Page 33 of Cherry Auction

Or am I just telling myself that so I can get my mouth on her cunt again as soon as possible?

I drag my hands through my hair and then look at Mads on the screen, sleeping curled up in bed like a kitten. My cock pulses rock hard in my pants. I should’ve known I couldn’t be as cold and calculating as I need to be when it comes to her.

In the back of my head, there was always a twisted root growing inside me that planned what I’d do to either one of them if I ever got ahold of them. I even had a special collar made for her a long time ago, dreaming of just this day, in case I ever got to put my hands around her lovely little throat. I’m doing nothing more than exacting vengeance for the wrongs done to me. Shedeservesthis.

But last night… Fuck. I slam my laptop screen shut. That wasn’t vengeance. That was…

That was my seventeen-year-old self getting what he’d always dreamed of from the girl he’d been obsessed with from the day he noticed her watching him in that Dublin internet cafe. When she finally sidled over to me, I’d beenso gobsmacked, I could barely get a word out. But she looked over my shoulder at my code and started up a conversation so easily that eventually I even managed to get out a syllable or two.

She laughed and coyly rolled her hair around a finger likeshewas the one who was nervous. An act. All an act.

So what if the act’s gotten more sophisticated? She’s still the same old Mads. I won’t be anyone’s toy ever again.

Certainly nottoday.

Today I’ll be the cold and calculating bastard I’ve been ever since I stepped off the airplane in this new country, hand fisted around my little sister’s wrist so I wouldn’t lose her in the crowds. I was determined to make a better life for us. And just as determined not to be duped again by a pretty face or by anyone else thinking to take my power from me.

A promise I’ve kept to myself.

It’s sure as hell not changing now.

I stomp towards the kitchen and prepare the best breakfast I know how to make, then put a cloche over top the plate to keep it warm. When I get to the elevator, I close my eyes, take a long breath in, and breathe an even longer one out. Several times. When I open my eyes again, I am cool, calm and collected. I push the down button.

No one masters me but myself.

I step in and ride the elevator down. When it pings and opens, my back is ramrod straight. I’m galled to realize that in spite of my breathing, in spite of my determination, I’m still fucking nervous to see her.

Jaysus Christ, is this what themorning afterfeels like for regular people? I never bothered with it before. I play at the club and leave it there. Like sane people do. My life is tidy with none of the unholy mess of a relationship. Though god knows, this is no relationship.

As the doors roll open, I look around for Madison.

She’s certainly not in position like I explained to her she ought to be at the sound of the elevator bells last night.

Annoyed, I step down the hall, and yup, there she is still curled up in bed. I clear my throat, and I swear, before she realizes what she’s doing, the small curve of a little smile lights her face as she looks between me and the plate in my hand.

“You brought me breakfast?” she asks with a hope that borders on affection.

“No,” I say sharply, then am annoyed at myself for being affected by her nearness all over again. “I mean yes. But it’s hardly for breakfast’s sake. It’s for your training. You’ve ought to have been awake and waiting for Sir. At the ping of the elevator door, you are meant to be waiting, in position.”

She sits up, hugging the covers to her. Still in the slinky nightie from the first night, she looks adorably rumpled, and sexy as fuck.

“But there’s no alarm clock. And I never know when you’re coming, anyway.”

I stop myself from rolling my eyes at the very last moment. She should not be able to see that she affectsme at all. “Yes. You’re meant to be prepared at all times. Tomorrow, I expect you in position when I arrive.”

“That’s stupid. Just give me a schedule or something. Then I’ll know. And an alarm clock.”

Finally I can’t keep back my exasperated breath. “That’s not how this works. Now do you want your hot breakfast, or should I keep standing here while it gets cold?”

“No, don’t, it smells so good!”

I finally approach the bed and, with a small flourish, pull off the cloche revealing the perfectly cooked vegetable omelet and crisped-but-not-too-crisped bacon. American bacon is a fecking tragedy compared to the Irish kind. But I’ve come to live with it, especially when it’s cooked right.

Madison’s eyes light up and she immediately reaches out for a piece of bacon. I yank the plate back before she can touch it.

“This is a training session.” I reinstate the chill in my voice. “You eat only what I feed you.

She looks at me like she might strangle me. I smile coldly. “You know I’m happy to walk back upstairs. There’s always the feeder.”

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