The Russian's Christmas Present

But with Martel? I can’t explain it, my heart and my ovaries feel like they’re running the show and I’m just along for the ride.

And what a ride it could be if what I felt at the brush of his fingers on the outside of my panties is any indication.

I fill out a little form at the check-in table as Martel has to go backstage and get ready for the auction. I get my little numbered paddle to use for bidding and find an empty seat at one of the many round tables in front of the stage, with a runway extending off the front. The Christmas decorations, draped on everything that doesn’t move, make me feel the holiday I thought I missed is still here and I feel content. I don’t know anyone, most of these people live lives I’ve only read about in books or imagined from afar. Yet, something about Martel makes me feel beautiful, like I belong.

His unusual mixture of that beard, his otherworldly size, his gruff manner and yet a confidence as well as a perfectly-tailored suit, makes him wildly sexy. I know so little about him, I shouldn’t be letting some near stranger put his hand up my dress.

But, if I’m being honest, I wanted so much more than just his hand…

The room fills and I settle in as the lights flash on and off and there’s an announcement the auction is about to begin.

My palm is sweaty as I hold the little paddle with my number on it, waiting for my opportunity to bid. I get the lay of the land as the first few bachelors are auctioned off to laughter and squealing yelps from what I imagine are friends and family in the crowd.

A few bachelors later, my belly flips as Martel comes onto the stage. I feel like he’s looking right at me, like we have some secret between us, and it only fuels the already out of control lust he’s awakened inside of me.

The bidding begins and I flash my paddle high, getting the first bid and wondering for a moment if I’ll be the only one.

Nope.

As quick as lightning, a leggy, raven-haired woman that’s sitting at the table just in front and to the left, raises her paddle. The auctioneer’s voice prattles on, taking another bid from somewhere behind me, another to the far right, then another from the Elvira lookalike in front of me before I can get back into the mix.

I glance at Martel, whose eyes narrow, lips tight, urging me on, and I raise my paddle again.

We are at ten thousand dollars in under thirty seconds, and I know Martel told me to bid until I win but there’s a tightness in my chest, unsure if he realized how much this was going to cost him.

With the ten thousand he’s already given me, that’s twenty thousand dollars he’s spent on tonight. Just how much is he willing to throw away on a fake date with a girl from the wrong side of the tracks?

There’s a flurry of bidding and I do what I think is right, trying to keep up until the contest falls to two bidders.

Me and Elvira.

My confusion and disorientation quickly turns to something else.

Jealousy?

Why is she so intent on winning this date? Who is she? Does he know her?

My claws seem to be growing as I look at the side of her face, her jaw tight as I outbid her every time, wondering if she’s going to turn around to check out the competition, but she doesn’t.

Twenty-eight thousand.

I need to stop. I’m sure Martel didn’t know it would go so high. This is going to backfire. I’ll end up paying it off until I’m ninety or something.

He said win at all costs.

The taste of my arousal still lingers on my lips and it fuels my conflicted need to win. Not just because it’s what Martel wants, what he paid me to do, but because it’s what I want.

What I need.

Back and forth. Back and forth, the auctioneer points to each of us as I see her cheeks flame red and her jaw clench tighter and tighter.

How high will she go? How long can this last?

My heart is speeding, my throat tight and my mouth dry, but I will not back down. I don’t know who she is, but if it takes a cat fight, I’m down.

Fifty thousand.

The auctioneer looks my way…I raise my paddle.

His voice booms in the grand hall. “Fifty thousand dollars to the lady. Can I get fifty-two? Fifty-two, fifty-two anyone?”

He nods toward the other woman, who starts to raise her paddle when…the older gentleman sitting to her right reaches over and pushes her arm down.

“Daddy!” I hear her hiss. “I want to win.”

“That’s enough.” He shakes his head, holding her paddle hand in place. “My money. My rules. You’re done.”