My father had never been discreet about what he wanted from me. My responsibilities had always been made perfectly clear with no room to be sidetracked. I was a Kincaid. The only surviving heir to the Kincaid fortune, and it was up to me to make sure I wasn’t the last.

There was a rule in my family, a carefully placed path that needed to be followed to the letter. There was no or about it. I needed to be married by the time I was thirty. I needed to produce an heir before I was thirty-five. Before that and after that, my life was my own to do with as I pleased.

I was already behind schedule.

I was thirty-five with no wife and no child, and a looming birthday just over the horizon. I knew there were failsafe’s in place should I neglect my duties, but Father had never spoken of them. He’d been so sure I would succeed.

But it wasn’t from a lack of trying. There were plenty of beautiful, highly bred women I could select from. I think there was even a catalogue. Women of the rich and entitled. Fathers who would leap at the very idea of me taking their daughter as my own, giving her the Kincaid name.

Only the matter had never been that simple for me.

I didn’t want a wife.

Wives were plenty. I’d seen what became of wives pushed into marriage for money, station, and power in exchange for an heir. I’d seen what became of them. I wouldn’t bring a child into a world where his parents didn’t even share the same room, where he would only be brought out during important events where he would be forced to smile and pretend everything was all right.

I’d been that child. I’d seen what that kind of marriage did to my mother. What it made of my father. I’d sworn to myself I would never allow that to continue.

I wanted a friend, a companion. Someone who didn’t see the Kincaid name. I wanted someone who I couldn’t wait to get home to. I wanted...

The moment her face drifted over the surface of my mind, I forced it aside.

It figured I would want the one woman who couldn’t even look at me. Father would have accused me of deliberately seeking someone unattainable just to shack my responsibilities, but that wasn’t the case. At least, I didn’t think it was.

“Kieran?” Eyes the pale blue of the arctic surveyed my face from across the table, soft with puzzlement and just a hint of annoyance that she was clever enough to conceal behind a tight-lipped smile. “Is everything all right?”

Cordelia Thornton was the ideal woman. She had the name, the pedigree, the education. She even had Father’s approval. In all retrospect, I should have already locked things down five years ago, but she wasn’t Gabby and that was a problem. Both that she wasn’t and because I couldn’t marry her, be with her, and look at her every day and wish she was her sister. That was how marriages died.

“I have a meeting after lunch,” I said, running a palm down my silk tie to distract from the fact that I hadn’t heard a word she’d said in over twenty minutes. “I seem to be preoccupied with it.”

Business was a language I knew she understood. It was after all the reason she wanted to marry me, because I worked and I worked hard.

She smiled and checked her watch. “Did you need to head back early?”

I didn’t. The meeting wasn’t for another two hours, but I could only suffer through one hour of lunch with her. While brilliant and an expert in everything I enjoyed, Cordelia wasn’t that far off from every other woman on a very short list and I couldn’t find the patience to sit through her idle chatter about how I could better plump up my portfolio.

“I should,” I lied, already pushing to my feet. “I apologize.”

Cordelia shook her head. “I understand. I’ll see you on Sunday?”

I only smiled, wondering, not for the first time, how those weekly lunches even began. It had been going on for so long that I couldn’t even remember who initiated it. But it was becoming clear the Thornton’s liked their meals ... and their habits. Dinners every Sunday. Lunch dates every Friday. I wouldn’t have complained if it had been the right Thornton, but I made a mental note to start backing out. I had no interest in Cordelia and it was time I started making that clear. Friend of the family, approved by my father or not. It wasn’t going to happen.

I bid her goodbye and made my way through the country club. The subtle fragrance of cucumbers and lilacs followed me to the French doors. As did the many pairs of eyes I could feel stripping away my clothes. But my strides never faltered. I was too used to being watched to react. I did however wonder when we started eating there, when that cesspool become our meeting place. For a while, we’d gone to a secluded diner a few blocks from the office and it had been perfect; no one either of us knew ever went there. Yet, at some point, we’d migrated to one of the most exclusive and highly celebrated clubs in the city.

I hummed quietly to myself while handing my ticket to the valet. It was apparent that I hadn’t been giving Cordelia the proper credit that she deserved. She was evidently far cleverer than I anticipated. If I wasn’t careful, she could have us married with ten kids and I wouldn’t even realize it until it was too late.

The idea of being married didn’t scare me, nor did the thought of ten children ... had it been with Gabby. There wasn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for her, which was ironic given that I couldn’t get her to stand still long enough for a single, full conversation, never mind the making of any of those babies.

Babies with Gabby.

The very idea coaxed a grin from me I knew was probably scaring the other valet boys.

It had begun to rain, a steady downpour that tapped rapidly on the awning overhead and drizzled in a stream over the sides. The world seemed to shimmer in the gloomy afternoon. It was the kind of day that begged to be spent snuggled up in bed. Instead, my car was brought in. I slipped the boy a tip and climbed in behind the wheel.

Global Point International reigned in the heart of the city, a gleaming spear of glass and steel that reminded me of a blade jutting up from its concrete hilt. It pierced into the heavens, a rod of power and intimidation, just how my great grandfather liked it.

I’d never met the man. Chain smoking did him in before I was even born, but having met my grandfather and father, I always felt like I knew exactly what sort of man Bowen Kincaid had been. No doubt cold, manipulative, calculating, bitter with a large dose of narcissism. The latter I was confident was hereditary. Both Grandfather and Father had possessed a great amount of it.

But their rule had ended. I was the only Kincaid remaining. It all belonged to me, except the ten percent share that went to my mother.

“Have only one child,” Father used to tell me during one of his many drunken rambles of wisdom. “A son. Then there will be no fighting amongst them.”

I never asked him what would happen if the child happened to be a girl. No doubt he’d tell me something appalling, like abort it, or throw it to the wolves. But that was the way of the Kincaid legacy.

One child.

Always a boy.

I had no idea how they did it and I shuddered to think of any that were born before or after that may not have been a boy. If there were, I didn’t know about them.

But none of that mattered now. Anyone who may have objected was dead. I could have a football team, all girls, and no one could stop me. I just needed a woman first.

I crossed the polished foyer of marble to the private elevator tucked out of sight between two looming potted ferns. The metal doors opened to a cubicle lined in mirrors and wood, and welcomed me into my father’s lingering scent.

Oh, how I loathed that smell.

The overwhelming concoction of rich leather, expensive cigars, and lies. So many lies. Each one rose up with me with every passing floor. They danced around me in a mocking twirl of betrayal.

But that was the way of things. It was being a Kincaid.

The elevator stopped on the thirty-fifth floor where Alice greeted me with my mail and a mug of strong, black coffee.

“Your mother has been calling, sir,” she announced crisply. “She is insisting you call her back.”

I checked my watch, calculating my mother’s exact whereabouts based on the hour. Norah Kincaid would be finishing up her evening tea and relaxing in the library. Definitely not the best time to reach her.

“Remind me in an hour.” I took the items Alice held out. “Any word from Darnielle?”

Alice nodded. “Ashcroft phoned to confirm your meeting this afternoon.”

I took a contemplative sip of my coffee and hummed.

“Should be interesting,” I mused mostly to myself. To her, I added, “This will only be our eighth meeting.”

Alice had been with my father for almost fifteen years. She knew more about him than even my mother, but I always wondered if she really knew him. It seemed impossible.

Father had been very careful about who he let in. Alice was too ... by the book to properly keep that secret, which was why I never asked her about the box of files.

They’d arrived at the manor the night of the funeral, delivered by my father’s lawyer — the only person Walter could trust not to betray the Kincaid name and only because divulging that secret would ruin him.  But the contents were unlike anything I’d ever witnessed.

“Thank you, Alice.”

I took myself past her desk to the frosted doors leading into my office. The lights automatically flicked to life the moment I stepped into the room. The heavy blinds lifted over the high windows with a muffled hum of gears. Liquid sunshine spilled over the heavy, oak desk and poured across gleaming marble with every inch of glass exposed.

I took another sip of coffee as I made my way to the leather chair. I sat. The mail was tossed into the drawer on the right with all the others I needed to sort through. The mug was placed on the flat, square coaster on the right of the massive desk calendar.

Efficiency.

Father was nothing if not methodical. Borderline OCD. It was possibly the only thing we shared in common.

With my hands free, I withdrew the small stack of folders I kept in the locked drawer and placed them in front of me.

There were twelve.

Each one unlabeled.

Indistinguishable from each other, but containing a certain amount of power no one man should possess. Of the box I’d inherited, those twelve were the least threatening, which was the only reason I felt comfortable leaving them at the office, unlike the others that were separated and hidden away in no less than eight different vaults for safekeeping. But I couldn’t have them falling into the wrong hands.

Father collected things.

It was normal for a man in his position to have expensive hobbies; he had the money and time. But his tastes ran deeper than just fast cars and a condo for his mistress.

Father collected secrets.

Not only those of his enemies, but his friends. He’d dug into their lives to extents not even the government would dare. He knew things about people in high seats of power that made me cringe.

But it didn’t stop there.

He hadn’t stopped there.

Aside from secrets and friends of great influence, Father collected girls, young, beautiful girls like dolls. He had files on them as well.

Their ages.

Their description.

Their photos and the names he’d given them.

There were no less than thirty of those. Each girl started from eighteen and were kept until the age of twenty-two after which the records stopped and a new one started. Some were kept for merely months. A few overlapped, two or three at a time. He didn’t seem to have a preference. No type. They were of every race, height, and weight.

Then there were the clubs, the private auctions, the underground houses of sin. Father had his hands on them all, filtering millions into keeping them operational. The majority were by the book with a paper trail a mile long. Others were deep in the black, barely, if legal at all.

I held the ones in the green. The ones that would pass a government inspection.

I didn’t think I could handle the rest.

I flipped open the top one and went over the lines I was beginning to recite by heart.

MY TIME WAS VALUABLE.

I didn’t take it lightly.

I didn’t squander it aimlessly.

I didn’t take it for granted, because my time was money.

It was freedom.

It was my passion.

I liked money.

I liked the power it brought.

I liked making it.

I liked the distraction and routine, because I was a man who thrived on control. I wielded it with an expert marksmanship. That was how my father taught me to be — ruthless, cunning.

Possessive.

I was possessive. The kind of man who did not lose.

“Mr. Darnielle,” I used my tone of calm authority, the only tone the man seated across from me understood. “We’ve been assessing this negotiation for nearly six months with no success. Can I assume then that you have changed your mind?”

Stuart Darnielle drew in a breath. The loosely curled fingers hovering inches from his pursed lips gave a subtle twitch, a tell I was beginning to recognize as the man’s unease.

At his right elbow, Jefferey Ashcroft leaned into his client’s shoulder and murmured behind his hand. The man had been doing that a lot lately, whispering little words of guidance the other man was clearly ignoring. But I knew neither could afford to change their minds. Darnielle needed my money, needed me to fix my father’s problems.

“Mr. Darnielle wants nothing more than to see this transaction to its end, but you must understand the difficulties of parting with a piece that has been in his family for three generations.”

My patience was wearing thin. I could almost feel it waning. It was a task not to throw both owner and lawyer out.

In all truths, I couldn’t be sure why I’d let things go on for as long as they had. Any other business, I would have ended the matter after the third meeting and zero progress. But something about this one, about the folder in front of me, about the colored Post-It, urged me to keep trying. Maybe a part of me was also curious. Of the many businesses my father had funded, this one had been his favorite. Thus far, I couldn’t understand why.

“I sympathize, but as I recall, Mr. Ashcroft, you came to me.” I tapped the open folder resting before me with the tip of my middle finger. “You asked for my help salvaging your family’s legacy, which I accepted out of respect for the partnership you had with my father in the past. What I will not accept is this blatant disregard for my time. I have countless other matters that require my attention. So, if you have changed your mind, I would very much appreciate that to be made clear so we may continue with our day.”

The two men exchanged glances, quick flickers out of the corners of their eyes. Mr. Darnielle lowered his arm and shifted a notch higher in his chair.

“Perhaps I am uneasy based on the fact that you have not yet visited the Black Lotus, Mr. Kincaid. I don’t wish for there to be any misunderstandings between us ... out of respect for my partnership with your father.”

I ignored the cleverly concealed barb.

“I’ve already seen—”

“You have only seen the intake location, Mr. Kincaid,” Ashcroft cut in. “I assure you, there is much more to what we offer.”

Intake — a cleverly disguised term for one of the most grueling background checks I’ve ever been a part of. The president wasn’t vetted that thoroughly. They’d wanted everything from a full medical to a report of every penny in my account. They had delved deep into my non-existent personal life and torn through my family history. It had been weeks of paperwork, but the man had insisted and I disliked anything being half done.

“It’s not your usual venue,” Mr. Darnielle insisted.

I understood the meaning of an unusual business. Father had had a taste for the taboo and he had been very careful to keep those off the company books. Mr. Darnielle’s insistence that it was an unusual venue only solidified my curiosity.

“Then enlighten me.”

I’D BEEN TO PLENTY of auction houses in my lifetime. My father had owned many of them. Possibly too many. He’d been a man dedicated to possessing things. All manner of things. Which was why I wasn’t entirely surprised by Stuart Darnielle’s hesitance, but even I wasn’t prepared for the Victorian estate looming in full, brilliant glory in the middle of nowhere.

In the settling twilight, it had become a majestic force straining high into the heavens. Antique windows glowed with warm gold, emanating a subtle pulse that lured men in like some man-eating plant. All around, the world smelled of pine and possibilities.

I won’t lie, I was not immune to the flutter of excitement.

The front door was opened by a boy of eighteen dressed in a sharp suit. He extended a gloved hand without uttering a word, or looking too closely at my face. I passed along the engraved card Ashcroft had hand delivered to me that morning. The weight of it was a noticeable loss once taken from me.

The wax seal with the image of an eagle in flight was broken for the first time. Ashcroft had warned me not to open it, so I was definitely intrigued. The card itself was slipped free of the sleeve and turned over. I caught sight of a neat row of shimmering gold letters embossed on one side, but was never told what it said when it was placed neatly on the silver tray resting on a small table at his hip, along with the stack of others and a small, clear clipboard.

“May I see your ID, sir?”

Ashcroft had given me a slight rundown of what to expect and what to make sure I had with me when I went, mainly the card and one piece of photo ID.

“Verification purposes,” he’d said. “We don’t want people giving their spots away to friends.”

I understood the concern. For the amount of security they insisted upon, they couldn’t have random people just coming off the streets.

I gave the boy my driver’s license and watched as he turned it over in his hands. The name on the ID was cross examined with the names on the list. Mine — I assumed — was crossed out. The clipboard was set down and the boy lifted brown eyes to my face. He matched it to the one in the photo.

Everything must have added up, because he returned my ID and motioned me inside.

The front door opened to a foyer lit by a massive, crystal chandelier suspended over a round table. The scent of lilies poured into the space from the vase perched on top and the spray of delicate, white flowers inside. It wound with the smell of wood polish and expensive leather.

“This way, sir.”

The boy gestured for me to follow him past the display towards the back of the house.

The place was much larger than it had seemed from the outside. Once we maneuvered past the main area of the house, it was a series of doors and dim corridors. I was no stranger to complex designs, but even I couldn’t figure out the pattern.

I was taken to a theater room with its tiers overlooking a wall of heavy, velvet drapes. There were already other men clustered inside, sitting comfortable in the oversized seats, idly chatting with the person next to them. I recognized the majority of them as the men who ran our fair little city. Men of power and influence. I couldn’t count the number of times a few of them had graced my mother’s dinner table. Men Father had always considered close friends.

Maybe they were.

There was excitement in the air, a fine crackling of anticipation that skittered up my skin. It was stronger than the usual need for anonymity the men in that room insisted upon; not one cared if they were seen in that place. If anything, it reminded me of an exclusive party for a pack of frat boys.

I claimed the seat nearest the aisle without being seen, figuring it would be easier to slip out if necessary without disturbing the others.

No sooner had my butt touched the cushion when the house lights dimmed.

“Please take your seats,” said a sultry, female voice. “Our show will begin momentarily. We have a unique selection for you tonight, one we are sure you will enjoy. While you wait, please read the pamphlet you were given upon your arrival. We wish only to serve you the best.”

I hadn’t been given a pamphlet. But I glanced at the one my neighbor held open and blinked.

Girls.

They were auctioning girls.

Real girls.

I never would have believed it if I wasn’t looking right at the lineup.

“May I see that when you’re finished?”

My neighbor turned cool eyes on me and smiled. “Keep it. I know the selection by heart.”

Thanking him, I accepted the booklet and opened it.

It was the oddest thing I’d ever witnessed. They were selling off girls like antique furniture. Each one was showcased with a photo and a full page of details, everything from height and weight, to favorite sex positions and preferred kink. There were dozens of them. Face after face with every turn of a glossy page.

“First time?” my neighbor asked.

I nodded, flipping to the next girl. “I didn’t know places like this existed.”

The man laughed. “My dad used to say, for every absentee father is a little girl who needs a stiff cock.”

I flipped the page. “Your father sounds like a true gentleman.”

My companion chuckled again. “He’s been accused of worse, I suppose.”

“How long have you been coming here?” I ventured, not entirely clear on the protocols; was it bad manners to ask another member about their underground dealings? Like fight club, maybe you never spoke about it.

My companion hummed meditatively and rubbed the tips of four fingers over his jaw. “It feels like forever. I think I might have grown up in these chairs.”

The amusement in the statement drew my attention to the man in the seat next to mine. I hadn’t bothered getting a good look, doing so had felt like eyeing another man while at the urinals. There were certain lines you didn’t cross. But I took in my neighbor.

He was clean cut and carried the air of someone from a long line of wealth. The scent of money and sophistication oozed from his very pores. In the dim light, his blond locks appeared nearly white. The downy strands were combed back, longer in front, shorter in the back, exposing the rigidly defined structure of his rectangular face. I wouldn’t have called him handsome — I wouldn’t have called any man handsome — but he had charm. The noticeable kind that teetered on mysterious.

Pale, gray eyes swept to the corners and found mine through the swaying shadows. The one corner of his mouth quirked as if sharing a secret with me.

“One might call it an addiction,” he finished lazily.

“So, how does this all work?”

One long, spidery hand lifted, a skeletal white in the sharp spike of lights above and motioned to the curtains. “The girls will be shown through there.” One finger extended and pointed to a black box above the stage. “The monitor will show the current bid and count down when no one has entered a new amount after fifty seconds.”

“Entered an amount how?”

I hadn’t been given a paddle.

“Someone will bring around the counters before we start. Oh! Here we are now.”

The same kid who had shown me to the room, walked up and down the aisle with a silver cart, handing out iPads. I took one when he reached me and turned it on.

The screen immediately opened to the auction house logo, a black lotus on a bed of white. My companion tapped his own screen and it opened to the main page. I followed suit.

It asked for my information, my account numbers, my ideal preferences. It was brief, but thorough. Only after it was all complete did I get to the actual page.

It was a list of each girl in the order they would be presented. Alongside each photo was a blank box where I assumed my bidding price would go.

It was surprisingly high tech.

“Good evening,” the female voice filled the room once more. “Our show is about to begin. Please return to your seats.”

Like a movie theater, the lights went out completely and the curtains parted.

My neighbor hadn’t been exaggerating. Each girl was brought into the white room, made to sit on the bed. Overhead, the feminine voice read off the girl’s preferences, her hard and soft limits, and any experiences she may have had. The majority of the girls didn’t look old enough to be there. The rest sat with the confidence of someone who had seen and done this a lot. I partially wondered if this was even legal. In all the paperwork I had on the house, nothing had struck me as illegal, or even in the gray. They paid their taxes, and even had a listing in the phonebook. The girls clearly weren’t being forced to be there. If anything, it probably just skimmed the line. It did make me curious to see what their contracts looked like. The version I was given only required my discretion and my promise not to damage the product.

That was what the girls were listed as, products. The items. I guess putting the girls in actual black and white print would have raised some questions, not to mention cross that line between ethical and prostitution. But what did people think the girls were being paid to do? Read?

One girl after the other paraded past the window, each one given just enough time until the bids ran out. Then the curtains dropped, the counter went off, and the highest bidder was discreetly escorted from the room. The process was flawless, a well-oiled machine running on horny men and desperate women.

“What if you want to bid on more than one?” I heard myself ask as a short, pudgy silhouette was guided out of the room and the lull between girls ticked away.

My neighbor chuckled. “The house usually frowns on double purchases. One per customer. That’s why they take the bidders from the room after.”

“Do they go home with the girls?”

“Oh no!” The wide-eyed look of outrage in his silvery eyes made me think I’d overstepped something sacred. “Absolutely not. House rules. You will be directed to one of the rooms here in the manor.”

The curtains began to pull back, the gears a musical note in the hush. My companion returned his attention forward. Like mine, his tablet sat untouched in his lap, pale hands crossed overtop. He hadn’t touched it once.

“Waiting for something specific?” I hedged.

In the semi darkness, I could have sworn he grinned.

“No, girls behind glass don’t interest me.” His head tilted to one side, shifting his gaze sideways to me. They glinted. “Besides, I have a lioness at home who would skin me alive. This is merely business.”

Any further communication was halted when the female voice rose once more over the speakers.

“Now, for the moment you have all been waiting for, our most anticipated piece for the evening.”

The excited buzz increased. Men fidgeted in their seats. Even my neighbor shifted forward a notch. I couldn’t imagine what made this girl any more important than the others; I hadn’t reached the end of the booklet, but I watched the curtains part, gliding up to reveal the bed, the white walls, the tiny creature perched on the edge.

She could have been anyone, any nameless, faceless girl I would forget by morning, but I knew her. I would have known her anywhere. I would have recognized those eyes if I were blind.

Gabby.

My Gabby sitting small and helpless on that fucking bed.

Her hair was lighter and her face made up with the deliberate strokes of innocence. Her usually long, concealing dresses were replaced by a tiny, satin slip nearly as translucent as the skin of an onion. It clung to her shape, to the full swells of her breasts and the curves of her hips. A thin thread of lace trimmed the bodice, emphasizing the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Another circled the hem, drawing the eye to the supple lines of her thighs.

I had never seen more than her hands and the column of her throat in all the years I’d known her. Her skin had always been a closely guarded garden, a secret, one only she ever had the key to. It had always drawn me, tempted me to see what lay beneath the fabrics, but it had also intrigued me, especially in an era when clothes on women seemed less and less.

But there she sat, a beauty with skin so pale, so flawless, she could have been created of pure milk and lips the delicate pink of a blush. It was enough to make a man want to know of the other colors left to be revealed.

None of those things were important to me, not in that moment when I catapulted to my feet. It was a rash and reckless plunge into action, every fiber of my soul prepared to shatter the glass and snatch her away from the wolves. The violent jolt sent the tablet clattering off my lap. It hit the top of my feet and lay forgotten on the ground as I grabbed the headrest of the chair in front of me.

“Are you all right?”

The question echoed through my mind and was swallowed by the cyclone of heat devouring my sanity.

The auction began.

The timer above the window blinked her worth, six fucking digits, barely enough to make up a phone number, even while it was higher than all the others before her.

Five hundred thousand.

Disgusting. Appalling. How dare they? There weren’t enough figures in the world to sum the total of what she was worth, but to insult her with something as cheap as a measly five hundred thousand made my blood boil. Even as the bids poured in, sending the numbers on the screen spinning, it wasn’t enough. Yet, that wasn’t the real problem. The frenzy was on. Those remaining had specifically stayed for her, had saved their money for her. They were throwing their amounts in by the thousands. One of them would win her.

I did the only thing I knew how, I grabbed the tablet off the ground and I bid. I bid high. High enough that I knew no one in their right mind would top.

“Jesus!” Someone whistled. “Who in their right mind would pay one million for a girl? Virgin or not.”

While the others peered at each other, I watched the screen, waiting for it to move, waiting to raise my price at a second’s notice. The other men seemed to be debating amongst themselves to see who was willing to beat me, but the numbers remained the same as the counter came on. It rolled down from five and flipped at a slow pace to one. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until the counter shut off. The screens went dark. The murmurs rose. But my only focus was Gabby, my terrified Gabby staring imploringly at the glass, at the monsters she couldn’t see. It broke my heart. It infuriated me.

What the fuck are you doing here? I wanted to snap at her, right after I’d pulled her into my arms.

“That’s all for tonight,” said the female voice over the speakers. “We hope to see you again next week for a new selection. Please proceed to the lounge for refreshments before your journey.”

The men all rose. I remained behind while the others ambled from the theater, waiting for someone to tell me where the fuck Gabby was. Everyone else had been retrieved immediately after the biddings had closed, but no one had come to get me.

“Well, that was certainly a surprise,” my neighbor mused, rising with the slow grace of a man with all the time in the world. “Probably the shortest bid closing in history. I take it you know her?”

I ignored the question.

“Where is—?”

My question was halted when the boy from before returned. He inclined his head to my companion then faced me.

“Begging your forgiveness, sir. But the director wishes to speak with you.”

My companion chuckled. “Sent to the principal’s office on your first day.” He patted my shoulder in passing. “Good luck.”

I waited until the last person had left the viewing room before I turned to the kid. “Where’s the girl?”

“The director will discuss that with you. This way, sir.”

I followed him to another part of the house and into an office where a small, smartly dressed man rose to meet me.

“Mr. Kincaid.”

I took the hand he offered across the over organized desk. His shake was firm and abrupt, formal. All business.

“I’m Eugene Murray. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Please.” He motioned me to one of the leather chairs. “Can I get you anything?”

“Where’s the girl?”

Eugene started just enough to make me think he wasn’t accustomed to getting right to the point.

“The girl,” he mimicked, glancing at his computer screen. “The Virgin. Yes. You have exceptional taste.”

I waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be waiting for me. When I didn’t respond, he cleared his throat and kept talking.

“Mr. Kincaid, we here at the Black Lotus pride ourselves on providing a safe and clean auction house. We have a rigorous background check for our girls, and our clients. We don’t normally allow outsiders in without a starling recommendation. So, of course, when your name was brought to our attention, along with your interest in visiting, we were thrilled. Are thrilled.” He smiled at me. “Your father was a big part in us being here all these years. He was an avid auctioneer, and a generous donor.”

“I am well aware of my father’s involvement with your organization, Mr. Murray. That wasn’t my question.”

“No, of course not. But you must understand that with any transaction as large as yours—”

“The payment will clear,” I muttered, feeling my annoyance grow.

“Without question, sir,” Eugene agreed with genuine honesty. “It’s just, sometimes, a client may get caught up in the moment, in the excitement and accidentally enter an amount they may not have meant to.”

“I meant to.”

Eugene nodded slowly. “Very well, sir.” He folded his hands on his desk and peered at me thoughtfully, a kindly uncle indulging a favorite nephew. “Everything has been arranged. Your purchase has been placed in her quarters. Your payment has bought you an hour of her time. Anything after that is an added charge that will be billed to your account. What you both do in that time is at your discretion, but we ask that, as you would, show patience and respect.”

“Gabby,” I cut in, no longer able to contain my tongue. “My purchase has a name.”

Eugene blinked once, all the outward reaction that I’d surprised him. “I wasn’t aware you knew the ... Gabby.”

I didn’t bother gracing his non-question with an answer. It was none of his fucking business who Gabby was to me.

“I want to see her.”

“Of course.” He rose, hands daftly fastening the button on his blazer. “I will have Samuel take you up.”

Samuel was waiting outside the door when Eugene walked me out. He straightened immediately and took a step back.

“What would have happened if I had made a mistake?” I asked the man behind me. “Would she go back into auction?”

Eugene nodded. “We would try again next week.”

Over my dead body, I thought. Gabby wasn’t setting foot in that fucking place again.

Thanking the man for his time, I followed my guide through the maze of corridors. We took the stairs to the second floor and turned the first corner.

Like any Victorian manor, the estate was a catacomb of rooms shielded by heavy doors and silence. Despite the purpose of the establishment, we came across no one else. The hallways remained vacant. Part of me couldn’t help wondering how often my father traveled those halls, how often his travels ended at one of those doors with a terrified girl waiting for him on the other side.

My father and I never saw eye to eye.

Not in business.

Not in the path of my choosing.

Not in women.

He had a very clear image of what he wanted of me from the day of my birth. But I never fit his mold. I never properly conformed.

It infuriated him. Right up to the day he died.

Now, he was ruining my life from beyond the grave.

He was toying with me.

He was seeking his revenge the only way he could — by shackling me with his perverse amusements, his twisted pleasures. Perhaps he hoped, that by saddling me with his precious secrets, we would find something in common.

Unfortunately for him, the only thing we continued to share was our name.

But those were things to dwell on at a later time. What I needed now was to find Gabby. I needed to get her out, needed to get her as far away from that place as possible. I couldn’t fathom what she was even doing there. What she could have been thinking selling herself to men like my father.

Seducing the daughter of his dearest friend would have meant nothing to Walter Kincaid. He would have bought her, done horrible, unspeakable things to her and never thought twice about it.

But I couldn’t hurt Gabby.

Never Gabby.

Samuel arrived at a door much like all the others, but this one held a small, oval plaque stamped into the white surface. The low lights traced the VIP embossed into the gold.

He dug into the inside pocket of his blazer and removed a silver key. It was pressed into my palm.

“Enjoy your stay, sir.”

I wanted to tell him I wouldn’t be staying, but I wasn’t about to start explaining myself to anyone.

I waited until he’d rounded a corner and had disappeared from sight before slipping the key into the lock. It gave a distinct click before it swept inward without a sound.

I sucked in a breath, an involuntary moment of weakness I seldom liked to show anyone, and stepped over the threshold.

The room could have been anyone’s sleeping quarters, a simple, but elegant design inspired to install comfort and the feeling of home. Not my home, but definitely feminine with a subtle touch of seductive allure. The theme seemed to be gold. It trimmed everything, including the furniture and it was woven into the duvet. There were even speckles of it embedded into the plush carpet beneath my feet.

It was a fair size room, much larger in comparison to most with enough room for a spacious, king sized bed, a full set sitting area surrounding a fireplace, a vanity, armoire, end tables, and a round, velvet bench in the middle of the room.

The only thing missing was Gabby.

I closed the door quietly behind me and took another step deeper in, hoping I might have accidentally missed her. But the room itself seemed to be void of another life.

A door opened on the other side of the room, a hidden compartment woven seamlessly into the wall. A tall, unnaturally thin woman with a mane of platinum waves sashayed in on red pumps, a tiny, blindfolded Gabby clutched between her long, slender hands. The fingers were curled around the smaller woman’s bare shoulders, guiding her in.

My heart jerked in my chest at the sight of her. She seemed so small, so fragile and frightened.

The woman said nothing as she positioned Gabby in front of me. She never even glanced up. Her fingers unfurled, then she was gone, leaving as quietly as she’d come back through the hidden panel.

It closed behind her.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

I wasn’t even sure I was breathing properly.

Everything I’d ever known how to do naturally my entire life had abandoned me, including common sense. In its place, I was left harboring a gut full of desire and a prickling to do something I hadn’t been allowed to for years, like touch her. I knew she wouldn’t allow it otherwise. If she knew who I was, who the person who bought her was, she’d be horrified. She’d be so embarrassed. But above all that, she would never talk to me again.

Not that she did anyway. Not really. I couldn’t recall a single moment of conversation between us in all the years I’d known her. Other than the casual greetings over Sunday meals, a brief murmur of something insignificant at the occasional party, I could never get her to stay, to look at me. She always seemed to have one foot ready to bolt.

This, this moment while she stood before me, not seeing me, not knowing who I was, it was the longest I had ever been in her presence.

I was paralyzed.

I was so enraptured by the thing I’d wanted so badly for so damn long.

She made a sound, a shaky inhale that made me aware of the bigger picture, the one that wasn’t fixed solely on the fact that it was her, my Gabby.

She was trembling violently. There were ripples running through her hair from the force of it. Her jaw was clenched, the muscles along the slender lines bunched tight. Beneath the lacy cups of her sheer slip, her breasts rose and fell in sharp, shallow pants. I could almost see her heart beating wildly beneath the flawless skin.

Christ, I wanted to take her into my arms. I wanted to pull her in close and tell her it was all right. That I would never let anything hurt her, but I knew it wouldn’t happen that way. I knew the moment I said anything, she’d know and she would run.

I couldn’t stand it if she did.

But I had to do something. I couldn’t keep standing there while she drowned in her fears wondering what I was doing.

“Hello?” Her voice, a soft, hesitant whisper came out tattered.

That was the moment I knew there was no turning back. I knew that if I didn’t take that blindfold off, if I didn’t tell her who I was, if I said nothing, I never would.

It was all or nothing.

I touched her

I skimmed one knuckle against her cheek, a tender reassurance that she wasn’t alone and not to be afraid.

Gabby shuddered, a startled jerk that expelled the air she’d been holding in a strangled rush. Her fingers bunched at her sides before she released them quickly.

“I’m sorry.”

I silenced her with the same finger slipping beneath her chin. I lifted her face. I traced the perfect lines up close like I’d been craving to for three fucking years.

God, I wanted to devour her. I wanted to jerk her into my arms and steal every second of that hour I had with her. I wanted to pilfer them into my pocket, hide them in the dark recesses of my soul where all my guilt and shame lay contained.

She would be one more.

I kissed her.

I didn’t let myself dwell, terrified I’d manage to talk myself out of it, because part of me knew, I could have walked out.

I could have just left.

She would get her money.

The auction house would get theirs.

She would leave with her dignity and body in one piece.

I didn’t have to touch her.

I didn’t have to take her kisses.

I didn’t have to do the things I wanted.

But I couldn’t stop.

I didn’t want to stop.

Her lips opened beneath mine, a willing acceptance to the tongue I nudged against the seam. She tasted like toothpaste and chocolates with just a hint of caramel. I wondered if they made all their girls eat chocolate before being sent in.

I didn’t care.

My hands found homes on her shoulders where the thin straps of her slip began. They journeyed downwards along the lengths of her arms, the skin as soft as satin, and settled in a light, breakable bracelet around her slender wrists.

But it was enough.

I needed to stop.

I knew if I didn’t, I never would.

I’d gotten what I wanted. I had already taken too much. Anymore and she would never forgive me.

I would never forgive me.

I reached for the blindfold. My thumbs tucked into the silk sash at her temples.

Gabby caught my hands, her grip surprisingly firm, if not a bit clammy and cold.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please.” She licked her lips, lips still damp from mine, and my cock stiffened. “I’m really nervous,” she went on, her tone trembling despite her attempts at keeping it light. “Could ... could we keep the blindfold on? Please?”

I should have said something. My mouth opened, her name poised on the tip of my tongue. I just couldn’t find my voice. It was completely absent. It had abandoned me, right along with every shred of decency I ever possessed.

I pulled her to me.

I plastered her perfect frame into mine, ignored her little gasp, and reclaimed her mouth.

Harder.

Every heartbeat shared between us thrummed with my impatience, with my inner self loathing.

I wanted to do things to her that shamed even me.

I wanted to strip her down, break her apart, and put her back together.

I wanted to take her home, lock us up in my room and never leave.

But all I could do was remind myself this wasn’t just some random girl.

This wasn’t someone I could afford to lose.

I started to break the kiss, mind made up. I would tell her. I would reveal myself. I would end this fantasy.

But I was caught in her arms. I was captured in the lithe length of her settling perfectly against mine. I was drowning in the musky scent of her filling the room, begging me to keep going.

But it was her eager mouth meeting mine, shy, but encouraging that sealed my fate. Her fingers wove into my hair, restraining me to her as she lit my whole world on fire.

“Is this okay?”

Her quiet murmur propelled me to take her, to show her just how okay she was. It drove me to lift her up into my arms and carry her to the bed.

The mattress sank beneath our combined weight. The cool sheets came up against her back, eliciting a little sound from her.

Stopping was no longer an option. I knew this was it. I had her on the bed, her legs wide around my hips. There was no turning back.

I would take her.

I would claim her.

I would take everything she had to appease the fire raging inside me.

But first, I needed to break her.

I needed to taste her.

I lowered myself to the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Their utter paleness drove me to color them pink, to paint them with handprints and teeth marks.

But the rules had been clear not to hurt her, mark her. I couldn’t risk scaring her. So, I satisfied my urges by streaming kisses down her inner knee, following a fine vein all the way to where the hem of her slip hid her from me.

The woman beneath me shifted, subtle little grinds of her hips against the mattress. Her toes curled and unfurled, mirroring her fingers twisting into the sheets.

She was a bundle of sexual tension.

She was a wet, horny mess waiting for me to fuck her.

Christ, did I ever want to. My cock was screaming for it. The only thing stopping me was the lack of protection. I hadn’t thought to bring a condom. I hadn’t thought I would need one at an auction house.

I reached for the end tables and found both empty.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, having heard me rattling around with the drawers. “They have us on the pill. It’s in the paperwork as part of the package.”

On the pill.

God, they wanted me to come in her. They wanted me to leave her dripping ... the visuals alone were nearly my undoing. As if it wasn’t enough that I would take her virginity, but for days after, my semen would serve as a reminder that I’d been there, that I’d filled her with my dick and come.

It was dangerous, a high-level risk. What influential businessman worth billions would ever allow his DNA to possibly be used against him? Unlike me, they didn’t know these girls. They didn’t know what could happen if their semen fell into the wrong hands.

But I wanted it.

Fuck, I’d never wanted anything more in my life.

I wanted to see her at dinner tomorrow and only I would know she was leaking in her panties.

The need was too great.

The temptation too strong.

I pushed her skirt up, unwrapping my present to myself. Gabby’s knees twitched as though she was attempting to close them, but I wouldn’t have it.

It was mine.

She was mine.

If only for that single night, I fucking owned her and I would have her. I would not be stopped.

I forced my shoulders in, wedging them between her thighs and forcing her apart, crude, degrading. Nothing hidden. All open to me.

Gabby made a sound, something between a whimper and a gasp.

I bought you, I wanted to remind her. You won’t keep me from taking what is now mine.

But I didn’t. One murmur of my voice and the games would be over. I wasn’t ready for that.

I touched her.

I pried apart her soft, hairless lips with my thumbs, exposing the very heart of her. Folds of satiny pink flesh greeted me, a perfect, little hole never before touched, nestled beneath a pool of arousal created by me.

Yet her willingness sparked an irrational pulse of blinding jealousy I had no right to feel.

She was there with me.

She was wet for me.

She wanted me.

But she had no idea who I was. To her, I was a faceless stranger, some man who bought her at an auction. But she was wet.

The insanity nearly drove me to liberate her of the blind fold, fuck her request. I wanted her to see me, to see my face when I made her come, to know I was the first and the last man who would ever have her.

I didn’t.

It made me selfish and greedy, possibly even a bastard, but I wanted her too badly to allow her the option to leave.

I stroked her clit with the tip of one finger. I teased the hard, little muscle, relishing the way her entire body seemed to coil beneath that single whisper of my touch. I was no longer keeping her knees apart; she was practically splitting herself in half for me.

I pinched the bit of skin, hard enough to tear her hips off the mattress. Her wail sang through me as I rolled her clit like a bead between my thumb and index finger, pausing occasionally to tug.

Clear, white liquid trickled from her slit. I watched the rush coat her perfect ass hole and soak into the sheets. The sheer amount of it had me dipping my fingers into her hot center and dragging the moisture to slicken her clit, her lips, everything. Everything I could paint with my fingers.

“Please...”

I blinked. I’d forgotten all about her. I’d been so caught up in my new fascination I’d forgotten it was attached to a person.

Drawing out of my single-minded obsession, I focused on her.

I impaled her on a finger. Just one to get her started. I wasn’t sure what she was normally used to, if anything, but I would act on the side of caution.

Her pained grunt had me easing the speed and depth of my pumps. I let her get accustomed to one before adding a second.

Gabby cried out. Her back lifted in an arch. Her hands caught my wrist, not pushing it away, but not letting me in any deeper.

I wanted to tell her it would be okay, that I would make sure she liked it, but all I could do was pull back enough to shed my clothes. Then I reached for her slip. It joined my outfit on the floor.

She was trembling when I climbed over her. Her limbs circled me, tense but welcoming. Her thighs opened wide to allow my hips to align comfortably with her opening.

I wanted to ask if they were taught to do that, but I didn’t want to know.

I kissed her. 

I trailed my lips over her mouth, along her jaw, down, down to take a nipple into my mouth. Her breathy sigh pushed the supple mound deeper into my touch.

I cradled both and took turns sucking each in time with the roll of my hips. My cock was drenched in her juices. There would be no need for lubrication. She was plenty wet.

I slithered down her body to where I was dying to bury myself and licked her, one good sweep of my tongue from hole to clit. I lapped up all her cream and even drove inside for the rest.

Gabby sobbed and thrashed. Her nails bit into my scalp, urging me not to stop as I fucked her with my mouth, my tongue, my fingers. She didn’t even notice I had her stretched open on two.

“I feel it...” she choked. “I think I’m...”

The confusion and surprise made me think she’d never had an orgasm, or not a very good one.

I pushed her over. I guided her straight off the cliff and held her there with a thumb over her pulsating clit as I scrambled over her and plunged my cock inside her seizing pussy.

Gabby screamed. Her nails tore strips down my back but I was inside her. My cock was rocking against her fluttering walls, dragging out her release until she was moaning into my shoulder.

Gabby.

My fucking Gabby.

I love you, I wanted to snarl into the hammering little pulse at her throat.

I kissed it instead as I continued pumping inside her warm heat. I kissed her mouth, claiming her every moan and whimper.

I came in her.

I expelled every ounce of my hot, sticky essence into her willing body and let it drown her. I kept my twitching cock buried where it was, a cork keeping her from spilling even as it leaked from around the seams.

Gabby purred, a soft, feminine sound of pleasure that reminded me of a content kitten. Her body wiggled under mine, not for release, but a satisfied stretching of her limbs.

“That felt amazing,” she whispered.

Give me a minute and I’ll beat that, I wanted to say.

But I pushed up on my elbows and peered down into her face. It glowed a misty pink I would have given my fortune to see radiating in her eyes. She smiled around the teeth she had sunk into her bottom lip.

“Did you like it?”

Her uncertainty had my hips pushing forward, emphasizing my answer with my new erection still buried inside her.

Gabby giggled. “I don’t know how much time we have left.”

I kissed her rather than tell her we could have forever if she wanted. I kissed her rather than tell her I wasn’t leaving until I’d had my fill, and neither was she. One fucking hour would never be enough.

A phone rang. The gentle tinkle of bells interrupted the moment. I glanced at the phone I hadn’t noticed on the end table.

“I think our time’s up,” Gabby whispered.

I wrapped her in the sheets before answering the call.

“Good evening, sir,” said a smooth, accented male voice. “Pardon the interruption, but this is your courtesy call. Would you like to extend your stay with us?”

I took the phone with me across the room to the bathroom and muffled my voice with the water being wrenched on to fill the sunken tub embedded in the center of the spacious room.

“Yes, don’t call back until morning.”

“Very good, sir. Is there anything you require for your stay?”

I thought about it.

“A change of sheets.”

“Right away, sir. I’ll have someone deliver those straight over.”

I hung up and returned to where I’d left Gabby. She was still beneath the sheets, a tiny ball on her side, away from me. But I felt her pain even before I reached her side.

I grazed her arm with my fingertips, alerting her that I was there.

Her lips bowed into a smile that I didn’t believe for a second. It was too tight beneath the slightly damp blindfold.

“Hey.” She struggled to sit up. “Is it time to go?”

I took her face in my palms and brushed my thumbs over her damp cheeks.

Her smile slipped. “I’m sorry. This is probably not very sexy—”

I put a finger to her lips, silencing her. I replaced the finger with a nuzzling kiss. I pulled away and reached for my cellphone from the pocket of my trousers. With a few strokes, I pulled up the text to speech app and typed in, “What’s wrong?”

Gabby jolted at the robotic, female voice, but she must have realized what it was, because she relaxed.

“Smart.” She chuckled weakly. “It’s nothing.”

I allowed her lie to momentarily stand while I helped her off the bed. She asked no questions, but took my hands trustingly and I led her into the bathroom where the tub was nearly full.

I eased her into the water and joined her. My arms snaked around her waist and I pulled her back against my chest, tucking her between my legs.

Once settled, I returned my focus to the device still in my hand.

“Tell me,” I urged through the app.

She sucked in a breath that expanded across her back. “I ... this isn’t how I imagined my first time to be like. I’m not complaining,” she insisted quickly. “You were far more amazing than I ever imagined. Believe me, I was expecting something completely different, so you ... I owe you so much.”

I brushed my nose against the side of her warm cheek and shook my head in a clear, no, you don’t motion. But still, I repeated my answer through the phone.

She sighed and melted against me. The simple gesture housed a level of trust I wasn’t sure I deserved, yet the cowardice in me refused to rectify.

Instead, I remained behind my mask and cellphone, taking even more from her when I turned my face into the side of hers. My hand wandered with shameless ownership down the smooth line of her outer arm from shoulder to where the skin forked to the swell of her breast. The tiny, pink nipple taunted me from amongst a cluster of bubbles, begging my fingers to stroke.

It was selfish.

I was being selfish.

She was new to all I wanted to do to her. I’d been with enough virgins in my life to know she would need a break, a time to rest and let her muscles get accustomed to the change to her body. I should comfort her, not make it worse. I should accept the time I was given with her and ask for nothing more.

Gabby made a weak little sound that had her shifting against my chest. Her head turned slightly in my direction, her lips already parted.

“What’s your name?” Her voice hitched. “What do I...?”

I skimmed the nipple, a feather light kiss of my thumb gliding over the tip. The skin scattered with goose bumps. The points shriveled to a tight knot.

With my free hand, I typed my name, but stopped. I went back, erased the obvious and replaced it with the first letter that came to mind.

“M.”

Gabby whimpered. Her back arched off my chest, pushing her breast harder into my touch.

“M.” Her head dropped back against my shoulder with a gasp from her. “Michael? Mason? M...”

I pinched the bud, silencing her. I waited a heartbeat before letting the hold go and letting my fingers drift downward.

Her stomach muscles quivered, a jitter of her excitement. Her every breath came out ragged and desperate.

At her mound, I paused. I let my touch linger.

Tease.

Toy.

“Please.”

Her breathy plea rolled over me in a fierce rock of pure agony. I had never been a mute lover. There was nothing greater than the power of words, dirty words, words murmured into a lover’s ear in moments like that.

I loathed the handicap.

I loathed not being able to love her properly.

But worse, I loathed that she would never know it was me, that I was the one slipping my fingers over her clit, that I was the one making her heart jump and her pussy wet

“M...”

No! I wanted to snarl. Kieran. Say it!

But I settled for being a nobody, a faceless, voiceless stranger for her, because it was what she wanted. I busied my attention on stroking the pink muscle peeking out from between soft, smooth lips.

God, I couldn’t stop. Not touching her. Not wanting her. I was lost in a reality that had, up until that moment, been no more than a fantasy, a late-night dream I’d come awake from, hard and reaching for the space next to me only to find it empty. Whether she ever found out who I really was or not, I had this.

I had this night.

I had her.

She came with a whimpering mewl that arched her body away from mine. Her hot core pushed into my palm, urging me for more. Water rolled over the concrete lip only to roll back in once she slumped against me.

“My kitten,” I growled into her ear, madness momentarily claiming me, forcing me to break my silence.

The voice was alien even to me. The demonic snarl reverberated deep at the back of my throat and vibrated between our bodies.

Gabby panted weakly, her limbs limp, her head lulling. Her exhaustion spurred me to drain the water and swaddle her in towels. I kept one arm securely around her the entire time I patted her dry. Then I carried her bridal style to the bed.

It had been remade while we’d been gone. The creases, the lingering stains of her lost innocence, were replaced with crisp, white linen. The pillows had been fluffed and rearranged.

I set her down gingerly and drew the duvet firmly around her. I crawled in next to her and tucked her against my chest.

I didn’t take her again that night. As much as I ached with it, I let her sleep with her face wedged against my neck and her tiny frame curled into my front.

Like a kitten.

I stroked her hair lightly and was rewarded with a deep purr that only solidified my amusement.

My kitten.

I chuckled to myself and drew her in closer, content to stay awake and simply caress her until dawn, knowing that our time was quickly drawing to a close and I may never get that chance again.