I’ve heard rumors of this place for years. Dreamed of it, even. It’s strange to finally be here, and with Skye by my side.

The auction room itself is neatly organized. It’s carpeted in a rich, thick cream, and six maroon wingback armchairs are arranged in two rows of three. At the front of the room is a small wooden lectern. Five of the six armchairs are occupied by men dressed just like me, and the sixth is empty – waiting for its occupant.

Me.

The place is simple, but then, it doesn’t need to be anything more. The focus is to be the women who are about to come through that door. That’s why we’re here. That’s why I am here.

And I know one last thing. The competition is going to be fierce. It doesn’t matter what other women are revealed, I know that Skye is the night’s greatest prize.

I’ve brought Skye here for one reason and one reason only. My problem is control, and so is hers. This is how we solve it.

I need to limit my need for dominance. Restrict it to the bedroom, not let it consume the rest of my life. But Skye – Skye needs to accept that winning the prize she so desperately wants will take risking everything she holds dear.

A door opens, and the night’s masked host steps through. The auction room immediately fills with a buzz of excitement. Even I can’t resist it.

Tonight is going to be the first night of the rest of my life – a life with Skye by my side. By the time it’s finally over, she’ll be a different woman.

And what will I be?

I’ll be a completely different man.

I take my seat.

“Gentlemen,” the host says, clearing his throat, “so good of you to join us tonight. Your contributions – as always – are very much appreciated.”

Damn right.

I’ve paid my membership fees to this place for years, just waiting to find the perfect woman. Those are the rules. You can come as often as you want – but you can only ever invite the same woman.

What happens if she leaves you? Asks for a divorce, or decides she’s done lying on her back in exchange for cash?

You’re shit out of luck.

So I’ve waited, and waited – praying that the perfect woman would one day walk into my life. Now, at long last, Skye has come.

Of course, I think wryly, as I cast my eyes around the room, some of the men here aren’t quite so principled. They hire hookers – the best of the best, of course – escorts, they are called.

To me, though, they’ll always be hookers.

The host continues. “As always, it’s wonderful to see so many familiar…”

He pauses for effect.

“… Masks.”

There is a smattering of polite laughter, but the tension in the room doesn’t fade. We all know why we’re here.

“As you know, this illustrious club was founded on the principle that by bringing together the finest men in New York, we also bring together the finest women.”

It’s true. Only New York’s richest, most famous, and – most of all – powerful men are even invited to apply for membership. This place is an inner sanctum of success. It’s a place where men like me can give into their deepest, darkest desires in total, utter privacy.

It’s a place where we can sample and share the wives, girlfriends and hangers on of the best men in New York.

That means we sample the best women this planet has to offer.

Well, I say we. In fact, I’ve never been here before.

You could even say that I’m a club… virgin.

The host claps his hands together. “Shall we begin?”

He walks to his lectern, pauses for a second, and then picks up a tiny silver hand bell. He rings it, and it tinkles sweetly. Somehow it seems like the strangest, most innocent, of sounds to kick off a night of such debauchery.

I relax back into my chair and wait for the games to begin. The side door opens, and a woman – clad only in thousand-dollar lingerie – steps through. I hold my breath, hoping against all hope that it’s Skye.

But it’s not. I’m forced to wait, and my desire builds.

The girl is nervous. That much is plain. She’s young – can’t be much over eighteen years old, and flat out gorgeous. But judging by the way she’s acting, hunching her shoulders, crossing her arms and chewing anxiously at the inside of her lip, she’s not used to this kind of attention.

I’d put money on her being a virgin. A real one, unlike me.

“This is One. She’s a new member.”

The host – now auctioneer – turns to One, and smiles indulgently. From beneath her mask, the young girl smiles weakly back at him.

“Will you give us a twirl, my dear? Show these men what they are bidding on…”

It’s hard to make out, but I think the girl briefly squeezes her eyes shut beneath her mask, a diamond studded, indulgent affair. I wonder which of these men brought her. I wonder what she was promised in order to come.

Money, perhaps?

Marriage?

People’s sexual motives have always fascinated me. Given the field she entered, I imagine that Skye is the same.

The young girl completes her twirl. Her underwear hides little, disappearing at the back into a thong. I won’t deny that I give her an appreciative glance. But there’s no joy in it, not like there would have been just a couple of weeks ago.

For all her – obvious – assets, this girl’s a pale imitation of Skye’s perfection.

“Marvelous,” the host claps. Strangely, One seems to straighten her back at the praise.

He cocks his head at the girl, appraising her, and then nods, as if decided.

He turned back to the crowd. “We’ll start the bidding at, say, a million?”

The crowd is entirely unfazed by the auctioneer’s starting price. I don’t hear so much as a rustle. To the men in this room, a million dollars is nothing. Even for a single night with one single woman. Of course, I’ve never heard anyone publicly admit that they are a member of this most secret of clubs.

But I’ve heard the rumors.

I heard the rumor of the record-breaking battle that stretched to almost seventy million dollars – one girl, one night, a fee worth more than the GDP of most small countries, and all paid directly to the girl under auction, of course.

Although I didn’t tell Skye that bit.

Five of the men – all of them, in fact, except me – raise their auction paddles.

“One point five?”

Five paddles.

“Two?”

Five paddles.

“Three?”

Three paddles.

I look at the two men who dropped out of the race with interest. I try and guess at their motives. Was it the money that was an issue? Or did they truly not value this girl at more than two million dollars?

It’s hard to say.

I squint at the girl, who seems to be growing into her public display as the bids rise, but honestly I can’t put a price on her. I’ve been too spoiled by Skye’s beauty. Every other girl seems like little more than an empty shadow.

“Shall we jump to five million, then?”

Two paddles.

“Six.”

Two paddles.

“Eight?”

This time there is only one paddle raised. A murmur of interest briefly fills the room, and there’s a rustle as the assorted guests look around to see whether the other bidder has dropped out.

“Sir?” The auctioneer asks, doing his best to tempt the man back into the race. But the man simply shakes his head.

The masked auctioneer smiles and announces, “Going, going, gone. Sold to the man in the gold mask.”

I can’t see the winner’s face, but I see him make a fist, and punch the air. I wonder what it feels like, to have spent eight million dollars on buying a woman’s attentions for the night.

Maybe even – in this case – buying a woman’s virginity…

I do the math inside my head. If they are together for six hours, that’s three hundred and sixty minutes – more than twenty-two thousand dollars per minute.

Not a bad rate.

“Will you stick around, sir? Perhaps another girl might take your fancy… two, as they say, is better than one.”

The masked winner stands. He’s a tall man, beyond six feet, with broad shoulders and light brown hair. He looks like he could be a movie star.

“Not tonight,” he growls in a deep, low voice that I’m sure I recognize. “I have a busy day tomorrow.”

He holds out his hand for the girl – his prize – who suddenly looks nervous again. But he shoots her a smile, and she brightens up quickly. I’m not surprised.

Apart from me – of course – he’s by far one of the most attractive men in the room.

As the winner leads his prize out of the auction room, the auctioneer reaches for his bell once more. It tinkles, and the circus starts again. I straighten up in my armchair, taking a sip of the forgotten champagne. I was so caught up in the spectacle I’ve only just realized how thirsty I really am.

I hold my breath as the second girl walks in. This one, however, has clearly been here before. She’s long legged, even taller in her heels. Like Skye, she’s got gorgeous red hair. Unlike my girl, though, hers towers above her head in a loose bun.

“Ah,” the auctioneer smiles. “A returning favorite – shall we start the bidding at five?”

“Make it ten,” a man in the armchair beside me grunts. He’s a larger individual. His belly strains against his black tuxedo jacket.

The auctioneer inclines his head. “Very bold,” he simpers, “but as you wish. Ten it is.”

Without hesitation, three paddles fly into the air. The auctioneer casts me a strange, curious glance, but quickly moves on. Ever the professional.

I wonder what he thinks of me. I have to admit, if I wasn’t here with Skye, and I’d never even met her, then I might well be bidding for the tall redhead at the front of the room.

“Fifteen.”

After this sudden jump, only two paddles remain. I’m not surprised. Fifteen million dollars is a hell of a sum, even for me. It’s an even bigger jump. I lean forward with interest, wondering how high this one will go.

“Eighteen?”

Two paddles.

The fat man growls again. I glance at him, sure I know him. He has a hard frame to hide. I think he’s the CEO of some technology firm based uptown. He’s not richer than me, but it is close enough. Still, I shiver. If I was the tall redhead, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to go to bed with him – no matter how rich he might be.

“Twenty-five,” the fat man says.

The room suddenly goes still. It’s one hell of a bid. I can’t help but respect the man’s balls – though I wouldn’t want to get anywhere close to them…

“Twenty-five it is,” the auctioneer says. “Do I see any bids?”

The fat man’s paddle goes up. It’s the only one that does.

“Going, going, gone…”

The redhead walks over to the fat man immediately, deepening my suspicion that she’s done this dance before. She sits down on his lap, and I notice that he makes no move to stand up.

“Will you stay for another round, sir?”

“Yes,” the fat man replies. “Also, get my girl a drink.”

“Certainly, sir,” the auctioneer complies, and points at a waiter I hadn’t noticed standing at the back of the room. The man quickly springs into action.

The bell tinkles again.

I hold my breath, again.

And this time, it really is Skye who walks through. Her footsteps are slow, awkward and nervous. When she sees the room of men arrayed in front of her, she almost physically cringes.

But I don’t see her anxiety, or awkwardness. I see the most beautiful girl in the world, the only one I’ve felt anything for since Ashley. The only one I want to spend the rest of my life with.

I do hear the almost audible intake of breath around the room. I see the fat man next to me straighten up with interest, and the tall redhead on his lap pout with dismay, even jealousy.

She has Competition.

“My, my…” the auctioneer whispers. Even he can’t tear his eyes away from Skye’s perfect, beautiful, freckled body.

He gives his head a half shake and smiles at the room. “After Eleven has given us a twirl,” he glances meaningfully at Skye who stares back at him open-mouthed, “shall we start the bidding at – say – ten again? I think we all agree that she’s worth it.”

I glance at the fat man to my left and chew my lip. He’s showing altogether too much interest for my liking…

“Make it forty,” I growl.

Skye’s worth that to me, and a hundred times more. I’d spend every penny I had on her and it would be cheap at twice the price. I don’t care what it takes. She’s going to be mine.

The man in the armchair right in front of me rocks backward and whistles. “Holy shit…”

It takes a second for the auctioneer to recover his poise. “Forty it is.” He turns back to Skye with an expectant smile. “Madam, if you will oblige us?”

Skye just looks back at him, with an expression of confusion painted on her face. Then she realizes what he’s asking for, that goddamn twirl. I’d be on her side, except for one little thing…

I want to see her ass more than anything in the world right now.

I watch Skye bite her lip as she searches the room for my face, and looks only at me.

Then, and only then, does she twirl.

God, my cock fucking jumps inside my pants. If she’s making a sales pitch, then she’s already closed the deal. I wasn’t gonna let anyone outbid me before, and I sure as hell won’t now.

“Do I hear forty, then?”

My paddle flashes up instantly. It’s joined by the fat man’s, and then – almost reluctantly – the man to the right of me throws his hat in the ring.

I scowl. I don’t care about the price, or the competition. I just want to know who the assholes are who didn’t bid on a girl like Skye fucking Warren.

“I think it’s perhaps best if we go up in tens,” the auctioneer says, sounding short on breath. “Fifty?”

Three paddles. I smile with approval.

“Sixty?”

Two paddles go up … and then … reluctantly again, a third. I glance at the man to my right. I know his heart isn’t in it. He knows he’s got no hope of winning Skye’s hand, so he’s just bidding for show. Hell, I doubt he’s got the sixty million to play with at all.

“Seventy?”

But my competitor’s risk tolerance has reached its limit. Only the fat man’s paddle joins mine in the air.

“Eighty million?” The auctioneer chokes out. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind anyone in this room that once we pass seventy-five, we are operating in record territory for the club…”

I lock my eyes on Skye. She seems to relax, if only slightly. I wish I could shoot her a wink from behind my mask to tell her everything will be okay, but I know in the dim candlelit room she’s got no hope of seeing my reassurance.

Fuck, she’s the sexiest girl I’ve ever seen.

There’s no way I’m losing this contest. I’ll do whatever it takes.

My paddle flicks lazily into the air.

“Twenties, then…” The auctioneer says, sounding stunned. “We’ll go up in twenties, a hundred million.”

Even the fat man hesitates before putting up his paddle. Skye’s mouth drops open. I’m not even sure she’s embarrassed any longer. Hell, judging by the color in her cheeks, I’d say she’s pretty damn turned on.

She has a damn right to be. She’s about to become a hundred million dollar kind of girl. I sure as hell ain’t stopping there.

“One twenty.”

Two paddles. This fat man’s persistent.

“One forty.”

Two paddles. He shoots me a leering stare. I can tell he’s trying to figure out how far I’ll go.

“One sixty.”

I allow my paddle to hesitate in the air, and the fat man makes a fist. He thinks he’s won.

Fat chance.

Pardon the pun.

I stand up, keeping my eyes locked on Skye. Her back is poker straight now, and her chin is held tall and proud. If I didn’t know her better, I would think she was a completely different woman from the one who walked into this room.

I drain my champagne flute, and set it down lazily.

“Humph. Are you done?” The fat man grunts. “I was only just getting warmed up…”

Skye stares at me, eyes wide behind her mask. They glint, reflecting the flickering candlelight.

I shake my head.

“Fuck no,” I growl. “I’m just done playing in Monopoly money. I’ll do three hundred, and let’s go up in hundreds.”

The fat man gawks at me. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding. Who spends that kind of money on some bitch?”

I’m on him in under a second. I push the girl safely aside, then I plant my knee on his crotch and press down hard. His eyes bulge behind the mask.

“I wouldn’t say that again,” I growl in a low, threatening tone. “Or you’ll be walking out of here without the cock you just spent so much money on…”

I flick my fingers dismissively at the man and stand up as though nothing had happened. He stares at me with frankly terrified eyes. Even the attractive redhead he bought is looking at him with barely concealed disgust in her eyes.

“Three hundred, then?” The auctioneer asks, professionally acting as though nothing ever happened.

He waits a tick.

“Going, going, gone…”

There, she’s mine.

The auctioneer just shakes his head. He turns to Skye in a way he hasn’t done for any of the other girls who went through this room.

“Well, madam, it looks like you’re about to be a very wealthy woman,” he says.

“What do you mean?” Skye says, squeaking at first as she regains the use of her voice.

“Three hundred million,” the auctioneer says, shaking his head with disbelief once again, “it’s all yours … less our five percent, of course.”

“Oh,” she squeaks again, stunned, “of course.”

I reach out my hand.