by Jaid Black
Jack absently nodded as his gaze flew back to John. “What the hell is wrong with him?” he murmured. “Why are you three here?”
Cherice sighed as she patted him on the shoulder. “His mind is, uh…” She stumbled over her English, looking for the proper words.
“Fucked up,” Tanisha provided for her with a frown.
Cherice nodded. “As to why—alor, we do not know, cher.”
Jack nodded. “Thanks for, uh…” He cleared his throat and glanced away. “Taking care of him,” he finished dumbly.
Tanisha chuckled at that. “No problem. But Cherice is right. We gotta get back to work. Look after him, okay?”
“Yeah,” Jack said distractedly as they strolled out of the hut, his mind working out the situation and coming up with no answers. “Keep the gun,” he said absently as he walked toward John.
Tanisha harrumphed. He could hear her talking to the others as they left the hut together. “If that ugly-ass Russian guy bids on me I’ll probably use it too…”
Once the women had left, Jack turned his full attention back to his friend John.
John, who was sprawled out drunk and asleep on the recliner, snoring loudly. John, who from all accounts was acting crazy enough lately that everyone was worried he was going to do something dangerous to himself.
Johnny, his best friend since age eight.
Jack sat there for over a half hour, absently watching John sleep as he tried to pinpoint where it had all gone wrong. It couldn’t have been his childhood like Sheri thought—those demons had been exorcized long ago. So what then? What had thrown him over the proverbial edge?
Five minutes later Jack sighed when John woke up groaning and, clutching his stomach, ran into the nearest bathroom as fast as his stumbling legs could move. He heard the lid to the toilet bowl clink against the back of the commode when it was flung up, then heard the sound of John retching his guts out, expensive bourbon and God knows what else spewing into the toilet.
Another five minutes passed before the retching and dry-heaving ceased. The sound of running water filled the hut next as John apparently showered himself clean.
When his best friend finally emerged ten minutes later wearing a pair of cotton drawstring pajama bottoms, he was clean but otherwise looked like hell. He had dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t been sleeping and the usual lighthearted smile he wore was absent.
He watched as John sat down on a chair with a sigh, by now very aware of the fact he had company. The two men sat there in silence together for a long moment, neither speaking nor looking at each other. But finally Jack broke the silence.
“You gonna tell me about it, buddy?”
John softly snorted as he glanced at him. “What’s to tell? My life sucks. Lots of people’s lives suck.”
Jack grunted. “Cherice and Tanisha seem to think yours sucks enough that you might try to kill yourself.” He narrowed his eyes at John as he finally looked at him. “Even your sister thinks that. So what’s the deal?”
John looked surprised, which made Jack release a pent-up breath. Obviously suicide had never crossed his mind, so at least that wasn’t something he’d have to worry about.
“Sheri really thinks that?” John rasped out, his voice scratchy from liquor and marijuana. “Shit, I’m not that bad,” he muttered as he ran a hand over his jaw.
“Then what is it, man? What the hell is wrong with you?” The question was asked in his usual gruff voice, but his eyes were clearly troubled.
John blew out a breath. “I don’t think I can pinpoint it to any one thing.” He shrugged, standing up to pour himself a glass of ice water across the room. “People rarely have one earth-shattering thing happen to them that sends them over the edge, buddy. Or at least I don’t.” He sighed. “It’s just a culmination of lots of little things. I guess it’s all finally getting to me,” he muttered as he tipped the glass of ice water to his lips.
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “The island, you mean?”
John chugged down the ice water in three huge gulps, then set the glass down with a sigh. “Basically.” He turned his head to look at Jack. “Remember the first time you came here, how you had a really great time?”
“Because it was all so new.” He grinned. “Yeah, I had a great time the first time.”
“And after that?” John asked softly.
Jack nodded. “Too weird. I don’t like paying for sex and I don’t want a venereal disease. And most of the men who frequent this place are strange as hell,” he muttered.
“And you only come here once a year at best.” John took a deep breath and blew it out. “Now imagine living here.”
Jack grunted. He was quiet for a moment, then inclined his head. “Point taken,” he grumbled.
John plunked back down in his chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he steepled his fingertips together. “I’m tired of only being with women I pay for,” he admitted, his voice still scratchy. “And the ones I don’t pay for are still with me because of the money.”
Jack didn’t say anything, just sat there and listened so he could get it out of his system.
He sighed. “I’m tired of the sex business. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not doing anything worthwhile with my life. I wanted to be rich.” He shrugged. “Okay fine, so now I’m rich. But now that I am I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“So don’t,” Jack said simply.
John stood up with a growl. “Easier said than done. If I don’t do this, then what?” He walked to the window and stared out of it. “I have to do something, Jack. I’m not a bum who can just laze around and do nothing. But this…” He shook his head. “The thrill ended years ago,” he murmured.
Jack stood up with a sigh and patted him on the back. He’d never been much good with words and was even less skilled at expressing emotions, so he said the only thing that came to mind. “You gotta know when to hold ‘em. You gotta know when to fold ‘em. You gotta know when to walk away. You gotta—”
John turned his head and stared at him surrealistically.
Jack grunted. “What?”
“‘The Gambler’,” he said dryly. “I’m depressed as hell and the best you can come up with in the way of comfort is quoting Kenny Rogers.” He shook his head. “Shit I hope I’m not that bad,” he mumbled. “If I am, it sure as hell explains why women prefer to go to other women for comfort.”
He grunted again. “My point, bud, is this: if you’re not happy, then fuck this place. You’ve got plenty of money and you don’t need to put up with any of this bullshit. You can do whatever you want to do. You can be all that you can be—”
John frowned. “Now you sound like a goddamn ad for the Army.” He snorted, the twinkle back in his eyes. “Nevertheless, that was a simple but true statement.”
Jack grunted. “I’m a simple but true man.” He glanced at his watch. “Shit! I’ve got to get over to that auction. But listen, after I go get my woman I’ll come back to check on you and we’ll talk some more.”
John’s eyebrows rose. “Your woman?”
Jack sighed, his hand tiredly running over his jaw. “Remember the elusive witch I told you about that night when, kinda like you are now, I was sitting around drunk and depressed?”
“Yeah. So?”
He frowned. “Krissy and the witch are the same woman. Seems my prudish little professor decided she wanted to be a wild child for five days,” he growled.
John chuckled. “I wasn’t one hundred percent certain who she was, but I knew she wasn’t doing it for the money.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “So maybe this place had its use after all.” His smile faded. “Though I’m still ready to close it down after this excursion.”
“Don’t blame ya, bud.” Jack affectionately slapped him on the back. He sighed, changing the subject. “I don’t like leaving you like this, Johnny.”
John waved that away. “You’ve got a Frenchman to outbid. And really, Jack, I’m fine. I feel a hell of a lot bet
ter now that I’ve admitted how I feel to myself. And to you.”
Jack nodded. “I’ll still be back.” He thought about the auction for a moment and frowned. “And if Frenchy outbids me, I’ll be back with Krissy.”
John snorted at that. “Plans for kidnapping her already?”
“Hell yeah,” he growled. “I don’t share.” He frowned. “I don’t want another man near her, okay?”
Which was Jack’s way of saying he was falling fast and furiously for her. If he hadn’t already.
John nodded. “Understood, bro.”
“Good.” He slapped him on the back again before turning on his heel to walk away. He stopped abruptly, a thought occurring to him, as he turned his head to face John. “Do you, uh…”
John’s brow wrinkled when he didn’t continue.
Jack cleared his throat and blushed. “Do you, you know…” He coughed into his hand. “You don’t need a goddamn hug or something, do you?” he muttered.
John’s blue eyes widened. He threw his head back and laughed.
“It ain’t that funny.”
When his best friend finally stopped laughing, Jack was happy to note that the twinkle hadn’t disappeared from his eyes. “Um…no.” John grinned. “But thanks for the offer.”
Jack grunted. “Thank God. I would have, ya know, but it would have been weird.” He frowned. “And I don’t believe Kenny Rogers has a song about shit like that.”
Chapter Eleven
On the night of the auction, Kris’ nerves were wound as tight as a coiled spring. Forty women in total had been lined up, all of them wearing black silk robes that were draped in such a way as to show off their cleavage, and matching black silk thongs that were concealed by the thigh-length robes.
She thought it seemed a bit odd that, on all of the nights to clothe the women, John had elected to do so on the evening they were to be auctioned off to their three-day masters. But she supposed she could understand the psychology behind it, giving the high bidders the right to peel off the clothing of their sex slaves whenever and wherever they felt like doing it.
Strange, but she felt more naked while clothed than she’d felt while actually naked.
Because now she felt like a dressed up sex doll waiting in the store window to be purchased. And damn if the feeling didn’t arouse her just as she’d known it would.
She would have to use that arousal to her advantage while wearing pigtails and a shaved mons for Lauren because she’d given up all hope of Jack attending the auction tonight when he’d failed to appear ten minutes ago as the opening bids had begun. Not that she wanted to face him again. Indeed, she had tried for the last several hours prior to the auction to find John Calder and beg her way back to San Francisco without being auctioned off at all. She hadn’t been successful. Where John had gone off to she had no idea.
“Come on, boys,” the auctioneer said as he opened Barbi’s robe and, standing behind the woman, began fondling her large breasts and playing leisurely with her nipples. “Three days with these huge tits are worth a hell of a lot more than two thousand dollars. Do I hear twenty-five hundred?”
“Twenty-five hundred.”
Barbi purred as the auctioneer began massaging her nipples from the base, stroking upward from areolas to tips over and over again.
“Do I hear three thousand?”
“Three thousand.”
“Do I hear thirty-five hundred? Going once. Going twice. Sold to Mr. Lawrence for three thousand dollars.”
Barbi smiled seductively at Mr. Lawrence. But then she would if she wanted to earn a big tip when the three days were over. She left the stage to join the other two women he’d already bought and paid for, both of them already on their knees taking turns sucking his cock while he leisurely sipped from a beer and watched the auction.
When Kris’ name was called to come out on stage, she felt panicked enough to vomit. She took a steadying breath, told herself it would only be for three days, reminded herself that she really wanted to experience sexual submission to a man once in her life, and walked toward the stage with a welcoming smile on her face. Besides, John Calder had up and vanished so she had no way to escape the auction.
Cheers and catcalls immediately filled the room. The auctioneer wasted no time in taking advantage of that fact.
“The next slave up for purchase is Krissy, the island’s only natural redhead, and one of the more popular girls during this excursion.” He covered the microphone for a brief moment and muttered under his breath to her. “Calm down—I can see how nervous you are. Do this just like we practiced and you’ll have a good time and all of us will walk out of here with bucket loads of money.”
She nodded, and then smiled out to the cheering crowd.
Kris tensed up when she saw Lauren wink at her, wondering again what he had meant last night when he’d told her he meant to punish her for making him wait to fondle her. But when she considered the fact that she’d be at his mercy for the next three days, she decided to sweetly smile at him rather than stand there and worry.
He smiled back as he absently stroked the hair of the naked woman sitting at his feet. Like Mr. Lawrence, he had already purchased two other women, so she would be his third sex slave.
“We’re starting the bidding on Krissy at three thousand dollars. Who will bid three thousand dollars to have the exclusive use of her succulent cunt for three nights in a row?”
She blew out a breath. This was so overwhelming.
“I will.”
Kris gasped at the sound of Jack’s growling, surly voice. Her heart raced as she watched him stroll into the auction room wearing an expensive Italian business suit and a lot of attitude. But then he always wore those things.
She didn’t know what to think or how to feel. Part of her was elated that he’d shown up, but the other part of her was embarrassed to see him again after the way she’d freaked out and ran off last night. Especially considering the fact he hadn’t come after her.
Lauren’s eyes narrowed at Jack. “Four thousand.”
“Five thousand,” Jack countered, not missing a beat.
Kris’ eyes widened. Why is Jack doing this? she wondered, her heart wrenching more than she cared to admit. He hadn’t followed her to the communal hut last night when she’d run off, so naturally when she’d had time to calm down and think things over she had assumed he wasn’t interested in her anymore.
She blew out a breath. Perhaps her worst fear was true. Perhaps his interest in her didn’t extend beyond the sexual. He was here tonight to bid on her for sexual purposes, but last night when she’d needed comfort he hadn’t given her any, or even sought her out to make sure she was okay.
Or perhaps Jack had wanted to give you some time to be alone, believing you’d want to recuperate in your own way, an inner voice nagged.
Lauren scowled at Jack. “Six.”
“Seven.”
Kris gulped. She stared open-mouthed at the men, her gaze flicking back and forth from one to the other, for the life of her unable to understand why they’d spend so much money on a singular woman, and on herself in particular. Nevertheless, she thought as her heartbeat accelerated, this entire situation made one thing gloriously clear:
Jack wanted her. Even if only for three nights.
Even if only for sex.
And she did want to have sex with him—lots and lots of submissive sex.
It was time to let tomorrow take care of itself, she decided. For tonight she would revel in the knowledge that Jack was willing to spend seven thousand or more dollars to have sex with her for three days. When her time on the island was over she’d worry about her heart.
“Do I hear eight thousand dollars?” the auctioneer asked, looking pointedly at Lauren Thibauld.
The Frenchman’s nostrils flared as he glanced at Jack. “Eight,” he gritted out.
“Nine,” Jack countered, cool as ice.
Silence.
“Mr. Thibauld?” the auctioneer inquired.
Lauren was quiet for a suspended moment. Kris was certain the entire room could hear the mad beating of her heart while they all awaited his answer. In fact, her heart was pumping so wildly she scarcely heard it when the auctioneer cried out, “Sold to Mr. McKenna for nine thousand dollars!”
She stood there dumbly, her legs feeling weak and her heart racing. The entire scene felt so surrealistic she couldn’t seem to move.
“Go to Mr. McKenna,” the auctioneer said under his breath to her. “He’s waiting for you.”
Kris’ head came up slowly, her wide green eyes finding Jack’s dark gaze. He crooked an arrogant finger at her and motioned with it for her to come to him.
She took a deep breath and, forgetting her earlier promise to herself, wondered again how she’d ever get through the next three days with her heart intact. She also wondered how she’d ever be able to face him on the mainland as if nothing had happened between them, as if she hadn’t spent three days as his sex slave.
Lord help her, she was already in love with him.
Chapter Twelve
Kris quietly stood next to Jack as he paid the auction bill at a table that had been set up near the room’s exit. His right hand was underneath the black silk robe she wore, absently caressing her buttocks as he waited for the cashier to process the payment to his credit card. She shivered when his finger lightly traced the cleft at the top of her buttocks, the spot extremely sensitive to touch.
“Thank you, Mr. McKenna,” the cashier said as he handed the credit card back to him. “You’re free to go.”
Jack nodded, but said nothing. He patted Kris’ backside to get her to move, but didn’t speak to her as the two of them made their way to his hut. His calloused hand continued to stroke her bottom as they walked, that being the only communication there was between them.
Kris found the lack of words coupled with the light grazing of her buttocks extremely arousing. But she also found the silence deafening. She wondered to herself if Jack was angry that he’d forked nine thousand dollars over to spend three nights with her—wondered too if he was already regretting it.