Page 19 of Once Upon A Sale

We were…something. Okay, I didn’t text him back, but only because I’ve been busy trying to save women from the fucking sex trafficking rings. You’d think it would give me a pass on him cheating on me.

Pulling my coat a little tighter, I don’t even pretend to get my bag. Mister Hotshot can do it himself.

“You know…you could’ve just asked me to submit for a weekend, no need to go all out.” I say this with a straight face, allowing my sarcasm to seep out like poison.

“I tried, sweetheart, but you never got back to me, did ya? And, well, I don’t fucking beg. That’s your job.” At his words, I snap my head to the side and throw him some hefty daggers with my glare.

“You’re gonna have to earn it, Mr. Overlord.” Holding two bags on either shoulder, he lets his gaze travel down my body, intimate and slow, before retracing his path and staring straight into my eyes. My breath catches but it can’t be helped. Having the entirety of this man’s attention is doing something to my body.

It’s not that I’m opposed to getting utterly fucked by him, it’s that…he was planning on buying someone else. Anyone else, apparently.

If I were naïve, I’d say it’s fate.

At the very least, this is a coincidence, and let’s just say, in my business, we stopped believing in those a long, long time ago.

Just as I step over the threshold, I look around the quaint little space—by little, it’s two stories high—then spin around to stare at him.

“So what’s your plan now?” I’m aware of my shitty attitude, and maybe once the initial shock of seeing him here wears off, I’ll be in a better mood. Until then, well…this is what he’s getting.

With my hands on my hips and my coat gaping open to reveal my half-naked body, I stand my ground as he drops the bags and comes to within a couple of inches from me.

I think he’s going to kiss me. I think he’s going to sweep me up in his arms and carry me to bed. I think he’s going to apologize for planning to fuck other women while still in contact with me.

I think wrong.

Using his entire height as a means to dominate, Rhett leans over me as his face transforms from laid back to hard as steel.

“On your knees. Hands on your thighs, back straight, head down.” It takes me a second for all of those words to compute. He’s a Dom…that’s nothing shocking. I’ve been with a couple of dominants in my day, although none were able to rip the sass out of me, but that’s neither here nor there. However, just the subtle change in the tone of his voice tells me this may very well be a different experience.

But that’s not what intrigues me the most. What are the chances that Rhett and I hook up—kinda—at a club in Miami only to run into each other in fucking Detroit? The same place I’m trying to lure in a major trafficking scumbag who trains sex slaves?

No, it doesn’t make sense, but blaming it on coincidence seems more plausible than a trafficker buying a woman to then destroy, train, and sell. I wish it were the case because then it wouldn’t be so fucking lucrative.

I’m about to tell him to shove his expectation up his ass with a rusty fork until I remember that the only reason I’m here is to do what I’m told. It’s imperative that I keep up my charade. Who knows how well Rhett knows the people from the auction? Hell, I don’t know how it happened on the other side, maybe the buyers all hang out and have drinks, chatting it up about how they’re going to get their rocks off for the next three days.

No, I cannot take the risk of this trafficking ring finding out we’re so fucking close to getting to them.

So I play the part of the dutiful submissive. At least, I try.

Shrugging off my coat, I don’t miss the quick but no less lusty sweep of his eyes up and down my body before I lower myself to my knees and place both palms on my thighs. My back is straight, my toes pointed—thank you internet searching at two in the morning—my head lowered in reverence.

If anything, this weekend I’ll be able to snoop around and find out as much as I can about my weekend MasterDom. I wonder if he’s also a MasterChef. That would be a dominant I could get behind. Or…under.

I guess I got lucky, if I’m being honest with myself. The risk I took by offering myself up was high, but in the end, I’m no closer to getting our villain than I was this morning.

“That’s a good girl. See, Kitten, when you put your mind to it, you please me.” I absolutely did not just shiver at his words. Not even a little bit. But I won’t deny that his voice is like dark chocolate dripping over melted caramel; rich and delicious.

This game isn’t unfamiliar to me so I play along and keep my snark to myself.

Good girl.

Pfft. I haven’t been a good girl since the day I slit my dad’s throat open and left him to bleed out on our Italian marble floors. I do regret that, though. It was a bitch to remove the stains.

The sound of the slider lowering between the teeth of a zipper catches my attention and I don’t need to be trained to know what’s coming next.

“Open. Show me your tongue.” I’d be annoyed if I weren’t so fucking turned on.

Raising my chin, I keep my eyes lowered and stick my tongue out, nice and flat so his dick has room to slide inside. What I don’t expect is for him to pinch my tongue and pull. Hard.

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