Owned: Highest Bidder

by Willow Winters

  “Come here,” he commands me. “Now.”

  I bite my lower lip, holding back tears, and turn on my heel and make my way over to his desk to stand beside him. I don’t know why I’m so emotional. But something about this moment is off.

  He looks up at me, a sadness in his eyes that tugs at my heartstrings. “Kneel,” he commands.

  I obey his command immediately, sinking to my knees beside him. Swallowing, I look up at him, not sure if he’s going to punish me, scold me, or both.

  I startle when he reaches out and pets my hair softly. “You’ve been a good girl,” he tells me. “You can put your clothes back on if you’d like.”

  My heart drops in my chest. I don’t want to put my clothes back on. I want him to take me. Punish me. Anything.

  “Okay,” I say, rising to my feet, my throat closing. I try to hide my displeasure, but I can’t keep the frown off of my face. I wish I could just disappear.

  Anger sparks in Joseph’s eyes. “I didn’t tell you to get up,” he growls, his deep voice low and dangerous.

  My heart skips a beat and then starts racing, excitement coursing through my limbs. Maybe he will punish me after all.

  I cross my arms over my breasts and try to think of something smart to say. But before I can say a word, he jumps up to his feet and grabs me by the wrist.

  “I can see exactly what you’re doing,” he says in a calm, controlled voice. “I don’t want you to deliberately disappoint me, do you understand?”

  I stare into his eyes, my heart pounding. There’s anger there, but a different kind. One that isn’t attached to sexual emotion. I hate it. I hate that he’s making me feel this way, like I’ve done something so horrible to turn him off.

  “I wasn’t trying to do anything-” I begin.

  “Don’t lie to me, Lilly,” he growls, cutting me off. My heart clenches. I don’t like this. I want to go back in time five minutes and never have stepped in here.

  I square my shoulders, and rather than tell him how I’m feeling, how I’m craving his punishment in the pleasure that he gives me, and how I hate that he’s in whatever mood he’s in right now, I snap, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His grip tightens on my wrist, his eyes narrowing. I can tell he’s pissed off that I won’t tell him the truth. But fuck him. I don’t have to give in to him when he doesn’t give in to me.

  His next words are cold and harsh. “Stop denying it.”

  Anger tightens my chest at his threat. All I wanted was to have a little playful fun, get each other off. It’s not my fault that I’m begging for sex. He did this to me. He made me want it. He made me need it.

  Need him.

  Even now, I’m breathless with desire as he stares at me angrily, his lower jaw bulging out from being clenched tightly. But he doesn’t want me right now. And that pisses me the fuck off.

  Too angry to speak, I raise my chin in defiance, letting him know that I’m not going to do what he wants. He can fucking punish me.

  That’s when something inside of him seems to snap and he pulls me into him with great force, causing me to cry out in shock.

  Next thing I know, his powerful fingers are wrapped around my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. My blood turns to ice as I look into them, and for the first time that I’ve been with him, I feel very real fear.

  There’s darkness there. A cold emptiness that makes a chill shoot down my spine.

  I don’t know this man. Or what he’s truly capable of.

  And that terrifies me.

  The next thing he says frightens me even more, his voice low and very dangerous sounding.

  “Go to your cage.”

  Chapter 18

  Joseph

  She thinks she knows everything, and I’ve been pushing her to find her boundaries. To find that breaking point where she’ll realize she isn’t getting what she wants. So far, she’s wanted to obey me. And every command she’s met head-on. The perfect slave.

  I knew at some point she’d break. I knew I’d ask too much of her. I imagined it would be something much more than simply not telling me that she’s deliberately disobeying me. She’s always had a problem expressing herself though, so I shouldn’t be as shocked as I am.

  I can read her so easily. I know she was disappointed. But this relationship isn’t me being available to her. It’s her being available to me. I’m restless in the leather armchair in the living room, her laptop on my knees as I read through the scene she’s been writing. I’ve given her permission to write every day. When she feels the inspiration, she can do so. I huff a humorless laugh. I’ve given her permission to do whatever the fuck she’d like when my dick isn’t in her. Maybe that was my first mistake. It’s my fault she’s in the cage.

  I take a small sip of the whiskey before sitting the glass back down on the end table.

  I scroll through her scene, reading about the collar the hero has given the heroine. She’s romanticized everything. Her perception of what this lifestyle is, is missing an important aspect. The one where I have control.

  This is why I didn’t want a Submissive. My fingers tap on the short glass in my hand before bringing it to my lips again. I didn’t anticipate that the boundary that would send her to the cage would be refusing to tell me the truth.

  I thought better of her than that. Of everything I’ve asked her to do, that seems to be the least difficult. But maybe she doesn’t want to believe it herself.

  My eyes read over the next scene she’s written, the hero of her book taking the virginity of the heroine. It’s not difficult to see that it was inspired by how I took her. This hero kisses her sweetly, talks to her gently. He makes love to her.

  This man is nothing like me. The stark contrast reminds me of where I came from.

  I remember the first time I saw my father kiss my mother. She was always quiet. Always in the background and never allowed to be around us. I didn’t quite understand it. She wasn’t allowed to interfere, that’s what my father told us.

  She approached him, her eyes wide with worry as she talked in quiet whispers, pleading with him for something. Her eyes kept darting toward us as we sat on the floor of the living room, cleaning the guns.

  My father was rough with her. I watched as he grabbed the back of her hair so tightly he ripped some out. He kissed her hard on the lips, smearing her lipstick across her face before throwing her down on the ground. I remember how I jumped up, how my heart raced in my chest. I knew how hard my father hit, all too well. She landed hard, wincing with pain as she braced herself. But the look on her face changed when she saw me watching, slowly walking toward them. She shook her head, her eyes warning me to stay away.

  That was what we had as an example. It sickened me. I loved my mother, and I couldn’t watch as my father hit her. Day in and day out, she became an outlet for his anger. As my mother whimpered on the floor, I looked back to my brother. Wanting to make sure he was all right. We were only children. But the look in his eyes sickened me. It still does. The smile on his face showed what kind of a man he would be. If you can even call that a man.

  That’s the day I realized that my father was a sick fuck, and the cold dark look was echoed in my brother’s eyes.

  I down the whiskey and close the laptop at the unpleasant memory, setting it on the ottoman and rising from my seat. I ignore the fact that I feel like an asshole. I’m fully aware that she’s under a different impression of what this is. She shouldn’t be. It’s my fault, and I need to fix this.

  I look at the clock and see it’s been an hour. The time has passed by slowly; tick-tock, tick-tock. I wanted to go to her every minute that she’s been in there, but she needs to learn she can’t top from the bottom. I’m the one with control, and she won’t force my hand to get what she wants.

  All the punishment she’s received up to this moment has been for conditioning. The punishment was to help her learn how to please me. Although there’s pain, it’s always been accompanied by far mo
re pleasure. She takes a simple punishment, and then she’s rewarded for accepting it.

  Not this time.

  Hopefully this will be the last time. But I doubt it will be. There is a ferocity in her. A strength that she doesn’t recognize. She may not know how courageous she is, but when most people see me, they cower. She was drawn to my power. That in and of itself shows courage.

  My blood rushes in my ears, and my body heats as I move to her room. I open the door slowly, peeking in to see her curled in a ball on the floor of the cage. The cage itself is large enough for her to stand. I imagined her in the corner with her knees tucked under her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs.

  And that’s just how she is.

  She peeks up over her knees as I close the door.

  Her eyes are red-rimmed. She’s been crying. Seeing her like this hurts me.

  “Are you ready to behave?” I ask her, slowly walking toward the corner of the room. The cage door is slightly ajar; I didn’t lock it, but I know she didn’t leave it. It’s not in her nature.

  She can leave if she wants. At any time, she could go and break the contract. But she doesn’t truly want to leave. She wants to fight me; she wants me to earn her submission.

  And I fucking love the challenge.

  This part of it though, I’m not sure I want to do again. I’d rather fuck her into submission.

  I crouch in front of the cage, opening the door all the way. She watches me with wide eyes. When the door creaks open, her body stiffens as she says, “I didn’t unlock it.” I stare back at her as she continues, her voice soft. “I think you forgot to lock it, Sir.”

  “Did you leave?” I ask as I sit on the floor with my legs crossed. I already know she didn’t. She shakes her head and whispers, “No.”

  “I didn’t forget anything, my flower.” I pat my lap, waiting for her to crawl out to me. “I’ll never lock you in here. It’s in our contract.”

  She seems hesitant for a moment, her movements stuttering.

  “You did read what you signed, didn’t you?” My voice comes out playful. I know she read every word more than once. I know she takes it seriously. Her lips show the trace of a smile, but it quickly disappears as she wipes away the tears under her eyes.

  “Yes, Sir,” she answers beneath her breath as she crawls out. She doesn’t hesitate to come to me, nestling herself in my lap and resting her cheek against my chest. I comfort her, rubbing her back with firm strokes.

  “You know I had to punish you, don’t you?” I ask her.

  She nods her head against my chest as her fingers intertwine nervously. “I do.” She clears her throat and says, “I’m sorry, Sir, I shouldn’t have lied to you. I shouldn’t have tried to push you.”

  I kiss her hair, petting her as she apologizes. I hate this. It’s something I knew that was going to happen, but I didn’t expect my reaction. Or hers.

  “I-” I clear my throat and shuffle her in my lap. I don’t mind that she came to me. I’m dealing with my fuckface of a brother. He wants the money back. The money they planted on me to set me up. He’s trying to get me back under the familia’s thumb. It’s not going to happen. “I will attend to you when I can. But sometimes you have to wait.”

  Lilly nods her head diligently.

  I hook my finger under her chin, and look her in the eyes as I tell her, “Trust me, I would have much rather been spending time with you.”

  I kiss her, the taste of her tears touching the tip of my tongue as she gives into me, parting her lips. Her eyes are still glassed over with unshed tears. I brush my thumb along her cheek, and kiss her again. I say the only words I know that will make her smile again.

  I brush my nose against hers and say, “I think you need to be punished, my flower.”

  I knot the rope at her wrists, tying them tighter. Her lips part, gifting me that beautiful sound.

  Testing the give of the rope, I pull slightly, her small body falling forward. She’s on her ass on the floor. Naked and waiting for me to command her.

  I’m running out of these stupid rules. It’s not about training her anymore, it’s about pushing her limits and simply enjoying each other’s touch.

  I pull her closer to me, her arms bending as my lips brush against hers. My heart seems to slow when I open my eyes and find her pale blue gaze shining back at me. There’s a look there I should fear. Something that tells me I should end this. But I don’t want to. I refuse to.

  Chapter 19

  Lilly

  I let out a groan, rubbing soothing circles on my right ass cheek as I stop in the hallway outside of Joseph’s room.

  I’m sore all over. From being used. Deliciously used. But I need more of whatever it is he rubs on my ass after he’s done spanking me.

  Over the past several days, Joseph’s given me nothing but sessions of rough, pleasurable sex. At this point, I can’t tell if I’m aching from one of his spankings or his thick cock. I smile at the memory of this morning. No doubt the spanking when it comes to my ass.

  It’s a good problem to have. And I could definitely learn to love it. I just wish I didn’t feel it right now. It’s getting in the way of my snooping. A mischievous grin slips into place. I know I’m being a bit bad, but technically there’s no rule against it.

  For the past hour, I’ve been looking around the house, trying to figure out what Joseph’s hiding. I know he’s hiding something. A part of me is scared to find out. And the other part of me is hoping that I’m just being paranoid. I bite down on the inside of my cheek. He won’t tell me about his past. Or whatever the hell makes him hide away in his study. I’m sure as fuck not gonna sit around waiting.

  The wooden floor creaks in the hallway under my weight the second I slip out of my room. Dammit. I’m not the best at being quiet. My heart stills and I stand frozen in the hallway, glaring at the wooden floorboards. After a moment, I straighten and continue on into his room. I practically tiptoe, my tongue stuck between my teeth as I sneak into his room. I love it in here. It’s so... him.

  Furtively I look around, wondering where I should start first, my heart pounding in my chest. I don’t have much time. I don’t know when Joseph will come out of his study, so I need to move quickly. I should hear him, I keep telling myself. I will definitely hear him when he comes up the stairs.

  I purse my lips as I walk over to his dresser and start digging through it. I go through five drawers, but don’t find anything but neatly folded clothes. Where else do people hide shit? I figured the dresser would be a gold mine. That’s where I hide all my shit. I shut the last drawer gently, feeling a little let down. I look up and spot his bed, a smile curling on my lips. The mattress. I search underneath the bed and then push my hand below the mattress, between the box spring and the frame. I’m weak as shit, and holding it up actually makes me winded. Nothing.

  “Come on,” I mutter, looking around the room frantically, “Everyone hides something under the mattress.”

  I get down on my hands and knees and look under the bed again. He’s gotta have something somewhere.

  I search the nightstands. Nothing again.

  Frustrated, I stop and place my hands on my hips, biting my lower lip and thinking.

  If I had a big house like this, would I hide anything in my bedroom? I mean, how stupid would that be? Maybe I’m in the wrong room. I sure as fuck can’t search his study though. Not while he’s in there at least.

  I’m about to give up and leave the room when my eyes fall on the closet. The door is slightly ajar, and the light is on inside. My pulse picks up speed as I stare at it. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it already. I used to hide in the closets. The thought makes my heart hurt.

  It’s where I found my mother. I think she wanted me to find her before my father did.

  He used to tell me how much I looked like her, until she killed herself. Then I would see that pained look in his eyes, and I knew it was what he was thinking, but he never said it again.

  I know that�
�s why he doesn’t see me much; I remind him of her. I know it hurts him. I understand it. He still loves me, and I love him. Even if our family is scarred from what my mother did.

  I bite my lower lip, shoving the sad memory back where it belongs, in the past, debating on whether I should go digging around more. I’ve already been looking for the past half hour, and Joseph doesn’t spend very long on his own.

  I should leave, I tell myself. I’m not going to find anything in there anyway.

  I start to walk out of the room, but when I reach the doorway, I can’t bring myself to leave without at least checking the closet. Though I know I probably won’t find anything, who knows when I’ll have another chance like this?

  I spin around on my heel and walk quickly to the closet, swinging the door wide as I walk inside. It bangs against the wall, and I wince at the sound. I don’t think he’ll hear it though. Damn my eager ass.

  Not wasting a second, I quickly go about inspecting the large closet, but I have to pause to suck in a sharp breath at the sight before me. Jesus Christ. He has so many suits. And they all look so fucking expensive. Who owns suits like these? I want to run my hands down all of the fine clothing, but I’m not here to look at his wardrobe. Focus, Lilly!

  I go through several of the suits, checking in all the pockets, looking for something, anything that will tell me something about the past I feel Joseph is hiding. I come up empty. I look around, looking for a safe, some sort of bag, anything where something can be hidden. But I don’t see a damn thing.

  I’m about to leave the room when my eyes fall on a shoe box that’s sitting inconspicuously next to a row of shoes. Looking at it, I know it’s probably just shoes in there, but I can’t help myself. I rush forward, nearly tripping to get to the box, and grab it. My heart stutters in my chest at the bit of racket I’m making. I only need one more minute.