Page 32 of Sold at Auction

“Good,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving me. “Now, let’s go.”

He led me at last back to Delacroix’s bedroom. My heart pounded in my chest as we approached the ornate door that loomed ahead like a portal to my utter abasement.

As we stepped inside, the opulence of the room overwhelmed me in a way it hadn’t before. The rich fabrics that draped the bed, the scent of expensive cologne that hung in the air… all of it seemed to strike me more forcefully because I knew what would happen here, and that I couldn’t avoid it. I would be whipped. I would be used in the most degrading ways. I had no choice.

Marcus guided me to the headboard, his grip firm but not cruel. He produced a set of leather cuffs from a cabinet in the corner, and I swallowed hard, knowing what was coming next.

“Hands,” he ordered, and I raised them obediently. “No,” Marcus said. “Behind you.”

I looked at him with knitted brows, my tummy crawling.

“Don’t make this worse for yourself,” he said calmly. “Turn around and put your hands behind you.”

I bit my lip, feeling my little breasts heave in the lacy bra with my panicked breaths. I turned and put my hands back, offering them to Marcus.

The warm leather encircled my wrists. He buckled them into place with a finality that sent a shiver down my spine. Then, as I tried to control the shaking in my limbs, he unclipped the leash from my collar and I felt him clip it to the cuffs. I turned halfway around to see him tying the end of the leash to a post on the headboard, a fixture clearly intended for the purpose just like the post on the chair in the training room.

“You’re ready now,” he said in his gentle voice, as if his words could ease the fear gnawing at my insides. “Delacroix will enjoy you greatly. All you need to do is accept your place and try to obey him.”

My cheeks burned with humiliation, but I forced myself to maintain eye contact with him. Marcus leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear.

“There’s something else,” he continued, his tone shifting to one of disquieting calmness. “I’ve seen the security footage from last night.”

A wave of dread washed over me. He knew. They all knew. My moment of weakness, my desperate need for release—it had been captured and scrutinized. My mind grappled with the implications, shame flooding every corner of my being.

“Your little indiscretion will make you more attractive to Delacroix,” Marcus added, his words cutting through my haze of mortification. “It might even save your life.”

“Thank you,” I managed to choke out, though the gratitude felt hollow and bitter on my tongue.

“But,” he said, his voice hardening, “there are consequences. You broke the rule. I’ll have to cane you with extra severity.”

His declaration hung in the air like a dark promise, and my heart seized with a mixture of fear and resignation. The anticipation of pain, the humiliation of my exposure—it all felt like too much to bear, let alone to try to resist.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, my fate sealed as surely as the cuffs around my wrists.

As surely, I thought with a scalding blush, as my naughty cunt.

CHAPTER 14

Sophia

I stared at my reflection in the ornate gold-framed mirror across from Delacroix’s massive four-poster bed, unable to look away from the sight of my nearly-naked body. My wrists, bound behind my back to the intricately carved mahogany headboard, the soft leather cuffs a stark contrast to the delicate white lace of my bra and thong. The thong’s sheer mesh panel did nothing to conceal my bare, sealed pussy—a constant reminder of my status as Delacroix’s property.

My cheeks burned with shame, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the mirror. Was that really me? This trembling, humiliated creature with fear and desperate arousal warring in her wide eyes? I barely recognized myself.

Innocent. Like Briseis, taken by Agamemnon.

I focused as hard as I could on my mission. I had come here—they had sent me, taken me against my will—to save civilization, to save the lives of those Delacroix and the Groupe Synergistique thought they could play with.

What I saw in the mirror represented my cover, an act. the feigned innocence Malleus had taught me. I didn’t want it: I would only endure it. Marcus’ words about learning to enjoy my submission to Delacroix… they didn’t mean anything.

Marcus. The sudden, insane thought that I loved Marcus rose into my mind. That I loved him because of the terrible things he had done—things not really terrible, because I… I needed them.

I closed my eyes for a moment and then reopened them, to look at the girl in the mirror. Me. Not me.

An act. My cover.

But also… me.

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