Auctioned To The Billionaire (Part Two)

by Kelly Favor

  I can feel her loosening now, and her eyes relax, the brief bit of tension in her face is gone as she lets go into the rhythm of it.

  “Oh, fuck,” she moans. She opens her eyes wide and looks down at my cock, entering her, then pulling out as I prepare to plunge myself back into her again.

  “You can take all of me,” I groan.

  “It feels so fucking amazing.” She drops her head back against the bed.

  I am swiveling my hips, slowly, but with some force now. She’s tight, but so wet and all of our juices are mingling together. There is plenty of lubrication and I can tell there is no pain for her.

  She’s shaking again, but now from pleasure and lust.

  “I—I think I might come again,” she says, her voice high, disbelieving.

  “Good, come for me, baby. Come for me with that tight pussy of yours.” I start fucking her a little harder, not too fast, but my cock is about to explode.

  “Dermot,” she says, her eyes suddenly locked on mine.

  “I’m going to come too,” I tell her.

  “Come inside me,” please.”

  “Holy fuck.” And then I explode inside her, pumping so hard, and she cries out, raking my back with her fingers and taking me deeper than I would have thought possible.

  I impale her with my cock, and I shoot my seed all the way in, again and again, feeling like my balls will never stop draining.

  Sweat beads on my forehead as I pump, my cock drenched, her pussy tight, grabbing and wringing every last drop from me.

  And then I pull out and fall into bed beside her.

  She rolls into my arms and I pull her close, instinctively, as she burrows against my chest. I can feel her breath, and I’m sure she can hear my heart pounding.

  What the fuck just happened.

  I did not plan that. It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

  I was going to fuck her, yes. Eventually. Maybe tomorrow or the day after.

  Tonight, was the lead-in, the preparation.

  But she begged me to fuck her, and I lost control, gave into my carnal needs.

  I am not sure why this troubles me so much. She clearly enjoyed it, as did I.

  I’m just not used to being out of control, planning something one way and then going against it on a whim.

  I feel like I’m spinning.

  I can feel her looking at me and I glance down into her wide, innocent eyes. “Are you okay?” she says.

  I chuckle bitterly. “I think that’s my line.”

  “You seem…”

  “Tired maybe.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “I hope you don’t regret sleeping with me?”

  I frown. This is all backwards.

  This is just wrong. I pull slightly away from her. “You’re really a virgin?” I ask, watching for any sign that she’s lying to me.

  Now it’s her turn to frown. She winces. “You think I lied?”

  “Of course not,” I reply, instinctively. “It’s just—“

  “Just what?” she says, pulling all the way out of my grasp and drawing her sundress up to cover herself.

  “You seemed so natural at it,” I explain.

  “I don’t know if that’s a compliment, but somehow it feels like an insult.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Or maybe an accusation.”

  I sigh. “Haisley. Relax.”

  “You question whether I lied about being a virgin while your cum is still drying inside me, Dermot.”

  I run a hand through my hair, exasperated now. “Calm down.”

  “I’m going to take a shower.” She turns and walks out of the room, and the door to the bathroom slams shut.

  And I have to admit, I’m relieved.

  Haisley

  In the shower, hot water running over my body, I start to cry.

  And I hate that I’m letting him get to me.

  Why does it bother me so much what Dermot Nash thinks of me? I knew when I signed onto this that he was a rich playboy with a shitty attitude. And now he’s confirmed that he is a complete jerk.

  After taking my virginity, making me feel special, so kind and gentle and firm all at once, guiding me relentlessly to the most outrageous orgasms of my life…

  He turns around and talks to me like I’m nothing.

  Accuses me of lying about being a virgin. And why would I do that? He must think all women are lying users. Probably because he is a lying user himself.

  Projection much, Dermot? I think, as I clean myself, angry, crying, and yet my body is still tingling. I’m on fire from what just happened to me, and I’m conflicted.

  On the one hand, I just had my mind and body blown apart by this sex god, and I feel like my life will never be the same.

  On the other hand, I feel emotionally crushed.

  He looked at me with such distrust, almost as if he thought I was filthy. Like he just wanted to be rid of me now that he’d taken what he wanted.

  I cry more, my shoulders shaking. I empty out.

  After a few more minutes, my tears stop, and I turn the shower off. Drying under heat lamps, I revel in this decadent opulence.

  He has everything a person could want.

  But he really has nothing, I decide, because he mistrusts everyone and everything in his world. He has stopped seeing the beauty in what he has, and he takes everything in his life for granted.

  I pity him.

  I just had the best sex, I just experienced something beautiful and new, and I won’t let him ruin that.

  For him, it was surely just another chance to get off. One of thousands of random, trivial sexual encounters. In a few months, he’ll forget who I even am, but I will never forget him.

  And I’m glad for that.

  After the shower, I change into a simple outfit, casual jeans and a t-shirt. I’m no longer going to try and impress Dermot. Screw him and the high horse he rides around on.

  Thinking this way empowers me, emboldens me. I leave the bathroom and he’s no longer in the bedroom. I’m not sure what to do next.

  It occurs to me that maybe this will be the end of our time together.

  What if he sends me home?

  Will I still get the rest of the money? I need to pay off my father’s debt. Which is now my debt, since I vouched for him, told that evil mobster with the dead eyes that I would be on the hook for it.

  Just the thought of Vincent “Vinnie Boy” Rossi makes me shiver from head to toe, and not in a good way.

  Speaking of money, the first half of the debt is due in a few days. Fifty thousand dollars, which just so happens to be the amount that should have been deposited in my bank account by the GirlFundMe site.

  I’ve been in such a state ever since last night, I didn’t even have a chance to check the status in my account. I grab my cell phone and log into my mobile banking app.

  Navigating to checking, I feel the breath catch in my chest.

  There it is, in plain black and white, on the screen.

  $50,000.00 deposit.

  It’s cleared, meaning the funds are actually available. Now my problem is how to get in touch with the fearsome mafia henchman who has demanded the payment.

  I don’t exactly have the guy’s number. Maybe my father does?

  Lord knows I won’t be giving the money to my dad to hold onto in the meantime. He would just blow it all, same as ever…

  My palms are sweaty, I feel sick to my stomach.

  My father thinks I decided to visit a friend who moved away from our hometown to New York City. He has no idea what I’ve gotten up to, nor will he ever know.

  But I also won’t ever forgive him for making me sell my body, and maybe even my soul, to fix his problems.

  I am starting to hate him, truth be told. Yes, he stood by me when my mother left us, and that counts for a lot. But since then, he has made my life a living hell, he’s kept me stranded in limbo trying to save him from himself ever since.

  I’m suddenly furious at the world.
/>   At my father, at my mother, at Vincent Rossi…and of course, at Dermot Nash.

  Dermot Nash most of all.

  Because he lit my body on fire, kissed me and made me believe, made me hope, and then instantly ripped it all away with the cruelty in his eyes and his words.

  And where is he now?

  I leave the bedroom and head downstairs.

  Dermot is also freshly showered. He must have used a different bathroom. There are so many rooms in this house, we could live in opposite wings and never even see one another.

  He’s now wearing a track suit.

  “Hi,” I say, forcing myself to meet his cool, steely gaze. As usual, his incredible good looks blow me away when I am near him.

  He nods. “Have everything you need?”

  “Yes,” I mutter, and glance away.

  “I’m going for a run and then I’m booked at the range for some practice time.”

  “The range?” I say, tilting my head quizzically.

  “The shooting range.”

  “You…you shoot guns?”

  He smirks. “I’m a competitive marksman. Among other things. And I have a competition to train for, so I really need to get over to the range to meet with my shooting partner.”

  “Oh.” I feel suddenly silly, useless. “Do you…do you still want me to stay?”

  He chuckles. “Yes, Haisley. I want you to stay, make yourself comfortable in my home. I’ll be back in a couple of hours and then we can go to dinner. Maybe by then you will be less upset about things that were said earlier.”

  I feel my cheeks flame with embarrassment. “And maybe later you’ll apologize for having said those things.”

  “Not a chance,” he replies. “See you in a bit.”

  And then he leaves me standing there, slack jawed but somehow elated all at once. At least he wants me to stay. I haven’t been kicked out.

  Not yet, anyway.

  After Dermot leaves, I wander aimlessly for a bit, just examining the enormous architectural feat that is Dermot’s home. Every fixture, every object in view, is dripping with signs of wealth and clearly cost both time and money to design and acquire.

  I think of my own living situation and it feels like utter squalor in comparison.

  Sure, dad and I have a roof over our heads, we have a flat screen TV, beds, a couch. But there is no décor, no sense of warmth, culture or taste. We are not refined or wealthy by any means. This place makes me feel like a peasant, and somehow unworthy.

  I don’t want to be ungrateful.

  I don’t want to feel bitter.

  I just hate that money is everything in this world, and that my father’s sheer incompetence in managing his money has left the both of us destitute.

  I feel like a failure, but I’ve been sabotaged since the very beginning of my life. I never even had a chance to succeed on my own merits, I was too busy picking up the pieces of things my father destroyed along his merry way…

  I check my banking app again.

  The money is just sitting there. Waiting.

  I call my father. He answers after a few rings. “Kiddo. How goes it in the big city?”

  “Fine,” I say.

  “Oh. This doesn’t sound like a friendly kind of call. Should I be worried?”

  “I need to get in touch with your friends. The ones who came calling and broke our door down.”

  He sighs. “You don’t need to do this.”

  “Actually, I do. Because I vouched for you and now they have my name on their list, too. I owe them the money you gambled away.”

  “Honey, I know you can’t come up with six figures, and whatever you can come up with isn’t going to be enough to save me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “So, you have money? How much?”

  I can hear the greed and excitement in his voice. I can only imagine what he would do if he thought I had access right now to fifty thousand. He’d do anything to get his filthy paws on the cash and rush off to blow it all and probably get in debt another hundred thousand on top of it.

  “Dad, I’m not discussing this with you. I just need a number to call.”

  “I don’t have a direct line. I can give you my bookie, though. He would be able to put you in touch with…whoever you want to talk to. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Lucky for you, I’m not taking suggestions at the moment. Just text me the number.”

  I hang up without telling him I love him, because right now, I can’t say I feel that I do. Of course, I know deep down I love him, but I’m just furious at the position he’s put me in.

  My life is at risk because of his illness—an illness he refuses to get treated.

  He may be sick, he may have an addiction, but he has the opportunity to get help and change his ways. If he cared enough about anyone besides himself, he’d have done that by now.

  I call the number he texts me. Supposedly this man is a bookie who takes sport bets from my father. Just another member of this shady criminal underworld my dad inhabits.

  A gruff voice answers and I explain the situation in general terms. I drop my father’s name and the gruff voice laughs. “Oh, yeah. I know him well. You’re caught up in the mix with that guy?”

  “I’m his daughter.”

  “Poor girl. I can have someone contact you.”

  “I want a number. I don’t want them to have mine.”

  The voice pauses. “They don’t like me giving out their info. I’m sure you can imagine why.”

  “They would want to hear from me. I have an awful lot of money to give them.”

  That changes things, and soon I have the number I’m seeking. My hands shake. I’ve blocked my own number to make sure they can’t harass me after I make this call.

  My heart is pounding.

  I tell myself I can do this. I can do this. I hit send and the phone rings. Goes to a mailbox and beeps. I call back. Nobody answers until my fourth call.

  “Yeah?” comes the voice, and instantly I recognize him. It’s Vincent Rossi, I will never forget his distinctive voice or his dead eyes.

  I tell him who I am.

  “Huh. I didn’t expect to hear from you again. What do you want?”

  “I have the first payment.”

  There’s a long, long pause. “Bullshit. You have fifty?”

  “I do.”

  “What, did your papa hit another big score?”

  “None of your business,” I reply, before considering my words.

  I can practically feel his rage through my phone. “Watch your tone, little Miss Perfect. I could tell you to take your money and shove it up your ass, and I’ll pay your daddy a visit tonight just because.”

  “Except you won’t. Because I really do have the money.”

  “You have half my money. Where’s the rest?” he demands.

  “I have what I promised. How can I get it to you?”

  Vincent explains that I can wire it to an account. He will provide me the account number and other information. I can do the transfer using my phone and it will be completely secure, as well as leaving an electronic receipt that will prove I sent it, should any question arise after the fact.

  It frightens me, however, knowing I will have no recourse once the money has been sent. He could just tell me to go screw myself, keep the money, and then still go and hurt my father and demand more and more.

  I have no leverage once he has my money in his account.

  But I really have no choice. These people have their own little society, their own rules. I could have refused to play the game and let my father suffer the consequences. But I’ve already chosen my path.

  “I’ll wire the money today,” I tell him.

  “The next payment is due in another week.”

  Shit. I didn’t expect that. “I can have it at the end of the month.“

  “That will add another twenty thousand in interest to the principal.”

  “Twenty thousand more?” I fee
l my heart racing overtime again. “I can’t afford that…”

  “Cry me a fucking river. Next payment in a week. Every week you’re late, we tack on ten thousand.” And then the line goes dead.

  A few minutes later I make the wire transfer.

  I get a text message soon after that tells me my transfer of funds has been completed.

  My bank account is back to zero. Fifty thousand dollars, the most money I’ve ever had by a big margin, and it’s already gone.

  I feel absolutely sick. Drained. And frightened that I’ve gotten in way over my head.

  When Dermot comes home, I’m sitting on the deck, watching the city. He walks outside. “You had the run of the house, and instead you’re out here again.”

  “It’s beautiful. The sun’s setting, too,” I say, looking out at the pink and purple sky.

  “It certainly is beautiful,” he says, and by the tone of his voice, I can tell he’s not only talking about the sky.

  I feel my cheeks flush, as usual. I’ve never blushed so much in my life before now.

  I turn and look at him as he comes out to join me. How in the hell could a man like him ever want someone like me?

  It makes no sense.

  Maybe it’s the illicitness of it all that appeals to him.

  “You seem in better spirits,” he says folding his arms and watching me closely.

  “I suppose.” I can’t meet his steady, penetrating gaze.

  “You suppose? Uh oh.” He chuckles, then his eyes take in my demeanor and he grows serious. “What seems to be the problem?”

  I sigh. “I have an unfortunate request to make of you. And I need to apologize. I don’t want to ask.”

  “Okay, now you’ve got my antennae up, Haisley. Let’s hear this request.”

  I swallow hard. My mouth feels suddenly parched. “I need an advance on the rest of the money.”

  He laughs. “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m in a bind. I need the fifty thousand I’m supposed to get at the end of our time together.”

  “Yes, when our month is finished. This is only day one, need I remind you.”

  “I know. And I promise you, I’m good for the month. I will finish it out, I swear.”

  “So, when do you need this advance?”