Page 94 of Auctioned

For a moment there, I had it. If she got sick because I neglected her hygiene, I couldn’t use her.

I kept telling myself that as I massaged her neck. Worked on the knots in her shoulders. Rubbed her breasts, her stomach.

I just needed her to be in top shape so I could breed her.

That was why I was taking such good care of her.

That’s a lie.

Because I’m over here, watching her sleep andnotdoing the one thing that’d actually get her pregnant.

I’m not fucking her.

Ophelia murmurs my name in her sleep. Her breath hitches. Nails digging into my chest. Her forehead is warm against my skin.

She breathes faster still.

She’s having a nightmare about me.

Good.

She should always remember that.

I’m her monster.

The screen of my phone flashes repeatedly. It can’t be Griffith since his job is done. The rest of the people who work for me wouldn’t dare call me this week. I gave them strict orders not to do so.

“James.” Ophelia clings closer to me. “Stop. Stay. Oh God. Please.”

The memory of making her cry on my cock is burned into my head. I’m instantly hard, my hands flexing on the back of Ophelia’s head, her waist. I won’t wake her.

Sleep is essential for a person’s overall health.

And besides, she’s beautiful like this. Unconscious and scared.

The light from the phone stops.

Lights up again.

Motherfucker.

Gently—fuck, what’s wrong with me?—I slide Ophelia off me. Her dark hair is spread out on the charcoal gray pillowcase, her body curled into a ball beneath the sheets.

I climb out of bed, pull on the gray sweatpants I left on my armchair, and swipe the phone from the bedside table.

Topher.

I haven’t called him back yet.

I’ve been busy watching Ophelia while she slept in my bed.

Then I fixed her meals for the rest of the week. Decent ones, like the ones I cooked her over the last two days.

Not that garbage peanut butter sandwich that I’d fed her on that first night. I’d meant to torture her, and she’d gotten off on it.

She thanked me for saving the other women too. I got hard from how gratitude sounded on her lips. From her I hate yous.

While I’ve been neglecting my son. The one to carry on my life’s work when I’m no longer around. That is, if I keep him around.

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