Home > Auctioned To The Billionaire (Part Three)

Auctioned To The Billionaire (Part Three)
Author: Kelly Favor

 

Auctioned To The Billionaire (Part Three) by Kelly Favor

 

 

Dermot

 

 

I’m not sure exactly when I lost my temper, my patience, my control.

Maybe I lost it the second I saw Haisley’s picture on that damn website.

Or maybe the moment I tasted her, smelled her.

What I do know for sure, is that the story she is telling me right now has pushed me over the edge.

A story about her father—a despicable addict, if the things she is telling me bear any resemblance to the truth. And I’m not altogether convinced that it is true. Any of it.

Was she really a virgin?

Is all of this just a scam?

Those are the thoughts running through my mind as Haisley spills her life story out to me in a display of vulnerability that I simply cannot tolerate.

I’m hearing pieces of her monologue, but my own furious thoughts and judgments are overpowering much of what she tells me.

Snatches of it come through, like radio static.

“…after my mother left…”

“…I owed it to him. He was the only person I could…”

“…and we didn’t have any money to buy dinner, but at school I was able to eat…”

I can feel my blood pressure rising, my pulse racing. The sensations in my body remind me of the way I felt long, long ago—on the day I found out about what had happened to Madeline.

It’s like I’m floating up, above myself, watching everything.

I can hear Haisley talking, as if from far away, faint and unobtrusive now.

“…they were beating him up, and I knew they would hurt him if I didn’t do something. I had no choice. He’s still my dad…”

Finally, she stops speaking and stares at me.

I come back to myself, as if waking from a strange daydream. I feel slightly drugged, not myself. My head is pounding and I’m slightly nauseous.

“So, that’s everything,” Haisley says softly. Her eyes are wide, fearful.

“You need to leave,” I say, and it comes out of my throat in a low croaking whisper.

“Wait. What?” she blinks, her face going pale.

“Go.” I point to the door. “Go. Now.”

“But—“

“You can keep the money you made already. I won’t tell the service about any of this. But you’re not getting a penny more from me.” I can taste bile in my throat. I feel fucking sick, for so many reasons.

She starts trying to argue. Beg.

Tears are spilling down her cheeks.

“Go!” I shout, so loud that afterwards my ears ring.

Haisley is startled, runs away from me, presumably off to the bedroom to get her bags. I make it to the nearby bathroom and come extremely close to being sick.

My stomach is cramped, my head is spinning and I’m drenched in sweat.

“Fuck,” I mutter. I am not sure if I somehow got food poisoning or what. I’ve never had a reaction like this to anything…well…

I suppose there was something. Something I left far behind, something I’m determined to keep in the past.

My stomach unclenches and the feeling of extreme nausea passes.

And if any of the way I feel now is because of Haisley, which I have to believe it is, then that means she is very bad news indeed.

Everything inside of me is urging me to get rid of her.

Send her away. Quickly. Quickly.

I wash up, close my eyes and take a few slow breaths to calm my suddenly frayed nerves.

Even when I got hit with the video evidence that someone had penetrated the security of my home and was potentially blackmailing me—I never felt anything like the way I do right at this moment.

I need to fucking relax.

Now.

A few more deep breaths. I feel my heart rate slowly begin to drop, and my blood pressure must be coming down. I am a finely trained athlete, an instrument that is tuned for maximum stress and minimum error. I do not screw up when the stakes are high.

I do not crack under pressure.

Ever.

I walk into the main foyer and wait for Haisley to make her way out with her bags. By the time she’s done so, I’ve called a car to come and get her. I’m in the process of booking a private plane to take her back home.

On my phone, I make the necessary adjustments in the app and see that there is a flight which can be made available within the next two hours.

Haisley has been crying, but the tears are drying on her skin as she approaches. I hate to admit it, but she looks more beautiful than ever. So much so, that I can hardly look at her.

I glance away, hating my own weakness.

What is it about this girl that has me so shaken? Whatever it is, the only way to be rid of it, is to be rid of her.

“I’m all set,” she tells me, her voice subdued. But even now, I can sense that she remains unbroken by my rejection of her. There is a real strength inside of her, and I can’t help but respect it.

“Good. I’ve been able to arrange a flight to take you back. You won’t have to wait long at the airport.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She starts towards the door.

“The car isn’t here yet,” I tell her.

She shrugs and keeps walking. As she reaches the door, I stare at her. She’s struggling to keep her back straight and head held high. This is somehow more heartbreaking than any of the rest of it.

The door is locked and she fumbles with it momentarily.

And worse yet, I can’t help but stare at her round, plump ass, remembering her bare skin and how it felt when I slid into her…

I walk to the door and stop her from exiting. “Haisley,” I say, pressing my palm firmly against the door.

“What,” she says, not looking at me. I can hear the barely restrained wrath in her voice and for some reason, it makes my cock harder than it was even a second ago.

“You understand why I have to end this?” I say.

“Let me out.”

“Answer me.”

“Fuck you,” she says, still refusing to turn her head. She’s staring at the closed door.

“You lied to me,” I explain. “You hid the truth from me, and then you unleash this torrent of baggage out of your past, including being in debt to a goddamn crime family—“

“I said, let me out!” she cries. She turns and looks at me with pure hate and rage. “I don’t need to kiss your ass anymore,” she says.

“Is that what you’ve been doing?” I say, chuckling, knowing it will further provoke her.

“You smug, rich, entitled—“

“There! Let’s hear the real you,” I mock. “I knew it.”

“Knew what? That when you buy a woman and force her to your bidding, she might resent you for it? Are you really that dense that you would think anything else could come of it?”

I step back from the door. “At least I never lied to you.”

“Poor you,” she sneers. And then she twists the doorknob, but as the door swings open, I step forward and lean against it once more, shutting it closed before she can escape.

Her body is shaking with anger.

I’m shaking too, pulsing. But it’s not with anger or fear or anything else I was feeling a few minutes previously.

I’m shaking now with pure need and lust. I’m turned the hell on, more than ever before.

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