Page 1 of Auctioned to her Stepbrothers

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HONOR

THE PRICE OF INNOCENCE

In the moments before the auction starts, I can't sit still. Beneath my bare feet, the cream carpet is soft, but everything about me is drawn tight like a bow poised before an arrow is released.

My computer screen is lit up with the auction landing page, the seconds before the bidding opens ticking down on a digital clock.

Fifty-nine seconds.

An image of me takes up half the screen.

"Wear white," the auction organizer had instructed. "White is synonymous with virginity, and we want the bidders to be smacked in the face by your innocence.” When I’d hesitated, he’d reminded me that it would likely increase the amount of the bids, and that was the goal here, after all.

Fifty-one seconds.

The dress I'm wearing in the photo isn't overtly sexy. Despite the off-the-shoulder cut and the figure-hugging silhouette,there's a demureness about it. Beneath, the cream satin strapless bra and panties are understated and virginal, I suppose.

I have no idea what kind of a man buys a stranger's virginity. The kind who wants to control, to conquer. The kind who wants to take something from a woman that she can never regain. The kind who wants to break something and take that trophy of destruction. Will they want a reserved woman or a woman with confidence? Does breaking someone who is submissive have greater appeal?

These questions whirled in my mind for too long as I took the photo.

I chose to look at the camera because that's who I am. Brave. Able to overcome my fears. At least, that's who I'm trying to be.

Thirty-nine seconds.

I might be innocent sexually, but I've had my own share of hardships. I've seen and heard things I wish I could wipe from my memory but can't. I've learned to live with memories that cling around the recesses like shadows, allowing just a tiny aperture of light in the center.

Twenty-five seconds.

I take a deep breath, holding it to expand the bands of muscle encircling my rib cage, which feels clenched and vise-like.

The number of bidders waiting in the virtual bidding room increases steadily. "You'll be in demand," the auctioneer told me. "Blonde hair and blue eyes are always a favorite." He grinned as though I should feel great at his statement, but I don't.

I haven't chosen my appearance. It's something I inherited from my mom. What's on the outside is just a costume, anyway.

Fourteen seconds.

My achievements and character traits are listed beneath the image. Still, I'd bet money I don't have that most of the bidders won't care about any of it. They are only interested in my body and the experience of ravishing it. It’s irrelevant that I have a mind with wants and needs of my own.

Three seconds.

I freeze in front of the screen as the countdown nears the end.

One second.

The auction is live, and with it, I suddenly become conscious of every part of my physical self: the blood rushing in my ears, the fast-squeezing pulse of my heart, the coiling of my muscles as though I'm braced for an assault, and the hiss of breath as it passes through my lips and into the very center of me.

I watch the numbers now rising on the screen.

Usernames appear next to bid amounts that climb so fast and high that I'm dizzy, reaching to clutch the edge of the walnut console. The ground seems to move with every new bid, and with every new high, I'm overwhelmed by a heady mix of dread and hope.

This is really happening.

The money I need to pay off my debts and enter a future filled with possibilities is close enough to touch.

Questions flicker in the message bar on the screen as the bidding slows.Would you accept bids for more than one night?

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