Sold to the Hottest Bidder

by Layla Valentine

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Emily

  This time, as I hurried down the steps behind Kyle, I was even more turned on that I had been our first night together. I could have taken him right there on the staircase, right in front of everyone—and part of me wished that I had.

  We practically ran across the floor toward the door, not bothering to spend a second longer in the club than we needed to.

  I didn’t think Maddy would mind too much about us leaving without the proper goodbyes; she would be proud to know that what she’d done had worked, and her sister was on her way to having the life and love she’d always wanted.

  I smiled and slid into the backseat of the car after Kyle opened the door for me, and waited as he slipped into the other side. He greeted his private driver, and the two of us did our best to keep our clothes on as we were driven toward Kyle’s mansion.

  I seemed to remember the journey being a lot shorter the first night we’d gone over to Kyle’s house from the club, but then, I thought, it probably felt so long now because of how desperately I needed to make love to him. Throughout the ride, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and we both did our best to remain dignified until we had reached his house.

  I didn’t wait. As soon as the car stopped, I got out and headed for the door of the house. Kyle was right on my heels, unlocking the door with practiced ease. We burst through the door, but didn’t make it far.

  Right there in the foyer, I turned and started kissing him, pulling at his clothes and my own. He was right there with me, pressing his lips against mine and letting his tongue explore my mouth. I kissed him back with the same passion, using my hands to explore each and every inch of him. I couldn’t get enough, and I knew that he couldn’t, either.

  I tried to be careful with my dress as I slipped out of it, but in the intensity of our lust, I knew I ripped part of the seam out. I muttered a quiet apology to my sister, then was right back in the heat of the moment.

  We were stripping each other on the way to his bedroom, leaving a trail of shoes, clothes, and undergarments right up to his bedroom door. The door was closed though not latched, and Kyle kicked it open without breaking our embrace.

  I had never before been so engrossed with a man that I was unable to tear myself away long enough to take off my own clothes, and I found it amazing that he was doing the same.

  We couldn’t get enough of each other. Skin on skin wasn’t enough. When he removed my bra and picked me up, I felt like I was going to explode from the need to have him.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his torso, and he carried me over to the bed. I had my hands around his face, kissing him with each and every step that he made. I looked forward to being placed down on the bed—and was going to happen next.

  At the same time, there was something in me that almost wished he wasn’t going to put me down. Something that wanted to stay like this for the rest of our lives. I felt so safe in his arms, and when he carried me, I felt as though the entire world had stopped.

  There was nothing that could touch me. Nothing that could touch us in our happiness. We were a team, working together as two individuals, but coming together as a single person.

  He laid me down on the bed, falling on top of me but catching himself at the last second. I yearned for him so badly it hurt, and I could hardly stand the anticipation. He reached down between my legs and stroked me, only furthering the need that I felt for him.

  I moaned and writhed on the bed before reaching and taking him in my hands. I could feel the shudder run through his body as I did so, and the feeling only served to make me feel more powerful.

  I let my hands do everything they wanted. I let go of all my insecurities, and just let myself get caught up in the moment. For the first time in my life, nothing at all mattered but the moment that I was in. It was just me and Kyle, Kyle and me.

  My grueling job no longer mattered. My shyness no longer mattered. All that mattered was that we were together, and we were enjoying each other the way we were meant to. There was nothing I wanted to keep secret from him, and nothing about me I didn’t want him to find out.

  Yes, we had made love in the past, but this was different. This was the kind of passion that only came when there was a genuine connection. This was the kind of love-making that was only possible between two individuals who had gone through the pain of not knowing whether they were going to be forever alone with only themselves to blame. There was an intensity and a heat to our passion that I had never before experienced, and that I never wanted to end.

  He pushed me back on the bed, and within seconds, was deep inside me. He was so fierce and strong, all I could do was inhale and take him. It wasn’t long before I adjusted to his size, and I took him with the same kind of passion. Putting my hands on either side of his shoulders, I pushed him as far into me as he could go.

  He flipped over on the bed and I crawled on top of him, using my lips and my tongue to graze his jawline and down his neck. I nibbled at his ears, then I moved to his torso. I could feel him shudder beneath the touch of my soft tongue, and I felt satisfaction rush through me.

  This was the most intense encounter I had ever had, and all I wanted to do was make him want me more.

  Then I realized something—he was doing the same to me. Every move he made wasn’t for his own pleasure; rather, it was for mine. He was working toward my happiness and satisfaction rather than his own, and I couldn’t believe how much it bettered the experience.

  We continued to explore and indulge in each other, each passing moment bringing us closer and closer together. I couldn’t get enough of him, and he couldn’t get enough of me. Our bodies moved with greater friction, and I felt like I was crying out from both exhaustion and pleasure. There was nothing I wanted more in the world than to be one with Kyle, and to have him feel the same about me.

  I was beneath him again, lying on his soft sheets with his strong, muscular body on top of me. He was deliberately and assertively thrusting inside me, and with each movement, I gasped out in pure ecstasy.

  It was then that our movement took a more deliberate turn, and our eyes locked. He continued to move on me with the same passion as before, but now there was a near-frenzy to his movement.

  Faster and faster he went, and all the while I kept time with him. We were both on the brink together, and in a sudden moment, I felt completely engulfed in the deepest happiness possible as we came together.

  I looked up at Kyle, who was shuddering on top of me, clearly wrapped in the same happiness I was. After a moment, he opened his eyes and smiled, looking down at me.

  He rolled off of me, falling onto the sheets beside me.

  “Oh, Emily, what did you do to me? What did you do?” he breathed as he buried his face in his hands.

  I smiled and put my hand on his heart.

  “Gave you what you’ve always been waiting for, I guess,” I giggled.

  “I think it’s time I stop running,” Kyle said.

  The two of us were lying in his bed, still recovering. I was playing with the hairs on his chest and he had his arms around me.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, though I was sure I knew what he was getting at. I was moving my hand gently along his muscular body, feeling desire grow inside me once more.

  “You. That’s what I mean. Ever since I met you, my life has been completely different, and I like it. I’m tired of all the pointless games. I’m tired of the lies, and I’m tired of always moving on to the next girl. I want to be with someone who is always going to be there for me.”

  He smiled down at me, and I pushed myself up on the bed.

  “Are you sure you can handle someone like that?” I asked as I straddled him. He looked up at me, and I could feel his arousal between my legs.

  “I know I could. Do you think you could?” he asked with a grin.

  I laughed as I settled down on top of him, ready to take him once more. I
looked deep into his eyes—no longer intimidated when he held my gaze. I gave him a sexy smile, moving his arms to pin them above his head.

  “I know I could,” I whispered.

  I didn’t give him a chance to respond. Instead, I pressed my lips to his, and we lost ourselves to passion once more.

  The End

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  Jay’s Lucky Baby

  Layla Valentine

  Ready to up the ante?

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  Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author. All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  Lauren

  I tighten my hold on the railing and press myself against the hard metal. Hong Kong’s skyscrapers glint under the sun, seeming as if they were made out of fire themselves. A warm breeze hits my face and I close my eyes. With the cruise ship gaining speed under my feet, I’m flying.

  “Enjoying yourself?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

  I start and turn to see a middle-aged woman wearing a baseball cap and holding some kind of fruity cocktail. I feel my cheeks redden. Was my enjoyment of the moment that obvious?

  “Sure.” I grin sheepishly.

  She smiles knowingly. “Get it, girl. Live it up, while you can. One day you’ll be my age, wondering where all the good times went.” She gives me a wink and ceremoniously sips her drink.

  I try not to laugh. “You’re American.”

  “So are you.”

  “Yeah, but…did you know that before you talked to me? How did you know I would speak English?”

  With my black hair and pale skin, people have been coming up to me and speaking in Cantonese all week long.

  “I didn’t, hon. I just hoped you would.”

  I glance back at the shrinking city. With the sun getting lower in the sky, the blinding light seems to be getting even brighter. I blink and turn away from the railing.

  “I’m Lauren.”

  “Donna. From Florida. Nice to meet you.” She extends a tanned hand and I shake it.

  “You’re not here all by yourself, are you?” Donna asks. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  I suppress a laugh. “I’m here with my parents.”

  “No boyfriend?”

  “No boyfriend,” I confirm.

  “But you’re so pretty.”

  “Thanks,” I say uncertainly.

  “You have a northern accent. Let me guess where you’re from…New York?”

  “Right on the first try,” I admit with a grin.

  “Are you here looking for a boyfriend? Because, you know, they call Macau the Vegas of Asia. You could get yourself a rich boyfriend there.”

  “My parents would love that,” I reply sarcastically.

  Donna chuckles and swats at my arm.

  “Lauren!”

  I turn at the sound of my mother’s voice. Still yards away, she’s striding down the deck with her scarf billowing around her neck and her hips swaying. She could have been a supermodel, but instead, she went to school and became an accountant. Still, regardless of her job, she has gorgeous skin. We look more like sisters than we do mother and daughter.

  Mom places her hand on my shoulder. “Who’s your new friend?”

  “Donna Tuttle. Nice to meet you.”

  They lightly shake hands and I can see Mom studying Donna, trying to figure out whether she’s appropriate company for me or not.

  I suck in my lower lip and hold back a sigh. I’ve been out of school for only two weeks, and already, I feel like I’m ten years old again. My parents are always there, waiting to pass judgment, waiting to make decisions for me. Waiting to decide my destiny.

  Mom turns back to me. “It’s almost dinner time.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

  Donna looks confused. “Oh, goodness. I thought they weren’t serving for another hour.”

  Mom coolly smiles. “We like to freshen up beforehand.”

  She may not have ended up walking runways, but Mom always treats every event like we keep company with royalty. To her, this isn’t a little cruise between Hong Kong and Macau. It’s the Titanic, and we’re about to have dinner at the captain’s table. Retiring to our rooms and tying on our best pearls and diamonds pre-caviar is of utmost importance.

  I say goodbye to Donna, telling her I hope to see her again, and follow my mother to our cabins. It’s a short cruise—just overnight—but my parents managed to book us two separate cabins. I get dressed in the flowered cocktail dress and nude heels that I know Mom and Dad want me to wear, and freshen up my makeup.

  When I come out of my room, both my parents are in the hall, the perfect picture of a happy, middle-aged couple. They both look me up and down and give nods of approval.

  Mom beams in my direction. “I knew that dress would suit you perfectly.”

  I smooth down the pleats of the brightly colored dress and give her a smile. She bought it for me before I got home from college, and while I don’t know how much it cost, I’m sure it wasn’t cheap. I don’t follow fashion at all, but even I would be a doofus to not know the designer whose name is sewn into the collar.

  We make our way to the dining room, where dozens of white tablecloth-clad, circular tables are placed around the room. A string quartet plays on a small stage, and waiters in bowties scurry around with bottles of wine. I settle into my seat and lay my napkin across my lap. The number of utensils laid out next to my plate hints at a five-course dinner.

  I stay silent while my parents peruse the wine list and discuss the pros and cons of vintage bottles. I left my phone in my cabin, and I desperately wish I hadn’t. It’s only been a little over a week since I’ve seen my best friend, Willow, but I already miss her desperately. Just a quick ‘hey’ from her would be well appreciated.

  “We’ll have the Malbec,” Dad tells the waiter, who gives a nod and takes the wine menu from him.

  The bottle order and the soup on its way, my parents turn their attention to me.

  “So,” Dad begins, taking a moment to clear his throat before continuing. “How have you liked your graduation trip?”

  I don’t skip a beat in replying. “It’s been amazing.”

  I’m not lying. It really has. When my parents told me they wanted to take me on a weeklong trip to celebrate my graduation from college, I already had a list of destinations in mind—Hawaii, Italy, Costa Rica.

  Hong Kong had never crossed my mind. It was the land of my ancestors, the place my mom’s parents had been born. Though they’d left China when they were in their twenties, immigrating to America and having my mom in New Jersey, I’d never once thought of visiting where they came from.

  Just a week in the city had turned my world upside down. My parents had taken me on trips before, but never to somewhere so exotic. The sounds, the people, the food…even the colors, seemed different. Walking through Hong Kong’s streets, I felt alive in a way I never did in New York.

  The last seven mornings, when I opened my eyes, I actually saw what was in front of me. I wasn’t consumed by thoughts of school, work, relationships, or anything else. I was living in the moment.

  “I wish Pop-Pop and Ma could have come,” I sigh.

  Mom purses her lips in that way tha
t says she’s having an emotional moment, but doesn’t want to show it. “The flight would have been too much for your grandfather.”

  “I know,” I agree. “I can’t wait to show him the sketches I drew, though.”

  Dad gruffly grunts. “Or you can just show him pictures.”

  The heat of oncoming anger flows through me. There’s an aggressive tone to his voice, and I think I know where the conversation is headed. Taking a moment to myself, I take a deep breath before responding.

  “Pop-Pop likes my drawings.”

  “He’s just indulging you,” Dad says dismissively as he busily rearranges the silverware on the table. He’s not looking at me, instead seeming overly-involved in getting his soup spoon exactly where it needs to be.

  I don’t know how to respond to that comment. My face is practically burning now, and my vision swims with tears as the waiter arrives and puts a bowl of some kind of creamed soup in front of me.

  My drawings are good. I know they are. And I’m not just being cocky. I’ve been sketching since the moment I could hold a pencil. My parents used to encourage it, too. When I was a kid—and even in high school—they always bragged to their friends about what a good artist their daughter was.

  But then, once I started college in Connecticut, things changed. It all had to do with my post-college plans. When art was something that I did for fun, everything was hunky dory—but once I started talking about making a career out of it, the shit hit the fan.

  “You have a business degree,” Dad sternly reminds me. “What would be the use in letting that go to waste?”

  I force myself not to laugh out loud over the absurdity of the question.

  “It’s a great degree to have,” I agree. “And it’s going to be perfect for starting my own illustration business.”