Page 23 of Auctioned to the Prisoners

LORY

SMALLEST DREAMS

I’m in a dream, drifting from room to room with men I don’t know, experiencing extremes of pleasure before descending back into a heightened state of awareness of my situation. While they’re touching me, I forget where I am.

Forgetting is dangerous.

Immediately after I bound Rock’s hand, he leads me to the shower, helping me to get the water running warm. He lingers as I pull Kinkaid’s shirt over my head, his liquid brown eyes roving my body so hungrily that I shiver. “I’ll get you a towel,” he says when he snaps out of his daze, and then I’m left alone with my feelings.

Jesus.

This is intense. I knew selling myself at auction would come with risks and challenges, but the added aspect of being locked in this place with three men I don’t know has my heart skittering at levels that make me high.

Kinkaid’s steadying presence gives me an element of security, and spending time with Rock has shown me he’s gentle despite his enormous size.

Hyde is an unknown quantity, or at least, what I know about him is uncertain and unstable.

I soap my body, washing away the stickiness Rock left over my skin, and lower between my legs where my clit is swollen, and my sex is heavy with satisfaction.

I have never orgasmed so strongly. Both Kinkaid and Rock, with very different approaches, sent me skyrocketing.

But there hasn’t been any penetrative sex yet. Touching and licking is one thing. Getting filled by these men, especially because of how big they are, will be completely different. I’m not scared as such. Not now, they’ve touched me. I’m just wary that they might want things I’m not used to or that my body can’t take. Sometimes pain comes with pleasure. Sometimes, it snuffs it out.

I’m done washing myself by the time Rock reappears with the towel. His eyes are soft when I use my hands to cover my breasts; they’ve always been the part of my body that I’ve been most shy of. I expect him to hand over the towel and leave me to dry myself, but instead, he gently takes my hands and eases them from my body. “You’re so pretty,” he says, brushing the back of his heavy, veined hand over my right nipple, immediately stoking my arousal. There’s lust in his eyes that sweeps away my embarrassment. Next, he takes the rough towel and strokes it across my shoulder, gathering the beads of shower water. He continues lower, over my breasts and belly, dropping down onto his haunches and wiping each leg. With just the tips of his fingers, he strokes through the soft hair at the apex of my thighs, humming contentedly.

“Hyde will like this,” he says, then nudges me to turn.

I wonder how he knows what Hyde likes in a woman. Do they sit around discussing their preferences, imagining the women they’ll have when they’re freed from this place? If they’re freed. The idea softens some of my reservations with sadness. Dreaming of women they can’t have is endearing and a little melancholy, like a poor kid writing an expensive Christmas list.

Rock uses the towel to stroke over my ass, pressing a soft kiss to each cheek before rising to dry my arms and my back. I shiver when he’s finished, and not from the cold.

Noticing, he tugs the white t-shirt he’s wearing over his head and helps me put it on. It smells of him in a good way, of soapand deodorant and his fresh, masculine scent. Wrapped up in it, it’s like he has his arms around me again.

“You’re so small,” he laughs, fingering the hem where it grazes my thighs. The short sleeves hang well past my elbows.

“You’re so big.” I eye his massive chest, covered with a soft dusting of dark hair that makes him so overwhelmingly masculine. The tattoos that crawl his skin are intricate and beautiful. His eyes are deep and dark like mine reflected back.

Dipping down, he teases my top lip with his, then pulls back. I’m so mesmerized by the kiss that I drift forward, following his mouth. With a low chuckle, he cups my chin, and then his eyes dart to the main area where Kinkaid is talking to Hyde in a low tone.

“What’s going on out there?” I ask, a worried pang replacing softer feelings.

“Kinkaid will sort it out.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Even as I ask, I know it’s a stupid question. Hyde wears his challenges out in the open, where everyone sees and judges.

“He’s okay,” Rock says in the way people do when trying to brush something under the carpet. I guess he’s used to his friend, but to a newcomer like me, it’s less clear.

“My mom was like that. Always up and down, spinning out,” I offer, like that would make me an expert in understanding Hyde.

When I was a kid, I didn’t understand why she’d buzz with happiness one day and was unable to get up the next. The unpredictability of a parent like that left me feeling unsafe for a long time. My nanna helped me come to terms with a lot of what happened and to empathize with my mom, who continues to struggle with addiction and her mental health.

For a long time, I just wanted to blame her for my childhood struggles. Now, I understand she has demons. That doesn’tmean I want to have a relationship with her but letting go of my bitterness and resentment towards her has helped reduce the hurt and disappointment.

Rock rubs his forehead like he’s fighting a headache and drops his hands, sadness making his features fall. “He swings between high and low,” he whispers, checking we’re not overheard before continuing. “His childhood was fucked up. I mean, none of us has come from a privileged background, and he doesn’t talk about it much, but when he’s sleeping, he says things… things no one wants to hear, let alone live.”

I want to know more, not because I’m nosy, but because confirming what I’m dealing with could help me navigate the situation. But what’s the point? There are only so many options for terrible childhoods: cruelty, neglect, perversion. My heart breaks for the man wound up so tight he can’t stop moving.

“Are you worried about how he’ll treat me?”

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