Auctioned to Him 6: Damage

by Charlotte Byrd

  * * *

  I rise out of the water. The warm sun feels nice on my erect nipples, comforting even. I dip back down, this time submerging my head. Freezing water rushes over my head, and I scream under water.

  “Fuuuuuuuuuuck!”

  I scream. The water is so cold I feel like my lungs are collapsing within my chest. I scream again. I had to be a rock for two years, and I just can’t take it anymore.

  The temperature difference between the air and the water is probably more than 50 degrees, and I can’t get enough of the water. It’s focusing my mind. Nothing else exists except right here and now.

  It’s quite a change from the world where I came from. That world of anxiety over the future and the depression over the past makes me wish that I were the one who had gotten cancer instead of her. It would've been easier for me to handle.

  Here, I don’t dwell on the past or worry about the future. My mind doesn’t spin in circles on what could’ve been or what might be. Rising out and diving back into the crystal-clear water centers me.

  Alive.

  Awake.

  Aware.

  I’m present in this moment, and this moment is all that matters. It’s all I have.

  * * *

  “Hey! Hey, there!” A deep voice pierces my solitude.

  Who is this asshole infringing on my one moment of fun and hope? I turn around.

  “Mind if I join you?” he yells from the shore. “You’re the first person I’ve seen in two days.”

  “Whatever,” I yell back and dive under the water.

  It’s going to be okay. I’m not going to let this stranger invade my fun. The lake is more than two miles across. There’s room for both of us here.

  When I come back up for air, the stranger is waist deep in the water. His body is tan and strong. He descends into the water and comes back up again. When he comes up, every defined muscle in his body glistens in the sun as if he is a Greek god.

  “Wow, it’s cold,” he laughs. I smile and try to look away from his toned stomach and all six clearly defined muscles that form his six-pack.

  My fingers sweep over my thighs. Suddenly, I come to my senses. Somewhat.

  I am naked. Completely naked. Shit.

  “This feels amazing, doesn’t it?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I nod. Are we really going to talk about the temperature of the water?

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, coming closer.

  He submerges into the water up to his shoulders. My mind focuses on his face. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, but his jawline is strong and powerful. His eyes are piercing blue, the color of the cloudless sky. Long strands of light brown hair fall into his face.

  He dives under the water. I wrap my hands around my body as if there is anything I can do if he opens his eyes under the water.

  He rises out of the water a god. He tosses his head and all hair from his face dances and falls into place. A beautiful, friendly smile forms on his lips.

  * * *

  “I’m Tristan,” he says. “What’s your name?”

  I want to lie but lose my train of thought. “Annabelle.”

  “Annabelle? I’ve never met anyone by that name before,” he smiles. His white teeth sparkle in the sunlight.

  “I’ve never met anyone named Tristan before,” I mumble.

  I’m flirting. I haven’t flirted in who knows how long, and something about saying those words reminds me that I am a woman. It’s a nice feeling.

  “Tristan? Where’s that from?”

  He smiles again. It takes everything I have to not reach out and brush my fingers along his luscious, soft lips.

  “From a lot of places, but really it’s from an old English story about star-crossed lovers, Tristan and Isolde.”

  Of course, I know that. I wrote a term paper on Tristan and Isolde junior year in college. I meant why the hell he has that name.

  “Sounds like your parents were romantics,” I smile.

  “You can say many things about my parents,” Tristan says, “but I’m not sure you can say that.”

  I nod. My arms are no longer shielding my body. I spread them out wide around me. It’s not deep enough in this spot that I can’t reach the ground, but I like treading water. I bob up and down, periodically exposing my collarbones and a bit below that, all the while still staying decent.

  “And what about you, Annabelle?” He smiles. “Annabelle is kind of a literary name too, wouldn’t you say?”

  I roll my eyes. He is, of course, referring to the famous Annabel Lee from Edgar Allen Poe.

  “Yes, it was as if my mom wanted me to become depressive.”

  I don’t mean to mention her, but I do. And the very thought of her makes my throat close. This is why I have come here – to get away from thoughts of her. To get away from a world that is made up of her.

  “Oh no, not at all,” he laughs.

  There is a sweetness in his smile. The type of kindness I have never seen in people out in the real world. He is real, true, and honest.

  “I think it’s simpler than that. I don’t know your mom, of course, but she probably loved Edgar Allen Poe, and he loved Annabel Lee, and so she fell in love with his love for her and everything that that name represented.”

  “You think it was as simple as that?”

  “Yes, I do,” he nods. “Things typically are.”

  That isn’t even a bit true – things in the real world are complicated and complex, full of layers and emotions and misunderstandings. Yet here, with Tristan, the world seems simple. Black and white. Easy to navigate. I nod.

  “So how are we going to do this?” Tristan asks.

  I have no idea what he is talking about.

  “Get out of the water.” He smiles.

  I look down and remember that I am naked. I look up at him. Through the crystal-clear water, I can see that he is completely naked as well. But I can’t make out any details. I feel a strange tingling in the area between my legs. If the water wasn’t so cold, I know that I would also feel warm and moist.

  * * *

  2

  “Okay, okay. I’ll be a gentleman, I’ll get out first. But you have to look away.”

  Look away? Why? I don’t want to look away.

  “Because it’s cold here. I have a lot more to offer than what you’ll see coming out of this glacier water.”

  I smile and turn around. “Okay, I promise.”

  I hear him rise out of the water and splash on his way to shore. I have every intention of keeping my promise, but then I don’t. I turn around slightly and sneak a peek.

  Tristan’s back is to me, but I can see his perfectly toned legs and firm buttocks walking toward the shore.

  “Okay, I’m done,” he yells, his voice echoing across the lake.

  I turn around. “Okay, don’t look!”

  Tristan turns his back and disappears into the woods.

  I climb out slowly, suddenly well aware of my body and its various shortcomings. My legs are a little too short, my stomach a bit too big, my breasts a little too small. But as I get closer to shore, I feel a strange kind of confidence building up within me.

  I have been hiking in the woods by myself for days, and I have not seen a mirror in close to a week. And yet, looking down at my body, I can see that I am wrong. My stomach is flatter and somewhat defined. My arms are strong and my shoulders powerful. My breasts are firm and small, but pleasant to look at.

  Infused with an unfamiliar sensation of confidence, I feel my shoulders straighten out. This is my body, and I am okay with it. In this moment, I want Tristan to look. I hope that he too will break his promise.

  I don’t see Tristan on the way to my backpack. Dripping wet, I search my bag for something clean to wear. Finally, I find a thin white dress, which I packed in case it got really hot and I had to wash all of my clothes. It seems perfect for the occasion. I put it on, gather all of my discarded clothes from the path leading to the shore and lea
ve to find him.

  I find Tristan around the bend. His tent is already set up, and he’s busy stirring something that smells amazing on a tiny camping stove.

  “Annabelle, I’m glad you’re here.”

  I nod. I am glad I am here too.

  “I was wondering if you will join me for dinner.”

  I smile. “Yes, of course. That sounds nice.”

  He flashes his beautiful pearly whites at me and brushes his hair out of his face with the back of his hand.

  “What are you making?”

  “Vegetarian chili. From a pouch. Hope that’s okay.”

  “That’s better than what I’ve been having for almost a week now.”

  “How’s that?”

  I laugh and pull out a handful of energy bars from the top of my backpack.

  “Oh, that’s not good. Did you not pack anything more substantial?”

  “Yes, I did, actually.” I shrug. I don’t want to get into this. “But I wasn’t really in the mood to cook.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, I hope you’re in the mood for this.”

  I nod. For the first time in what seems like ages, I am in the mood to eat a hearty and filling meal.

  * * *

  As Tristan continues to stir the pot, he tells me about his life. He’s 27-years-old, three years older than I am. In the winters, he works as a ski instructor around California – Tahoe, Mammoth, and even Big Bear, here in Southern California. In the summers, he works as a rafting guide in Colorado.

  As we talk, we discover that we both attended the University of Southern California and were there at the same time but majored in different things. He was a Communications and Business double major because his family had wanted him to follow his father and pursue a career in business. But he didn’t feel like that was right for him, so he skies and rafts instead.

  I like the way that he stood up to his family, pursuing his dreams and living his life on his own terms.

  I like the straightforward way in which he speaks to me. I try to be honest with him as well. As honest as I can be without mentioning anything personal.

  I tell him that I graduated a couple of years ago with a degree in English and work as a freelance editor. What I don’t tell him is that I work freelance because I can’t find anything better. I don’t tell him that I have been looking for a full-time position for over a year now, sent out over a hundred resumes and cover letters and have only been asked to come in to interview for five positions. I don’t tell him that no one will hire me for anything and that I am already four months behind on my student loan payments and would be out on the street were it not for my wonderful and generous roommate.

  There is a world of things that I don’t tell Tristan, and I feel bad about every single one of them.

  “So why vegetarian chili?” I ask. I’m trying to distract myself from all the things that I want to tell this perfect human being.

  “Why not?” Tristan’s blue eyes twinkle when he smiles.

  “No reason, just wondering,” I say. “I like vegetarian chili better than regular chili, anyway.”

  “Well, that’s good,” he says. “Me too. But I also don’t eat meat.”

  The words surprise me. My brows furrow in disbelief. I’ve always thought of vegetarians as weak and slight in stature. I’ve never met a guy who was a vegetarian, but I always imagined them to be boring and unattractive.

  Tristan is none of these things. He’s powerful and solid and defined, both in personality and body. His arms and hands are strong and capable, and yet he’s supposedly a vegetarian?

  “Really? That’s hard to believe.” I smile.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because…because vegetarians aren’t…” I can’t think of a word that is both inoffensive and appropriate.

  “Aren’t manly?” he fills in the blank.

  I nod.

  “Well, I am manly, and I’m a vegetarian. I don’t see why someone has to eat animals to be considered a real man.”

  His words blow me away. I’ve never given vegetarians much thought except that I’ve always thought of them as a bit too self-obsessed and egomaniacal and weak. But Tristan isn’t that at all.

  “Oh, I see.” I nod.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Annabelle. It’s just something that works for me, and that’s why I do it. It doesn’t mean that I think there’s something wrong with you.”

  “I hope not,” I mumble, hating myself for thinking that there is something wrong with him. When there isn’t. He’s the most perfect human that I’ve laid my eyes on. And the fact that he is a vegetarian on top of that, someone who cares about the well-being of those who are weaker than him, makes him even more attractive.

  Tristan pours me a bowl of the chili. I grab a spoon and eat more than I’ve eaten in weeks. It tastes so delicious and wonderful that I feel completely powerless in stopping myself. Once I finish one bowl, he pours me another and another. He doesn’t stop me from filling myself, and he doesn’t ask questions as to why I’m so hungry. He simply eats his bowl of food in silence, occasionally looking up at me with an inquisitive look in his eye.

  After dinner, we make s’mores. I haven’t had a s’more in a decade. I love peeling off the burned parts of the marshmallow and licking the gooey, stretchy filling. After ravenously consuming two s’mores, I look up at Tristan and catch him staring at me. With the sun setting, his eyes turn a deeper shade of blue but do not lose the innocent and yet mysterious quality that draws me to him.

  Suddenly, he reaches out and brushes his fingers along my bottom lip. His fingertips feel rough but soft at the same time. Slowly, he leans in close to me. I can feel his breath on my face, and I lick my lips.

  He cradles my face as he buries his fingers in my hair. When I close my eyes, our lips touch.

  3

  His lips are soft and effervescent. His tongue feels both foreign and familiar at the same time. He tilts my head back and drops his. His lips are on my neck. He’s kissing me so slowly that I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  Our legs touch, and his hands slowly caress the top of my shoulders. I feel him pushing me backward onto the ground, and I let him. My legs open on their own, and we intertwine as one.

  “Wait, wait,” I whisper.

  Reluctantly, Tristan pulls away. His face is so close to mine that his hair falls into my eyes, and his eyelashes are giving me butterfly kisses.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispers. “Do you want to take things slow?”

  Yes, I do, I say to myself. This isn’t right. I’m not the kind of girl who has one night stands. I’m careful and cautious. I am the girl who has boyfriends and who always waits until at least the third date to sleep with a guy.

  And yet, there’s something about Tristan that makes me feel safe and comfortable. I feel like I’ve known him my whole life. Like we belong together. I don’t feel as if I’ve just met him; I feel like I’ve known him forever.

  “No,” I decide and shake my head.

  “Are you sure?” he whispers, kissing my neck again.

  I nod. “I just want to go into your tent. Is that okay?”

  He smiles with his whole face, and his blue eyes pierce through my heart and body.

  “Is that okay?” he jokes, grabbing my hand and pulling me up into the air. “Is that okay? Of course, it’s okay.”

  The tent is twenty feet away, but I barely walk a step. With Tristan’s arms around me, I am as light as a feather and float into the tent.

  The tent is small, meant for one person, and neither of us can stand up all the way. I dive in first, landing softly on his sleeping bag. Tristan lowers himself, slowly, on top of me. His smile vanishes, but his face keeps its whimsical look.

  “What?” I smile. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” he says without missing a beat.

  My cheeks flush. No one has ever said that t
o me before. The confidence in his voice is disarming.

  He kisses me again. This time his lips are more forceful. He presses his whole body into mine, and every last inch of it is hard and powerful. He kisses me hard – so hard that it borders on painful. I kiss him back. I push back into him and feel him rise a little above me. I didn’t know that I could have so much power.

  Slowly, our bodies start to move as one. Through his jeans, I can feel how large and hard his cock is, and I want to see it. I want to feel it in my hand. I want to taste it.

  His hands start to slide down my body until they find where my dress ends. Then they start sliding back up, across the curves of my hips, up my hips bones, and stopping briefly to tease my belly button. His lips pull away from mine and land there. He’s licking my belly button and then running his tongue along the top of my panties. My body rises and falls with each kiss. I close my legs to stop myself from getting even wetter than I already am.

  “Oh no, no, no,” he whispers and forces my legs open once more. My mouth dries and all moisture in my body concentrates itself in that one place between my legs.

  Unfortunately, he doesn’t stay there for long. He comes back up and pulls my dress over the top of my head.

  I’m not wearing a bra, and my erect nipples are holding my breasts in place.

  “Oh wow, wow,” he whispers, placing the tip of my breast into his mouth.

  “I love your breasts, Annabelle,” Tristan whispers.

  I love the way he says my name, and I want to hear him scream it at the top of his lungs.

  “Oh, Tristan,” I whisper, wanting to scream his name too, but I seem to have lost all ability to speak.

  He comes back up to my face, and I can taste the sweetness of his luscious lips. As we kiss, he kicks off his loose fitting jeans.

  “No underwear?” I ask, grabbing his hard, solid ass.

  My fingernails are probably leaving marks, but I don’t care. The muscles in his butt are hard and strong, but the skin is soft and delicate. Grabbing it makes me so aroused that it’s all I can do not to push him onto his stomach and bite it.