Christmas Auction: An Owned Short Story

by Moore, M. K.

  3

  Helena

  Holy fucking shit. I still don’t know why those bitches were laughing, but my man is hot as fuck. I am a lucky, lucky woman. I haven't taken a deep breath since I met him. He flusters me. His voice is sexy as hell with a deep Georgia accent that I have always found hot. He has broad shoulders and is built like a linebacker. If I had to guess, I’d say he was between two hundred and seventy-five pounds and three hundred. His biceps look like he lives in the gym. They are huge. He’s at least six foot four, if not taller. He is the first man I’ve ever met that makes me feel petite. His beard is full except for the places he has been, I think, burnt. Rather badly too. I want to ask questions but I don't. His green eyes are expressive and I feel like he can see into my very soul.

  It's like he knows me. Really knows me. His fingers on my pussy made me shake in anticipation. He turns from me giving me privacy, though I don't want or need it. I have no idea what made me so bold.

  I can’t believe this man is going to be my husband. I pull on what I think is a sexy bra and panty set from Torrid. Then I dress quickly in a maroon knee-length dress with a bit of flair. It has lace sleeves and a plunging neckline. I also throw the offending leather nightmare of a dress into the trash can. After those go-go dancer boots, I just want to be barefoot, but that won't do right now. I slide on a pair of navy blue ballet flats and grab my matching clutch. From my regular purse, I grab my wallet and my cell phone, shoving them in the bag.

  “Ready,” I say. He turns to look at me.

  “Shit, you look beautiful,” he says.

  “You don't have to say things like that,” I say, then immediately regret it.

  “What did I just say to you?” He asks.

  “You were serious?” I ask. I am surprised when his hand go around my throat, squeezing me. For the first time, I notice his hands are burnt as well. I can see the evidence of unsuccessful skin grafts on the back of his hands. Others appear to be successful. I stare at his face, learning every welt on it. He looks sexy. Dangerous. Determined. I smile, thinking he looks like he’s mine.

  “I would never joke about something like that, Helena. You should know now that I do not like repeating myself. I don’t speak often, you will learn that as well. When I say something, you can rest assured, I fucking mean it.” All I can do is nod as his hands are still tight around my throat. Why the fuck is that so hot? Somehow, I know he’d never hurt me. He slowly releases my throat, allowing me to gradually catch my breath. “Tell me you understand me,” he says.

  “I understand.”

  “You understand, what?” he asks. I have no idea what he wants to hear here. Purely based on my love of romance novels, he could be interested in Sir, Husband, or Daddy. Oh shit, he could be into something I don’t even know about yet.

  “I understand, Husband,” I say, taking a chance.

  “Very good, Wife,” he says quickly kissing me. Much too quick for my tastes. He grabs my hand and opens the door. We take a short walk from my door to the elevator.

  Back down we go. We locate Peter right where we left him.

  Checking my watch, I see that we were only gone fifteen minutes, but it seemed so much longer than that.

  “You two ready now? Mr. O’Toole, we got your wire transfer. Ms. Milton, we wired your eight million to the escrow account in your name.”

  “Thank you,” I say. Kiernan just grunts. I can’t help smiling.

  We meet the minister who was a kind, old man. He married us quickly, at Kiernan's request. He's adorable. Peter and the minister's wife served as witnesses.

  “You may now kiss your bride.”

  I'm not at all prepared for the kiss we share. It's erratic and positively carnal. The minister clears his throat, but still, we don't stop. He only stops when I moan.

  “Come, wife, l need to claim you in our bed.” He takes my hand and leads me. I'd follow him anywhere.

  “I almost did,” I say loudly. I laugh when he growls.

  “Don't tempt me,” he warns.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, changing the subject. He looks on edge and while I like that, I don’t want him mad at me.

  “Home.”

  “To Atlanta?” I question.

  “Yes.”

  “What about my things?”

  “I had my guy get them. They are already in the car,” he says as he signs the marriage certificate.

  “Your guy?” I question taking the pen from him and dramatically signing my name. Edith, the minister's wife gives a copy to us.

  “My security, Ezra and my driver, Thomas.”

  “Are you Christian Grey or something?”

  “No.” Is all he says. He goes back to his conversation with Edith.

  “The state of Nevada will mail the certified copy of your license within seven business days. Congratulations. May your marriage prosper. Merry Christmas.”

  “Thank you, ma'am. Merry Christmas to you as well,” he says politely.

  The next thing I know, we are in the backseat of a Lexus, speeding towards the airport. He hasn't released my hand except for the brief moment I put my seatbelt on.

  He's quiet. Like he's got something on his mind.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask, rubbing my fingers over the scars on the back of his hand.

  “What position I'm going to fuck you in first,” he says quickly.

  “Liar,” I say honestly. Somehow, I know he's lying. He chuckles.

  I lean over closer to him and kiss his cheek.

  “I know we just met, but you can tell me anything,” I say before kissing his bearded cheek. He doesn’t say anything for several minutes.

  “I am having a rare moment of self-doubt,” he finally says. I lean back and stare at him. My eyes wide.

  “Self-doubt?” I question.

  “You showed me yourself, but I did not return that favor. I knew you’d back out and I couldn’t have that.”

  “What are you talking about.”

  “It’s not just my face and hands that are burnt.” Oh.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask. I don’t have it in me to walk away from this man, but he doesn’t know that. Yet.

  “I have never talked with anyone about this.”

  “Talk to me,” I say softly.

  He kisses me passionately and then he begins to speak.

  4

  Kiernan

  “Five years ago, my pharmaceutical manufacturing plant caught on fire,” I say. I was being honest when I said I never spoke about this incident like this. Sure, I spoke to the cops and the fire department, but I can already tell this is different. She is staring at me intensely. I can almost hear her urging me on, even in the silence.

  She doesn't say anything like she knows I don't require words of pity that ultimately mean nothing.

  “I was not a good man, fuck I'm still not. I had a single-minded focus. I was consumed with making a name for myself, for my family. I had to get them out of the trailer park I grew up in. They both worked hard for the roof over me and my sister’s heads, but it was never quite enough. I watched my mother toiling in the heat for pennies and my father working as a bouncer in clubs in the seedy underbelly of Atlanta. I promised myself I’d make it big and neither one of them would have to work a day again. I am happy to say I kept that promise. I made my way to the top of my class at UGA. Then I started my company with some startup capital. It wasn’t long until we created Fenostin, as a cancer treatment. While I didn’t cheat my way to the top, I didn’t care who I stepped over. I've never done anything that wasn't for a selfish reason, except for the day of the fire. I heard a woman screaming. I made a beeline for the lab. I found her pretty quickly. I lifted her onto my back, I still don’t know why I did it that way, but I am glad that I did. As I was leaving with Kristin, that was my scientist, a wall of flames shot up from nowhere. Her being on my back shielded her, but I took on the flames. I had managed to get both of us out alive. Her more so than me. Eighty percent
of my body was covered with third-degree burns.

  I almost died from the loss of fluids. My kidneys were failing. I was dehydrated. There were times that I wish I had died. Somehow, I didn’t. I defied the odds the doctors gave and I survived. I was in the hospital for three weeks. I had several surgeries. In that time, no one came to see me but my immediate family. I realized that I was going to die if I didn’t change my ways, but-”

  “A leopard can’t change their spots,” she says, cutting me off.

  “Something like that,” I say.

  “Eighty percent?” she questions.

  “Eighty percent. My back was spared. Which is good, because that’s where the grafts came from.” she nods and runs her hand along my thigh. Thank God, my cock was spared.

  “What caused the fire?” she asks.

  “Arson. A corporate spy. The police caught him. Thankfully, no one else was hurt.”

  “You’re a hero,” she says.

  “One good deed doesn’t erase all that I’ve done.”

  “An argument could be made that you were helping your family, also a form of heroism.”

  “Well, be that as it may, you can’t leave me.”

  “What makes you think that I would ever want to?”

  “You haven’t seen me naked yet.” She shivers and smirks.

  “I, for one, can’t wait for that. Besides, No one ever looks down on you more than yourself.”

  That gives me pause. Of course, she is right.

  “Who are you?” I ask in awe of both her grace and beauty.

  “I’m your wife, and we are at the airport.” We drive out onto the tarmac. “A private plane?”

  “The best way to travel,” I say, laughing.

  “We have a corporate jet, but I rarely get to use it. No need really. Everything I do is in Atlanta business wise. Also, my brothers would never let me use the jet for personal reasons. They are too responsible. Except for Waylon, he’s the bane of our existence.”

  “Your brothers sound like assholes. This one is at your disposal,” I say climbing out of the car.

  “Oh, they aren’t. I promise. You’ll like them.” Thomas helps Helena out of the SUV, and normally such an action wouldn’t piss me off, but his hand lingers far too long for my liking. I rip her from his grip and lift her into my arms. “Oh, my God, Kiernan. I’m too heavy, put me down this instant before you hurt yourself.” I ignore her. She weighs no more than a feather as I carry her up the stairs, into the plane. I deposit her directly on one of the plush leather seats. I lean down and buckle her in. She kicks her shoes off and I take her purse, tossing it on the next chair with my tuxedo jacket.

  “I don’t like other men touching you,” I say, sitting down. I fasten my seatbelt.

  “He wasn’t touching me per se. He was helping me. And another thing, you shouldn’t carry me like that, it can’t be good for you.”

  “Babe, I can deadlift four hundred and ten pounds. You have no need to worry. I will always have you. Used to be able to do a little more, but I’ve been working my way back up to where I was before.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that, so I won’t say anything.”

  We settle into our seats. Jeanette, my flight attendant comes over to us.

  “Hello, Mr. O’Toole. Would you like your usual?” she questions.

  “That would be fine, Jeannette.” She hovers. She doesn’t normally linger, so I quirk an eyebrow at her.

  “Something for your friend?” she asks putting her hand on my forearm. The fuck? Before I can even jerk away from her touch, Helena takes matters into her own hands.

  “His wife would like a glass of red wine,” she says through clenched teeth. Her over-emphasis of the word “wife” makes me smile. She then removes Jeanette’s hand from my arm forcefully. Jeanette winces in pain.

  “Wife? There is no way you are his wife,” Jeanette says like an angry teenager. She rubs her hand where Helena grabbed her. I smile. My girl has claws. I love it.

  “Yes. My wife. Get her the wine she requested, Jeanette. That will be all,” I say dismissing her. Jeanette huffs and walks off. Helena crosses her arms over her chest. The plunging V of the neckline of her dress makes it easier for me to see her luscious breasts.

  “She seems attached to you,” Helena says. She is not happy.

  “I don’t know why,”

  “I am sure you fucked her or something and now she’s pissed that you cast her aside.”

  “Nope. I don’t fuck the help. A strict policy of mine. You are the first woman to make my cock hard.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever. Do you get what I am saying, wife?”

  “There’s no fucking way. I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe it, baby. I’ve never fucked anybody but you.”

  “You haven’t fucked me,” she says breathing heavier than she was a moment ago.

  “Not yet.” Her mouth opens in an “o” shape. So I use my index finger to gently close it.

  But I am going to. I am going to fuck her so good she’ll be ruined for another man, not that I’d ever let her go.

  5

  Helena

  I have never felt like this before. His story was heart-wrenching, but I know he didn’t want my pity. Don’t ask me how I knew that though.

  “I didn’t like her touching you,” I whisper, after the bitchy flight attendant drops off my wine and his bourbon, going back wherever the fuck she came from. I take a sip of my wine and set the glass back down.

  “It sucks, doesn’t it,” he says.

  “Yes. Why do I feel this way?”

  “I can’t answer that for you, babe. I can only tell you my thoughts on it.” I wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t, I nudge his arm.

  “Well, are you going to?”

  “Not yet. We aren’t ready for that,” he says cryptically.

  “Okay,” I say sullenly. I drink the rest of my really cold and delicious wine, just like I like it, in one gulp. I have no idea why I am sulking, but it is what it is.

  “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. O’Toole. This is your captain, Jason, speaking. Congratulations on your nuptials.” I hear a glass break somewhere behind us. Stupid Jeanette. “Our flight time to Atlanta is four hours and twenty minutes. The weather is crisp and clear all the way home. We will begin our taxi down the runway in a few minutes. Once we have reached altitude, I will turn off the seatbelt sign and you will be free to move around the cabin.”

  “Is now a good time to mention that I am deathly afraid of flying?” I ask, terrified.

  “I got you, babe,” he says taking my hand in his larger one.

  “That’s a song,” I say.

  “So it is. Do you want me to sing it to you?”

  “You sing?”

  “Not well.” Yeah right, but I am curious to hear his thick southern accent singing to me. I am honestly not sure if my panties can handle it, but I am going to give it a try.

  “Sing to me,” I demand. Imagine my surprise when he does. He puts his lips close to my ear and starts singing. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of his voice. Cher never sounded so good. Goosebumps have popped up all over my body.

  “We are in the air, and Captain Jason turned the seatbelt sign off,” he says. I open my eyes and look at him. I quickly unbuckle my seatbelt and climb over the arm of the chair that is in between us. My dress rises up my thighs as I sit on his lap. His hard cock is digging into my ass. I kiss him.

  “Thank you, Kiernan. That was so sweet of you.”

  “Anything for you, Helena.”

  “Anything?” I need this man. My husband.

  “Anything.”

  “Take me,” I whisper.

  “You deserve something special, not the Mile High Club.”

  “It will be special because it’s us.” He reaches around me and flicks a switch. “What was that?” I ask.

  “Do not disturb,” he says casually. I quirk my eyebrow at him. “My parents use this pl
ane too,” he says chuckling.

  “Ah, gross, but somehow sweet at the same time.” He lets out that laugh of his. The one I don’t think gets lots of use.

  His mouth finds mine again. I am wriggling all over his lap.

  “Keep that up, babe and I won’t make it inside your sweet cunt.” I immediately stop moving. He laughs again. “Nice and slow.”

  “I don’t want nice or slow. I want it dirty and I want it now.”

  “Damn, Helena. You make it hard to say no to you.”

  “Then don’t even try,” I say. I know that I am being a little aggressive, but I can’t help it. I unbuckle his seatbelt then his belt. His tight black boxers have a wet spot on them. I am turning him on as much he is turning me on. I boldly reach down and pull his massive cock out of the top of his boxers. It’s a fuckin’ monster.

  “Thanks,” he says chuckling. I didn’t realize I said that out loud. I make a fist around his cock and pump my hand up and down his considerable length. “Fuck, that feels amazing, Helena.”

  “That’s not my name,” I say lifting up a little bit. Using my other hand, I pull my soaking wet panties to the side. Without further thought, I slide my pussy down his cock. He or I, I am not sure who is in charge anymore, slams through my virginity.

  “Fuck, that feels amazing, wife,” he says through clenched teeth.

  “Very good, husband. So gooood,” I moan.

  I may have started this, but he is definitely the one in charge now. He rolls his hips, thrusting deeper inside of me. My responding moan is guttural.

  He stands abruptly and moves us over to the couch along the side wall. He stayed inside of me as we walked us over, but as he lowers us to the couch, he pulls out of me. The pants that fell to his ankles when he stood gets kicked away, along with his shoes. He strokes his cock looking down at me. I suddenly feel overdressed. He stops jerking his cock and moves to the collar of his shirt. I gasp when he pulls his shirt off. I feel tears welling up in my eyes.

  “Oh my God,” I say, forgetting that this is exactly what he doesn’t want, but I can’t help it. As I sit up, my hands automatically roam over his torso. The scars cover the entire front of his body. Arms, legs, chest, belly, even the poor tops of his feet. I stand and kiss his chest, just over his heart. It appears to be the worst of his scars. He steps back slightly and lifts my dress over my head. He growls. My panties are still obscenely to the side. He reaches behind me and opens my bra, tossing it to the floor. He pulls one of my nipples into his mouth, then the other. My hands are in his hair. God, he is way too good at this.