Page 57 of Auctioned Surrender

He closes his laptop and slides it to the side. “I don’t believe you’re holding back information intentionally, but there may be something you know from spending time with R.J. that may be able to help us.”

This man is entirely too intimidating and sexy for his or my good. The information he has from his security buddy seems harmless enough. I’ll have to deal with his ability to track me, but other than that I can at least breathe more comfortably for now.

“It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. I think I’ll use the time to catch up on some well-needed rest,” I say, getting up from my seat and purposely avoiding his gaze as I make it to the bedroom door.

“Layla? One last question. Do you know how Layla Contreras died?”

Chapter 7

Dereck

The sun’s barely had a chance to rise. I lay in bed listening to Layla tiptoeing around in the room next to mine. I’m not one bit surprised she shut the door and went to bed last night without answering my question.

She treads lightly through the condo and out the front door. But not before I send a message to Trent and the team, letting them know Layla is on her way out of the hotel, asking them to follow her and give me hourly updates on her activity. We’ll need to provide her with enough space to see what she’s up to, but to keep a close enough distance to protect her from R.J. and his goons. Something tells me Layla knows more than she’s letting on. I head to the shower, still contemplating this mystery lady. The warmth of the water pelts my skin and may slightly ease my tension until I get into the martial arts studio, but nothing is going to alleviate my cock's throbbing because the attraction to Layla is powerful and all-consuming. I’ve barely slept, instead dreaming about training this spirited dark-haired beauty in the art of accepting and giving pleasure.

My hand slides over my sudsy rod, once, twice, and then hard for the third time. The image of a nude Layla kneeling on the floor of my shower and looking up at me with those dark, sultrybedroom eyes ready to accept my gift causes my balls to tighten with a surging explosion before rope after rope of my hunger coats the wall of the shower as a substitute for Layla’s lovely and parted red-lined lips.

I place my head against the cool stone, letting my breathing acclimate, and the warmth of the water pelt away the rest of my body’s tension. I watch the remnants of my desire swirl past my feet, around and around before heading down the drain. Layla and her fiery personality have managed to put more than a reel and spin in my routine. The power of my need may have somewhat dissipated with the release, but the intensity of my desire for this complex and mysterious woman is not lost on me for a moment.

Layla either doesn’t fully realize her submissiveness or is pushing it aside and trying to refute her needs. It’s not an uncommon trait, but I’m not usually drawn to a woman who isn’t overly submissive and comfortable with their penchant. I tend to gravitate to the ones who come to the club and know exactly what proclivity they want for the evening. The beauties who are secure in their desires to please and receive pleasure in kind, those are my types. They know I will give them exactly what they need in the playroom and push them far enough to the edge without letting them fall. They’re safe with me and able to explore their desires and boundaries under my authority, but have no expectations outside of that.

Trent picks me up outside the hotel just after lunch. “Did you sleep at all?” I ask, sliding into the front seat.

“A little bit before I sent the guys out this morning, but I could use a few z’s after I drop you off,” he says.

“Thanks for all the help last night. We could use some more at the club tonight. Both you and Liam if you’re free.”

“I’ll get ahold of him, but if you don’t hear from me, we’ll both be there.”

We pull up to the martial arts center an hour or so later after navigating bumper to bumper traffic, and Trent gestures toward the center. “You’re this cool, calm, and collected sort, so quiet and respectful, yet one of the deadliest on our team. They say you can kill a man with one swift move and your bare hands,” Trent says.

I smile at the partner who hasn’t been on the team for as long as most. “The ability to defend my teammates or self, if the need should arise, allows the calm,” I say.

Trent is a good man. He’s highly experienced, and I’ve gotten to know him better than most on the team chatting online with him at night. His heart is in the right place. He appears quiet and thoughtful. “You still teaching the boy you were talking about a few weeks ago?” he asks.

“I am. Ian’s young and ambitious, but he respects the culture and will do well if someone puts time and effort into teaching him both the art and discipline integral to Judo.”

I glance down at my cell for the latest update on Layla. She went from the hotel back to her car at the Park and Ride, picked it up, and then went to a restaurant for breakfast and has been there ever since drinking coffee and working on a notebook device. “Looks like Layla’s on the move. Murphy said she’s pulling into the gym not too far from the club.”

“I’m not surprised she works out. The lady is exceptionally fit,” he says, finding a place to park for a few minutes.

I ignore his comment, focusing on something that might take my mind off the beautiful Ms. Contreras' hot, nubile body. “Do you mind staying on the lines for the next hour or so? I have a session with Ian, and then you can go catch up on your sleep. Iparked my car in the back of the center. I’ll be able to stop at my apartment and pick up a few things for tonight when I finish. I’ll head to the club with Damian tonight and text you later with the time to meet up with us at the club.”

“Sounds good. I’ll keep an ear out for Layla with Murphy until you’ve finished giving Ian his lesson and then get some sleep. I'll plan to see you tonight,” Trent says before I get out of the car and head into the martial arts center.

I bow to my Judo partner after the last round ends, and then we bend together, facing the instructor who has graciously taken my place for this session so I can get a little hands-on one-to-one time with Ian. “Domo arigato,” we both say in unison, using the Japanese term to say thank you and to show respect for the culture and knowledge bestowed upon us by the instructor during the spar.

“Thanks for the help, Dereck. I’m going to win that competition! I know it!” Ian says as the instructor who sat in for me walks away after the match. I hold back a smile, adjust my judogi, and tighten my belt.

Ian’s eyes track my movements, and his eyes dance with sixteen-year-old enthusiasm. “I’m going to reach tenth degree when I’m as old as you, and I’ll be wearing that red belt too! Just wait and see!”

I try to hide my smile at the youth’s exuberance. “You are progressing nicely, Ian, but humility will serve you well in the next ten years.”

He bows his head slightly, a show of respect while contemplating what I’ve said.

“When you are as old as me, and reach tenth Judan, Ian, I expect invitations to your competitions,” I say to soften my admonishment.

He looks up and grins at me. “You’ve got yourself a deal!”

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