Page 73 of Auctioned

Tomorrow, my mind will be clear.

Tomorrow, I’ll fight him.

Tomorrow, I won’t be as desperate for him.

I won’t obey anymore.

I won’t.

I. Won’t.

14

JAMES

Gray light filters into my kitchen. Heavy raindrops tap against the glass windows in a consistent rhythm.

Some families—who aren’t us—will be celebrating Thanksgiving together soon. Heavier rain will patter on their roof. Their windows. Their front porch.

Harsh, then soft. Fast, then slow. Sleet will come down. Possibly snow.

The weather, however flimsy it may be, remains reliable.

There was a time when I considered myself reliable. I could always trust myself to react exactly how I had for decades.

I’m not so sure of it anymore. With Ophelia in my home, I’m beginning to question myself.

It should be impossible for me to change. To look at her as a person, rather than an object to use. The fact that I might’ve never considered her as property in the first place rattles me.

The floor is warm under my bare feet as I walk over to the sink. The house is quiet, other than the rain outside and the water I use to rinse my coffee mug before placing it in the dishwasher.

This is the third morning I’ve woken up in my bed, knowing she’s in her cell. Two floors below me. The second morning ofhaving a house with no staff milling about. No work emails. Not having to threaten other people over the phone.

Just me and Ophelia.

And my goddamn feelings.

My lips twist at the notion. I’m incapable of having any emotion other than hate or lust for power.

Haven’t been, at least.

Then Ophelia became mine.

Last night, she was so good. So obedient. Much more after that first night when she’d fought me.

I rewarded her by rubbing her into five orgasms, edging her each time until she cried. I fucked her throat. Fed her. Spat water in her mouth.

That wasn’t anything new.

What changed was her final words to me before I left.

She didn’t say she hated me. Didn’t flutter her eyes shut and sunk into the bed, wishing me away.

She lay under the covers where I put her, staring at me, seeing through me.

There was something on her mind. Something that piqued my curiosity. I wanted to drag it out of her. Torture it out of her.

What was it?

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