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“Eight-fifty,” he spits out without missing a beat.
Valco frowns and puts his hands behind his head. When Shiloh swivels his wide eyes to his friend, he merely gets a shrug in response.
Rascal holds up one finger, and Shiloh’s fists clench at his sides. The smug smile on suit-man’s face isn’t the slightest bit endearing, and by the tension in Shiloh’s shoulders, I’d say he’s come to the same conclusion.
Rascal holds up a second finger, and that’s when Shiloh starts to squirm. It’s when images of some pre-planned event start filtering through his head, a perfectly planned evening overshadowed by a strange man who for all intents and purposes bought him.
When the fear starts to grow in his eyes, when the first hint of haze and zoning out becomes apparent, I step forward with my hand raised and make sure to speak in a loud, clear voice, “One thousand.”
It’s enough to shock Shiloh out of whatever rabbit hole he was going down, but the relief that washes over him is short lived.
“Two thousand. We can play this game all night.”
We could. But it’s my goal to give Shiloh a taste of these budding dynamics, not throw him straight into the deep end.
I let Rascal count to two again, staring into Shiloh’s questioning brown eyes until I can read that shred of trust through the inkling of fear.
“Five thousand.” I cross my arms and make sure Shiloh’s gaze is still locked on me. Before the other man can even think of topping my bid, I tip my chin up and point to the floor. “Kneel, sweetheart.”
Shiloh gulps but never drops eye contact as he lowers himself to his knees. There’s nothing meek about him, though. His shoulders are pushed back and his chest is puffed out as his nostrils flair.
This man is mine.
Rascal doesn’t even bother counting, just shouts “Sold!” in his fake announcer voice and starts his wrap up of events.
I barely make it past the curtain before a frustrated fist flies into my chest, but I catch the back of Shiloh’s head in my hands and press my lips to his before he can go off on me.
He bites and growls, but I hold him still until the fight leaves him. Or at least until it backs off enough to let his mouth go pliant.
“Do you really think I’d craft a scene for you and hand it off to someone else?”
His jaw ticks, and he crosses his arms. “I’m not a whore you pay to fuck. You know that, right?”
I kiss him again, and this time I leave a stinging bite to his full, pouty lip.
“What I paid for is a date with you. The sex is pre-negotiated. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
His cheeks brighten, and he shakes his head, burying his face in my shoulder.
We’ve discussed limits and parameters with the scene, but he asked me not to disclose the details.
“You’re really going to do it?” Shiloh’s voice is quiet, but the sound on my skin makes it buzz.
I drop my mouth to his hair and inhale the lilac smell of his shampoo. “If this is a fantasy you need so you can heal, absolutely.”
“But you’re into it?” He lifts his head, and I can’t help but to kiss his worried lips again. I’d kiss him over and over until the world ended if I could.
“I’m very into it,” I say, backing him into the corner and pressing my erection to his hip. “Planning tonight has kept me in a constant state of arousal.”
He arches into me, grips my shoulders with shaking fingers. I drag a hand through his hair and press my lips to his forehead.
“You’re going to get all the sweetness you’ve never let me give you.”
The scrunch between his eyebrows nearly makes me break the serious facade, but the lust pooling in his eyes keeps the act going.
Wrapping my fingers around his throat is second nature by now. It settles him like no other gesture. His head thumps against the wall, and his excitement thrums with the pulse of a vein in his neck.
I lower my face to his, and there it is: the thread of submission I’ve spent months weaving into him.
