by CA Quigg
She winks when she says this, and I swear she’s looking straight at me. But that would be fucking crazy.
“Waitresses have been coming through to take your drinks before the show begins and will be available immediately afterwards as well, but there will be no service throughout. We have fifty girls and one hundred of you, so I know the competition will be fierce. Some girls have stated their interest in a threesome so I’m sure some of you can team up.”
The lights in the theater lower and the music signals the beginning of the show. It’s like I’m watching the start of a beauty pageant with all of the glitz and glamour, sparkles and the pizzazz.
One by one, blindfolded, beautiful bikini clad girls are led onto the stage by chaperones. The men in the audience show their appreciation by applauding and whistling. As much as I disagree with what’s happening, I’m a red-blooded man and can’t keep my eyes off the rows of women, even though none of them compare to the sight I beheld earlier.
And then I see her. In the first row, fifth from the left stands my little mermaid.
My dick twitches and blood surges south. Blond hair softly cascades over one shoulder and rests on her tits, which look as if they’re about to escape her glamorous looking bikini top. She’s wearing spiky heels that lengthen her legs, and her smile is bright but nervous.
Why had she lied about selling herself? I grab a catalog from the bar top and flick through the pages. On page six, I see the amendment. There’s no picture, but she must be Mallory Covington, and if she is, no one is going to get their hands on her. She’s mine. From the minute my hands touched her in the water, she was mine. I want to do everything I imagined doing to her when I was in the shower—and more.
If I have to pay five million-dollars, so no one else touches her, I will.
Chapter Six
Mallory
I can’t see a fucking thing. No one said anything about wearing a blindfold until five minutes before we were due to go on stage. Ha! “Stage” makes it sound as if this is some kind of professional production. When really, it’s just a meat market where the highest bidder takes home the best cut.
But I get the reason for the blindfold. It’s so we can’t see the men who are bidding on us and then turn them down if we don’t find them attractive enough. Not being able to see doesn’t help the nerves clattering around my insides. If anything, it makes them worse.
This isn’t the time for jitters or second guessing. I have a job to do, and that job is to make money so Tanya and I don’t have to magically produce ten-thousand dollars from midair just to be avoid being sued. And to make more than that amount if possible, to save the camp for Tanya’s mom.
Spotlights from above heat my skin and I feel like a fool standing in a glittery bikini and heels I’ve never worn. Vaseline coats my teeth to help me smile. I don’t feel much like smiling though, and the only thing I want to do is take the damn stuff off.
Before we came on stage, we were given instructions on the perfect pageant girl pose. So now I’m standing here with my hands on my hips and have my right leg slightly bent. It isn’t as easy as the pageant contestants make it seem and I have a newfound respect for the girls who work the circuit.
Above all the nerves and terror I feel, I pray someone, anyone, will bid on me. It’ll be so embarrassing if no one wants me.
I can’t help but think how perfect it would be if the man who rescued me earlier is amongst the men in the audience. Maybe he’s here, and maybe he’s the one who’ll outbid everyone else. But then I think: Yeah, and unicorns are real.
If no one bids, even though I’m taking part, I don’t know if we’ll still have to pay the fine. Something I should have asked before signing my soul away.
I’m not sure what my reserve price is because I hadn’t bothered to ask that question either. The past hour has been a rush of hair, makeup, and trying to train myself to walk in high heels. Something I’m failing miserably at.
One by one, the first three girls to my left are called to the front of the stage by an auctioneer with a deep Southern drawl. Since I don’t know what he looks like, I imagine him wearing a ten-gallon cowboy hat, ripped jeans, and a pair of shit-kicking boots.
The other girls have mostly offered dinner with a few extras, and none of their bids go above five-thousand. If food poisoning doesn’t kill Tanya for getting us into this, I will.
The girl beside me, number four, is called, and I whisper, “Good luck.”
“You, too,” she whispers back.
I concentrate on regulating my now erratically beating heart. Sweat coats my palms but I have nowhere to dry them, and I hope whoever I end up with won’t want to shake my clammy hands.
In a matter of minutes, I’ll be the one standing center stage waiting for someone to pay for my company. Me, goodie two shoes, Mallory Covington—who has only ever kissed a few boys and whose dad is a prominent Georgia politician—is selling her body for money. Go figure.
The bidding for number four begins. She’s offering a lap dance followed by oral sex. I try hard to choke back a giggle but fail. If I were to offer a lap dance whoever bought me would end up with two black eyes. My coordination is as good as my singing.
The bids for her begin at four-thousand. A good start. They quickly jump to ten, then fifteen and finally twenty. She must have some crazy lap dancing skills to get that kind of money.
After an eternity of waiting, the auctioneer calls my number. I take a deep, cleansing breath. This is it. Time to sell my body to the highest bidder.
A chaperone touches me on the shoulder, and says, “Let me guide you,”
He smells like vanilla and strawberries and is definitely gay. A gay chaperone is probably less of a threat to the buyers than a straight one.
My bones calcify and I know I’m walking like a rusted CP30 unit.
“Relax,” my chaperone whispers.
“You try doing this,” I hiss back.
“I have,” he replies.
“Not in heels and a bikini you haven’t.”
“That’s what you think, darling. Stop here.”
I stop walking, and my chaperone steps away. I want to cling on to him and beg him not to leave me. Acting like a deranged Klingon would really bring in the dollars. While the auctioneer begins to give my details, instead of falling apart like I want to, I strike the same pose as before. This isn’t so bad, I try and convince myself.
“Mallory Covington is a pure Georgia Peach. And I’m sure you all agree she looks sweet enough to eat.” The crowd murmurs in agreement. “She’s a stand-in for her friend Tanya, who unfortunately suffered an awful case of food poisoning, bless her heart, but Mallory is offering everything her friend offered. You’ll find the details in your catalog.”
After a brief silence, the auctioneer says, “Do I hear ten thousand?”
Years drag by, and no one speaks up. I will my shoulders not to sag. No one wants me. I should have known. Where are we going to get the money to pay the fine and keep the camp open?
“Ten thousand,” someone finally calls. He sounds ugly.
“Twelve,” someone else calls. He sounds sweaty.
“Fifteen.” This one sounds like he smokes fifty packs a day and chews nails for breakfast.
But I’m relieved they’re bidding. I feel like I shouldn’t be, but I’m so relieved I could cry.
Twenty then thirty then fifty.
The numbers rise fast, and I can’t keep up. The last number I hear is one-hundred and fifty thousand, and I’m about to pee my pants. That kind of money is insane and will for sure keep the camp open. I don’t think about what I have to do to earn it. I’ll worry about that later. Whatever it is, it’ll be worth it. I hope.
“One-fifty going once. Going twice. So—”
“Two hundred,” someone shouts.
“Three.”
“Four.”
“Six.”
The same three voices shout numbers over and over, going up in increments of fifty until
the number stands at seven-hundred thousand dollars.
It’s a game to them. I can tell they’re outbidding one another for the fun of it. If that’s how they get their kicks, who am I to complain?
“One-million,” a fourth voice calls. This voice is husky and deep and sends shivers up my spine. Yes, please, my now hard nipples say.
But this has to be a joke. Who in their right mind would pay one-million dollars for me? The voice isn’t familiar, and I wonder who it belongs to and why it took him so long to speak up.
“One million. Going once. Going Twice. Sold.”
The sound of the auctioneer’s gavel hitting off the lectern is a sound that’ll ring in my ears for the rest of my life.
“Congratulations, Sugah,” the auctioneer says. “You’re now a very wealthy young lady. Use this money wisely.”
Too stunned to acknowledge him, I simply nod.
My chaperone, the same one as before, places his hand on my shoulder and guides me backstage.
“What just happened?” I ask, tearing the blindfold from my eyes. “Is he here? Who bought me?”
My chaperone has already left and is onstage escorting number six.
A beaming Alexandria struts towards me. “Aren’t you glad you decided to participate?”
“Sure. Yes.”
In reality, I don’t know if I am or not yet. I won’t know until I meet whoever’s bought me. I glance all around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man who owns me for the remainder of spring break.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I ask. “I don’t see anyone.”
“You’re to go to the main office on the top floor of the hotel,” Alexandria says. “You’ll find out all you need to know there.”
“He’s gross and ugly and repulsive, isn’t he?” I wring my hands, and my stomach ties itself in knots. Seller’s remorse kicks in, and I want to say I’ve changed my mind. “That’s why he isn’t here. Oh, God. I don’t think I can do this.”
“Does it matter what he looks like?” She asks with a kind smile. “For a million dollars, I’d lick his feet and call him Daddy. It wouldn’t be the first time, believe me.”
Chapter Seven
Mallory
Standing outside the office on the top floor, I shuffle from one foot to the other. Knocking on the door will change my life forever, but a million-dollar deal is a million-dollar deal. I lift my hand to knock, but before I do, the door swings open.
It’s him.
Oh, dear, God. It’s him.
He’s wearing the hell out of a tight gray t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. I want to say I don’t recognize you with your clothes on, but I’m not sure if he’s the kind of man who likes lame attempts at humor.
When my eyes begin to sting, I realize I’m staring and blink. He stands back and gives me a broad smile that reveals his perfect teeth.
“Glad you could make it.” He says it as if I had a choice. Wait. That isn’t fair. I had every choice in the world, but selling my body is the choice I’d made. Even if I'd made it because Tanya and I desperately needed the money.
“Come in.” He places his finger tips on the small of my back and a round of shivers race through my body.
He guides me into the office, and when the door closes, my heart skips and beat, and I gasp.
“Scared?”
“A little jumpy. I’m not sure what the right etiquette is now. Do I genuflect? Strip and fall to my knees?”
He laughs, and the rich sound puts me somewhat at ease.
“None of the above. At least not yet. You’ll know when.”
I’m not sure if he’s joking or if he’s serious. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You don’t have to ask if you can ask me a question.”
“Why did you pay so much for me? This morning on the beach, you seemed disdainful towards whole idea of an auction.”
His blue eyes flick over my face. “I didn’t want anyone else to have you. Didn’t want any of those men to touch you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Didn’t think I’d be able to track you down, but here you are.”
“I didn’t want any of those men to touch me either,” I agree. “And you… I’ve thought about you.”
“That so? What did you think?”
“Stuff.” Mortification swamps me, and I stare at the floor. I can’t tell him I’d hoped he’d buy me. After all, I was the one who’d said I wasn’t for sale.
“Do you want to know what I did after I left the beach?”
“Sure,” I croak.
“The minute I got back to my room, I took a shower, soaped myself up and jerked my cock nice and slow until I came all over my hand. The entire time, I imagined your sweet mouth blowing me. Imagined your suds-covered breasts swinging from side to side when I take you.”
My lips form an “O” and arousal floods my bikini bottoms.
“Do you like that I did that?” he asks. “Do you like the idea of me jerking off to thoughts of you?”
I give a quick nod but don’t say anything, because I’m not sure what to say, but I did like the idea. Very much liked the idea. The thought of his cum running down his hand as he fantasized about me is the stuff of dreams.
“Tell me what you want, Mallory.”
I can either lie and act like I don’t know what I want, or I can tell him the truth. I decide on the truth.
“You. I want you.” Right here, right now, I want him. Want him to do all of the things I’ve never done before. “I don’t even know your name and hear I am telling you I want you. Talk about being forward.”
“Bryant Sinclair. This is my resort or one of them.”
I try to hide my surprise and saunter over to a window overlooking the sparkling Gulf. He follows and stands behind me.
“We don’t have to do anything. That’s not why I bid for you.” His warm breath caresses my neck and goosebumps dot my skin. I’m glad I’m facing the window and not him because one look in my eyes, will tell him I’ve already fallen for him. Or maybe I haven’t. Maybe I’m suffering from some kind of knight is shining armor syndrome where I’ve fallen for my rescuer.
I should be relieved by him telling me we don’t have to do anything, but I’m not. I’m disappointed. “A million-dollars is a lot of money for nothing,” I say, almost as an invitation.
“Not for nothing.”
“What if I said I want to do stuff…things with you, for you?”
“Stuff and things?” He moves my hair out of the way and places a kiss on the nape of my neck. I moan at the ribbons of excitement curling down my spine and at the warmth gathering between my legs. The feel of his lips against my skin is so much better than I’d dared imagine.
“You know, stuff and things like sex,” I say in a shaky breath.
“Like sex, or have sex?” He reaches around and arranges the neckline of my robe until my shoulders are revealed. And he begins placing barely-there kisses over my shoulder.
“Have sex…” My words trail off.
“I said I wasn’t going to touch you, but you’re irresistible.” His fingers grip my waist possessively, and I’m surprised by how much I like the feeling.
I lean my head against the cool window and watch the aquamarine waves crash against the sand.
Bryant presses his hands to the glass on either side of my head. “Why did you take Tanya Haywood’s place? On the beach, you told me you weren’t for sale.”
“Long story short. She’s my best friend and got food poisoning. I had to take her place. It was that or pay a ten-thousand dollar fine.”
“If it wasn’t for the money, would you still want me to do stuff and things like fuck you? Still offer me your virginity?” He gathers my hair into a ponytail and tugs until my follicles sting, and, again, I’m surprised by how much I like it. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in my response. “I would.”
“Right answer.”
He turns me around to face hi
m. His pupils are dilated, and I watch his face as he studies my mouth. I want him to kiss me. Desperately.
His tongue darts out and grazes my lower lip, and a small moan works its way up my throat. Auctioning myself was the right choice. With every fiber of my body, I feel it, I know it.
He unties my robe and guides it down my arms until it falls to the floor. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
My cheeks flame at his words. “I’m not beautiful. Far from it. I’m passable.”
“More than passable. You’re perfect. You’re everything any man could want.”
“Even if I go swimming and get pulled away by a rip current?”
Amusement shines in his eyes. “Even then.”
I know I don’t know him, but I believe he’s telling me the truth. Why would he lie? It’s not like there aren’t a million other girls out there he could have.
He lifts his fingers to my chin and tilts my head upwards, and my pulse thunders a mile a minute. Never breaking eye contact, he lowers his lips until they hover over mine. Maybe I’m imagining it, but static electricity seems to spark between us, and if Bryant doesn’t kiss me soon, I might combust.
A needy whimper that sounds more like a squeak comes from my throat. It’s been way too long since someone’s kissed me, and I don’t realize I’m aching for that connection until now.
“What if I told you I won’t always be this gentle or slow— that that as the week passes, I’ll demand more from you?”
I swallow hard. “Like what?”
He flicks his tongue over the seam of my lips, and I roll my lips inwards so I can taste him.
“Like tying you up. Like spanking, and whipping you. Like having you do everything I desire.”
My stomach flip flops but in a good way. “I…wow…and if I don’t like it?”
“You won’t know until you try.”
He runs his fingertips down the column of my throat. How can someone’s touch make the entire world vanish? Makes it seem as though nothing but the two of us exist?
