Sold to Him

The woman’s mouth moves with the words of the song and she tosses teasing gazes through her thick and beautiful curtain of inky hair. She looks like a practiced seductress. And she’s loving every second of it.

I gasp. Oh my goodness, this is it. Realization crashes through my frame. There must be men in those booths, watching her and wanting her and dare I say it? Bidding on the woman. She knows an auction is happening this very second, and she’s urging the men on.

Oh god. My knees start to shake and fear mixed with anticipation rushes through my frame.

Suddenly, a monotone female voice comes from somewhere in the darkness. “Thank you for your bids. Item 656 has been sold to bidder four for one point two million dollars. Sale final.”

And with that, two men in black uniforms come and collect the girl. The woman looks triumphant, stroking her breasts and haunches one last time. Her smile is lazy and heavy-lidded even as she’s led offstage on wobbly legs. Her excitement is obvious. Heaving breasts, flushed cheeks, the the unmistakable gleam of pussy juices trickling down the inside of her thighs. And then I have another startling realization. She’s doing this because she wants to. It wasn’t just a performance for her. Being auctioned is something desirable and sexy.

Suddenly, the Russian turns me to face her. Her aggressively blue eyes study me critically. Shivering from the close scrutiny, I can feel her picking every part of me apart and examining all of me, not missing an inch.

“Put this on, honey,” she commands and hands me a midnight blue velvet robe.

What now? Why this? If I’m going up on stage, why would I need a cloak?

But I grip the material in my cold and nervous fingers and slowly put it on. The velvet is sinfully soft and plush, the material caressing my naked skin like warm hands. It’s long and big enough to cover me all the way down to the gold stilettos on my feet.

“Cover your beautiful face, sweetie,” the Russian says. “When they finally see it, it’ll be a gorgeous surprise.”

What? I stare at her in shock but the woman merely nods with approval. “Go on in. It’s your turn now.”

And as if by magic, big door with the window swings open silently.

I pause, gripping the edges of the velvet robe closed with shaky fingers. Oh god. I can’t do what that other girl did. I can’t dance like that. I don’t even know how to dance like that. Plus, I’m still thinking about Grayson and his betrayal. It stings so deep in my heart, and I can’t be sold to another billionaire now. No, this can’t be happening.

But it’s too late. A pain in my chest rips me apart. It’s my heart as it breaks all over again.

Please, God. Don’t make me have to do this. Oh no. please. Please. Please.

But nothing happens. The door yawns open, waiting for me, and I realize that as always, I’m on my own. I need to do this. I have no choice. This is my only option.

“Go on,” says the Russian, not so kindly this time. “The club is waiting.”

And with trembling knees, I step through the door. My entire body is encased in ice. My feet are freezing, fingers tingling with nervousness and dread. I feel their gazes on me, these twelve men, like judge and jury combined. It feels bad, but I have to do this for Mickey and Nana. I need to show that I’m worth it, even if Grayson doesn’t care anymore.

Taking a deep breath, I approach the small dais, my swaying with each step. I climb onto the small circular platform, and a spotlight comes on, bathing me in heat. My eyes blink, trying to see past the glare, but it’s impossible. Suddenly, music begins playing, something sexual and sensuous, with a steady beat.

Oh god! They want me to dance. Even though I can’t see the men in the booths, I feel twelve pairs of eyes on my flesh, expectant and demanding. I have to do this. They’re waiting.

But I don’t want to do this.

I can’t do this.

But I have to.

Taking another deep breath, I try to blank out my mind. To lift myself to another plane, and pretend I’m not here. My body starts dancing, but it’s not really Trina. It’s someone else inhabiting Trina’s form, as my mind floats elsewhere.

Grayson. The thought of him comes suddenly to me unbidden. His bright blue eyes, and the way he looked at me, as if I were a precious jewel to be cared for. I shouldn’t be thinking of him now, when I’m about to be sold to another billionaire, but the memory of him is like a balm to my soul, and I grasp onto his image.