Chapter 2 #2
I glare at him and spit out an offended no to cover the fact that my brain is already running a comparison of whether heels would be sexier than flat gladiator sandals.
Gladiator sandals would be more authentic and, you know, bondage-y.
But heels do so much more for my legs, and I like the idea of teetering about all doe-eyed and come buy me, sir in just lingerie and heels.
Or would I be blindfolded? I can’t be doe-eyed if I’m blindfolded, but that would be even sexier. I press my thighs together, and Callum, the observant little fucker, notices and raises his eyebrows in their direction.
Fuck’s sake. I mentally file away a reminder to see if Net a Porter has any heeled gladiator sandals. I mean, I don’t even know if that’s a thing.
Thankfully, he takes pity on me. ‘Yeah, there’ll be an auction. But it’s all for charity.’ He looks sideways at Zach before mumbling, ‘Pancreatic cancer research.’
There’s silence in the room. Zach nods and looks around, unsmiling. ‘Appreciate it, guys.’
Norm thumps his tail on the rug in approval. What a clever doggy he is.
‘Of course,’ Gen says at the same time Rafe mutters, ‘No worries, mate.’
Jeez Louise. I knew he’d lost his wife to cancer, but pancreatic cancer? Even I know that’s a relentless motherfucker. I don’t want to make him feel awkward, but I can’t help casting a glance at him from under my eyelashes. His head is bowed again, and he’s biting his lower lip.
God. The poor, poor guy. Life is so fucking cruel sometimes.
‘The auction proceeds will all go straight to the charity,’ Cal tells me now in a softer voice. ‘But themed nights like this are always good for business. Our members love them, and we get a lot of add-ons.’
‘Do you need volunteers?’ I ask Cal, trying to make my voice sound supportive rather than enthusiastic. ‘Like, to be auctioned off?’
He smiles wolfishly. ‘You bet we do. You game?’
‘Hell, yeah,’ I say, and he laughs.
‘Nice one. I’ll put you down.’
‘I bet Belle would do it, too,’ I muse aloud. I’m amused beyond belief when Rafe practically shoots off the sofa.
‘Over my dead body,’ he growls which, you know, doesn’t seem like the most diplomatic thing to say given the circumstances. But his caveman impression gets a smile out of Zach. He lifts his head from his coffee mug introspection and full-on grins, and it’s fucking gorgeous.
I think my new purpose in life might be to get Zach French grinning as much as possible. For, you know, both altruistic and intensely selfish reasons.
‘That’s right,’ Zach deadpans. ‘I forgot she answers only to you now.’
‘We’re monogamous,’ Rafe snarls. ‘I’m not having her parading herself at some fucking slave auction in front of those wild animals.’ He jerks his thumb in the direction of the hallway that leads to the main club.
‘You’ll just have to make sure you outbid everyone then, won’t you?’ Gen chimes in sweetly. ‘It is for an excellent cause, you know.’
Rafe puts his head in his hands, and I giggle inwardly, because Gen’s put him in a tough position.
He’d be insane to let Belle go up there, even though I already know Belle Two-Point-Oh would love it, but he knows how much money she could raise to fight the illness that took his best friend’s late wife.
I almost feel sorry for him.
‘Tell me more about the format,’ I order Callum now. ‘I need major, major details.’
He shrugs. ‘Pretty straightforward, really. We get the volunteers up on stage—male and female—and auction them off to the highest bidder. They can wear whatever they want, but they’ll most likely be cuffed and blindfolded.’
‘And then what happens?’ I ask, leaning forward.
‘The person who wins them becomes their master or mistress for the evening. The individual they’ve won becomes their sex slave—they can do what they like with them out in the club or in a room.
They have to stay on the premises. We’ll have the private rooms reserved for auction winners only.
You get to say whether you’re happy to be bid for by men or women or both.
You might even see a few people getting together and bidding as a syndicate—then they all take you off together and have their fun. ’
I lick my lips. God, that sounds so hot. I can tell by the way Callum’s staring at me that he’s very much enjoying my reaction. In my mind, I’m already there.
Up on stage, naked or scantily clad.
My hands bound.
My blindfold letting in just the merest sense of light and movement.
Some guy—or, even better, guys—desperate to win me, and then getting me, and taking me off to some room where they’ll get me on my hands and knees, and possibly tie me down or truss me up, and fuck me every which way…
It’s my ultimate fantasy.
My idea of heaven.
And it’s all for a good cause. A great cause.
I’m practically squealing with excitement.
The membership to Alchemy is literally the best perk these guys could ever have bestowed upon me.
Zach interrupts my reverie. ‘That sounds very… demeaning,’ he says. When I look over at him, he’s frowning. Like, if his brows were any closer together they’d be a mono brow. ‘I don’t want anyone being taken advantage of for this… I’m worried things could go wrong. People could get hurt.’
‘Those are both quite different things, mate,’ Rafe tells him gently. ‘You know the rules around consent are watertight here. Everyone who signs up to attend on the night will have to e-sign that they understand the boundaries. But as for the humiliation aspect—’
‘I just don’t know what the slaves get out of it.’ Zach looks not worried exactly, but conflicted, maybe? I can’t quite work out his facial expression. He gestures at me, but he won’t look me in the eye. ‘Like, for people like Maddy. It’s a lot to ask.’
‘Hey,’ I say, and he manages to meet my eyes.
‘This isn’t me taking one for the team. This is literally my ultimate fantasy.
I joined this place so I can be used in all the best ways.
I want to be up there on that stage and for someone to claim me as their prize.
And then I want them to take everything from me and get their money’s worth.
It’s such a turn-on for me. I want some predatory, hungry fucker to claim me and strip me and spank me and mark me and dominate me and work me really, really hard. So don’t you worry about me.’
I shoot him what I intend as a sunny, optimistic smile, but he’s reacting to my total shamelessness with a stare that’s the weirdest mixture of horror and disbelief and conflict and, I swear to God, arousal.
As if he can’t believe I just admitted to all that.
Or he can’t quite allow himself to believe I mean it.
Or, and I can’t tell you why this does stuff to my pussy that shouldn’t be allowed at nine-thirty in the morning, that my admittedly porno little speech has ignited something deep inside him.
A side he keeps very carefully hidden.
A side he’d rather die than surrender to.
Hmm.
We’ll see about that.
I’ve always known it’s the quiet ones you have to watch.