by B. B. Hamel
But Gavin couldn’t be more different. Everything he has, he earned through hard work and intelligence. He came from nothing but now he’s something.
He has experience. He has control. He is a confident and capable person, and I find that overwhelmingly attractive.
Attractive enough to throw it all away. Just for one night of pleasure. Which is probably more than I could have ever expected if I continued along my previous path.
His rough hands trail along my soft skin and his lips are firm against mine. I feel a thrill run through me as he pulls off my dress.
I love the way he looks at me. Like he’s starving for my body, like he can’t get enough. I want him to keep staring at me, but I know he’ll have to take his eyes away if we’re going to do what I want to do.
He presses me against the wall-length glass and pins my hands above my head. I’m mostly naked, standing above the city. I’m more exposed than I’ve ever been before, the good rich virgin girl being pressed against this window. That thought only makes me more excited.
“I’ll be gentle,” he says.
“Do you have to be?”
His smirk drives me wild. “At first. But soon. Very soon.” His thumb trails along my bottom lip.
“Soon you’ll be down on all fours, begging for my thick cock.”
As my teeth come down on the skin of his thumb, I know he’s right, and I can’t wait.
1
Gavin
I like charity.
Not a lot of guys in my position do, unless “charity” is the name of a stripper. Most guys, when they get as rich as I am, they just want to hold on to their wealth as much as possible. But to me, that’s so shortsighted and foolish.
We’re all in this world together. Might as well help some people.
Besides, I remember what it’s like to struggle. I remember going to bed without dinner because my parents could only afford one meal a day. I remember the struggle, the stress, and the fucking pain of having nothing at all. I remember all the time and effort I put into getting something, and I wish someone had helped us back then. Most guys like me, they didn’t come from absolutely nothing. They don’t know what it’s like to really want for the basics.
So charity is my thing. I have money, a lot of it, and I can afford to give some away. Which I do, as liberally as possible, sometimes too much if you want to listen to my business manager.
But these rich ass, upper crust charity events, these aren’t usually my thing. As I walk into the banquet hall, I keep to the edges of the room after grabbing a glass of whisky from the open bar.
Fortunately, I’m pretty anonymous in here. Everyone else is a rich business magnate, just like me, and so I can hang around and keep a low profile. I’m not particularly well-known, mostly because I’ve worked to keep it that way. Everyone knows my business and my name, but not everyone knows what I look like. That’s helped me lead a relatively normal life.
And so I blend in wearing my tuxedo and drinking my whisky. I’ve been around this crowd for years now, I’m thirty-nine years old and I’ve been rich for ten of them, but this is only my second charity auction.
I hate these things. They’re not really about the charity. They’re more about the opportunity to network with other rich assholes, maybe to bribe a few politicians, that sort of thing. Sure, there’s a real charity, and they write a check at the end of the night, but the shit that goes on during the event is loathsome.
I’m only here for two reasons. First, my business manager Rick keeps begging me to come to these things, says it would be good for the company. Being here tonight is one way to get him off my back and maybe a little bit to prove him wrong. Second, and more important, what’s being auctioned fascinated me, and I couldn’t help myself.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentleman, please have a seat.” An older woman, maybe ten years older than me, stands at the microphone on the stage. There’s a general murmur and commotion as people move toward their seats around the large banquet tables. “The auction will begin momentarily,” she says, before heading off to the side of the stage.
I find my place at a table in the back. I specifically requested this spot, and I’m glad I did. I don’t recognize anyone at my table, although my neighbor to my right is a large drunk man with a thick beard. He clearly wants to chat, but I’m not in the mood.
The crowd waits, a little restless, until music starts. The woman returns, this time to applause, and beams out at the crowd. I assume she’s the one that organized all this, though I haven’t paid much attention.
“Thank you all for being here,” she says. “And the children of Mercy General thank you as well.” More applause before she holds up her hands. “Our first girl hails from Rhode Island. The daughter of Patricia and Linus Vanderhoot, Layla Vanderhoot loves horses, skiing, and plaid skirts. Come on out, Layla!”
The crowd erupts into wild applause as a small girl with brown hair and dressed in an elegant gown steps out into the stage. She’s probably mid-twenties, pretty but not beautiful.
“Do I hear one thousand?” the woman at the microphone says, and the bidding begins.
It’s a fascinating spectacle. Daughters of the wealthy elite are paraded out onto the stage, one after another, and equally wealthy men bid outrageous sums of money to take them out on dates. The first girl, the Vanderhoot girl, is pretty but fairly plain, and even she fetches twenty grand, a respectable sum. I hope she enjoys talking horses and skirts with her suitor, who is clearly in his eighties and making lewd jokes with his peers.
Winning a date doesn’t guarantee anything untoward, of course. It just means you get to take the woman out on a date, probably chaperoned, for one night. That’s all it is, and it’s supposed to be innocent, but there’s a strange and creepy undertone to the whole thing.
I lean back and watch. I don’t plan on bidding on anyone, and in fact I already wrote a fifty thousand dollar check to Mercy General earlier that morning, so I did my charitable duty. The girls themselves aren’t very interesting, and nobody is really making me want to speak up.
I drink my whisky and then another, observing. I’m here at least, and Rick can’t deny that. I never said I’d fucking socialize or network, although I probably should.
Nine girls come and go, nearly half of the herd. There’s going to be a break before dinner, and then the final ten are going to be sold off. I plan on slipping out before the entrees, since I’ve already seen enough.
But something stops me before I can get up.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Sadie Tillman!”
The crowd claps loudly. I recognize that name. I wasn’t listening when the woman introduced Sadie’s interests, but I don’t care about that.
All I care about is the woman who walks out on stage.
She’s probably twenty years old, about five foot five to my six foot four. She has dark hair, midnight black, down to the middle of her back and thick. I can see her deep green eyes even from my spot toward the back. She’s wearing a blue dress, shimmering slightly in the ballroom spotlight, that hugs her ample curves. She looks a little overwhelmed as she smiles and waves hesitantly, and instantly I feel something stirring inside of me, something I didn’t expect.
She’s fucking gorgeous. I know the Tillmans, they’re old fucking money, the kind of people I despise. But Sadie herself doesn’t seem like the other rich girls. She’s not plain, far from it. She has a fascinating, beautiful look to her. That raven black hair is so interesting compared with the usual blondes and brunettes you see. She’s not extremely done-up, and doesn’t need to be. She’s clearly naturally beautiful, if a little shy.
“Do I hear two thousand for Sadie?” the woman says.
Several paddles raise, and there’s laughter across the ballroom. The bidding continues, and I can’t stop staring at Sadie.
She’s alluring. Fucking gorgeous. How is a girl like her standing up on that stage, among these fucking animals? She’s a goddess and we’re the mortals tasked with
worshipping her.
I want her. The thought hits me like a sledgehammer. I want her badly, have to have her. My attention is suddenly pulled back to the woman on the stage.
“Do I hear forty?” she asks, and another paddle raises. “Forty-five?”
Silence from the crowd. I frown, looking up at Sadie. She’s worth so much fucking more than forty-five thousand dollars.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I raise my paddle high in the air.
“Ah, the gentleman in the back,” the woman says. “Do I hear fifty?”
My opponent raises his paddle.
“Fifty-five?”
I raise my paddle.
“Sixty?”
He raises his.
“Sixty-five?”
“One hundred thousand,” I call out, raising my paddle.
There’s a stirring and a general murmur. The man I’m bidding against turns to look back at me, and I finally get a sense of him. He’s younger than everyone else here, younger than me. I think I recognize him, but I can’t be sure from the distance, and he quickly turns back.
“Two hundred thousand,” he says to the woman.
She looks taken aback. “Well, now, this is very generous.”
Sadie herself looks incredibly nervous, but she keeps smiling. I know she can’t see me, not with the spotlight in her eyes, but I don’t care.
I have to have her.
“Half a million,” I call out.
There’s an uproar as people cry out about the absurd amount of money. Sadie looks nervous. The drunk man next to me laughs and claps me on the back.
I don’t care about any of that. I only have eyes for Sadie, and I want this more than anything. The money doesn’t matter to me.
“Well, this is unprecedented,” the woman says. “Do I hear five hundred and ten?” There’s silence, and my opponent doesn’t move. “Going once, going twice, sold to the gentleman in the back. You are incredibly generous and the children of Mercy General thank you.”
I give a little nod to the crowd as they cheer and clap. I hate being the center of attention like this, but I can’t help but think it was worth it.
Sadie stands on the stage for a moment, frowning out at the crowd, trying to spot me. But she’s quickly ushered off, and dinner begins.
“Mr. Waller.” The woman from the stage approaches me. I stand and shake her hand. “My name is Belinda Stitcher.”
“You know me,” I say to her.
“Of course. I was the one that invited you.” She beams and I don’t like her smug look, but it doesn’t matter. She leans toward me, directing me away from the table and the crowd. “Listen, that was a lot of money you pledged.”
“I wanted to win,” I say.
“Good, very good. And we appreciate it. But, ah, it’s not a binding thing. See what I’m saying?”
I shake my head. “I follow through on my promises. Where do I write the check?”
She blushes. “Of course, of course. No need for that now. Stay, enjoy yourself.”
“I’m going to head home,” I say. “Contact my office about the girl and the check.”
She frowns. “Surely you want to stay for a free meal at least? You’re so generous.”
“Contact my office,” I say again, glancing back at the room. “And tell the girl that Gavin Waller won her. I’m very much looking forward to meeting her.”
Without another word, I hurry away. Partly because I want to get away from that crowd, and partly because I don’t want to meet Sadie, not yet at least. I want to meet her on my terms, on a date of my choosing. Besides, I feel like I’ve made a fool of myself, bidding so much on her. That’s going to give the rich a lot to gossip about.
I don’t care though. All I can think about as I head home is Sadie Tillman, gorgeous and embarrassed, looking like something I’ve never seen before.
2
Sadie
“Are you ready, honey?”
My mother fusses over my hair and my outfit. I frown at the ground, trying not to think too much about what I’m going to do.
Just stand there and smile, I think to myself. I can do that, it’s not so hard.
“She’s on in a minute,” a man holding a clipboard says to my mother.
“You look great,” mother says to me, fussing again with renewed energy. “Remember, it doesn’t matter how much they pay for you. I just want you to get out there. Besides, Milo plans on winning.”
I have to force myself not to groan. Milo Fitzwilliam is a favorite of my mother and father. He’s the son and heir to the Fitzwilliam fortune, one of the most powerful families in the whole city. My family is up there, and they’ve been trying to arrange something with the Fitzwilliam family for a long time.
I’m supposed to be that something. I’m a bargaining chip to my parents. My mother is fussing and being kind right now, but only because she’s worried that I’m going to embarrass her out on that stage.
It doesn’t matter. I’m used to that sort of thing. My parents are constantly acting like I’m a failure and an embarrassment all because I don’t love horseback riding and I haven’t locked down a rich man yet. They’re excited that Milo is interested, but they’re afraid he’s our last chance.
They don’t ask me what I want, of course. That doesn’t matter. I’m a Tillman daughter, and that means I’ll do my duty for the family and marry a good rich boy. That’s just what I was born for and what I’m expected to do.
I didn’t get to go to college. I went to an elite prep school, of course, since my parents wouldn’t dream of sending me anywhere else. But while most of my other classmates got to go off to universities and colleges, I was forced to stay home with my family. My place isn’t at a university, my mother said, but marrying an eligible man. He can worry about taking care of me.
Sometimes, I dream about leaving. I dream about running away from my multi-story apartment and living in some tiny shack out in the woods. I’d learn to cook and clean and grow things. It’s a childish dream, I know, and it’ll never happen. But it just speaks toward how much I want to get away from my family and become my own person.
“You can do this,” my mother says to me as the man with the clipboard motions for me to follow him. “Don’t embarrass me.”
Her final words ring in my ears as I’m ushered away from her. Of course that’s all she cares about, not how I feel. I was never asked if I wanted to be auctioned off like some whore or piece of cattle. I was never asked if I wanted to go on a date with a random rich man. My parents felt this was a good thing for me to do, and so I’m doing it.
The stage is brightly lit and I can barely see out into the crowd. The applause is loud and I’m nervous as I step onto the little taped mark where I’m supposed to stand. I don’t know what to do with my arms, and so I wave a little bit, smiling nervously.
The bidding begins, and people are actually putting up money. I didn’t expect that. I never fit in with the other ultra wealthy and privileged girls. I tried to make friends at school, but I couldn’t care less about the trivial things that they were interested in. I don’t like riding horses and I have no interest in endlessly discussing boys and how much their families are worth. I like to read and paint, but nobody ever asked me about that. I have friends, of course, but nobody that close, and anyway they’re all gone off to college now.
I look out into the crowd, and suddenly I spot Milo. He’s sitting toward the front, grinning at me, as he raises his paddle to bid. I keep smiling, feeling mortified and embarrassed out on the stage. I hate being looked at like I’m just a thing to be bought and sold, but I can’t do anything about it. I can’t embarrass my family by backing out now.
Milo bids again and suddenly I’m struck by the intense desire to run. I don’t want to go out on a date with him. He’s close to my father and brothers, and he’s always around the house. He’s short, barely a couple inches taller than me, with thinning hair and this goofy smile. My mother once said he looks like his family,
inbred and without manners. I hate the tone of that joke, but there’s some truth to it.
Milo bids again, a pretty large amount, and I feel intense dread deep inside of me. I expect him to win, when suddenly someone else bids, someone in the back.
I strain to see, but the lights are too bright. I can’t spot him. But I do see Milo’s face and he’s angry.
They get into a bidding war. I can’t believe the numbers they’re throwing out, and Milo is getting more and more angry. It gets all the way up to one hundred thousand dollars, more than anyone else has gone for, and I can see that Milo’s anger is shifting into shock.
I nearly faint when the man in the back bids half a million dollars. Milo’s expression is absolutely priceless, though, and I already know my parents are furious. The hostess counts down, and the strange man wins. I try to catch another glimpse of him, but I can’t see, and the room falls into an uproar of excitement. I’m ushered off the stage, and into the warm embrace of my family.
Except there’s nothing warm about my mother.
“That bastard,” she says, furious. “Who does he think he is?”
“Low class,” my brother Michael says. He’s my eldest brother and we’re not close.
“Poor Milo,” my mother says. “He really wanted to win. Did you see him bidding, Sadie? Milo has his eye on you. I think you should be proud.”
“Sure,” I say to her.
“Half a million though, sis. That’s pretty fucking good.” Peter grins at me. He’s only two years older than me.
I laugh and shrug. “I guess I’m worth it.”
“Yeah, right.” He makes a face. “You’re two hundred thousand, at best.”
“Cut it out, you two,” my mother snaps, and Peter grins at me.
He’s the only person in my family that I actually like. He’s not quite a black sheep, not like I am at least, but he doesn’t buy into their ultra rich and conservative attitude. He likes to laugh and have fun and enjoy life much more than my very stuck-up and conservative father and mother do.