Michelle
From the moment our eyes met, as I stood onstage and he sat in the audience, I felt drawn to him.
It was silly, like something out of a soap opera. That didn’t make it any less true. Something about the intensity of his eyes, the way he stared so hard at me. As soon as we locked gazes there might as well have not been a single person in the room besides the two of us. Everything else seemed to blur around the edges.
When he bid thirty thousand, my heart had leaped. Thirty thousand dollars! That meant twenty-five thousand five hundred for me. I could have fainted with stunned relief. Twenty-five thousand. I said the words over and over to myself. It would mean so much to my mom.
But then there was the issue of having to go through with it. Attractive or not, sexy or not, he was a stranger. It wasn’t until I stood beside him in the warehouse that I realized just how big a stranger, too. Taller than me even when I was wearing heels, broad-shouldered, with thick biceps and legs. I wondered what he did for a living, with that barrel chest of his. A body builder? A bricklayer? A bouncer? Something that involved his body, to be sure. It had to be.
Would I be able to fight him off if he decided to do whatever he wanted to me? A cold chill ran down my spine. Would I be able to stop him?
His eyes were blue, I noticed, as I stared at him with frank curiosity. What sort of man was he? He didn’t look like he needed to buy a woman. He also didn’t look like he had thirty thousand dollars lying around. He wasn’t dressed like the other men, in their suits. He wore jeans, a t-shirt, a leather jacket, work boots. His hair was longer than most businessmen, too, a deep golden blond that just barely reached the nape of his neck.
He was looking right back at me with the same curiosity. He probably wondered what I was doing there, just as I wondered about him. It wasn’t like I would tell him. I wasn’t trying to be friends with him. I needed his money, plain and simple.
I got my coat once we decided it was time to leave. One of the other girls was backstage. I pulled her aside. “When do we get our money? Do you know?”
She shrugged. “After we do it, I guess. I think we have to come back here to collect. I’m not really sure.”
Great. I probably should have found out about that before I committed to anything. Now I was stuck with this person, and I didn’t know when I’d get paid or what he expected from me. Wonderful.
I got my coat and met him by the door—the emcee was just walking away from him, so they’d talked about something. The money, I guessed, and how I would get it. He had a sexy little smirk on his face. I wondered what he was thinking, but it didn’t take a scientist to know he was imagining what we’d be doing soon. I was imagining it, too, but without the same amusement he seemed to feel. I was dreading it. I hoped Mac was right and that it wouldn’t hurt. He was a big man. I could only imagine that whatever he was packing was proportionate.
His car wasn’t like the others, the sports cars. Another difference. I wondered if the buyers were vetted. Who knew for sure whether this man had the money? Then again, they hadn’t vetted us girls to see whether we were really virgins—and thank God for that, because I would have run screaming for the hills if they had. I wondered who ran this thing, and just how professional they were. Maybe they were only interested in collecting their cut of the money. I wouldn’t have been surprised.
We spent the ride to his house in silence, with me secretly texting his license plate number to Mac, along with a physical description. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“Eric Turner.” He gave it up with no hesitation, and he didn’t take the time to make something up. I guessed I could trust that it was his real name. I sent it to Mac, too.
Good luck, she texted back. Then, How much did he bid?
I bit my lip, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. He seemed oblivious to my conversation. Thirty thousand, I replied.
WHAT? Holy shit! She then sent a series of dollar bill emoji. I laughed to myself.
I wasn’t laughing when we pulled up in front of his house. It wasn’t much of a house. In fact, it wasn’t much of a neighborhood.
I turned to him before getting out of the car. “Can I ask you something?”
He frowned. “All right.”
“I hope you don’t find this offensive…but are you sure you have the money you put up for me?”
He frowned more deeply, then chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that’s a good question. The clothes, the car, the house. None of it isn’t very nice.”
“Not really. Again, I don’t mean to offend you.”
“Don’t worry about it. And don’t feel like you have to be so formal with me. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll show you my bank statements when we get inside.”
I looked at the house again and wondered why he hadn’t just taken me to a hotel. Wouldn’t that have made more sense than his house? Were any of the other men taking the girls to their houses? I doubted it. They were probably getting fancy hotel suites for their troubles. I had a rancher house with a cracked driveway and gravel garden. How nice.
Then we stepped inside the house and it took everything in me not to turn around and walk back out. It was a pigsty. Magazines everywhere—mostly Playboy and stuff to do with motorcycles. Plates, cups, takeout containers, pizza boxes. More socks than I thought any one person owned. It looked like a frat house.
“Sorry,” he said, shrugging. “I just got back from being away for a long time.”
“Oh.” It was all I could reply. It didn’t look like he’d just gotten back. There was at least a week’s worth of takeout in the living room alone. I peered down the hall to the kitchen, which looked just as messy. It took time to make that sort of mess.
“Can I get you a drink?”
I nodded. “Sure, thanks.” My heart raced so hard, I could barely speak. This was it. We were going to do it. In this pigsty. He could break me in half if he wanted to, with those massive hands and arms. I had no idea what to expect, and my knees shook when I considered the possibilities. I had to sit or risk falling over.
He brought me a glass of some amber colored liquid. “What’s this?”
“Bourbon.” I took a sniff and wrinkled my nose. “I guess I should have asked if you like it.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just not used to it.” I had to play along, be game. I didn’t want to risk making him angry with me. I had the feeling things would go better for me if he was in a good mood. I took a tiny sip and winced as the liquid burned a path down my throat. I hoped it would loosen me up some.
“So you said you were away?” I asked. I thought it was an innocent question, but the way his face changed told me a different story.
“Yeah. For a few years.” He left it there. I had a sneaking suspicion he meant prison, and I didn’t want to know any more if that was the case.
“Can I ask you something now?”
“Okay.”
“Why did you do this?”
“What? The auction?”
“Yeah. Why does a girl like you have to do something like that?”
“It’s not like I was waiting for an auction to get laid, you know.”
He laughed. He had a nice laugh. It made me feel a little more comfortable. “You know what I mean. You don’t need to sell it. You don’t look like you’re into drugs or anything.”
“I’m not.” I looked down at my glass. The ice was melting, making wavy patterns in the bourbon as the water mixed with the liquor. “I just need the money.”
“Student loans? Credit cards?”
“Medical bills. Hospice care.” My voice was a whisper. I must have finally gotten through to him.
“Oh. Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “That’s why. So thanks for bidding so much. It’ll help a lot.”
“Sure. Honestly…I’m glad I did.” It sounded like just saying those words was difficult for him. I got the impression he wasn’t the type who said what he was feeling very easily.
“You like motorcycles?” I motioned to one of the magazines. It was either that or Playboy. I didn’t think it would be appropriate to ask if he liked boobs.
“Oh, yeah.” His face lit up a little. He was really handsome when he smiled. I took another sip of my drink. A warm little fire started in my belly and spread through me. “I’ve been riding since I was a kid,” he continued.
“Really? That’s cool. Is it in the garage? I didn’t see it outside.”
“Yeah, I have her parked under cover.” Her. How cute.
“I’ve never ridden on one,” I admitted. He gave me the sort of look I’d expect to get if I admitted to killing kittens for pleasure.
“You have to. There’s nothing like it.” He became more animated and told me more about the way it feels to be one with the open road, or something like that. All I could do was stare at his body. When would he want to get down to business? The anticipation was killing me.
“What do you do for a living?” he asked.
“I’m a bartender.”
“And you’ve never drunk bourbon?” He laughed.
I couldn’t help but laugh with him. “You’re right. It sounds pretty stupid when you put it that way. But I’m not drinking. I’m serving.”
“What do you do for fun? Besides going to auctions.”
I blushed at the tone in his voice. It was a little more suggestive, a little less friendly. I wondered if his drink, which was twice the size of the one he’d given me, was loosening him up a little bit.
“Not much. I haven’t had much fun lately. Can we change the subject?” I finished my drink with a quick toss down my throat. It burned, and I coughed, but I needed to numb up a little. I couldn’t let my emotions get in the way. If I had to go through with the sex before getting my money, I had to brace up. Who wanted to sleep with a girl who was crying? If I did, what if he refused to pay?
“All right. Sorry. I’ll ask this, then.” He leaned toward me ever so slightly. The mood shifted, thanks to that one tiny move. My heart skipped a beat, my palms went clammy. I gulped.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“How does a girl like you stay a virgin for so long?”
I blushed furiously. “That’s a pretty intimate question.”
“It’s a pretty intimate night,” he pointed out. “And I’m curious.”
I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They were so blue. It felt like they were reaching into me, pulling the answer from my mouth without my wanting to give it up. “The right person never came along,” I admitted, my eyes never leaving his. My breath was coming fast and short, even faster when he moved closer still.
“Isn’t that funny? You waited all this time for the right person, and you ended up doing this.”
“Yeah. Isn’t it funny?” My heart was beating so fast I was afraid it might give out. He was so close now, inches away from me. Seducing me, I realized. Warmth grew and spread between my legs. What would he do to me? What did I want him to do? The anticipation was intoxicating.
He reached for me, the backs of his fingers grazing my cheek. I closed my eyes, sighing softly. It felt so good to be touched, and the instant his skin made contact with mine, it felt so right.
“I can’t believe some guy didn’t sweep you off your feet by now,” he muttered softly, running his fingers up and down and sending scorching heat throughout my body. How was it possible that he made me feel that way just by stroking my cheek?
I didn’t have long to think about it because then his face was so close to mine, and he was uncurling his fingers to pull my face to his, and I went with it. I handed myself over to him without thinking, without speaking. I wanted it as much as he did. No, I needed it.
He kissed me gently. So gently. And yet fire flowed through my veins at the slightest touch of his lips. My hands curled into fists. I wanted so badly to touch him, grasp him, claw him. But I had to hold back. I didn’t want to go too far, too fast. I was still terrified of how far he’d want to go, what he’d want me to do for him.
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to sink into the feeling of the kiss as his lips pressed a little harder than before. They were firm yet soft. He moved them against mine, then opened them slightly. I shivered when the tip of his tongue touched me. I opened my mouth, and his tongue slid through to touch mine.
I sighed, leaning against him. It was like melting, letting him overcome me. I sat so still while his mouth moved against mine, absorbing the sensations as they raced through my body. The warmth between my legs turned to a heat I couldn’t control—it almost hurt. I groaned, wrapping my arms around his neck without thinking.
He ran light fingertips down my throat as we kissed, and I shivered. Goosebumps rose in his wake. He reached my chest, then dipped into my cleavage. I moaned this time, his mouth still against mine. I thought I felt him chuckle, and my skin burned with passion and embarrassment. I was sure he was laughing at me for getting so hot, so fast. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that I’d never made out before. He just had that effect on me.
His other hand moved up and down my back, stroking gently. Everything he did was so gentle, the opposite of what I had expected. It was like he was trying to calm me, get me ready for what was to come. In the back of my mind I appreciated it. He wasn’t just plowing me, the way Mac put it.
And I was ready, no doubt, wetter than I could ever remember being. I wanted him desperately. I crushed my mouth to his, pulling him closer to me, groaning. I needed to show him how ready I was. He didn’t need to be so careful and gentle. Something else had been unleashed, something primal and instinctual. I needed him to take me and make me his, if only for one night.
He broke the kiss with a reluctant sigh. “Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked, his blue eyes searching mine. I could have drowned in them.
“Yes. I want you,” I whispered raggedly.
“Then I think we should take this upstairs,” he said, rising to his feet. He held out a hand for me, and for a split second the voice of reason in the back of my head asked if this was really what I wanted to do. It wasn’t as though I was legally bound to do anything. I could go home if I wanted to.
Then I looked up at him, and the raw lust on his face told me I didn’t want to. I wanted to see where he would take me.