Auctioned to Him 4: His Addiction

by Charlotte Byrd

  “It was and it is, I guess.”

  “That doesn’t sound too convincing.”

  Liam doesn’t respond.

  “Did you two have a fight or something?”

  He shakes his head.

  “No. Nothing major, anyway. I just don’t know if this is the right thing to do.”

  “What? The wedding?” I stop the golf cart.

  “Why are you stopping?”

  “There’s no one here anyway. What’s going on?” I ask. I’ve never heard him talk like this. I’m not the biggest fan of Kora, but I know that he loves her. Something big is up. Unfortunately, I’m not the guy to handle it.

  “It’s just that she has wanted to get married forever.”

  “I know. She has been quite a nag.”

  “I wouldn’t call it that,” Liam says, “but yes, she has been a little annoying.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I ask. This is something I’ve been meaning to ask him forever. He and Kora have been together for many years. And by together, I mean tied at the hip. They were practically married as is, they just never bothered to have a party or do the paperwork.

  “Why didn’t I what?”

  “Why didn’t you want to get married? I thought you two were solid. You never dated anyone else. And neither has she. Not that I know of, of course,” I say.

  “No, we have been faithful. Very faithful, actually.”

  I didn’t know there was such a thing – too faithful – but okay.

  “I never knew that you wanted to be with anyone else,” I say it in the most polite way that I can.

  “I never did. And I don’t now.”

  “So what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” Liam shakes his head. “I guess I’m just scared. I mean, it’s just going to be Kora for the rest of my life. One woman. Wouldn’t that scare you?”

  “Well, yes, of course,” I shrug, “but I’m completely different from you. You were with Kora and no one else for years. And you didn’t have any second thoughts. You don’t want to be with anyone else. Getting married isn’t going to change that.”

  “It won’t?”

  “No,” I shake my head. “Besides, if anything changes between you two and you no longer want to be with her, there’s always divorce.”

  He looks at me, and we both crack up laughing.

  “You’re such an asshole,” he says through the laughter.

  “I’m not the one thinking of standing up my bride on our wedding day,” I joke. “C’mon let’s play some golf.”

  * * *

  After a few long and blisteringly hot hours on the golf course, I get back to the room for some peace and quiet. I look at my phone. I’d like to go for a swim and then make love to Avery again, but there’s not much time. Besides, she’s nowhere to be found. Instead, I sit back against the headboard and do something that I’ve never done before: research the target that I’m supposed to eliminate tonight.

  Don’t you just love that kind of language? Instead of a person, a human being, we say ‘target.’ Instead of kill or murder or assassinate, we say ‘eliminate.’ It’s supposed to make things impersonal, but the people in the government who have created that language are not the ones actually tasked with the elimination. They aren’t the ones who pulled the trigger. They aren’t the ones who have to watch the target’s family gather around and try to bring him back to life. No, to them they are just numbers. Successes or failures. But no amount of detached, corporate bullshit speak is going to make them that to me.

  I scan some articles about Sanchez from the New York Times, The Telegraph and some other uncensored South American newspapers. From the English-speaking newspapers, he comes off a dictator. A strong man who consolidated power based on his control of the military and his charisma. Basically, a fascist. But the Spanish-speaking newspapers are probably more spot on. Ever since he took power, thousands of young people have disappeared never to be heard from again. There are rumors of secret torture camps in jungles. Not one person who has been arrested has been found. The families have given up all hope. The major newspaper from Buenos Aires repeatedly refers to him as ‘The Butcher of El Salvador.” And I know that they do not exaggerate and do not flirt with the truth the same way many American and English newspapers do.

  Fine, I decide, turning off my phone. As much as I don’t agree with political assassinations and as much as I hate my job, I have to do this. I can’t screw this up. Sanchez has to go. And, if I retire after this mission, perhaps taking out this guy isn’t so bad.

  Chapter 22 - Avery

  “Wow, you look…” Logan says, trying to find the right words, “amazing.”

  I smile. He’s actually speechless. I wasn’t expecting that, but it’s a nice surprise. I never thought that a man who seems to have everything – he does have a private plane – would be left speechless by an average girl like me. I glance at myself in the mirror. Though, I have to admit, I do clean up nice.

  I’m wearing a light pink dress, which is crafted in organza with panels of lace and tulle. Cynthia helped me pick it out and said that it was perfect because it managed to balance a simple silhouette with feminine drama – whatever that hell that means. Personally, I like it because it’s sleeveless and tight-fitting, accentuating my waist and bringing extra attention to my cleavage. You can never go wrong with that. It’s cut right above the knee, bringing attention to my sun-kissed legs.

  “You look really good too,” I say, giving him a brief hug and peck on the cheek. He wraps his hand around my waist, pulling me close to him, but I press my index finger onto his lips before they reach mine.

  “Uh, uh, uh,” I say flirtatiously.

  “Oh c’mon,” he shrugs his shoulders from exasperation. “You can’t look this good and not let me kiss you.”

  “Do you know how long it took me to do this makeup? I’m not a natural at it, you know. And I just got the lipstick just right.”

  He smiles and extends his arm to me. I take take it and we proceed out of the suite.

  “Look at us,” Logan whispers. “We already sound like an old married couple.”

  He’s right! Oh my God! The idea sends shivers down my spine. He can’t be serious. I look up at him. I expect to see an expression of panic at what he had just said, but instead he seems to be at peace with it. It’s a joke, of course, but then it’s not a joke. We walk the rest of the way to the wedding in silence.

  I love how dashing and handsome Logan looks in his classic fit, light beige suit. The light blue tie brings out his eyes and, after a day in the sun, a bit of his old tan is coming back. As he leads me down the long, marble staircase, I feel like a princess.

  The lobby of the hotel blends in with the outside world. Its twelve-foot floor-to-ceiling windows are always open, blending seamlessly with the sand and the ocean outside. The light breeze, which sways the kneeling palm trees, enters the lobby, consuming the senses with an aroma of salt and freedom.

  The ceremony is held outside in a tropical garden. Logan shows me to my seat and goes up to the front to stand with Liam. I look around in awe. This lush, sun-drenched setting is arranged in such a way that it allows nature to take the lead. There are rows of white chairs facing the ocean, and the simple bamboo arch is decorated in dahlias. The palms in this area of the garden seem to kneel inward, as if by design, to create more intimacy for the space. The ceremony itself is romantic and touching. Liam and Kora wrote their own vows and neither can get through theirs without crying. This makes everyone at the ceremony tear up, including me.

  After cocktails at the beach, we are lead back to the dining hall for the reception. Tall candles with matched and mismatched brass candleholders dot the dining hall, making the place feel magical. Calligraphed escort cards topped with delicate crowns complement the nature-centered theme, and eclectic vintage chairs make the place feel historically romantic. The tables are topped with many different tapered candles and lush, low centerpieces of dahlias. Single-blossom accents
wind their way down the length of the table. The color palette of a spectrum of soft greens and creamy tones with notes of blush and coral matches the surroundings.

  “Isn’t this place just magnificent?” Dolly comes over to me.

  “Oh my God, it’s gorgeous,” I say, giving her a warm hug. She’s dressed in a tight, lavender dress and adorned with large diamonds around her neck, ears and hands.

  “I’m glad that you decided to come,” she says. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I nod.

  “I hate to admit this, but I think you were right about Logan. We do seem to make a good match.”

  Dolly’s eyes light up.

  “It’s definitely a risk,” she says, “but I’m glad to hear that it’s working out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know, Logan doesn’t have the best reputation when it comes to women. I mean, women love him and he loves them. But for a long time, I had my doubts that he would be happy with just any one woman.”

  I take a deep sigh. Perhaps, he won’t be.

  “But after talking to him about you. Let’s just say that you have made quite an impression.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said that you make him feel like no other woman ever has.”

  “Oh wow,” I smile. “That’s…nice to hear.”

  “Hey there,” Logan comes over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Aunt Dolly.”

  “Logan,” Dolly says raising her eyebrows with a mischievous look on her face.

  “I hope you two aren’t gossiping about me,” he says.

  “Oh you know me better than that,” she waves her hand. I’m not sure how big the diamond ring is that she’s wearing on her left hand, but it looks heavy.

  “Of course, we were gossiping,” Dolly smiles at him. Logan shakes his head.

  “Then I hope you were saying something nice.”

  “Of course,” she says.

  “Avery?” he turns to me.

  “Actually, Dolly here was telling me that you apparently have the hots for me,” I say. I’ve had two glasses of champagne already, and it has gone straight to my head.

  “I have the hots for you? Is that what she said?” he asks, jokingly. “I’m sure that’s exactly the words that she used.”

  “Okay, so she didn’t say that,” I say, smiling at Dolly. “What she said is that I apparently make you feel like no other girl ever has.”

  “Oh my, Dolly. You’ve been bad,” he wags his finger at her. “That was a private conversation.”

  “I know I’m sorry,” she shrugs.

  “Well, is it true?” I ask. I would never have had the courage to talk like this if I weren’t a little tipsy. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing.

  Logan looks straight at me. His eyes narrow, as if he’s evaluating if I really want to know the answer. For a moment, I feel like he’s going to say no, but then he flashes his pearly whites at me.

  “Of course,” he says with total confidence. “I haven’t met anyone like you before.”

  I smile. We are locked in a moment. When I finally catch myself and look around, I see that Dolly has disappeared.

  “She left,” Logan whispers not breaking eye contact with me. His gaze is intense, and it sends shivers down my whole body.

  “She really knows the right time to exit,” I say.

  “Well, she is a professional.”

  It’s one of those exchanges where we are talking about one thing, but thinking another. The words don’t matter, and I don’t even know why we’re saying them, except that there’s the social expectation that something needs to be said.

  His eyes finally let go of mine and travel down to my lips and then my neck and toward the top of my breasts. I can feel his gaze on me. It is so exhilarating and erotic that my feet grow numb.

  “Do you want to go somewhere?” he whispers. I nod.

  A few minutes later, we’re alone in our suite. All the windows and the doors to the patio are open, and there’s a nice salty breeze circulating around the place. Moonlight streams in turning everything in the place a mysterious silver-grey tone. Neither of us dares to turn on the lights.

  I head toward the bed, but Logan stops me in the middle of the room. He leans into me. His fingers run along my jawline and bury themselves in my hair. Slowly, he removes some of the hairpins and lets them drop. They make little dinging sounds when they hit the floor. He takes a step closer to me. I feel the unevenness of his breath on my lips. I wait for our lips to touch, but he surprises me. He demands that I wait. Instead, he leans down and runs his lips over my neck. Gently. Quietly.

  I bury my hands in his hair and pull his head toward mine. I have to taste him. I have to touch his tongue with mine. When our lips finally meet, shivers run down my body. His tongue feels rough and strong. He grabs my face and kisses me more passionately with each breath. He’s kissing me as if he’s trying to prove something. I like it. A lot. He devours me, and I devour him.

  Suddenly, he pulls away from me, and takes a step back. His eyes run over my body, from top to bottom. I try to approach him, but he puts me back into place.

  “What…” I’m about to ask him what he’s doing. But he puts his index finger on his lips.

  “Shhhh,” he whispers. He walks around me and unzips my dress. It falls effortlessly to the floor. He undoes my strapless bra and then grabs at my breasts. Slowly, with kisses, he makes his way to the front of my body and places one of my nipples into his mouth. He’s gentle at first, carefully playing with it, as if it were a bing cherry. Warmth courses through my body, and I feel like I’m running a fever. My knees grow weak, and I lean on him for support. His body is hard and sturdy, and it holds me up seemingly without much effort.

  In the meantime, Logan’s kisses intensify. He moves on to my other breast, squeezing my nipple in between his teeth, and toeing the line between pleasure and pain. I remove his jacket and tie and unbuckle his belt. His underpants fall to the floor. My hands feel rushed, and they shake in anticipation. At first, he doesn’t cooperate, but eventually gives in. I run my fingers over his hard abs, each pectoral muscle is illuminated by the light of the moon. He looks photoshopped. For a brief second, I worry about my own less than perfect body, but when he kneels down before me, placing all of my breast into his mouth, all of my insecurities vanish.

  He pushes aside my panties, and spreads me open. He runs his fingers over me, teasing me before thrusting them inside. I tilt my head back. He runs his lips along my thigh, then up to my navel and then down again.

  “You taste so good,” he says licking me. Another wave of warmth runs through me and this time, I’m certain that I’m going to fall down. He isn’t holding me up anymore, and my legs are too weak to do it for me. With what seems to be my last ounce of strength, I pull away from him and grab his large cock. It pulsates and throbs in my hand. I run my fingers over its every line and curve. His eyes roll to the back of his head. I pull him toward the bed. Another moment later, he’s inside of me. Neither of us can toy with each other anymore. My fingers dig into his shoulders.

  “Avery,” he whispers over and over.

  “Logan,” I moan into his ear.

  Our hips move as one.

  “I’m getting close,” I whisper.

  “I love you,” he says. A moment later, my legs grow completely numb and my toes bury themselves into the bedspread. A warm, soothing sensation spreads through my body. A few thrusts later, Logan says my name a few more times and then collapses on top of me.

  Chapter 23 - Logan

  While I’m trying to catch my breath after one of the most intense orgasms of my life, my mind runs a mile a minute. Did I really just tell her that I loved her? I’ve never said those words in my life to anyone. Well, not anyone except my mom, dad and siblings. Definitely not to a girl. But Avery isn’t just a girl. She’s a girlfriend. Wow, even that word, girlfriend makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It sounds so off
icial.

  I get up and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  “You okay?” Avery asks from the bedroom.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  I stare at myself in the mirror. Not really fine at all. She does not know this, definitely doesn’t even suspect it, but I’ve just crossed a threshold. Took a big step. Not one that I ever thought I would.

  I wash my face, rubbing it hard with a towel. I look at myself in the mirror again. Everything about me looks the same. Even my tan is coming back. There’s the beginning of those nasty little crow’s feet around my eyes. There are the strong, broad shoulders that are perfectly balanced with the narrowness of my waist. I seem the same, but I don’t feel it. What is this feeling? And why does it make me feel like I’m suspended in weightlessness? As if I’m scuba diving in that middle section, far enough from the bottom of the ocean floor and too far away from the surface that I don’t see either the ground or the waves.

  And then it hits me, perhaps this is what it’s like to actually care about someone? Maybe this is what it means to be in love?

  I walk out of the bathroom. Avery is sitting on the bed, wrapped in a bed sheet. Her hair is all messed up, her makeup is a little smeared and I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful before. Her knees are pulled up to her chest and she’s holding something in her hand.

  “Someone called you,” she says. I glance at her hand. That’s my other phone. Shit.

  “I was going to get it for you, but when I searched through your jacket, I found two.” Avery takes out her other hand and shows me both of my phones.

  “Why do you have two phones?” she asks.

  I don’t know what to say. I freeze.

  “Logan! Why do you have two phones?” she asks again, this time less patiently.

  “I have to have another phone for work.”

  “For work? What work? You don’t work.”

  “Yes, I do,” I take the phone from her.

  “What do you do?”