by Amy Faye
Auctioned To Daddy
BDSM Romance
Amy Faye
Published by Heartthrob Publishing
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Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…
She bobbed her head gently, his fingers interlacing with her hair.
“Wetter,” he said softly. She tried to be sloppier. It wasn’t hard, not with her mouth spread open so wide. Harper could feel him pressing against the back of her throat as his hips moved to meet her head, as he tried to take what he could from her. She gave willingly. It was too good to do anything else.
And then, all of a sudden, he took a grip on her hair, hard, and pulled her off. Harper took a deep, gasping breath as she did, the pain emptying her lungs in an instant and demanding that she refilled them on her own.
“God,” he breathed. “That was…”
The way that he looked at Harper made her womanhood tingle with the knowledge that he was going to take her next. That there was no avoiding the last part of this. The part that she’d been looking forward to since the first time that she’d seen him, days ago.
“Lay back,” he said. She did what she was told, her hips sliding forward so that she could lay out on the leather-upholstered bench seats. The air coming out of the vents was hot, now, and it matched perfectly with the feeling of the environment in the cabin. She felt like she was on fire.
Her mystery man took her legs under her knees and lifted them up to fit around his hips, lifting her ass up off the seat and tucking his own legs underneath. He lined himself up with her entrance before he even bothered to pull her panties aside. He pulled them off to one side then with one hand, and lined his tip up nestled in with her folds using the other.
His hips rocked forward, and she held herself steady. It was big, she thought again. Too big. Impossibly big. She felt herself stretching, felt herself trying to open herself up. She relaxed. She’d never had anything like this. Never had to take anything this big, this deep, this… much.
Harper’s eyes forced themselves shut. She needed it. She was going to get it, too. With time. Her eyes closed and she focused on the sensations inside her. His head scraped her insides in the most delicious possible way. She let out a long, low sigh.
Then he started to move. It was slow, at first. There was a little voice in Harper’s mind, pleading with her. Faster. More. Need more. Need it faster. She didn’t realize until she’d been pleading with him for several seconds that the voice was more than in her head. She was saying it, and God damn it all, did she mean it.
He didn’t oblige her, though. His hips moved slow and deep. When he finally did start to move faster, to give her more of what she wanted, Harper realized why he’d hesitated. Her mind blanked immediately. It hurt. He sped up only a little bit, but the feeling of his cock inside her was about to drive her nuts. It hurt so good. Her breaths came in low gasps. Harper forced herself to calm down. There was a lot more to come. His hips moved gently, rocking against hers.
Then he started moving faster again, and Harper’s attempts at holding herself together fell apart quickly. She wasn’t sure what made her cry out, whether it was the pain or the pleasure. But she knew one thing for certain, as his low groans rose to match her own.
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One
Harper Summers kept her eyes on the ground. It was easier that way. She’d never had much time for dealing with other people. Never had much patience. But she could hide it. She’d learned how to do that, at least. But after the house emptied out of its last remaining occupant, other than herself, she didn’t even have the patience for that. Just a whole lot of annoyance and frustration.
She picked up her groceries, hefted the bags into the crook of her elbow, and started towards the door. She hated this place. It was too expensive by far. She had the money, in theory, but not if she was going to keep the house. Not if she was going to keep up her lifestyle.
Harper kept her eyes on the ground because she didn’t want anyone to see what was in them. It wasn’t for them. It wasn’t for anyone in particular. It was a peculiar form of resting bitch face. She’d always been the sort to look like she was angry or annoyed, with her thick eyebrows that folded together easily into an expression of annoyance when she wasn’t being careful not to.
But this was a little bit different. Because now, she was angry. She was angry at everything and everyone, and at the same time, at nobody and no one. There was nothing to be done about it, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault. But she was angry, and angry enough to beat the ever loving hell out of anyone who got in her way.
It wasn’t a good look for her. It wasn’t a good look for anyone in her family, frankly, and she wasn’t about to leave everyone she’d lost as a bad memory because she let herself look someone in the eyes with that look on her face.
All of that was fine. It had worked for days now, and she’d learned something very important. When you’re not going to move, people figure it out. Nobody walks into you. They’ll go around when they decide you don’t see them.
Not that she wanted to move for them. Harper wanted to pick a fight, deep down. So if walking into someone was going to happen, and they were going to lose their cool about it, then she was ready for that possibility, too. As long as someone walked in front of her, she was going to kick their ass, because that was what she did now. That was who she was. She had nothing else except sleeping and eating and wondering what the fuck other people did when things went completely sideways on them.
All of that was precisely why, when she was walking out of the Whole Foods on the other side of town, carrying a too-full armload of groceries, she didn’t hesitate to bowl the man in front of her down for a second.
She didn’t see him in advance, after all. So she didn’t have more than a split-second to react to him appearing. It wasn’t any time at all, really. And in the split-second that she had, she wouldn’t have reacted by trying to get out of the way if she could. She’d have reacted by trying to knock him off his feet.
He didn’t go off his feet, though. The fact that he kept his balance as he stumbled back pissed her off. Everything did. She was never a bitch before, but she was now, and that was how it was going to be for her, from now on. It was a reality that she’d already consigned herself to.
“Hey,” she growled, hoping to beat him to the punch. “Watch where you’re going!”
Then she looked up. He had an expression that matched hers. It was almost a match made in heaven. He was a good deal older than her, but he had aged like someone who was only temporarily down from Mount Olympus. Technically ageless, except for a few lines around the eyes and a stern expression that people only developed moving into their middle years.
“Yeah,” he said, and moved past her. She watched him go. He stepped into the grocery store without looking for a cart and without picking up a basket, and then disappeared from her view as the automatic doors closed behind him.
“What was his fucking problem,” Harper muttered to herself. She was the one with the problem, and now it had evolved into two problems. Problems that were connected, but separate in a way, too.
First, she wanted to pick a fight, and she wanted to be right, all at the same time. By itself, that was a recipe for disaster, because she knew better than to actually believe that she could have it both ways.
Second, and more importantly, because for the first time since she’d inherited the house, sold the business, and lived on the trust that her parents left behind, she’d thought a
bout something other than how miserable she was with the whole thing.
She’d thought precisely how good it would feel to fuck that man, and how badly she wanted to be seen with him.
That pissed her off more than any of it. More than the desire to fight, though that was certainly up there. More than the fact that she was going to be going home to an empty house. More than the fact that she had nothing to really live for but the red-hot stone of hate in her stomach.
After almost a year, after the grieving and the complaining and the blaming and the hate, she had something she wanted, and she didn’t deserve it. So fuck him for making her want him. What the fuck was his problem, indeed. She pinched her face into an angry snarl and stalked back to her car, set the bags into the back and slid into the driver’s seat, and screamed into the empty car cabin.
She’d get control of herself. Because she wasn’t going to embarrass herself, or her parents, or her family. She was going to hide her anger, and as long as that gorgeous bastard didn’t show his face again, she’d have no trouble doing it.
Two
Harper tapped the left mouse button obsessively. The way that she always did, these days. There was nothing but text under the pointer, and it highlighted a word in blue. Auction.
Then it highlighted the whole paragraph with the third click. With the fourth, it removed the whole highlight, and returned the text to looking just like everything else on the page. This was a mistake. Or it was a great idea.
The one thing that she knew, deep down in her gut, was that she couldn't keep doing what she was doing. There was too much trouble with all that. Too much to worry about.
Besides, the whole concept wasn't that crazy, right? It was only temporary, and she didn't have to worry about what happened at the end. She'd have a little more money, a story to tell, and she wouldn't have to worry about rationing out her cash. She'd have enough to last another five years or more, if the results were anything like she expected.
Then again, maybe they wouldn't be. She was doing a whole lot of math that made a lot of assumptions. That's not how you make a safe plan. That's how you get yourself into trouble. And as much as she wasn't any kind of a math genius, she knew one thing: you don't count your chickens before they hatch.
She reads the entire agreement again. This can't really be legal. But that doesn't matter, if nobody reports it. And what are the odds that someone was going to report the site within the next week?
Harper pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, lowered her face into the steam from her coffee cup, and took a drink.
It was like Roman slavery, not like plantation slavery. The company put limits on what you were permitted to do to your slave. The limits were very specific. No permanent damage, for example. No human trafficking. They stay on your residence or in your company. At the end of the year, you let them free.
There were a thousand questions about how those rules were enforced, and most of them weren't answered in specific. That was smart, but it was dumb, at the same time. If they were up-front about their methods, then it would be easier to circumvent them. Someone could just avoid whatever the security would do. Then, if they get caught afterward, they just take the punishment on the chin.
Maybe there was some answer on the buyers' site about what the punishments are specifically, but Harper couldn't imagine anything that would really deter someone. Not the sort of people who could buy a person. If they wanted to kill their slave, for kicks, then they'd pay the price. Easy as can be, and then they're off scot-free.
There aren't that many people who want a slave, after all. A servant is good enough. You can hire a maid for a couple hundred dollars a day to come clean up. A gardener, a cook, whatever. You can hire a personal assistant to take care of day-to-day stuff. You can even hire a whore, though it's not really legal.
Then again, Harper reminded herself... neither is this. It's a big secret for a reason. But she'd made it this far. As far as the page that went through the whole contract. There was a lot of legalese, but it was also explained in very simple, straightforward terms. Harper guessed that the explanations were probably limited to the most common 2000-odd words of English, just in case someone could only sort-of read the language.
She scrolled through again.
One year, beginning on the first of the following month, and ending on the final day of the twelfth month after that. In her case, it would be even more convenient, because it was the time of year that she knew was going to be the hardest. Right at the end of the year, when everything was all about "family." A family she didn't have any more.
There were limitations. Birth control was discretionary – the seller made the decision in advance, and put down whether or not they'd be using any. It was a selling point.
The other negotiable term was the acceptable level of violence. A woman who was willing to get beat to hell and knocked up, and one who looked good, was worth her weight in gold. But there were lines Harper wasn't willing to cross, in spite of the money it might make. It wasn't like she needed it that badly.
She bit her lip hard. She was making a mistake. She knew that. But she'd made plenty of mistakes in her life. Her father always made sure that she knew that. And this was just going to be just one more. One more that stipulated phenomenal restitution for any permanent damage, and child support if required.
She closed her eyes. It was a mistake. She should just close the window, forget she'd ever heard about it, forget all the research she'd done. Move on with her life.
Harper's finger shifted over to the rubber wheel in the middle of the mouse and with her eyes still closed, she scrolled down. Her eyes opened as the text whipped upwards. Her hand moved, and the mouse pointer on the screen moved with it. Her finger hovered over the clicker for a second.
And then the text was replaced with a form to fill out. It started with her name. She typed it. A range of dates that she could hold the auction. A place to upload photos.
She'd already taken them. Already put them in a folder on her desktop, separate, so that she could upload them all at once, quickly and easily. She'd filled out the form three times already, as practice. So she didn't have to make any decisions. This one could be practice, too. She told herself that she could stop any time. She could still change her mind.
After all, this was a mistake.
There was a drop-down box beside the text "Level of Violence." She selected the second option from the top. Light sexual violence permitted. No blood or blades.
Another drop-down below that one. The text read "Birth Control." She clicked. The options showed out in front of her. She frowned for a moment. This was a mistake, she said to herself again. But she didn't have to make a choice, not really. Because she'd already made it. When the drop-down menu closed, the word "None" was left in the box.
She looked over the form. It wasn't long. There were very few pieces of information a master needed from his slave. Contact information, hard limits, and the auction date. It was best to get a month in advance, if you wanted a really premium price. But she was looking to make a mistake.
In a week, the bidding would start, as long as she clicked 'Submit' at the bottom. Her lips pressed together, and then her teeth pulled at her lip, and then...
The screen disappeared as she clicked. A moment later it was replaced with another. The text was short and said only one thing: Submission Received.
Three
Harper’s head was swimming, which was exactly what she wanted. It had been the whole goal. Spend another night out on the town before things change big time. Before she finally has to face what her life had become, and was about to change into. The bass of the music thumped a little too loud, and the sound of it practically forced the air out of her lungs.
She danced without thinking about what she looked like. Without thinking about whether or not anyone was looking, without thinking about whether or not someone was going to think she looked like a bitch.
A voice cut through t
he sound of the bass thumping. “Feeling better?”
She opened her eyes. Who on earth? He was standing right in front of her, and he wasn’t dancing. All around him, the room seemed to be going crazy. A hundred people who were all lost in their own worlds, just like Harper had been. Until someone broke in. If he’d broken someone else’s concentration, they didn’t let him keep their attention long enough for her to notice.
She recognized him immediately. She couldn’t possibly forget a face like his. Just like he’d looked a couple of days ago. His hair was slicked back, but it was long enough that she could see it trying to fight back against any attempts to control it.
“What?”
“I saw you over here and thought I’d make sure you were feeling better.”
“Why?”
“You seemed upset the other day. You want a drink?”
Hailey heard the implied question there, and knew it had nothing to do with her drinking preferences. She only spent a moment to think about it. One more night of freedom. She couldn’t tell herself that she wasn’t at least a little bit interested in him. It was just too big a lie.
“Sure, I could drink.”
She took a step towards him. His arm wrapped around her shoulder, and when he took a step forward she followed. He seemed to have an intrinsic sense of the pulse and movement of the crowd; he never slowed nor sped up to make it through. An opening would show up at the exact moment that he needed, and it would feel as if he had already diverted to step into it.
His arms were thick and strong. Not thick enough that he felt like he spent all day in the gym, but enough that she felt comforted by it. He didn’t seem to look down at her much at all until they were off the dance floor, crossing over to the drink counter. A woman stood there with a vaguely flirtatious smile on her face. But she wasn’t going to get him, because Harper had already done it. Or he’d gotten her, but it didn’t matter.
