Page 148 of Auctioned

“Stop.”

The duct tape tastes bitter in my mouth when I tear it. Once done, I throw the roll to the floor.

“Stop it.” Ophelia presses herself closer to the headboard, as far away from me as she can. “I’ll be quiet. I swear. We’re a team, right?”

“We are.” I grab her by the throat, keeping her in place so I can press the tape over the corner of her mouth. I need to talk to her before I’m off to confront him. “It’s just a precaution. I leave nothing to chance, and that includes you. I can’t afford to have you trying to be a hero when you’re not ready.”

“I am.” She slaps me.

I growl because I’m turned on, and because Topher won’t stop trying to tear my door down.

Her fingers claw at my bandaged arm, digging into my fresh wound. She doesn’t do actual damage. My blood doesn’t spill out on my clothes. My shirt remains dry.

“You’re the worst.” Accusations flare in her eyes before I slam the duct tape onto her mouth.

I have to tie her up. Otherwise, I’d fuck her.

Topher would realize something was up, and I’d either have to kill him or wait for him to collude with my enemies.

The tape goes over the rest of her mouth.

“You’re being a brat.” I flip her on her stomach, making a work of tying her wrists. “I’m doing my best to protect you, even from yourself.” My hand lands on her ass after her wrists are bound. Once. That’s all the time I have to spank her. “And that’s the thanks I get?”

She screams through the tape, growls at me with her face pressed to the pillow.

She’s going to suffocate.

This isn’t how she dies. If I have any say in it, she’ll never die. I stop trying to tie her up and grab her hair, twisting her head so she’s resting on her cheek.

I move on to bind her ankles.

“I’m going to see what he came here for and get rid of him.” Once done, I brush her hair off her face. “You’re going to be quiet. Be a good girl for me. Stay where you are. You’ll be rewarded for it.”

She flips me off behind her back. Thrusts her feet back—an adorable attempt to kick me.

I kiss her forehead anyway, then close the bedroom door behind me while the incessant banging continues.

When I open the door, a cold burst of wind and my drenched-to-the-bone son welcome me.

My crying son.

I’m a horrible man. Have done horrible things. But even I’m not so cruel to turn him away when he’s like…

This.

“Topher.” With a hand on his soaked black wool pea coat, I yank him into the house. I shut the door once he’s inside and face him, arms crossed over my chest.

“Dad,” he says between sobs.

The men in our family don’t cry. They certainly don’t sob. I take a better look at him. His blue eyes are red. He’s unbalanced, swaying on his feet. Reaching out to me, leaning in.

He reeks of alcohol.

Goddamn it. I lectured him about losing control a thousand times over the years. Secrets slip out when you’re intoxicated. Drinking during his initiation was one thing. I was there to look after him. In Ibiza, he was practically unknown.

Here? What the fuck?

“You’re drunk.” Fuck his tears. His weakness is an embarrassment. “A disgrace.”

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