Emma
Something shoved Emma from behind, nearly causing her to stumble in the heels she had been forced to put on earlier. White heels, she remembered. Just like the white-lace pantie and bra set—brand new with tags still attached—and the white chemise that a pretty, older woman had yanked over her head.
Emma had still been drowsy then. She remembered arms putting her in the back of a car, someone removing her clothes and cleaning the vomit from her hair, and then readying her like she was a little doll about to be displayed.
Her skin had been shaven. Lotion was applied. Her face was washed, her hair brushed, and her nails clipped.
The drug that Mika had given her knocked Emma out in a big way. She had barely been able to move for hours. Her words wouldn’t come out right, and her mind wouldn’t slow enough for her to think, fight back, or do much of anything.
She was useless.
“Keep your head up,” a voice said from behind Emma. “Stand still, be quiet, and everything will be just fine, pretty girl.”
Emma blinked under the weight of the white sash that covered her eyes. She recognized the voice making demands behind her as the woman who had cared for her earlier when she was brought in blindfolded and unmoving.
Once the woman had been satisfied with Emma’s appearance, she had tied a clean, white sash around her head and sat her in a chair.
How long had she waited until someone came?
Long enough.
Emma’s faculties slowly returned, along with her awareness. She had known all along that something was terribly wrong, but it was only when she could think clearly once more that she understood just how much trouble she was really in.
“You’re young, fit, and clean,” the woman said, her hand pushing against Emma’s back to move her along. “You will fetch a good buyer, and a damn good price tonight, if you just do what you’re told. Believe me when I say that you want someone from tonight to purchase you instead of being overlooked. Those who don’t make the auction are discarded. We can’t afford the trouble of keeping you, after all.”
Emma shivered.
She refused to speak.
“The lights will feel hot,” the woman said. “Do not remove the blindfold or you’ll find your hands bloody and red after being beaten with a whip.”
Lights?
What?
“Ready, here we go.”
Emma felt her body be propelled forward with one hard shove. Her heels clattered on the floor—a sound that reminded her of heels clicking down on hardwood. She didn’t have a damned clue what the woman was talking about, because a cold chill raced over Emma’s skin the moment she stopped moving. Goosebumps bloomed across her arms and legs. She could feel the urge to tremble start in her shoulders.
And then she heard the click.
Beneath the thick sash covering her eyes, Emma could tell the lights had been turned on. Several lights, probably. Her body heated instantly.
The clapping and muffled murmurs followed right after.
She almost spun on her heel.
Almost.
Emma stopped herself from moving, remembering the woman’s words. She didn’t want to find out what being discarded meant. She also didn’t want to be sold off to the highest bidder in whatever this awful charade was.
Her fingers itched with the desire to rip the blindfold off. She wanted to see who was talking, who was clapping, and who was watching. Was it a few people? A lot?
Embarrassment and fear swirled in Emma’s midsection. She could feel that the chemise she wore only fell to her pubic bone. The panties that the woman had put on Emma earlier had been nothing more than frilly, flimsy fabric.
Somehow … somehow she just knew.
Her body was being appraised.
Looked at. Admired. Judged.
Priced.
She clenched her fists hard at her sides, letting the bite of her fingernails keep her from crying. The tears still welled in her eyes, but she clenched her lids shut beneath the sash and refused to let the wetness escape. She allowed one, soft and shaky breath to release from her chest.
Control, her mind chanted. Keep control.
How was she going to get out of this?
What had she done?
The panic bubbled up faster than Emma expected it to. Every muscle in her body seemed to protest at the same goddamn time, right along with her suddenly screaming nerves. She was two seconds away from a breakdown.
She couldn’t do this.
She didn’t want this.
What was this?
A voice, clearer than the murmurs, echoed from up above.
Emma froze solid.
“Number three-two-seven-four. Caucasian. Twenty years old. Clean body, clean blood.”
A sickness rolled in Emma’s stomach.
This was what she was reduced to? A number, specifications, and the best price she could fetch?
“Not pure, based on information provided,” the voice continued. “Extra examination wasn’t necessary to confirm.”
What?
How did that person know she wasn’t a virgin?
Emma quickly remembered Poppy, and how her friend had sold her out to the lowest of the low. The betrayal still stung harshly on the back of Emma’s tongue, but she ignored it for the moment. She had more important things to worry about.
Like getting away.
Somehow …
“Special circumstances for three-two-seven-four includes a demand from the seller that it be removed from the state as soon as possible,” the voice said from up above somewhere. “The file information will be shared with those who show interest in bidding on the piece, including the full details. I can assure you that the piece’s paperwork and heritage is impeccable. It is best placed in a permanent place or a collection.”
A … collection?
Oh, God.
Emma couldn’t breathe.
She thought about all the stupid shit she had done to get herself in this position, and the man she had fooled to do it.
No one would help her.
No one would save her.
Emma was grabbed by her arm and pulled backwards without a word. She heard the click again before the lights flashed off and the wave of heat was gone.
“Well done,” the older woman whispered in Emma’s ear.
Somewhere behind her, the clapping started again.
Emma blinked rapidly when the blindfold was suddenly pulled from her eyes without warning. The brightness of the space around her made it hard to focus when she had been staring into darkness for longer than she cared to think about.
A man moved in front of her quickly, and put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her down. He wore a black mask, keeping most of his face hidden.
“Hey—”
“I’m sure Dory told you to keep quiet,” the man said. “So do so and sit down.”
Emma did as she was told, not liking the way the man’s eyes flashed with the promise of violence. She had a feeling that physically fighting back against these people would do her no good. They trafficked humans, obviously. What else were they capable of?
Killing her wouldn’t make waves to them.
It would be nothing.
“Five parties have shown interest in you tonight. All are considerably wealthy, and have the means to make you disappear, Emma.”
“You know my name?”
“Of course, I do. The seller who brought you in had quite an extensive bit of information to go through about just who you are and where you came from. Unbelievable that you managed to wind up in our hands. Usually, we wouldn’t work with someone like you—as you’re too high-risk—but we didn’t have much of a choice tonight. Better this than killing you, hmm?”
Emma choked on air. “Is that what you think?”
“Somehow, my dear, you found your way here. We’re simply going to use it to our benefit.”
Emma briefly wondered how much damage she would be able to do to this man’s face with her fingernails before someone would come into the stark white room and stop her. The thought didn’t last long.
“Cross your legs, head high, and smile if it pleases you,” the man said.
“Fuck you,” Emma uttered under her breath.
He laughed in response.
“Oh, you silly girl. Some of these clients love defiance. Keep showing that off for them, they’re watching, after all.”
Emma glanced around quickly, taking in the space. For the most part, Emma was forced to keep her blindfold on at all times. This was one of the very few times where it had been taken off since she arrived.
The room was circular in nature. A single door was off to her right, while the high vaulted ceiling had specialty lighting directed down on the chair she sat in. The floor was a brushed, black marble. Shiny enough to showcase her terrified, confused reflection staring back at her. White walls with what looked like indented panels of mirrors surrounded her from every direction.
Watching her …
She stared into one of the mirrors. Wetness filled her gaze, but she blinked it away.
“Yes, exactly,” the man said, nodding at one of the mirrors. “One-sided glass. As I said, keep the defiance up. I know personally that a few of the clients interested in you love the challenge of breaking a new slave’s will. Believe it or not, but that actually makes the bids fly.”
There it was.
The first time the word had been said.
Slave.
Emma was frozen to the chair as more lights turned on. With a single pat on her head, the man made a beeline for the only door that would lead out of the room. Not a second later, the voice from earlier was back, echoing up above.
“Cost per bid is five thousand. Bidding starts at one hundred thousand. Increments of ten thousand per bid. Transactions are instant. Begin.”
Immediately, red lights flashed above the mirrors. One after another … after another.
Emma tried to keep up; she tried to count them. There were too many. She found herself clenching her fists tight again, just to keep calm, and biting the inside of her cheek to stay quiet.
Fuck these people.
Fuck their money.
She still wouldn’t cry.
“Stand.”
It was the only thing Emma heard before the sound of a door opening somewhere behind her echoed in the darkness. She had been blindfolded when the red lights stopped blinking, directed out of the circular room, and put in another where she was made to sit again and wait.
At some point, Emma had gone numb.
Maybe it was when the man speaking into the speaker had announced the bids had crossed the million-dollar threshold. Maybe it was when he said it crossed the two million mark.
Emma didn’t know.
But she couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers, anymore. Her mouth was flooded with the metallic taste of blood, as she couldn’t stop biting her cheeks and tongue long enough for the bleeding to quit. Her fingernails had cut into her palms.
She still couldn’t feel a thing.
She still couldn’t breathe.
Emma’s eyes stung from holding back tears and her throat was raw from keeping the panic at bay. Someone had purchased her like a piece of meat at the market less than thirty minutes before. She was someone’s something, now.
Well done, the old woman had said afterward.
Like she should be proud.
Like it was good.
Who were these people?
Uncertain of her fate, Emma stood like she had been told. Being blindfolded left her shaky and unsure of her position in the room as squeaks and soft murmurs echoed around her. She couldn’t discern enough about the voices, but something was familiar.
Cologne.
Woodsy, deep, and warm.
A man.
Emma knew that smell. She was sure she did.
“Tradition for the new clients,” a man said, the one from earlier who had taunted her about the bidding war. “Other bidders almost enjoy seeing a taste of what they lost out on. She didn’t quite break the record, but she came pretty damn close at the two-point-two mark. Another two hundred, and she would have.
“Congratulations. Remember the remarks in her information, she needs to be out of the state by morning.”
Emma shuddered, and finally, her body began to feel again. Pain constricted her chest, squeezing tight and making her ache. Her palms stung and her eyes watered. Nausea caused her to sway on the spot. A hand grazing her shoulder with the softest touch grounded her to the floor instantly.
Not a second later, a door closed.
The scent of the man surrounded Emma, making her feel strangely comforted and maybe even safe. She wasn’t sure why, but his gentle touch on her skin and the smell of his cologne was familiar enough to lull her out of her panic.
“Tradition, he said.”
Emma stilled.
No way.
It wasn’t possible.
“Control your face, Emmy,” came the dark, calm murmur along the shell of her ear. “You wear those emotions on your sleeve, remember?”
Calisto.
Emma’s heart might as well have jumped from her chest. More than anything, she wanted to reach out to find Calisto, grab him tight, and not let go until she was far away from this place and these horrible people.
She tampered the need down.
Calisto’s next words helped a little. “People are watching, so be mindful and follow directions. Seems this room looks a lot like the last room you were in with mirrors for windows.”
Tradition.
What did that mean?
What did the people want to see?
“Okay,” Emma breathed, barely letting her lips move at all.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m sure you are, now. Had you not gotten mixed up in this mess, I doubt you would be saying the same thing.”
Emma didn’t know about that. She’d made a rash decision, hoping to get out of a marriage, and look at how she ended up.
Not much better.
She felt the softness of Calisto’s suit jacket as he moved around her slowly. The tip of his finger stayed pressed on her skin and dragged over her shoulder, across her collarbones, and up her neck to her chin.
At her mouth, he swept the pad of his finger over her parted lips.
“I never told you this, but I like your mouth the best,” Calisto murmured.
Emma shivered, unable to stop the reaction. It was entirely inappropriate, and not the right time, but her body heated at the sound of sex in his tone.
“I like your mouth the best because your top lip is just a little too big for your bottom lip, and your teeth peek out, even when you’re not smiling. It makes your mouth look ready and open to be filled by something—a cock, preferably.”
She sucked in a sharp breath when his finger ghosted back down her neck, between the valley of her breasts, covered by the white chemise, and stopped below her bellybutton.
“I’ve been told they can’t hear what we say in here, but for safety’s sake, I will keep my voice down until they’re satisfied.” Calisto sighed deeply and she felt his finger skim under the hem of the chemise. He continued his slow trek around her still body, lifting the bottom of the chemise and letting it fall across her skin as he went. Oddly, her skin was sensitive enough for the soft fabric to feel like it was caressing her. “I was pissed off at you for running—for fucking this up for me. My life for yours, Emma. That’s what would have happened if I had to go back to New York without you. So yeah, I was pissed.”
“And then?”
Her question came out breathy.
She didn’t understand why.
Pressing her legs together in an attempt to soothe the ache between her thighs, Emma tried to figure out a way to calm down. She shouldn’t be turned on right now. Not knowing what she did and being where she was.
“And then I was scared,” Calisto admitted so quietly she strained to hear. “But there was a reason Affonso decided to let me watch you, and my ability to find people—should the need arise—was at the top of his list. Seems it came in handy, after all.”
She felt three of his fingers ghost along the swell of her ass.
Emma’s entire body lit up under the touch.
She wanted to see him; see his eyes, his face, and what he was doing. She didn’t like the darkness, or the fear still edging around her senses.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Touching you. They want to see something, Emmy,” Calisto told her. “Something to make their loss of cash in the bidding war worth their time and effort. I don’t want them to see a fucking thing—I don’t even want Affonso to see a goddamn single inch of you, but I don’t have a choice. You don’t know this, but I’m a monster.”
“You’re not.”
“I am, but I’m not so much of a monster that I would force you into doing something that you don’t want. I won’t take anything from you, but I have to make it believable. I’ll keep the blindfold on. All you have to do is feel, dolcezza.”
Emma wondered what he meant, but not for long.
“Wider,” Calisto demanded. “Open up for me. Show me what I bought.”
His palm snapped against her thigh. The sting heated up her skin, shocked her still, and made her pussy clench all at the same time.
What was wrong with her?
“Emma,” he said lower, “do not make me take it from you, please.”
She widened her legs, still shaky and confused. “I want to leave.”
Calisto was there.
He found her; saved her.
Somehow.
Why couldn’t they leave now?
“I know,” Calisto said, offering nothing more. “Do you know how much you went for in there?”
“Two million.”
“Two-point-two.”
He practically growled the number.
Emma swallowed hard. “Oh.”
“Straight out of my offshore bank account, Emmy,” Calisto said.
His hand landed on her ass with a hard snap. Emma jumped in the heels she wore, shocked at the pain that seemed to travel straight from her backside to her sex. She shouldn’t like this, not at all, but she did.
And she couldn’t deny that she liked Calisto.
Then, his palm slid down her ass, kneaded the flesh with enough force for it to hurt, and traveled lower, between her spread legs. His hand cupped her sex through the lace panties, and Emma held her breath.
“You can’t even begin to understand the shit I had to go through today to find you. You scared me.”
How many times had he said that?
She didn’t have to know what he’d done for her.
His voice said it all.
“Thank you,” Emma whispered.
Calisto let out a quiet hum before his fingers rapped along the seam of her panties. She felt the light touch everywhere.
Fucking everywhere.
“You’re wet,” he said softly.
Emma dropped her head, feeling both ashamed and turned on.
“And hot,” he added deeper.
“I—”
Calisto stopped her next words by grabbing under her throat. Emma felt him tilt her head up like he was putting her face on display as his chest molded to her back. His fingers between her thighs began to stroke without warning, sweeping back and forth overtop the lace panties, harder with each swipe.
Emma gasped in a gulp of air, shuddering when Calisto’s fingers rolled against her clit again and again. It felt so fucking good, and terribly bad at the same time. She wanted more, but she knew people were watching, and she didn’t want that at all.
Still, she rolled her hips into his hand.
Like a little whore.
She wanted more.
“Fuck, feel you, ragazza,” Calisto said in her ear. “You want this, huh? And I don’t even have my fingers buried inside you, yet.”
Jesus.
His lips brushed her skin, tantalizing and wicked.
Promising.
“Please,” Emma managed to say.
She wasn’t sure what she was asking for. More of his fingers, more of his touch. More of his words, more of his breath against her skin. Maybe for him to stop, to get her out of there, to make the watching eyes go away.
“I have thought about touching you since I saw you sitting on that sink in the restaurant that day,” Calisto told her, his tone husky. “You jumped down, your dress rode up, and I wondered … And your mouth, of course. I’ve thought about that. I dreamed about you being on your knees, sucking me so deep into your throat that your eyes watered and you still wanted more. I’ve thought about a lot, Emmy.”
Emma whined, unable to do much else.
“Let me do what they want,” Calisto said. “Let me do what I fucking want right now, because I won’t get another chance.”
He wouldn’t, she realized.
He saved her.
Calisto saved her, but he had to take her back. New York was calling her name. An arranged marriage was waiting for her in just a few days. He saved her, just to give her away.
Emma stopped thinking.
She felt instead.
Three of Calisto’s fingers slipped under the lace panties, swept along her hot, sensitive slit, and then plunged inside with a hard, deep thrust. Emma practically fell into his hand, lost in the sensation of his digits filling her, stretching her open, and fucking her hard.
Over and over.
Her wetness smeared to her inner thighs. She heard the sounds of his fingers thrusting in, pulling out, and taking her again. She could smell her sex in the air.
The chill was gone.
She was hot all over.
“Just like I thought,” Calisto said against her neck. “You feel like fucking heaven.”
Emma opened her mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out.
Calisto’s hand on her neck trailed higher until two of his fingers were pressing between her lips. She sucked his digits in as his fingers fucked her even harder.
She was going to come.
On a bidding block.
With a blindfold on.
In front of God knew who.
But Calisto wanted it, he had said so. Emma gave it to him.