My father would have accepted his offer in an instant. It was three times the amount the other bids received, and there were no added stipulations such as proof of her purity or that shipping costs be included in the sale of her virginity.
Dr. Bates’ eagerness won’t go over as easily with me. Nothing against Roxanne, she has the looks to set any man’s pulse racing and a body of pure dynamite, but in this industry, you only pay over the asking price for one reason—you’re not planning to follow the rules. Roxanne’s sale was touted as a virginity-only trade. There were no long-term commitments or talks of marriage. This was a one-night-only deal. So why the fuck is Dr. Bates offering a little over five hundred thousand dollars for the privilege?
His bid set alarms off in my head, but for once, instead of them ringing in warning, they’re sounding in victory. For months, I’ve constantly felt one step behind my enemies, but tonight is the first time I feel like we’ve raced ahead. Although we’ve been working toward this for months, I truly don’t believe it would have been achieved tonight without Roxanne’s help. She has the bidders eating out of her palm so readily, they divulged information to her the sternest torture wouldn’t have unearthed. She was handed business cards, blank checks, and keycards for permanently-booked suites in Manhattan. That’s a treasure trove of information that makes our guests tonight easy to trace, and it was handed to Roxanne quicker than Smith could run their faces through the database.
The shocked excitement on Smith’s face grows when I say, “Once I’ve shown our guests out, I don’t want to be interrupted for the rest of the night unless it’s urgent.” I should have said morning considering it’s well after two, alas, I am too tired to consider how stupid I’m acting.
I didn’t sleep a wink last night, so I’m not just tired, the whiskey I’ve been guzzling to dampen the fire in my gut is hitting me harder than usual. I’m half fucking tanked, but alcohol isn’t giving me the buzz I need. I need something more potent, more addictive. Something you can’t get artificially.
I need blood and warfare, and perhaps the heat of a woman’s cunt around my cock.
Aware Smith will follow my orders no matter how imprudent, I exit his computerized hub. While pacing through the party-like atmosphere which died remarkably quick since all the guests were chasing the same woman, I scan my eyes over the ones who barely got a once-over. My gaze usually sharpens on the redheads in the room, my favorable choice, but tonight, they seek a sultry blonde with a tiny waist and grassy green eyes that are more sinful than saintly.
When my eyes collide with a woman matching my requirements, she stumbles like she chugged down the fifth of whiskey warming my veins. Even with her focus seemingly on a man with ginger-red hair and a knockoff Tom Ford suit, she watches me cross the room. The heat of her watch is as stifling as it was before I joined Smith to assist with surveillance, and the exact reason I kept my distance the past six hours.
If I hadn’t stepped back, our ruse would have never had the effect it did. Not even men who pay are willing to look past undeniable chemistry. They would have mourned the missed opportunity for a few seconds before moving onto their next target.
I owe it to Fien not to let that happen.
That’s done and dusted now, though. Preferring to go home alone than with a woman not close to Roxanne’s league, the high-priority guests lodged their bids and left. Although they’ll still be scrutinized with the same fine-tooth comb as the more well-to-do guests, I don’t believe the stragglers have the gall to pull off the scam Rimi has been running the past two years. Kingpins don’t let their prospective playthings be wooed in front of them without incident. He’d control everything she does from the moment she registered on his radar, and perhaps mark her with his scent so every other man would get the hint to back the fuck up. He might even go as far as removing the fingers that touched her skin without his permission.
Roxanne’s virginity may have been on offer tonight, but her sale came with a heap of rules, the main one, she wasn’t to be touched. I don’t appreciate my directive being ignored, and will have no trouble relaying my annoyance in both physical and non-physical manners.
I don’t know which side of the coin Roxanne’s punishment will be on yet. With my cock as tight as my jaw, it may end up being a combination of both.
Don’t misconstrue. I’m not saying Roxanne should be punished because she was touched against her wishes. It’s the way she leans into her prospective purchasers’ side to keep her legs upright I’m frustrated about. Instead of letting her knees buckle out in response to the tension bristling between us, she accepts comfort from another man.
That is unacceptable.
Women like Roxanne don’t want to be nurtured like children. They want to be claimed like we’re still in the Stone Age, protected with the infamy of a madman, and fucked like possessiveness is the highest form of flattery.
They also want to be owned, and I’m about ready to stake my claim.
Chapter Thirty
Roxanne
Nerves tap dance in my stomach when the handle of a door that was locked earlier tonight slowly lowers. A man with so many distinguishable features, Smith unearthed his true identity faster than I could snap my fingers and attempted to guide me into this room earlier tonight. Timothy Jamison—a primary-school teacher if you can believe it—was so desperate to talk to me in private, he acted as if he could sidestep Rocco’s shadow as easily as Dimitri avoided my heated watch from across the room.
It was unfortunate for Timothy that Rocco didn’t cave as easily as Dimitri. I was only onto suitor number three when Dimitri made a beeline for the exit with clenched fists and a firm jaw. He raced out the room like his ass was on fire, and if you exclude him offering to show my final suitor the way out an hour ago, I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since.
I won’t lie. When the full extent of Dimitri’s ruse smacked into me while I was showering, I was fuming mad. I couldn’t believe he was undervaluing me as my father always had. Then I thought about it a little longer. For years, I wanted what every little girl wants—the love of her father. I did everything and anything to get it. I was the good girl who didn’t speak when told to be quiet, spoke politely when given a chance, and I always remembered my manners.
When common courtesies didn’t work, I gave the opposite a shot. I lashed out and got angry. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I became an exact replica of my father. And do you know what? It still didn’t work. No matter what I did, he didn’t give me the love I was seeking.
Even with the crazy world still being new to me, I’m confident in saying Dimitri’s daughter will never face the same issue. He hasn’t seen her in the flesh, yet he loves her so much, he constantly sets aside his needs for her. I doubt one thing he’s done the past two years has been for him. Every decision he makes is based on how it will affect Fien. He wouldn’t even breathe if it had a chance of negatively impacting her. That’s how much he loves her.
My decision to forgo tonight’s event was already teetering, but when I exited the bathroom, they fully imploded. The sketches I had worked on for hours on end weren’t where I left them. They were gone, replaced with an art lover’s vault of pencils, paints, sketchpads, and charcoals. The items covering every inch of the desk in Dimitri’s room couldn’t have been gathered on the fly. Some of them can’t be picked up at any store. Whoever purchased them for me went out of their way to do so.