CHAPTER FOUR #4
He'd chosen to be here. Mordechai could see that in the set of his jaw, in the way his chin kept lifting even as the rest of him trembled. This wasn't a man who'd been dragged onto the platform. This was a man who'd walked there on legs that wanted to run and told them no.
That was not submission. Not yet. It was something rarer: the raw material from which real submission could be forged. Courage wearing fear's clothes.
"You're back."
Mordechai glanced to the side as Amani materialized beside him. The boy was in his usual uniform, tiny black shorts, bare chest, already vibrating with the need to talk. He looked good. He always looked good. That wasn't the problem and never had been.
"I am," Mordechai said. "Tell me about him."
"Well, he's a panda..." Amani began, drawing the words out in a way that meant he was stalling.
"I can see that from here. Is he kind?"
Amani let out a small whine, the lion equivalent of a sigh, and Mordechai temporarily took his attention off the panda to look at the young man beside him. "What's wrong?"
"Don't you want to play with me? We had fun last time. I've missed you." Amani eased closer, and Mordechai held up a hand.
"Your mother and I discussed this. I was too rough with you, and she's right." He kept his voice even. Not unkind, but clear. The line was drawn and he would not cross it again. "You deserve a Dom who knows where your limits are before you do. That's not me. Not with you."
Something flickered across Amani's face, hurt, quickly masked by the bravado he wore like armor.
"Fine. The panda's name is Rodney. He came to Mom on his own, walked in off the street, if you can believe that.
Shark debt. He chose the auction over working it off.
He's never done anything like this before.
He's terrified and he's still here." A beat. "I like him."
"So do I," Mordechai said, and meant it in a way that surprised him.
He found the tablet where the bids were being tracked and scanned the entries for the panda.
Seven bids already, ranging from moderate to generous.
One name caught his eye: Inuit. The polar bear.
Mordechai knew him. Competitive, possessive, and the kind of Dom who treated subs like interchangeable toys.
He bid high and played rough and left his partners feeling used rather than used well.
There was a difference, and Inuit had never learned it.
Mordechai entered his bid. It was high enough to make a statement.
He went back to the panda. Circled the platform slowly, studying him from all angles.
Up close, those hands were even more striking, the tendons standing out along the backs of them, the way his fingers flexed and released in a rhythm that was almost meditative.
Holding on. Letting go. Holding on. And the skin was better than he'd thought.
It would bruise like watercolor, would hold the shape of fingers for hours.
Rodney's breathing was rapid but steady, scared, not panicking. He was holding himself together through sheer willpower, and Mordechai found that deeply, specifically attractive.
The wristband said his name. Rodney. Virgin to the club. The V caught the dim light like a warning sign or an invitation, depending on who was reading it.
Rodney's head turned slightly as Mordechai passed.
Tracking his scent, maybe. Feeling the displacement of air.
A soft, almost inaudible sound escaped him, distress and something else braided together, a sound Mordechai wanted to hear again in a very different context.
The blush that had started at Rodney's cheeks had spread down his neck and across his chest, and his body was writing a story whether he wanted it to or not.
Someone came too close. Mordechai growled, low, instinctive, unmistakable. The shifter backed off immediately. Several others took note and widened their orbits. Message received.
Every time someone bid on Rodney, Mordechai outbid them within seconds. Within minutes, people understood. The panther wanted the panda, and the panther was not going to be outbid.
Only Inuit persisted. His bids climbed steadily, matching Mordechai's increases with the dogged determination of a man who didn't like losing.
They passed twenty thousand. Twenty-five.
At thirty, most of the other bidders had dropped out entirely, watching the two of them go back and forth like spectators at a tennis match.
Lady Leo came over to check the tablet. She smiled at him, the kind of smile that was also an appraisal. "It's good to see you back. You were missed."
Mordechai didn't look away from Rodney. "By Amani especially."
Lady Leo sighed. "That boy." She shook her head. "I can talk to him if you want. He seems to have developed a fixation."
"He'll be fine. He's young. He'll find someone who can handle him without leaving marks." Mordechai paused. "The panda. He came to you on his own?"
"Texted me. Asked for help. Not what I'm used to." She studied the tablet again. "You and Inuit are the last two standing. I assume you're not backing down."
"No."
"Good." She said it with quiet satisfaction. "The panda is more interesting than he knows. Don't waste him."
She walked away. Inuit pushed the bid to thirty-five thousand. Mordechai pushed it to forty. The transfer would barely register in his accounts, but it wasn't about money. It was about the man on the platform with the beautiful hands and the brave, stubborn jaw and the skin that flushed like dawn.
The auction closed. Lady Leo checked the final tally and caught Mordechai's eye across the room. A nod.
The panda was his.
Mordechai stepped onto the platform. He felt Rodney stiffen as he approached, felt the heat of fear rolling off him in waves, mixing with the grass-and-earth scent that was distinctly panda and the sharp, bright note of arousal that was distinctly Rodney.
He crouched and unclipped the ankle tether. Then he rose, slowly, letting his fingers trail up the outside of Rodney's calf, his thigh, his hip. Rodney shivered under his touch. The blush deepened.
Mordechai leaned in close. Close enough that his lips nearly brushed the soft skin of Rodney's throat. Close enough to feel his pulse hammering.
"Hello, Rodney," he said. His voice was low, private, a sound meant for one person only. "I'm Mordechai. You'll call me Sir."
He brought his hand to Rodney's stomach, gently, not with claws, not yet. The skin was warm and soft and yielded under his palm. Rodney sucked in a breath.
"The auction is over," Mordechai said. "I won.
But before we go any further, I need you to hear something.
" He paused, making sure Rodney was listening.
"You can leave. Right now. I'll walk you back to the locker room, you'll get dressed, and you'll go home.
I won't be angry. Lady Leo won't be angry.
Whatever your debt situation is, that's between you and her, and it has nothing to do with what happens in the next few hours. Do you understand?"
Rodney's lips parted. He hadn't expected that. Mordechai could tell by the way his whole body went still, not with fear, but with surprise. "You'd... let me go? You just paid—"
"I paid for the opportunity to spend time with you.
Not for ownership of you." Mordechai kept his hand on Rodney's stomach.
Steady. Warm. Present. "I don't take unwilling men to bed, Rodney.
It's not interesting to me. If you come with me tonight, it's because some part of you wants to find out what happens next.
If that part doesn't exist, then we shake hands and go our separate ways. "
Silence. The club noise fell away, they were in their own space, the two of them, the platform a small island in the middle of everything. Rodney's breathing had changed. It was still fast, still scared. But it was also deeper. Steadier.
"I want to find out," Rodney’s voice was small and rough and absolutely certain. "I'm terrified, Sir. But I want to find out."
Mordechai exhaled. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath.
"Good," he said. He took Rodney's arm, firmly, but not roughly. A hold, not a grip. "Then come with me. I'm going to take you to a private room, and we're going to have a conversation. And if, after that conversation, you still want to stay, then we'll see what happens next."
He led Rodney off the platform, down the ramp, through the crowd.
People watched. Some with curiosity, some with envy, some with the knowing look of veterans who'd been exactly where Rodney was and remembered what it felt like.
Mordechai kept his hand on Rodney's arm and guided him around obstacles and through gaps in the crowd with a care that was, he realized, more than he typically afforded to the men he brought to private rooms.
"What are you going to do to me?" Rodney asked softly, as they walked.
And Mordechai, instead of saying whatever I want to, which was what he would have said to any other sub, any other night, said: "That depends entirely on you."
He found a room. Small, private, clean. A sleek black couch, a pillow on the floor, a locked door between them and everything else. He guided Rodney to his knees on the pillow, gently, making sure he was balanced, and sat down on the couch beside him.
Then he put his hand in Rodney's hair. The trembling man leaned into his touch.