Page 37 of Auctioned

Fuck them.

My eyes are locked on their faces. Though they stare at the spot between my legs, I face them head-on. I won’t cower. Won’t show fear.

If they humiliate me, it’s only because I choose to be humiliated.

And I don’t. I will not be humiliated ever again by either of the Hawthorne men.

“It will only hurt a little,” Maisie whispers, her voice small.

Being waxed hurts a whole fucking lot. But I don’t tell her that. I keep any hint of pain away from my expression at the first and second tearing sensations that ripple through me.

At the third, James is no longer fixated on my pussy and spread legs. His eyes are on my face, and it’s terrifying. His irises are black. Gone is the blue. The sliver of compassion and heat.

His gaze reminds me of the dead of night. The darkest hour. The moment my parents were lowered to the ground.

That kind of black.

James has forgotten my pussy exists, it seems like.

He dips his chin, burrowing his gaze into my head.

Fuck his darkness. Fuck his silent reassurances.

Fuck his intense glare.

I’m not falling for it.

We mean nothing to each other.

Nothing.

I focus on controlling my breaths. On masking the pain with a brave, probably psychotic grin.

“I’m fine.” I seethe when in reality I’m sensitive, and damn it, it stings. “Really fucking fine.”

Topher chuckles at the sight of my reddened skin at the fourth pull.

James twists to face him. “Get out.”

“Dad, I?—”

“You’ve been warned. Get out. Go back upstairs.” I don’t think he notices that his fingers press to my shoulder. That he’s applying so much pressure that he pushes me to the bed. I loathe the small comfort it lends me. “I’ll handle her punishment from here.”

“Fuck. Fine.” Topher’s smirk is derisive, but at last, he leaves.

I won’t thank James for this. I won’t. He didn’t do this for me, this monster. I’m sure of it.

I stare at him with all the hate I can muster. He takes it, his eyes never leaving mine.

Fuck you, I say in my head.

I can almost hear his response.I could do that and so much worse.

Moments pass, then?—

“We’re done here.” His eyes close for the briefest moment, and then he returns to his old self. Back straight. Shoulders squared. He talks to Clara over my head. “Finish waxing her whole body. Wash her. She needs to be presentable.”

They say, “Yes, Mr. Hawthorne,” as he leaves the room.

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