Gage gestures to the wheel and a man joins him from the crowd. Jonathan’s broad chest is covered in a thick mat of dark brown hair. His laced leather pants display a bulge that borders on horrifying. “Master Jonathan,” Gage says. “Will you introduce us to your sub tonight?”
Jonathan snaps his fingers, and a woman climbs onto the platform beside him. She has the same heart-shaped face as Breagha and my sister’s bright blonde hair. But Breagha wouldn’t know the first thing about strapping on a scarlet leather corset, and she’d die of embarrassment before she ever pulled on the matching thong and five-inch patent leather heels.
“Clarissa,” Jonathan says. He snaps again, pointing to his feet. The woman drops so fast I’m afraid she’s shattered her kneecaps.
Maybe I jerk back in sympathy for the woman’s aching knees. Maybe Cole edges forward in anticipation. Whichever of us moves, I’m suddenly aware of his erection, pressing against the small of my back.
Gage grins. “Master Jonathan and Clarissa. Let’s start the bidding at one thousand.”
“Fifteen hundred!” a deep voice calls from the back of the crowd.
“Two thousand,” counters a woman with an amused drawl.
“I see you’re all familiar with Master Jonathan’s handiwork,” Gage says. “Remember—tonight’s a fifty-fifty split. Master Jonathan and the lovely Clarissa take home half the pot if they complete their task from the wheel of chance. The rest goes to Wounded Heroes United. Who’s willing to support my favorite charity?”
He works the bidding up to eight grand.
“People,” Gage says. “You’re breaking my heart. This is the last bid of the night. The last spin of the wheel. Surely you can do better than eight thousand.”
Cole’s hand closes around the back of my neck, thumb and fingers finding the sensitive hollows at the back of my jaw.
“Eighty-five hundred,” the man calls from the back of the room.
“Nine thousand dollars,” the woman counters, drawing out the vowels.
“Sorry kids,” the man says with a rueful laugh. “Eighty-five’s my limit.”
Gage says, “Nine thousand, then. Going once… Going twice… Sold to Mistress Nicolette, who doubles the previous high bid for tonight. Thank you, Mistress Nicolette!”
The crowd parts, and a woman makes her way to the stage. Her sleek black dress fits as if it was sewn onto her body, leather hugging every inch of skin from the notch of her throat to themiddle of her thighs. The tops of her steel-studded boots kiss her hem.
Cole changes his grip, stroking the side of my throat. As I lean into his body, I feel his breath hitch. I’m not sure if he’s responding to me or to Mistress Nicolette.
I want to know it’s me.
I reach between us and find the tab of his zipper. Moving briskly, like I’ve ever done anything like this before—watch public sex, respond to public sex—I lower his zip. He shifts his weight just enough to give me room to reach inside his trousers. He shudders when I run one fingernail down the length of his cock. “Jesus, Kate,” he breathes into my hair.
It’s me.
At the front of the room, Mistress Nicolette hands Gage a stack of dark green bills before she turns to Jonathan. “May I?” she asks the Dom.
He nods, and Mistress Nicolette twines her fingers in Clarissa’s hair. She yanks hard, pulling the sub to her feet.
Nicolette’s kiss is ravishing. With one hand, she tugs Clarissa’s blonde curls hard enough to make the sub whimper. With the other, she reaches beneath the corset, twisting her fingers around an unseen nipple. All the while she kisses the girl—hard, harder, hardest.
Cole’s hand has found its way beneath my top. His palm spreads flat across my belly, searing as he presses me back against his hard-on. A sound leaks past my lips, a whimper, a whisper, a prayer. My fingers curl around the length of his cock, squeezing hard.
When Mistress Nicolette finally sets Clarissa free, both women are breathing like they’ve just run the New York City Marathon. Nicolette steps to the wheel and spins. The marker lands onPearl Necklace. A few people in the audience cheer.
Gage, in his role as auctioneer, defers to Nicolette. “Any special requests?”
Nicolette shakes her head before she answers. “I just want my money’s worth,” she says to Jonathan.
The Dom suggests the barest hint of a bow before he turns back to his sub. He takes his time unlacing his pants. The leather clings to his arse as he frees his cock. I wonder which of his parents was a horse.
Clarissa’s eyes start to water before she’s swallowed half of him. He slows his pace when she starts to gag, easing in and out, training her to manage his size.
Cole’s hand leaves my belly, and I have to bite back a cry. I feel the stutter of his chuckle against my drenched back. Before I can call him a motherfucking shitehawk tease, he slips his thumb into my mouth. I groan as he matches Jonathan’s pace, filling me and setting me free, filling me and resting.
