Chapter Nine
Chapter
Nine
SAGE
"Sage Holloway, claimed by Malachi Black."
The Magister's words echo through the grand ballroom, slicing straight through my thoughts and scattering them into a thousand pieces. The world feels distant, muffled, as though someone has pressed pause, freezing me in place as reality slips through my fingers.
Three million dollars.
I don't even know how to process it. It's absurd, impossible, the sum alone enough to leave me dizzy.
I glance around the room, and every masked face seems fixed on me, expressions hidden but their curiosity unmistakable.
Heat rushes into my cheeks, scorching my skin, intensifying the blush that spreads down my neck.
I barely register Malachi approaching until his tall, commanding form fills my vision, blocking out everything else. He extends a gloved hand, his presence somehow even more potent now.
"Come, Sage," he says, voice low and unwavering.
Someone gently nudges me forward, and without thinking, I place my hand in his.
Instantly, I'm aware of him—of the heat of his skin beneath the soft leather, the hard, unyielding muscle in his arm as he wraps my fingers around it.
The solid strength of him grounds me even as it sets every nerve aflame.
My heart hammers as he leads me away from the stage.
I glance up at him, trying to read his expression beneath the dark mask, but I see only shadowed eyes and the sharp line of his jaw.
His grip on my arm is firm but not unkind, and even through his gloves, I can feel the heat of his body radiating into mine.
It's disorienting, exhilarating, terrifying.
He guides me to the corner of the ballroom, away from the center of attention, and quietly instructs me, "Sit."
I obey, sinking onto the velvet chaise he gestures toward, the silk fabric of my emerald dress rustling around me. My pulse quickens as I glance around the room, uncertain of what happens next.
A few more auctions, but I'm barely lucid to see who is bidding and for what.
Then, finally, the mood shifts. A rhythmic pulse of music suddenly fills the air, deep and sensual, a drumbeat that echoes straight into my chest. The chandeliers dim, replaced by a vivid wash of crimson neon lights flickering in bursts from hidden sconces along the walls.
The room transforms from elegant grandeur to something far more primal.
I watch, breath hitching, as around us the masked figures begin to move—no longer distant observers, but now participants in an entirely different kind of dance.
Bodies press closer, silk and velvet sliding over skin, masks discarded as mouths find each other in heated kisses.
My face heats as I watch a woman in sapphire silk arching against the wall, her lips parted in pleasure as a masked man trails kisses down her throat, hands roaming freely beneath her dress.
Her soft moans drift toward me, and my body flushes in response.
I can't look away.
Malachi moves closer, his voice a deep rasp beside my ear. "Watch them, Sage. Watch how they surrender."
I tremble as I obey, my breath coming faster now. The room is a blur of sensuality. Couples and groups begin stripping away clothing with abandon, exposing bodies glistening under the red neon lights strobing from unseen corners.
Across from us, a woman drops gracefully to her knees, unbuckling the belt of a man standing above her. He threads his fingers through her hair, guiding her mouth onto his stiff erection. I watch, transfixed, as her lips part, her moan of pleasure lost beneath the throbbing bass.
I shift, thighs pressing together unconsciously as heat coils low in my belly. Malachi moves closer, his chest brushing my shoulder. I shiver at the closeness of him, at the scent of his cologne—dark, rich, addictive.
"Do you see?" he murmurs in my ear, voice deep and sinful. "Do you see how they surrender?"
I can't speak, can only nod as I watch the erotic display in front of me, breath hitching as one woman bends forward over a table, her gown hiked around her waist, a masked man thrusting his cock deep inside of her from behind.
His powerful hips move sharply, driving into her with raw, unapologetic need, her cries of pleasure blending with the music.
My body feels flushed, hot, aching. I know Malachi senses it—he must. His gloved fingers trail gently over the curve of my neck, tracing a delicate pattern across my collarbone. His lips brush against my ear, voice pitched low.
"Imagine yourself like that, Sage," he whispers, dark silk in my ear. "Imagine yourself bent forward, your hips pressed against me as I take you, your body trembling beneath mine."
A soft gasp escapes me. The vivid imagery fills my mind, and I squeeze my thighs together tightly, aware of the wet heat gathering there. Malachi's fingertips skim down my throat, his voice darkening.
"I'd take my time with you," he breathes, every word slow, deliberate, torturous. "I'd savor the way your body trembles beneath my touch. I'd taste every inch of you, slowly, until you beg for more."
My breath catches, heart racing. I'm dizzy with need, watching a woman across the room now bent over the polished marble table, her gown pushed high over her hips as a man thrusts into her deeply, powerfully, while another stands close, feeding her his cock, her mouth wrapped around him eagerly, desperately.
"Oh god," I whisper, my voice cracking.
Malachi's hand slips lower, his touch hidden from view by the shadows. He carefully, subtly cups my breast through the silk of my dress, his thumb grazing my hardened nipple, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. I bite back a moan, my hips shifting instinctively toward him.
"You belong to me now," he whispers roughly, his teeth gently nipping my ear. "Mine to touch. Mine to pleasure. And when I finally strip you bare, Sage, you'll beg for me to claim every part of you."
His other hand slides up my leg, beneath the heavy silk folds of my gown, and he strokes me gently through the damp fabric of my underwear. Pleasure spikes through me, my body arching instinctively into his touch, heat building fast and uncontrollably.
"Malachi—" I gasp, barely audible.
"Quiet, darling," he soothes, his thumb circling deliberately against the soaked silk, sending sparks of pleasure racing up my spine. "Watch them. Imagine it's you. Imagine it's me taking you. Hard. Deep. Imagine my cock stretching you, filling you completely as you beg for more."
I tremble, barely holding back a moan as I watch the decadent scene before us reach a fever pitch. Bodies moving in rhythm, pleasure loud, explicit, unapologetic.
"Soon," Malachi promises, his voice low and thick with promise, "soon, I'll fuck you until you can't remember anything but my name. But for now, Sage, just let go and feel."
His fingers press against my clit again, firm, precise, and my whole body clenches. Pleasure surges through me, overwhelming and consuming, and I shudder, reaching for a silent climax, hidden from view but completely exposed before him.
And deep down, I know—I've never wanted anything more than I want this.