Highest Bidder Collection

by Lauren Landish

  Tell him, my mind screams. Tell him and let this all be over with!

  Smack! Smack!

  Fuck! Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. This is different from the other punishments. There’s no pleasure. Red is on the tip of my tongue. But a part of me knows I deserve this. That I need this.

  Smack!

  I suck in a sharp, painful breath, parting my lips to tell him what he wants to hear. That I’m broken.

  Smack!

  The strangled scream that escapes my lips is raw and filled with pain, but I manage to get three words out.

  “I’ll tell you!”

  Chapter 19

  Lucian

  The last few hours have been difficult. When the emails came through and Isaac called, I couldn’t believe what he’d told me. I saw the records, the charges against her father’s brother. Isaac had a timeline of how her life fell apart, the court dates and her parents' divorce. Moving from one house to the next.

  I knew she was hiding something. I never expected that though. Never.

  How could she not tell me?

  I’m crushed by the feeling of insignificance. I feel useless. Or at least to her I was. She didn’t tell me because she didn’t think I’d make a difference. Isaac’s still looking into her ex, but I have no clue if she told him, or anyone else before him. Maybe she wants to keep it a secret. Maybe it wasn’t mine to know.

  But she’s mine. My body heats with guilt for taking her the way I did. I assumed. No, I trusted she was forthcoming. She’s my Submissive, and I had no idea about something so crucial to her needs. I still don’t know everything. I don’t know how this affects what she needs.

  I’m going to find out though.

  “It’s alright, treasure,” I whisper softly, cupping her face in my hand and kissing her tears away as I release the cuff from around her wrist. “It took a lot for you to tell me; I’m proud of you.”

  My voice is soft and comforting as I massage her arm and then release the other wrist. Her eyes are glassed over with tears and shining with insecurity.

  “I’m sorry,” her voice cracks as she wipes under her eyes.

  She has nothing to be sorry about though, this is my fault. It was my responsibility, but I was too eager and too presumptuous.

  I grip her hip and pull her closer to me. “Relax, Dahlia,” I whisper into her hair as she leans against my chest. “I need you to talk to me, Dahlia.”

  I hold her close, running my hand down her back in soothing strokes. I knew she was hiding something from me. I could see that she so badly wanted to confide in me, but she didn’t.

  What I don’t know is why. Why hide it? Did she think it was truly unnecessary, and that her past has no bearing on our current relationship? That’s possible, and I was hopeful. But her current state begs to differ.

  “Tell me, treasure,” I say and gently press my lips to her forehead. My words fall into the space between us, “Tell me why you kept this from me.”

  She stills in my arms. I don’t want to push her. Trust takes time, but I want this from her. I need this, or I won’t be able to continue the way we were.

  I need to know what I’m doing isn’t hurting her.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Her words are hollow and soft. Her voice is chilled with the sadness that’s echoed in her body language as she tries to push me away.

  I let her. She’s not going anywhere. She’s stuck in this room with me and she can turn away from me and hide for the moment like she’s been doing, but she’s not leaving.

  She doesn’t have to tell me just yet. But I’m not going to let her lie. Not to me, and not to herself.

  “It does matter,” I say and brace my arm around her body, caging her in slightly and refusing to let her move away any farther. “You don’t have to tell me any more than you want, but whatever comes out of your mouth needs to be the truth.”

  Dahlia hides her face from me, burying herself into the mattress. I’ll allow it for a moment. I forced her to open up to me, but I can only push her so much. If she keeps running, it’ll force me to break her. She can’t hide from me. I won’t allow it. Not when it comes to this.

  “You aren’t broken.”

  Her eyes whip to mine. Red-rimmed and her cheeks tearstained, even in such distress she looks beautiful. Maybe even more so because of it. “I am,” she says and her voice is hard. “I can’t…” her voice croaks, and she trails off. “I can’t get off…”

  Bullshit. I know she’s cum for me. I hold in a breath and wait for more.

  Her head hangs low and she picks at the comforter, her voice soft as she admits, “I have to feel like I’m being forced.”

  I keep my expression neutral, but internally I’m breaking, going over every encounter we’ve had. I can’t remember one time where I wasn’t rough with her. I knew she enjoyed it, but I didn’t consider why. It’s a simple preference for me. And I made the assumption that it was for her as well.

  I set my hand down on her hip and scoot her a bit closer to me. As I think of what to say, I remember being gentle with her, early in the morning at the end of our first week. She was sore, and I didn’t want to hurt her.

  I suck in a breath, hating that I have to ask, but already knowing the answer.

  “You’ve only cum for me when I was harsh with you?” She tenses under my embrace, but I continue to hold her.

  “Yes,” she softly whispers.

  I feel sick knowing, hearing her confession. I took pleasure and failed her as a Dom.

  “I’m sorry, treasure, I didn’t know.”

  I fell asleep holding her, after causing that. Leaving her unsatisfied, but even worse, with a trigger of what happened to her. Completely unaware. I know I’m a selfish man, but I’ve never felt it quite like I do in this moment.

  “It’s fine,” she says, once again refuting the truth.

  “It’s not fine,” I whisper, shaking my head gently. She doesn’t hold my gaze, and her shoulders hunch forward. That never should have happened.

  I consider my next words carefully. “Are you happy with not being able to find your release any other way?” I ask her. However she chooses to cope is just that, her choice. But this wouldn’t be upsetting her so much if she was happy. I just need to hear her say it.

  She shakes her head and looks up at me with pure vulnerability in her eyes. Tears fall down her cheeks. “No, no, I don’t want this.” I pull her soft body into my chest and hold her while she cries harder than before.

  “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

  “I have a therapist,” she says, wiping under her eyes. I lean across the bed and grab a few tissues for her. She takes them graciously, whispering, “Thank you.”

  I nod my head. I think a therapist is far better equipped than I am. I’m out of my realm of expertise. I know I can help her. I can train her to find her release. I know I can give her that. I can show her she’s capable.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologizes again, and I don’t like it. I don’t need her to tell me she’s sorry. I need her to tell me she wants me to help. That she believes I can help her.

  “Don’t be. I’m here for you.”

  “I can give you what you need,” I say quietly.

  She nods her head, but she’s not really understanding.

  “I’m going to show you how deserving you are.” Her sad expression stares back at me, she’s exhausted and emotional.

  And I’m sure she’s hungry. One need at a time. I’ll take care of her.

  “Come, treasure. I need you to clean yourself up for dinner.” She sniffles and nods her head, but before she can move off the bed, I wrap my arm around her waist and bring her closer to me.

  “First, tell me something.”

  “What?” she asks warily.

  “Anything,” I tell her. I just want her to talk to me.

  “Anything?”

  I nod my head and repeat, “Anything,” and kiss the tip of her nose. She smiles and curls up slig
htly, leaning next to me and looking across the room.

  “I like lemon flavored Italian water ice the best.”

  A small laugh leaves my lips in a huff. “Lemon?” I say with a smile.

  She looks up at me, expectantly. It takes me a moment to realize what she’s waiting for. “Cherry. I think I prefer cherry.”

  “You need to have your bracelet on,” I tell her, grabbing her wrist and slipping the triple-ringed bracelet on before we can leave. Security knew she was coming while I waited for her. But I don’t want to piss them off parading her around without the required membership bracelet. I hold her waist as we walk to the door. She’s much better now that I’ve given her time to get ready. She needs touch though. She’s still hurting. I can see it in her eyes.

  I lead her out of the room, my hand along her back and it’s only then that I realize she’s not collared. I can’t allow that. I want everyone to know she’s mine.

  “To the right, treasure,” I say and pull her slightly, my fingers slipping around her waist, my thumb brushing easily along her hip and bringing her closer to me as we enter the Club X store, Sex and Submission.

  “You need a collar.” She smiles slightly and looks up at me as the words hit her. That touch of shyness comes over her as she brushes her hair behind her ear. I love that about her. That sweet bashfulness that she has.

  I should have already bought her a collar. From the moment she set foot through those doors, she should have been labeled as mine. I’ll have to get her a necklace, too. I always want a symbol of my possession around her neck.

  The shop’s walls are made of glass and arranged in a way that makes it look as though it’s all purposefully arranged decoration. Just like the rest of the club, it shines with luxury.

  Dahlia’s eyes lock onto the collars on black velvet display stands the moment we enter. There are a variety, but none of them are good enough. She should be draped in gold. Just as she was when I first saw her. I’ll get her something temporary for now, but as soon as we’re home, I’m buying her one that’s deserving of her beauty.

  Dahlia walks toward the collars of her own accord and then freezes, looking back at me with frightened eyes. I merely nod and stay by the register.

  She gently touches a few collars, but doesn’t pick any of them up although she goes back to one three times before she finally settles on it.

  It’s a simple flat silver band with a single loop at the front, and a lock and key closure.

  Knowing she won't be able to take it off once I put it on her sends a thrill I can only partially understand shooting through me.

  I’m more than happy she chose one with this type of closure, and I make a mental note to make sure her next collar has the same. I glance at the price tag on the underside before making my way to the register. $15,000. Dahlia seems somewhat uncomfortable behind me, a question on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t ask it.

  “Member ID?” the woman behind the counter asks softly as I pass her the collar.

  “Mister 646D,” I answer. I could use my name, but I still prefer the anonymity.

  “And would you like it now, or shall I box it for you?”

  “I’ll have it now.” I quickly take it, along with the lock and turn to my treasure. She lifts her thick locks up and shivers as I slip the metal collar around her neck. I’m tempted to put the lock in the front, so everyone can see, but I place it on her as it’s meant to go and run my hands down her shoulders and kiss her hair before slipping the lock into my pocket.

  “All set?” I ask the attendant. They charge my tab rather than requiring cards to be used. It's more convenient this way.

  “Yes, sir. I hope you two have a delightful evening.”

  I can’t help but glance at the collar around my treasure’s neck as we leave. Her fingers gently touch the silver band.

  “Do you like it?” she asks me as we walk through the hallway and to the restaurant for dinner.

  “I love it, because it shows them all that you belong to me.” Her lips part with a lust-filled gasp, and she reaches for my hand. Before she can pull it away, like she’s done so many times before, I snatch it and give her a gentle squeeze before bringing her hand to my lips and kissing the underside of her wrist.

  The hallway is empty, and the faint sounds from the playroom diminish the closer we get to the dining hall. Dahlia looks back twice at the sounds of a whip and then again at the sounds of a loud moan.

  Her innocence pulls a smirk to my lips.

  I nod at Isaac, the first person I see as we walk through the grand entrance and make my way over to him, proudly leading Dahlia toward him. I watch as he takes her in. She’s not dressed as she should be. But she wasn’t prepared, and I have no intention of taking her to the playroom now. Just dinner, and then home. We’ll come back for a show and she can get a taste of what the club has to offer. But only once I know how to help her better. I need to make sure every action aids in her recovery.

  Isaac tips his beer at me as we take a seat in his booth. It’s in the back of the hall and facing the stage with a good view of everyone else. Working security, he’s always chosen seats with ample viewing and easy access to an exit. Some things never change.

  Dahlia’s quiet as we take our seats and she’s so tense, it seems she’s not even breathing. “Relax, treasure,” I whisper into her ear and gently kiss her cheek.

  “How are you enjoying Lucian’s company, Dahlia?” Isaac asks, and her eyes widen for a split second, wondering how he knew her name. I have no intention of telling her, so she can continue to wonder.

  “I’m...“ she pauses, considering her words. “It’s better than I ever hoped it would be.” There’s clear sincerity in her voice, and it fills my chest with a warmth I haven’t felt in quite some time. Pride runs through me.

  “She’s a natural,” I say as I gently brush her hair, watching a soft blush rise to her cheeks.

  “You got lucky,” Isaac says, tipping his beer at me.

  “Where’s-” Dahlia starts to ask, but then closes her mouth and stares down at the table.

  “Where’s?” he asks her with a raised brow. She’s slow to reach his gaze, and I place my hand on her back.

  “You were engaged in conversation, treasure. You can speak your mind.”

  Isaac’s brow furrows as he says, “He’s been keeping you sheltered.” He takes another swig and then leans across the table, closer to Dahlia. “He’s been selfish not to bring you around.” A small huff of a laugh leaves Dahlia’s lips, and she smiles slightly.

  My shoulders tense slightly at the accusation, not because I’m jealous of Isaac, not because the humor is lost on me, but because it’s true.

  I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to have to wear a mask. I don’t want to hide, and at the same time, I don’t want to be watched. I don’t trust people. I haven’t in years. Most notably because of Tricia.

  We came here weekly when we were married. We were known to be a pair. And when our marriage crumbled, I’m ashamed to admit, I was embarrassed to come back.

  It took time, and I finally gave it another chance. But it’s not the same. I don’t feel… welcomed. It’s as though they’re watching and sizing me up. Wondering why my Submissive left me. Wondering how I failed.

  My own insecurities have kept me from bringing my sweet treasure here. But I’m willing to offer her this. I think it will help her. Not only to learn how a true Submissive and Dominant interact, but also to watch various erotic encounters. She needs the experience. I know it will help her.

  “Where’s your Submissive?” Dahlia asks Isaac as a waitress brings the menus and sets them in front of each of us. The easiness from the other night is finally starting to creep back into Dahlia’s demeanor. Dahlia doesn’t move to take hers. Good girl. I want to pick for her. I want something divine for her tonight.

  “Could I get you anything to drink, sirs?” the waitress asks.

  “A whiskey on the rocks for me,” I answer easily. Th
e waitress nods her head and then looks back to Isaac.

  “I think just a water for now,” he says. Club X has a three-drink maximum. Any more and you aren’t able to enter the club. Only the dining hall.

  “What’s your favorite drink?” I lean down and ask Dahlia. The waitress is waiting, and I know she won’t write anything down until I agree to whatever it is that Dahlia says.

  “My favorite?” she asks, and then hums as she thinks of her answer. “A margarita, but I don’t-”

  Isaac laughs in his seat, interrupting her and I take the opportunity to tell the waitress, “A margarita, please.”

  “Frozen, or on ice?” she asks.

  I look to my Submissive and she answers the waitress, “Frozen, with salt, please.”

  “Salt?” Isaac asks, “Is there any other way?”

  “Some of my friends like sugar.” Isaac makes a face that mirrors my distaste.

  “So?” Dahlia looks at Isaac, “your Submissive?”

  “I haven’t got one,” Isaac says with a smile that’s plastered on. It’s not meant to be there. Isaac has been soft lately. Ever since his last Submissive. He’s been unwilling to take another.

  “Oh, are you going to…” Dahlia stops talking as we both watch her, waiting for what’s next. In my time with her, she’s seemed so confident and poised. But she’s not in this atmosphere. I need to fix that. Yet one more instance in which I’ve failed her.

  “Buy one?” he asks.

  Dahlia nods her head. “Yes, at auction?”

  Isaac frowns and shakes his head. “I doubt it. I’m just enjoying the company and helping where I can.”

  I grunt a laugh. He doesn’t want the responsibility anymore. He’s missing out, and he knows it. But I can’t blame him when I did the same thing.

  At least I didn’t come here though.

  “Oh, how do you help?” Dahlia asks with genuine curiosity.