Auctioned To The Billionaire (Part Two) Read online

  Auctioned To The Billionaire (Part Two)

  Kelly Favor

  Favor Ford Publishing

  Copyright © 2020 by Favor Ford Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Contents

  Auctioned To The Billionaire (Part Two) by Kelly Favor

  1. Dermot

  2. Haisley

  3. Dermot

  4. Haisley

  Auctioned To The Billionaire (Part Two) by Kelly Favor

  Dermot

  I can’t believe what I’ve just been told.

  She’s a virgin.

  I stare at her, and I know instantly that she’s telling the truth. The glistening tears in her big, wide, innocent eyes are more than enough evidence to convince me.

  Just like her furtive attempts at seduction and the fumbling rush to remove her own clothes before we’ve even gotten started, those unshed tears tell me more than a lie detector ever could.

  I’m not a man who pursues virginal, chaste women. Far from it, I have always enjoyed the ladies who make up for their lack of morals with a distinct enthusiasm for the act of sexual congress.

  So now what? I think, as the reality of the situation sinks in.

  First of all, any notion of a quick fuck to start our time together is already out the window. She’s a virgin, which means she needs to be handled with care. All of this is new to her.

  But what about my plans? I wanted someone whose needs I didn’t have to consider, someone whom I could use to distract myself from my own life and its myriad problems.

  Instead, I have this other kind of woman—a sensitive, soft, sexy but untouched thing who doesn’t even know what she likes or what men are really like, yet. She hasn’t learned the ropes and she’s in the ring with a killer like me.

  “Dammit,” I mutter.

  Her jaw quivers and she starts to turn away from me. “I’ll just get my things and—and--you can…” she heaves a sigh. “Have your driver bring me back to the airport. I’m sure you can at least help me get a flight home?”

  “And why would I do any of that?” I demand to know.

  She can’t even look at me. “I know that I screwed up. I didn’t tell you in advance that I’m inexperienced—“

  “Inexperienced is one thing. You’re not just inexperienced, you’re a virgin. Untouched.”

  “I know,” she whispers. I can hardly hear her.

  “And yes, you should have come clean about that sooner. Why didn’t you?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I just made my profile, I didn’t want to do anything to hurt my chances.”

  I walk up closer behind her again, feel her heat. I’m still raging hard, and I realize the answer has been obvious from the very beginning. I was always going to fuck her, and nothing’s changed that fact.

  If anything, it dawns on me that I want to fuck her more than ever.

  And this is yet another surprise.

  I place my hands gently on her hips and she shudders. Slowly, I bring my lips close to the base of her neck. “You aren’t going anywhere, Haisley.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No. I paid for you. I purchased you. And now, you are mine, for better or worse.” She shivers again.

  My word choice is clear and intentional. I’ve made a stronger commitment to Haisley, in these few moments, then I ever did to any of my previous women.

  I wonder why I’m acting this way, and consider that maybe it’s the freedom of having a contract that’s spelled everything out.

  But it doesn’t seem right.

  I am sure it’s something about Haisley that’s making me crazy, making me tempted, creating this desire to tease her and torment her, but also own her and keep her to myself.

  “Thank you for giving me another chance,” she says softly. “I promise I’ll do better. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you don’t regret it.”

  “That’s a good start,” I tell her. “And what do you think you can do to make sure I don’t regret it?”

  She still can’t look at me. Her head is turned away. Her back to me as I hold her hips and resist the urge to plunge up against her backside again, my fingers sliding up between her legs to dip into that sopping wet mound of hers. I want to feel her, I want to pull her skirt up, reveal her ass, press my cock between those luscious cheeks until I can feel the heat from her pussy on my shaft.

  “Anything you want.”

  I chuckle. “What if I told you I want you to put your mouth on my cock?”

  I feel her body go rigid for a moment. “Now?”

  “Haisley, every time I say something, you think it means now. But this thing we’re doing, works best when you savor each moment. We don’t need to rush anything.” I turn her towards me and she meets my eyes.

  Another strange sensation floods me from head to toe.

  Those eyes of hers. They’re like open doors to her soul. Not just windows, but doors thrown wide open. Nothing hidden.

  I’ve never met a woman so open, so unguarded. And yet, I can see steely strength there as well, something that I can’t fully grasp as I study her expression.

  She is both innocent and also deeply wounded.

  I feel myself balk at this soulful connection crap. This is not how I operate. Haisley is throwing me off my game.

  I take a step back.

  “Everything okay?” she says, reading me instantly.

  I also don’t like that she can do that. Read me. I’m not used to it.

  “If something is the matter, I will tell you,” I chide her, and she winces a little.

  “Oh. Yeah. Of course.” She looks down.

  “You must be hungry.”

  “A little, I guess.”

  “Besides, we should…freshen up. You’ve been traveling. We have a lovely tub, spa, all the amenities you could want. And then lunch. Yes?”

  “Sure, sounds amazing,” she replies.

  I show her where the towels and things are, how to run the tub and shower, trying not to look at her ass, her tits, those plump lips, and then I leave the bedroom and go to the kitchen to fix lunch.

  I enjoy cooking, which surprises those who find out about my little hobby.

  Most never do.

  But I am a pretty decent cook, and the act of preparing a meal calms my mind and gets me focused, much like when I’m running, or at the range doing target practice.

  And right now, I need to focus. I need to get my mind off of Haisley for a moment so I can re-center, get out of this fog, this spell I’m under.

  All I want to do is impale my cock in her tight, virginal pussy, make her cry out, possess her, tell her she is mine.

  Then it hits me. The reason I am getting so turned on by her and hung up on her, is because I haven’t fucked her yet. This is just a case of intense lust, craving, and her virginal innocence has probably taken the intensity up a notch or two.

  But once I fuck Haisley, I’ll have tasted her, and this will finally satisfy my desire. After which my usual boredom and fickleness will creep back in, and I can be rid of her.

  She doesn’t even need to last a month. I never thought she would, actually. I figured I could pay for the longest timeframe and then send her back when I get bored, be it after three days or a week.

  But whatever the length of time she is with me, I know that she will never last a month. I’ve never dated or spent time with any woman for that long, and it ce
rtainly isn’t about to happen with a paid escort.

  I snort to myself at the mere thought of it.

  Christ, I must be under too much stress from the revelations about the surveillance sex tapes that Becca Windsor is trying to use against me. Otherwise, what could explain the way I’m thinking and behaving regarding Haisley Parker?

  Slightly mollified that I’ve figured out the reasons for my uncontrollable infatuation with the young woman upstairs, I focus on preparing lunch.

  I make us turkey burgers with herbs (sage and rosemary), and Greek yogurt. I finish off the recipe with goat cheese, cranberry sauce, spinach, and some grainy mustard on a brioche bun.

  Add some chips, slaw, and set the table on the deck that looks out over the skyline of the city.

  When Haisley finally comes down, the table is set and I’m bringing out the Gerard Bertrand wine, a nice rosé from my collection.

  She looks stunning in a light-yellow sundress and sandals, her creamy legs visible all the way to the thigh. The dress hugs her, shows every voluptuous curve, and, for a moment, I freeze as she emerges onto the deck and into the direct sunlight.

  She’s even more beautiful with the full force of the sun on her face and shoulders.

  Most of the women I’ve dated seem to crumble a little in direct light, as if it reveals not just the little blemishes and imperfections on their skin, but also some inner lack—some shortcoming that they try to hide with makeup and products and perfumes.

  But none of them, I realize, have ever held a candle to this simple, gorgeous creature standing before me at this moment.

  And the strangest part of all?

  She has no idea.

  Haisley stares at the plates on the table and her eyes widen. “This looks amazing. I wish the chef was still here, so I could thank him or her.”

  “The chef is still here,” I say, feeling ridiculously proud of myself.

  She blinks at me. Her eyes widen. “You cook?”

  “I’m not a philistine.”

  “I know, but still. I didn’t picture you as the type.”

  “I’m a man of many talents, Haisley.”

  “And hidden depths,” she adds, one eyebrow raised appraisingly.

  That comment takes me slightly aback. I don’t like to think of myself as deep. In fact, I hope I’m shallow. I want to be a simple man, because then I could concentrate on fucking random women and making as much money as possible, without the added stress of my own thoughts and existential crises to distract me.

  “Let’s eat,” I say, shaking off her effect on me.

  We sit down and Haisley surprises me by eating with unreserved gusto. I’m used to the typical skinny model type who gets embarrassed and self-conscious chewing a stick of gum.

  But Haisley isn’t like that at all. She’s wonderfully alive, taking pleasure in the food, in each bite, in the world around her. She stares out at the buildings and skyline. “This is amazing,” she says, her eyes shining. “It’s like a fairytale.”

  I sip my wine and grin at her childlike enthusiasm. “It’s very nice.”

  She turns to me and her eyes narrow slightly. “You’re desensitized to it all, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. This is my everyday life.”

  “That’s kind of sad, though. You can’t really appreciate everything you have. All of this wealth, this view, the food, it’s just another thing you take for granted. Like your women.”

  I frown. “Are you insulting me?”

  “No. Of course not.” Her cheeks flame red. “At least, I didn’t intend to.”

  “You eat my food, partake of my hospitality, and then psychoanalyze me?”

  “You’re right. I’m so sorry,” she says, and I can tell she means it, but I don’t care. My stomach is in knots.

  Part of me wonders why I even care. Who is she? A hooker. An escort. I bought her.

  She is nobody to judge me, that’s for sure.

  Her words were cutting, they sliced deep into me, and I hate to admit it. Nobody ever is able to touch me with their remarks. I’m numb. I like being numb.

  I drink more wine, refill my glass without saying a word.

  Haisley eats in silence, sullen, looking like a punished schoolgirl.

  And yet, sitting here now, I suddenly am able to see the world through her eyes. I see myself as this cocky guy in his tailored suits, perfect hair and tanned skin, with his multi-million dollar Manhattan castle, his opulence like a narcotic that puts him into a sweet daze.

  Surrounded by beauty, wealth and good fortune but somehow blind to it all.

  And now, when I look outward at the city, I see it as if for the first time. The bustling, majestic aliveness of the streets, the people, cars, the horns and sirens.

  My senses are flooded with colors, sights, and smells. Things that have always been here but I have gotten so dull to it, that it ceased to even be noticed.

  I am no longer numb to it all. Rather, painfully aware of how lucky I am at this very moment. Most of all, I am aware of the beautiful young woman sitting across from me, a person I have the opportunity to seduce, in slow, purposeful steps, drinking her in like water.

  I glance back to Haisley. She looks at me with uncertainty, desire, fear.

  “You said you’re a virgin.”

  She blinks, embarrassed. “Yes.”

  “But have you ever had a man lick that sweet pussy of yours until you scream for mercy?”

  Now her cheeks are truly aflame. She looks down at her plate. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “You say the truth.”

  She takes a deep breath and grasps her wine glass, takes a sip. I can see her hand shake ever so slightly.

  “I’ve never had a man do anything like that to me.”

  “And you’ve never done that to a man? You’ve never had a cock in your mouth, never felt that hot liquid shoot down your throat?”

  Haisley closes her eyes. “No. No. I’ve never…done anything, really. Some kissing, a little touching, mostly over the clothes.”

  “So, what we did today, in the bedroom?” I ask.

  She opens those brilliant, big eyes and focuses on me like a laser. “That’s the most I’ve ever done with anyone.”

  Haisley

  Dermot is watching me closely.

  I feel like prey. But it’s not exactly an unpleasant feeling. I’m trapped by his gaze, by that wolfish hold he has over me, the feeling that he can take me and do whatever he wants to me, whenever he wants to do it.

  The craziest part about the feeling is that I like it.

  I want him to take me.

  I want him to own me, tell me what he wants, take what he wants from me.

  Maybe it’s because I don’t want to have to worry about how to give him these things that he needs. What if I don’t know how to touch him, what if I can’t please him?

  Somehow, if he takes control of everything, then I no longer have to worry. I don’t have the pressure of needing to be good or experienced with this sex stuff.

  And now that he knows I’m a total novice, I feel a sense of relief amidst the embarrassment. No longer hiding and pretending who I am, Dermot has accepted my limitations.

  At least, for now.

  “Don’t drink too much wine,” he says, as I gulp more of the sweet tasting liquid.

  “Why not?” I smile, feeling emboldened, maybe the tiniest bit buzzed.

  “Because,” Dermot replies, “I want you aware of everything and I need you to be in possession of all your faculties.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re actually quite chivalrous?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Not even once.”

  “Well, I think you are. I think maybe you’re nicer than you let on.”

  His expression grows serious, his eyes darken. “Haisley, I want you to remember something about me. Listen to what I tell you.”

  “Okay…”

  “I am not a nice guy.” He leans forward. “I am not the
kind of person you want to grow attached to, or get sentimental about. I’m selfish, arrogant, narcissistic, and I could never be anything other than what I am.”

  His words hit me hard, but the very fact that he is telling me this makes me doubt the truth of it.

  Since when do selfish, self-centered people announce such things about themselves? All of the truly horrible people I’ve ever known seem to think themselves to be the best thing since sliced bread.

  “Point taken,” I say, just so as not to upset him.

  But in my heart, I don’t believe his words. Maybe that’s just my lust talking, however. I find that as I am relaxing, my need for him has grown stronger. I remember the orgasm I had earlier, how it came upon me so suddenly, and how his hand expertly found my wet folds, stroking me as I came.

  I need to feel that again.

  Dermot clears the table. I offer to help, but he forbids it. “Look at the view,” he tells me. “Appreciate it, as you’ve helped me to appreciate it today.”

  I do as he says, standing up from the table and approaching the railing of the deck. There’s a slight breeze, and the sun is obscured by clouds for a moment.

  Around us, the city is so alive with movement, with energy, and as I watch the lines of cars on the streets below, the buildings towering around us, I’m swept away by the fact that I am really living this moment.

  I am in this amazing home, with the sexiest, most powerful, charismatic man I’ve ever laid eyes on. I am living a dream, and helping my father cheat death all at the same time.

  I’m filled with awe, with gratitude, and I feel so thankful toward Dermot for giving me this chance. I want so badly to please him.

  I want him to know that I understand the gift he’s giving me, even if he doesn’t fully understand it himself.

  “Enjoying yourself?” he asks, coming out to join me again.

  I turn a little and smile. “Very much.”

  “Good. I want you to enjoy this. Every single bit of it,” he continues, sliding up behind me and deeply inhaling, as if savoring my perfume.