescue mutt who fit his name—nudged my hand with his nose.

“Good morning, buddy,” I cooed as I bent to scratch behind his ears. He licked my hand, then went out the doggy door Jeff had installed the day after we brought him home from the pound.

I returned to fiddling with the machine just as Jeff sauntered in, shirtless and already frowning.

“You know better.”

“I was gentle.”

He stepped behind me, crowding my space. His hand wrapped around mine, guiding the portafilter into place. “You’re not gentle withanything.”

“You like that about me.”

“I love that about you.”

I froze.

We didn’t say it often. Not out loud. But he’d said it like breathing this time—easy and automatic.

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