Auctioned to Him 4: His Addiction

by Charlotte Byrd

  “So this is where you work?” he asks, looking around. “It’s beautiful.”

  I smile and clear my throat.

  “Well, you know. They’re flowers. It’s their job to be beautiful,” I say.

  “Hmm…I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s a job if they can do it so naturally.”

  Our eyes meet. After a moment of silence, we both crack a smile. I walk around the counter.

  “Want the grand tour?”

  “Of course.”

  “Roses are over there. Baby’s breath here. Tulips in the back. This is where I make centerpieces. And this,” I turn to the counter. “This is where the customers pay me.”

  He continues to smile. The grin on his face is warm and inviting, and it’s all I can do to not run into his arms and press my lips onto his.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” he whispers. “I’ve missed you.”

  He takes a step forward until we’re close enough to kiss. For a moment, we don’t touch. It feels like the longest moment of anticipation. And then he takes my hand in his.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” I manage.

  “I wanted to come see you…well, I wanted to see you. But I also wanted to tell you that I’m going to be out of communication for a bit. It’s a work thing.”

  “Okay,” I nod.

  “And I also wanted to ask you to be my date to my brother’s wedding.”

  He touches the tips of my hair, plays with it haphazardly. I wonder how long we’re going to stand here before he kisses me. I’m having trouble focusing on anything he’s saying.

  “What?” I ask, when I finally register that he’s talking about taking me to the wedding.

  “I want you to be my plus one,” he says, looking into my eyes. They look like they’re made of crystal – I can see my reflection in them.

  “I got my own invitation,” I say.

  “What?’

  “I just got it today. Liam and Kora invited me.”

  “Oh great. So you don’t want to go with me?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  He takes another step forward. I didn’t think that it would be possible, but somehow he manages to get even closer to me – without kissing me.

  “I’m just saying that I don’t have go as your plus one.”

  “I never said you did. I just wanted you to know that I wanted you to.”

  Why does he have to be so charming? And hot? A few strands of hair fall into his eyes. And suddenly, I can’t help myself. I reach out and brush it away. The next thing I know, we’re kissing. It’s me who makes the first move. I pull his neck closer to me. I stand up on my tiptoes and bring my lips to his. He reciprocates right away.

  He pushes me against the counter, wrapping his strong hands around my waist. After pulling me up a little closer to him, and moving my hair off my shoulders, he runs his tongue down my neck.

  “Go to the wedding with me,” he whispers into my ear in between the kisses.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper.

  “Why?”

  “It’ll just be our second date. I can’t go away with you for the weekend, to your brother’s wedding for our second date.”

  “Why?” he kisses my collarbones and buries his head in my cleavage.

  “Because…because,” I tilt my head and moan. I can’t focus. Words don’t make any sense to me anymore. I just want to rip off his clothes and for him to rip off mine.

  “Because it doesn’t seem right,” I manage to finish a thought.

  He lifts his head from my cleavage and bats his eyelashes at me. I roll my eyes. He lifts me up and sits me down on the counter. He spreads my legs with his hard body, resting his hands around my waist.

  “Our first date was at their engagement party. What’s more appropriate than having our second date at their wedding?”

  I think about that for a moment. Of course, I want to go with him. I want to see him again, more than anything. Still, the Sadie factor is still weighing heavily on my mind. I don’t want to bring her up. There’s no other news. There’s no way to know anything until the baby is born, and that’s not going to be for a long time.

  “Okay,” I finally cave. His eyes light up, “but only because Kora and Liam invited me directly.”

  He kisses me again. He tastes like salty peanuts. When he pulls away, I pull him closer. We continue to kiss until his lips spread into a wide grin and don’t close again.

  “What?” I ask, sort of kissing his teeth. “What’s so funny?”

  “So, let me get this straight, you don’t want to go as my date to the wedding?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “You should let me know, because I’m taking my plane to Tulum. And if you’re going as my date, you’re more than welcome to come with.”

  A private plane! I’ve never been on a private plane before. My heart skips a beat.

  “But if you don’t, I’d be more than happy to recommend a cab company that can pick you up from the airport after you fly coach.”

  I roll my eyes. “You think you’re so charming,” I say.

  “Yes, yes, I do,” he shrugs. I playfully push him away, but he doesn’t budge an inch. Instead, he presses himself closer to me, and we lose ourselves in another passionate kiss.

  Chapter 15 - Logan

  I was toying with her. Of course, I wanted to kiss her. More than anything. But I wanted to see that she wanted it as badly as I did. She was such a flirt over text, but my experience tells me that some girls can say the dirtiest things in texts and not have anything to show for it in real life. Our texts didn’t get dirty, but they were fun. Still, I wasn’t sure how surprising her at her shop would go. It could’ve been a total disaster. Luckily, it wasn’t. She said yes.

  I try to make the kiss last as long as possible. I hold her by her waist and bury my head in her bosom. They are just the right size. And natural. Perfect. She tastes of wine and fruit and chocolate. I lick my lips after we pull away.

  “You taste delicious,” I say. She blushes.

  “I had some sangria earlier. And chocolate,” she puts her hand over her mouth. I pull it away, and kiss her beautiful lips again. I want to rip off her shirt and hike up her skirt. I want to fuck her. Hard. From the look in her eyes, I’m pretty sure that she’d let me. Maybe even close down the shop so that we aren’t disturbed. But I’m running late. I already stayed much longer than I should have.

  Reluctantly, I pull away from Avery.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, tilting her head and flashing me a smile. My knees feel wobbly. I know I’m in trouble.

  “I have to go.”

  “Noooooo.” She pulls me closer.

  “I know, I’m sorry,” I push away. Shit. Why did this have to happen today of all days?

  “Where do you have to go? You don’t have a job!”

  “I do have a job. An obligation. It’s a pretty serious one too,” I look down at my watch. I’m late. Really late. He hates lateness. Doesn’t tolerate it.

  “What is it?” she asks, jumping off the counter. She crosses her arms across her chest. She pouts her lips. If only I didn’t have to leave right away. I have a few ideas of how I could make that pout disappear.

  “It’s difficult to explain,” I say. I don’t want to lie to her – wow, that’s a first – but I can’t tell the truth either.

  “I’m going on a very important business trip tomorrow. I won’t be able to stay in contact. Not constant contact.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Avery turns away from me and pretends to work on a centerpiece.

  I turn her around.

  “Because I don’t want you to think that I’m ignoring you. I like you Avery. A lot. But I can’t stay. I have to go. I have a meeting with my director, and I’m running late. Tomorrow I have to leave. I’m not sure when I’ll be in touch again, but I will pick you up for the wedding. I promise.”

  She shakes her head, as if she understands. In today’s age of
constant contact and almost infinite technology, it’s a little hard to explain why I’m going to go pretty much underground for a month, but this is the best explanation that I can offer.

  I bend down to her ear. I move hair off her shoulders and kiss the back of her neck. She moans a little. I want her to remember these words.

  “I like you, Avery. A lot.”

  * * *

  I race through Topanga Canyon, breaking all speeding records. Here, the problem is not so much the police hiding behind curves, but the curves themselves. The road is windy and steep.

  It’s not advisable to go faster than 50 miles per hour. I’m meeting Franklin Truman on a park bench on the Santa Monica Pier. I’m late, of course. It’s only by fifteen minutes, but fifteen minutes is like two hours in Truman time.

  “I was about to leave,” he says, looking straight at me. I don’t apologize. That would be admitting a mistake, and that’s a big no-no with Truman. To him, an apology is a sign of regret, and regrets are unprofessional.

  Santa Monica Pier is swirling with happy families and pets. Everyone around us is having fun and smiling.

  “This isn’t the best place to meet if you wanted to fit in,” I say. “Given your propensity to stare ahead with a serious expression on your face.”

  He turns to me. I know better than to expect a sarcastic smile from him. Franklin Truman has no sense of humor. I’ve never seen him smile or even make a joke. Perhaps that’s one of the requirements of being the director of Daffodil, but I have the feeling that I’d run it completely differently. Daffodil is the name of the secret organization within the CIA I made the terrible mistake of joining all those years ago. Part-time work, my ass.

  “Augusto Sanchez has already started to consolidate power,” Truman says. “He’s had at least five ministers who helped him conduct the military coup arrested. Many have disappeared. None of our operatives on the ground know how many civilians have vanished. He has completely taken over the newspapers and the media. Analysts are saying that he’s well on his way to becoming the next Kim Jong-Il.”

  I nod.

  “We have intelligence that suggests that he’s going to be on his yacht on the night of the 18th. Are you still going to your brother’s wedding?”

  “I’m the best man.”

  “Fine, that will do. It might actually be a good cover as to why you’re there.”

  “A convenient cover is not really what I’m looking for that weekend,” I say. Truman ignores me. My wisecracks used to get under his skin. He used to take them very personally. Over the years, he has learned to pay them no attention.

  Truman is in his late 50’s, but his body looks like it belongs to a 70 year old. He doesn’t take care of himself - he eats too much and drinks too much. He has no sense of style or fashion. He’s wearing a relatively new suit, but the collar is open and the shirt is crumpled. The pants look like he has slept in them for three days straight. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that he’s some put upon traveling salesman, a Willy Loman type.

  “They are expecting you in D.C. tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there. Of course, I have nothing better to do than to go through more useless tests.”

  Testing and training is very important in the CIA, and it’s especially important in Daffodil. What they conveniently forgot to mention to me when I signed my contract with them is that, though I’m only obliged to complete a certain number of missions a year, each mission also comes with extensive training, planning and testing components. There are tests on stress and concentration, fatigue and general physical discomfort. There are tests on conventional firearms and tactical training and, of course, analytical training. The training and testing vary depending on the depth and the scope of the mission, but they do have one thing in common: they are all a major pain in the ass.

  “Don’t forget the bag,” Truman says, getting up.

  “Now, when have I ever forgotten the bag?” I hiss back. That one was just to irritate him. I’ve never met any other agents from Daffodil – it’s not like we have conventions every year to discuss our career paths – but I really hope that I’m the most annoying one that Truman has to work with. Anything short of that, and I’d be disappointed in myself.

  Chapter 16 - Avery

  Logan’s appearance is a breath of fresh air this afternoon. After he leaves, all the air seems to have been sucked out of the room. I’m just about to close up shop. Cynthia is off today, and I am left all alone for what seems like the two longest hours of my life. I can’t concentrate on anything. It requires all of my effort just to arrange the one bouquet that I’ve already designed. And I actually consider closing early. Wow. He must’ve really made an impression because I never close early. Ever.

  I want him back. I want him to come right back here, put his arms around me and press his lips onto mine. I want him to take me upstairs and to do all sorts of bad things to me. If I had known that he was leaving on a business trip for a month – a whole month! – I would’ve demanded that we go on our second date sooner. I would’ve closed the shop earlier so that we didn’t just make out like teenagers, but actually took off our clothes and got serious. Shit. Why did he have to be such a gentleman? Does he not think that I can hold my own? Does he not see me that way? Does he not want me?

  No. He wants me. If there’s one thing I know, I know that. I could feel how much he wanted me while we were making out on the counter. I brush my hand over the counter wistfully. I felt it pressing against me through his shorts. And I liked what I felt. It felt big and strong.

  “I need to take a shower,” I say out loud.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Shivers run up my spine. Could it be? No, it couldn’t. He had left.

  “Hi,” Logan walks out of the shadows.

  “Hi,” I whisper. “I thought you had to go.”

  “I did. But I thought I’d stop by before my flight. Just to say hi.”

  He comes behind the counter. He stands so close to me, I can see strands of his hair move as he breathes.

  “Just to say hi?” I ask.

  “I wanted to see if you’d want to go on a second date with me now.”

  “Instead of waiting a month?” I ask.

  He nods, playing with the ends of my hair.

  “What do you have in mind?” I ask, not moving an inch. Slowly, he puts one arm around me, pulling me closer to him. The fingers of his other hand softly trace the outline of my face. His thumb brushes along my lower lip. At that moment, something takes ahold of me, and I lick him. I don’t even really know what I’m doing, and half expect him to push me away and walk out. His breathing pauses for a moment. I look up at him, my eyes searching his. Perhaps that was a step too far, but instead of shock and awe, a wide grin spreads from the corner of his lips to his whole face. His eyes light up with excitement.

  Logan stares into my eyes. It feels like he can see right through me. The moment lasts both for a second and forever. I shift my eyes to his mouth. I want to feel it on me.

  He’s breathing harder than usual. I stop breathing altogether.

  Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, I say silently over and over. Why is he taking so long? Is he asking my permission? He didn’t need it before.

  As if it were possible, he takes another step closer to me. I close my eyes. He leans down and kisses my lips. Gently. He brushes his tongue along my lower lip. Our tongues intertwine, and become one. He pushes me against the counter, and I push back. I love running my hands along his fit, strong body. I love feeling his arms all around my body. He grabs my butt, squeezes, sending shivers through me. I bury my hands in his soft hair. I’m making it a total mess, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Wait,” I mumble. I’m getting tossed by passion as if it’s an ocean wave. I’m only vaguely aware of the fact that we’re still in my shop. And the front door is still unlocked.

  “What?” he moans, nibbling on my earlobe.

  I moan along with him. I want to te
ar off his clothes. But not here.

  “Logan,” I whisper. Finally, he pulls away. Looks directly into my eyes.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. We should stop.”

  A pang of anger flashes through me.

  “I don’t want to stop, silly,” I say kissing his neck. Who is this person? It’s as if confidence is oozing out of me.

  “You don’t?” He smiles with his eyes.

  “I just want to go upstairs. We can’t do it here, a customer might come in.”

  Logan holds me by my waist as I lock up and head upstairs. He drapes his hot, tan body on mine, grabbing at all of my bits.

  “Okay,” I turn around to face him, “but before we go in, you have to promise not to make fun of my place.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, kissing my neck.

  “It’s a studio. A very small studio. I don’t know the last time you were in a place like this, but it’s not one of those large, spacious studios that poor people always have in the movies or in television shows. I don’t pay much rent and it looks it.”

  “I don’t care,” he whispers. “I don’t care if we do it outside by the trashcans, I just want you.”

  I stare at him. Kind of insulted. He catches himself.

  “Okay, that’s not what I meant,” he says. “I just meant that I totally understand. I used to live in a one-bedroom apartment in West Hollywood. I know that money doesn’t go very far in this town.”

  I sigh. He wraps his arms around me again.

  “I’m not going to laugh, Avery. You don’t have to be embarrassed. About anything. Not with me.”

  Reluctantly, I open the door to my place. I don’t know why I’m so self-conscious about this place. Luckily, I was feeling a little bored last night and cleaned the whole place top to bottom. The apartment is basically a large rectangle of about 300 square feet. My bed is against the left, directly across from the kitchenette. I have a mini-fridge, which is about a few cubic feet bigger than the one I had in college, and a hot plate. The hot plate is technically illegal, but there is no stove, making the whole apartment basically illegal, so my landlord and I have an understanding. He doesn’t report me, and I don’t report him.