Ivy: The Ties That Bind (Auction Night Book 4)

by Ellie Masters

  Me?

  I’ve never had a man interested enough to hang around.

  Maybe I need to step outside my protective bubble and drop my inhibitions? What I wouldn’t give for the freedom my sister enjoys. She teases me all the time, saying I’m a prude. When we were younger, she told me I should join a convent.

  Do they even have those anymore?

  A convent might have been a good fit, except for the aching nothingness inside me. I don’t understand why emptiness consumed me, but there is something about this place which captivates my imagination. Are there answers to my questions waiting for me here?

  This hallway freaks me out with the way it absorbs sound. I can’t hear my footsteps. There’s nothing of the busy street outside. There aren’t any windows. I’m traveling down a long, mysterious tunnel with no idea what lies at the other end.

  It’s dim, too.

  I hadn’t really noticed before, but it’s hard to see. The only source of light are the candelabras lining the hall. The candles are fake, but they flicker and dance as if alive.

  I’m leaving the twenty-first century behind and entering a fantasy realm full of darkness and desire. I’m surprised the lamps aren’t gas, but I like the ambiance the candles bring. And yes, none of this is real. Just let me have this moment to live out one of my deepest fantasies. There’s no reason to insert reality here.

  Finally, a door.

  Roughhewn wood with an iron keyhole grate in the middle has me approaching with caution. What am I supposed to do?

  When I raise my fist to knock, a tiny door behind the iron grate opens and a woman’s face greets me. Brilliant blue eyes stare out at me and I don’t have to see any more to know this woman is a beauty.

  Great, exactly what I don’t need. Whatever confidence the man at the door gave me fades beneath the competition this woman presents.

  “Hey there!” Her bubbly greeting erases my scowl and brings a smile to my face.

  I don’t know why I’m smiling, not when I’m trembling inside, but there’s an innocence to her voice, a sense of friendship and belonging I desperately crave. I don’t understand what this means. Confusion and fear pull at me.

  “H-hi.” I try not to stammer, but I can’t stop the nervous butterflies swarming in my gut.

  All I can see are her eyes, brilliant blue orbs which remind me the lackluster hazel coloring mine. They make me insignificant and forgettable.

  Depending on my mood, my eyes change color from brown to green, or so others say. I don’t see the change, so I don’t know if they’re telling the truth or not.

  “Hello, Master Edge.” Her gaze flicks over my shoulder.

  I have a name to match the man I can’t stop thinking about. There’s a presence about him I can’t ignore. It's like he sees inside of me.

  "Michelle." He responds with a gravelly rumble. "Please take care of my date."

  His date.

  I like the sound of that.

  "Yes Sir.”

  "Little mouse, there is something I need to take care of. Michelle will take care of you until I come and collect you."

  The idea of being collected by him sends sparks of electricity down my spine. It's intoxicating and arousing.

  Michelle smiles. “Don’t worry. Master Edge will be back in a minute."

  "Yes." He plants his broad hand on the small of my back. "Someone forgot to get enough rope for the auction. Michelle, she is my personal charge. I trust you understand?”

  "Yes Sir." Michelle gives me a long look and I’m not sure what to make of it. It’s not one of jealousy, more curious than anything else.

  "Now, if you'll excuse me…" Without another word, Edge leaves me. He spins around and marches back down the hall, which leaves me with Michelle and a shaky feeling floating in my belly.

  I'm really doing this, and instead of being scared, I'm terribly excited.

  “It’s been some time since he’s brought someone in.” Michelle smiles at me.

  “Um yeah, I guess. He mentioned the auction.” I'm surprised I say that with a straight face.

  “Hang on. Gimme a second and I’ll get this thing open. It's unusual for Edge to sponsor someone.”

  “He’s not my sponsor.”

  “You sure about that?” Her eyes twinkle as if she’s a part of a secret I’m not privy to. “If he let you in, he's your sponsor, although I think he wants to be more than that. The auction, huh?"

  "Yeah, he wants to bid on me."

  "Step back for a minute. The door swings out.”

  I take a step back while she closes the tiny door. A few moments later, a squealing of hinges sends shivers down my spine. The door creaks open.

  My mouth gapes when I finally see her, but I close it before she notices. The girl is a Blonde Bombshell of the nuclear variety, and she’s wearing a genie outfit, like she stepped right out of a harem or was summoned from a lamp.

  I can’t help but stare at her tiny waist, the crop top with loops of chains and the barely-there shorts. They’re not shorts, but they’re not panties either. They’re indecent and perfectly appropriate for her outfit. Her legs are both covered and bare at the same time. Floaty gauze forms the faintest outline of pants, but I can see right through the thin fabric. And it gathers at her ankles where it attaches to what looks like leather cuffs.

  She clasps her hands in front of her, takes one look at me, and scrunches her face. “Well, that’s a look.”

  I glance down at my faded jeans and the T-shirt with the stains. Why did I have to stop for a bite to eat? I’ve never felt more self-conscious. I should leave, but I don’t.

  She takes my hands in hers. Before I know what’s happening, she’s spreading my arms wide and sizing me up. It’s the same kind of examination Edge gave me with one major exception. Her gaze is appraising whereas his had been ravenous.

  “We can get you dressed up easy-peasy,” she says.

  “Dressed up?”

  She releases my hands and takes a step back. “Definitely. You need to get out of those wet clothes, and you're not going up on the block looking like that. Now, what’s your thing?”

  “My thing?” I really should have something better than two word replies.

  She spins around and the pink gauze of her legs floats on the air. “Never mind. I know exactly what to put you in.” She turns and gives me a wink. “I know what Edge likes.”

  I gulp and look down. The next words out of my mouth aren’t ones I can say with a straight face. “What does Edge like?”

  Why do I care what he likes?

  “Edge prefers leather. Now tell me, are you into sensation or impact play?”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I think I’m going to find out.

  Chapter 5

  “Is this your first time?” The blonde tugs me along. “My name’s Michelle, by the way.”

  Michelle leads me around the thick wooden door into another realm. Left to my own devices, this is where I would normally tuck tail and run, only she has my hand in hers and I can’t find my voice to refuse. I should. I should rip my hand out of hers and run back down that hallway.

  I don’t.

  I follow her lead and ignore the thump, thump, thump of my heart rattling around inside my chest.

  I barely see the room she leads me to with the lockers against the wall. I say nothing as she encourages me to strip out of my street clothes. I’m a snake shedding my skin, becoming something else.

  Something new.

  And I have no idea what I’m doing.

  She brings me to another room. This one is filled with rows upon rows of things which have me scratching my head. Leather and lace, she says. Well, five minutes into this and I’m shoving my body into a contraption of very little leather and even less lace.

  There’s no rational explanation for what I’m doing. I shouldn’t be eager to dress like this. Yet, I am. My pulse is pounding and my palms slick with sweat. My breaths are deep and too fast.

  This
evening belongs solely to me.

  Michelle stops at a desk and pulls out a sheaf of papers for me to read. Somewhere between divesting myself of my street clothes and changing into whatever it is I’m wearing, she and I are becoming the best of friends.

  There’s an easiness about Michelle I don’t understand. She’s not eager to put me down. There’s no malicious intent to what she does, at least none that I can tell. I’m waiting for the proverbial hammer to drop, but nothing happens. I have no idea what to expect once we’re through with what I’ve dubbed The Preliminaries but Michelle is honest. I trust her. I’m not used to that.

  My ass slips against the leather seat and there’s a squeak as my skin sticks before it slides. Michelle ignores the sound and passes the papers over to me.

  “It’s standard NDA language.”

  “NDA?”

  “Non-disclosure agreements?”

  “Why do I need to sign an NDA?”

  Her mouth twists, not into a frown but rather something short of a laugh. “Sweetie, we have people from all walks of life who come here. This is a no judgment zone. People come here to escape the outside world. You understand how they expect their privacy to be maintained. How would you feel if someone knew you were here?”

  Since I still don’t know exactly what it means to be here, I arch a brow. It is my way of being noncommittal. What I hope is Michelle will continue talking and fill in the gaps.

  “Honestly, I guess I wouldn’t want anyone to know,” I say.

  Nobody will know. I'm a ghost. Nobody here knows me and tomorrow I'm going to walk away.

  “Exactly.” She picks up the pen I’ve yet to touch and holds it out to me.

  I grab it and make a show of reading the papers set before me.

  My vision blurs and it’s impossible to read the words. My mind is in a whirlwind thinking about Edge and whether he’ll be back any time soon. Was that interest I saw or merely the vacant hopes of a woman like me? I shake my head. This entire thing is insane, but I lift the pen and scribble my name.

  I’m at that point of no return. Like I need to see this through only because I may never have another opportunity to experience something like this again.

  “Don’t be afraid.” Michelle pats my hand as she shuffles the papers into a neat stack. “We’re all nervous our first time.”

  “How did you know…”

  There’s no reason to finish my sentence, because Michelle gives me a look. She knows, and to be honest, I gain nothing by pretending I have a clue.

  “What happens now?” I ask.

  She places several colored wristbands on the table. “Since you’re a visitor, and not a member, you must wear the black wristband. There are no exceptions to this rule.”

  I glance at the rainbow of colors left on the table as she hands me the black band.

  “What do those mean?”

  “Well, let’s start with Red, Yellow, and Green. Red is a hard stop. You put that on your wrist and no one will approach you.”

  “Really?”

  “It means you’re simply here to take things in, like an observer.”

  “And yellow?”

  “Yellow means caution. It tells the other members that you’re interested but new to us. I might suggest that one for you.”

  “What does that mean for me?”

  “Well, it means the subs will be there to guide you and answer your questions. As for the men…”

  “What about the men?”

  “Well, they’ll approach you with caution and see if you might be interested.”

  “Interested in what?”

  She snickers. “You know…”

  Only I don’t really know. I have an active imagination and all sorts of things are going on in my head, but the truth is I don’t know anything.

  “What is the green one for?”

  “That means you’re open to not only be approached but to engage in play.”

  She says the word play like it means something special. I decide I don’t want green. Now, yellow? I can do yellow. The rationale side of my brain says I need to choose red. It’s what my sister would expect. For that reason alone, I won’t take the red.

  “So, I only pick one?”

  “Actually, you take all three.”

  “That’s confusing.”

  “Not really. Everyone starts out a Red for their first visit, or rather the first hour of their visit. It’s a club rule and enforces caution. You put on the black bracelet, then the green, the yellow, and the red. As the evening progresses you’re allowed to remove one bracelet an hour.”

  I like this system.

  It’s neat and doesn’t force me to make a decision right out of the gate. I point to the purple and pink wristbands still lying on the table.

  “What are those for?”

  A smile curves the corners of her lips. “Well, the purple one designates orientation.”

  “You mean gay?”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  “We don’t discriminate.” She rushes to add, but I’m most definitely not gay.

  I think she’s trying to make me feel comfortable, but I need a man like Edge to take the … well, the edge off this needy, achy pulsing between my legs.

  “You can put the purple one away.”

  She picks it up and places it back in the drawer.

  “And the pink one?”

  “That’s for the auction.”

  I don’t know why, but the thought of an auction is doing strange things to my insides. Standing before a group of men and watching them bid for me is enough to ignite a firestorm inside of me. Men have never fought over me before.

  But Edge said only he would bid on me. I'm still a bit confused by that.

  A glance at Michelle and I doubt my sanity. What makes me think anyone will want me?

  “She’ll take the pink, Michelle.” The deep bass rumble is a shock and I spin in my seat.

  My jaw drops as Edge’s frame fills the doorway. He’s too much to take in. My mouth goes dry as I stare at him. The same is not true of other parts of my anatomy. I’m wet. Like…down there.

  I’ve never felt anything like this before. I don’t know how to act, react, or breathe. It feels like all the air got sucked out of the room, and I feel incredibly small; not tiny or insignificant. I feel oddly special and feminine. I don’t understand what’s going on, except I want more.

  Michelle grips my wrist and slides on the pink band. I am now marked with black, red, yellow, green, and pink. It’s a kaleidoscope of colors and I haven’t a clue what comes next.

  Something is happening to Michelle as well. Her previous take charge attitude disappears. She bows her head and bends at the waist in deference to Edge. Am I supposed to do that too?

  He’s carrying something heavy and he tosses it at her feet.

  “Please take that to Master Sam. I think that’s what he needed.”

  “Of course, Master Edge.”

  My head whips between the two of them. She’s calling him Master Edge? What am I supposed to call him? That question fills me with dread because not only do I not know the answer, but I have no idea how to ask the question.

  “You may leave us now.” He speaks with authority, all the while never taking his eyes off of me.

  Michelle obeys without resistance.

  I watch her disappear with conflicting emotions. I want her to stay, but I also want a moment alone with the man who invited me inside.

  He takes a long, lingering stare at what I’m wearing. A contraption of leather straps barely covers my most intimate parts. I am decent though. I’ve seen myself in the mirror, which is why I know exactly what he sees. The muscles of his jaw bunch.

  “Did I do something wrong?” I couldn’t have, but I feel like he’s not pleased. For some reason this is distressing to me.

  Chapter 6

  Edge quirks up his brow and I’m left to stare at his magnificence. My jaw drops again and I rub the bottom of my
chin. Sure enough, my mouth is gaping. My chin is, however, dry.

  No drool.

  He watches me. I’m not sure anything gets past this man.

  “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he says.

  “Why do I feel like I have?” My question is surprisingly bold and I’m not sure where the courage to ask it came from.

  “I don’t think that’s what you’re feeling, little mouse.”

  A quick glance around the room and I’m stumbling over his words. We’re having a conversation only one of us understands. That person is most definitely not me. I’ve never been more clueless.

  “I’m pretty sure it is.” I may not understand the subtext of what we’re talking about, but I know my own thoughts.

  He takes a step forward, looming in my space. Once again, his actions make me feel...small. It’s not a bad feeling, instead I find it exhilarating. I’m the field mouse staring into the eyes of the hawk and I don’t really care how dangerous that is.

  “No. It’s not.” He speaks with absolute authority and I’m inclined to believe his word over mine.

  Actually, I’m finding it difficult to form a coherent thought with him as close as he is. I smell sandalwood and spice again, I’m beginning to identify those scents as belonging to Edge. The butterflies in my belly are at it again, fluttering in a chaotic dance. That throbbing between my legs returns as well, needy, persistent, and not letting up.

  He steps back and sits in the chair beside me, close but not close enough to touch. I lick my lips because I’m thinking about how his hands might feel against my skin. Or how he might taste if I were to put him in my mouth. I slam my eyes closed, because I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. We’ve only just met.

  A chuckle escapes him and he presses the pad of his thumb against my arm.

  I jump and pull away. He chastises me with a tsking sound, making me feel bad for overreacting.

  “You’re feisty,” he says, then licks his lower lip. “I like feisty.”