The Dom's Bride: A BDSM Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  I start by googling his name. I expect to find a few scattered results of people with similar names or maybe some obscure reference to him in a high school newspaper or something from college. My eyes widen when a collage of pictures featuring his face and page after page of results featuring stories about him populate the page. Headline after headline practically daring me to click wait. It only takes a quick scan to gather that he’s extremely wealthy, involved in some morally questionable business practices, and has a sort of viral following of gossip-mongering women who obsess over his romantic interests.

  I let my finger hover over the images tab for the search results for a second before my curiosity gets the better of me. I tap the screen and watch as image after image pops into view. I’m torn between staring at the shots of him in suits where he looks like a movie star and the pictures of him that look like they were taken by stalkers. There is an entire set of him working out shirtless on the deck of what I assume is his mansion. I notice one particular picture where his abs are on proud display. I guiltily press the home button on my phone and stuff it into my purse.

  My cheeks are flushed red when I realize I was just gawking at half-naked pictures of a guy in the middle of the crowded conference room, but a not-so-subtle look around confirms that no one seems to have noticed. The seats around me are starting to fill up though as the speakers for the auction are gathering on stage.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. I haven’t even come to grips with being denied the right to adopt Braden yet. It’s lingering in the back of my mind like a dark cloud. I had planned to marinate in my own sorrows for a few days before I even started thinking about moving forward. The setback must be messing with my head, because guys have never had an effect on me like Tristan just did.

  Normally, if I go on a date with a guy it’s out of some kind of stuffy sense of obligation or a pity date. I never really feel like I’ll be interested in the guy. It’s just that I can tell they are interested in me and I would rather avoid the confrontation of refusing them outright.

  But Tristan? I get goosebumps just thinking about our brief interaction. It was more than the few words we exchanged. It was his body language. His eyes. God, his eyes. He had a way of looking at me like I was the only one in the room, or the only thing in the entire universe, for that matter. His eyes carried an energy with them, like being the focus of that gaze added some kind of electric current to my mind that made everything more intense and more wonderful. It was the most surreal experience, and after just a few minutes of separation, I already feel a deep, physical craving to be back in that spotlight. Yet at the same time, his offer feels like a hand extending from that darkness, like an offer to pull me away. But to where?

  Jamie slides into the seat beside me with a drink in either hand and a piece of cheese between her teeth. She jostles and bumps me as she gets settled and starts chewing on her cheese.

  “I miss anything?” she asks. “What’s that? You planning on bidding?” she asks jokingly when she notices the check in my hands.

  “Maybe?”

  She swallows down the last of her cheese and raises her eyebrows. “Uhh, is this supposed to be where I say some kind of responsible friend thing? You know, like blowing money on a charity auction seems kind of impulsive and out of character, especially given the circumstances?”

  I hold up the check for her to get a better look. “One of the guys gave this to me. He said to make sure I win.”

  “One of the bachelor guys?” she asks skeptically.

  “Tristan Rivers,” I say. “I googled him and he’s some kind of billionaire.”

  “And he gave you a blank check?” she asks.

  “He did…” I say.

  “And we’re not making a run for it because?”

  “That’s not funny!”

  “Oh,” says Jamie, who puts on a look of mock confusion. “Did I make a joke?”

  I sigh. “Just because you’re a delinquent, doesn’t mean I’m about to make off with a stranger’s blank check. Even if I somehow managed to get away with cashing the thing, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  Jamie purses her lips in thought. “Fine, but if I start bidding against you, there’s no danger of me actually having to pay the bid?”

  I slap her leg. “Stop it! I knew I shouldn’t have told you. Besides, I don’t even know if I’m going to do it yet.”

  “Of course you are,” she says, shifting her drinks to one hand so she can slap my leg back. “I’ll bid for you if you don’t.”

  The first wave of real panic flutters through me. Knowing Jamie, she’s not kidding, and she just might end up roping me into a date with Tristan. Which, I have to admit, might not be the worst thing in the world to get roped into. Okay, I’d be kidding myself if I said every sexual nerve in my body seems to be begging me to take his offer. I’ve never even felt sexually repressed until this moment, but something about Tristan woke that side of me up and now it feels like I’m an active volcano just waiting to erupt.

  The next few minutes seem to blur by. My thoughts are a dull buzz by the time the speaker takes the stage in front of a large curtain. By now, the entire crowd has filtered into the seats and there are hardly any open spots available. The murmuring crowd hushes when the speaker taps the mic. He’s an elderly man with rosy red cheeks and wild, gray eyebrows.

  “Welcome to our fifteenth annual charity auction!” he says into the microphone without taking his eyes off the cue cards he’s clutching in front of his face.

  “Where’s Heather?” I ask Jamie. Normally Heather doesn’t miss a chance to host the event and give everyone a thorough explanation of how much work it was and how many late nights she had to put in to pull it off.

  Jamie looks thoughtful for a second, then grins. “Probably carving herself an award backstage.”

  I cover my smile. “You might be right.”

  The man on stage pauses to shuffle his cue cards and clears his throat. “And without further adieu, let me introduce the lovely woman whose brilliant vision made this event possible.” The tone of his voice makes it clear he’s reading what’s on his cards word-for-word.

  Jamie nudges me excitedly and my smile widens.

  “She worked tirelessly until her vision of the most amazing night could be…” he pauses to lift his glasses and squint as his card. “Could be a reality. And now the lovely Heather Tillman, ladies and gentlemen!” He makes an unimpressive gesture by lifting his arm just slightly as Heather comes storming onto the stage.

  She looks like she spent two hours on her makeup and hair as she clicks across the stage in her heels. Heather takes the microphone from the man and then not-so-subtly gestures for him to get off the stage.

  Once she has the spotlight to herself, she smiles even wider. “Thank you so much,” she says, even though no one was clapping. “When I first started planning this auction…” she begins.

  Her words fade into a distant mumble as my thoughts wander back to Tristan. My fingertips idly run over the blank check he gave me. I’ve spent so long running from attachments. It just always circles back to my past. Maybe there are some fun moments here and there, but it’s like sliding down a steep hill when I know what waits at the bottom: disappointment.

  I can’t be what men want me to. I can’t give them what they want. I know that because I expect too much of them. Even though I know I’m waiting for the guy who is too perfect to exist to help me start a family, I can’t make myself lower my standards. I’ll always see the flaws in them. I’ll always be watching for the subtle signs that they might not be the right kind of father or husband. So why should I even consider bidding on Tristan? Because you’re doing him a favor, not marrying the man.

  I put my fingertips to my temple and wince. I know I’m making this too complicated but I can’t seem to stop myself. I guess it’s only natural when a single encounter threatens to totally re-write the book on my history with men.

  I know he’s ridicul
ously handsome and I know he’s extremely wealthy. I’m also pretty sure a guy like him would expect sex on the first date. Hell, he might not even be planning on a real date. But why me? That’s the part I can’t figure out. A guy like him could take his pick of the women here, and he decides to give the blank check to me? I’ve never thought of myself as ugly, but I’d be kidding myself if I called myself anything but average. It just doesn’t make sense.

  Yet I’m still holding the check.

  I haven’t torn it up. I haven’t crumpled it into a ball and tossed it away to be forgotten like I should.

  Maybe it wouldn’t have to be so complicated with him… Maybe for once, I could just let go of trying to find the perfect husband and instead settle for the perfect night. After everything I’ve been through, maybe I deserve that much.

  Heather’s words snap me back to the present. “Let’s kick things off with our first eligible bachelor, Henry Sirmans!”

  The crowd claps and cheers more loudly than they have yet, probably just because they know Heather’s monologue on herself has finally come to an end.

  A man walks out from the side of the stage. He’s wearing a suit and is actually pretty cute. If I hadn’t seen Tristan a few minutes ago, I’d probably be even more impressed, but after Tristan, everyone else just seems a little pale by comparison.

  Heather starts the bidding at a hundred dollars, and a handful of women bid the price up until the date sells for three thousand dollars. In all the years I’ve been coming to the auction, it’s the highest price I’ve ever seen a date go for, and the winning bidder—a woman in her thirties with blonde hair and a huge smile—takes the stage to raucous applause.

  The next few men are auctioned off in a similar manner, though the winning bids are less spectacular.

  By the time Tristan’s name is called, my nerves are shot. I still don’t know what I’ll do, but Heather announces his name and he comes striding out to the stage. The sight of him sends a hush over the crowd. Every woman who already bid for a date with the previous bachelors is probably kicking herself right now, and everyone else is likely trying to figure out how much they can afford. And here I am with a blank check, still not sure if I want to bid.

  “Shall we start the bidding at a hundred dollars for this fine young man?” asks Heather with a knowing smile.

  “One thousand,” calls a woman on the opposite end of the crowd. Everyone’s eyes go to her immediately, including Tristan’s.

  I watch the tightness in his expression carefully as he looks at the woman. He doesn’t look surprised exactly, but I can’t figure out what’s going through his head.

  “Well, that’s quite a generous bid,” says Heather. “How about eleven hundred?”

  The silence that follows seems to press in on me until my fingers nearly crumple the check from the force of the tension. A few more moments of indecision and it could all be over. The opportunity will be past me. I’ll be able to go home and think about how unfair it is that they won’t let me adopt. I’ll wallow. I’ll—

  “Three thousand,” calls Jamie with the most ridiculous attempt at a rich person accent I’ve ever heard. It’s like something between British and constipated.

  I nudge her so hard she jumps. “What are you doing?” I demand through clenched teeth.

  “Helping you grow some balls. Besides, if you don’t buy a date with him?” She shakes her head. “I’d kick your ass and take that check out of your unconscious hands to buy it myself.”

  “Wow,” says Heather. “It looks like Mr. Rivers has some admirers!”

  The crowd chuckles at that, but the woman who placed the first bid doesn’t look remotely amused. I look to the stage and catch Tristan’s eyes boring into me. What are you waiting for? I can practically feel the words burning in his mind.

  “Ten thousand,” says the woman who placed the first bid. There’s a collective gasp followed by an excited murmur among the crowd. I lean forward to get a better look at her. She’s pretty. Very pretty. Maybe in her twenties and the kind of woman a guy would oogle whether he was with his girlfriend or not. Classic head-turner. She’s wearing a black dress that proudly displays half her boobs, as if she needed any help drawing eyes.

  Maybe she’s an ex of his. He could have given me the check because he knew she’d be here to bid for the date. It might explain why he picked someone as average as me, too. It would probably look more suspicious to his ex if some knockout won the bid. A surge of cynical disappointment fills me. Of course. He just said what he had to say to get me to feel important. He’d probably ditch me instead of actually taking me on a date anyway.

  All the sadness I’ve been feeling about the adoption wells up inside me and transforms until it’s nothing but hot, fiery anger toward Tristan. It’s not a logical kind of anger. It’s just blind, redirected energy because I can’t do anything about being denied my request to adopt Braden. But this? I can do something about this. I can watch the confident asshole on stage sweat when he realizes he picked the wrong woman to give a blank check to.

  “Fifty thousand,” I say loudly.

  Even more people gasp. A few have actually pulled their phones out to film what’s taking place.

  Heather clears her throat, but her hesitation is quickly followed by a greedy glint in her eye. I see her squinting toward where I’m sitting to get a look at me, but I think I’m far enough away and in a darkened section of the room to keep her from actually making out my face. She doesn’t spend much time in the section of the building where Jamie and I work, and chances are she has never even paid us any attention the few times she has been in our department. There’s still a chance she could recognize me, so it’s a relief when she looks back to the other woman.

  “I just want to remind all of our bidders that the second-highest bid will win if the winner’s funding falls through for any reason.”

  I grin. She’s wondering if someone is just messing with her. I don’t know about the other woman, but my brief internet stalking of Tristan tells me he’s definitely good for the money.

  “Three hundred,” says the other woman.

  Jamie raises her eyebrows. “This is crazy,” she whispers. “Did he really say to bid whatever it took?”

  “Yeah,” I say quietly. “But somehow I don’t think he thought the price tag would be this high.”

  “Get him, girl,” says Jamie.

  For a moment, I start to wonder if I’m taking it too far. A moment of impulse pushes that idea down and I find myself calling out the next bid before I’ve taken time to think it through.

  “One million,” I say. My voice carries across the room, which is shocked into silence.

  Heather makes a very unfeminine sound in her throat that echoes into the microphone. “O-one million dollars,” she says faintly. “For a date with Tristan Rivers.”

  She doesn’t even ask if someone wants to bid more because the woman who was bidding against me is angrily picking up her bag and storming out of the room.

  “We have a winner,” she says.

  There’s scattered applause at first that turns into a roar as everyone stands and turns to look at me.

  My cheeks flood with warmth and I look down at the blank check in my lap. “He’s going to kill me,” I say.

  “Yeeeah,” agrees Jamie. “I’m going to actually say that’s a possibility. If you want to run for it I can cause a scene to cover your escape.”

  2

  Tristan

  I wait in a room at the back of the venue with Heather. She can’t seem to stop biting her lip and grinning. “That was…” she says for the fifth time. “Just spectacular. People will be talking about this for years.”

  “About the sizable donation to your cause?” I ask.

  She jumps slightly. “Yes. Of course. About the charity.”

  There’s a knock at the door behind us. I turn in my chair to watch as a man with a shaved head leans in. “The bidder is here,” he says.

  Heather fusses with
her hair and takes a deep breath. “Let her in,” she says.

  The girl I gave the blank check to steps inside. I still don’t know her name, but I don’t plan to get too attached anyway. Attachments are… messy. I straighten my tie unconsciously as I eye her in the brighter light of the small office. She’s my type. There’s a certain overbearing confidence that comes with classic beauty. Women who know they are beautiful can become insufferable. This woman though… She doesn’t know how beautiful she is. I can see it in the way she hunches her shoulders just slightly. In how restlessly her eyes dart to what she really wants to look at and then away again as if she’s afraid of being caught.

  She has black, silky hair that catches every last shred of light from the fluorescents overhead and throws it back. I’m very particular in my tastes, and the more I look at this woman, the more intrigued I become. From the almost dainty, feminine slope and point of her nose to the imperfect set of her teeth that adds just the right amount of originality to her face… It’s all perfect.

  I almost feel guilty when I stand to shake her hand and see the way she can’t meet my eye. I know what I’ll do to her. I know once I’ve had my fun with her, I’ll set her aside like everyone who has come before her. Even as I know it and hate myself for it, I can’t stop. I can’t stop from touching the small of her back as I guide her to the seat beside mine and relishing in the soft warmth of her skin and the way goosebumps ripple across her arms a moment later.

  She wants this so badly she can barely contain it.

  I take the seat beside her and grip the armrests too hard. I’m not used to the indecision. For a moment, I’m worried I’ll call the whole thing off and set her loose. There is surely a special place in hell for a man who would sully something so pure and pristine as this woman, but how can I stop myself? How could I let her go when I’ve felt her against my fingertips and smelled her warmth.