Page 161 of Auctioned

Alive.

You love her.

Fine. Fuck. I do. No other way to explain the immense relief surging through me.

If that’s what love is, then fine. I accept.

I love her.

It’s sick. A terrible weakness. No wonder my father had been against it.

But fuck, this relief. It’s like having a C4 detonate inside my body, leaving me to suffer one aftershock after the other.

I need an outlet for the pain.

And she’s going to give it to me.

She’ll let me drive myself inside her until neither of us can breathe. She’ll be screaming my name over and over when she comes.

She’ll beg me to stop.

I will do no such thing.

I’ll fuck her for hours, filling her with my seed over and over again.

Ophelia will learn what it means to make me feel.

I’ve made it one step toward her, ready to strip her. Torture her. Punish her.

“Stupid electric stove.” Ophelia taps a hand over her thigh. “Too hot, too cold. It can’t fucking decide, can it? How am I supposed to fix him dinner if this is what I have to work with? It’s the stupid thing’s fault, right? Not mine. I’m not the one who’s ruined ten steaks. The goddamn stove did. Not. Me. I haven’t failed. I’m not the one who’ll disappoint James. Ugh.”

My brow furrows. Head tilting to the side.

She tried to cook?

For me?

It’s then that I see it. The pans towering in the sink. The oil splotches on the stove and counter. There aren’t any fruit plates on the kitchen island. Only two clean plates, two sets of steak knives and forks.

I can’t take it. This longing. This need.

The warmth spreading through me is insufferable.

Twenty steps and I’m behind her, almost touching.

She’s still cursing the air. “Maybe one minute next time? I know, I know. It’ll be raw. Some of the customers at Laurier’s liked it that way, though. He might like it too.”

“Sonnet.”

The woman I met weeks ago would’ve shrieked.

This version of Ophelia spins to me. She has a broken plate in her hand that I didn’t notice since I was too busy taking in this scene.

“We’re having cereal for dinner.” She pins the sharp point of the shard to my chest. “And that’s final.”

A laugh bubbles in my throat. It’s so fucking foreign that I wonder if I’m having a seizure.

“What?” The corners of her mouth tip up. The plate remains exactly where it is, poking at my shirt. “Why are you laughing?”

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