Billionaire romance @ forbidden pleasure

Three

Brock

As I make my way through the darkened club, I can't help thinking how much I'd rather be at home.

The jetlag is really kicking my ass. It might be late here, but it's the earliest hours of the morning in London. My body thinks I should be dead asleep right now, but unfortunately, that's not happening.

Warranted, it's not like I wanted to go out tonight. I'm not really one for clubs of any kind, but associates of mine wanted to celebrate the company's acquisition, so here I am, walking through a gentlemen's club ominously named The Black Door.

I'd heard of it before now, but I've never actually been here before. I didn't even know places like this even existed anymore. It's decorated like an underground Prohibition Era speakeasy, but it has the city views that the rich and famous have come to see as a mark of their status.

I can't lie and say it's not beautiful, but this sort of establishment really,reallyisn't my speed. I might have more money than I know what to do with, but blowing it all on a night at an intensely exclusive club like this one isn't what I'd spend it on. Too many charities need money before I'd even think of blowingit all here on a few expensive cocktails and a night in a back room spent with a woman I don't know.

I know what happens in places like this. I might be a bit of a homebody compared to my wealthy peers, but I'm not so out of touch to think that the women milling around, flirting with the men that have paid truly exorbitant amounts of money to be here, are here just to look pretty.

One of my associates, Phil, spots me and starts to wave, drawing my attention to him as he stands at the bar with the rest. He claps me on the shoulder as I approach.

"Brock, thank fuck you're here. I thought you'd bail," he says, eyeing me over his snifter of amber liquid. Cognac, knowing him. "What'll you have? Tab's on me tonight."

I glance behind the bar at the dozens of bottles on display. Feeling smug, I order a rare scotch from a bottle that looks like it hasn't even been opened. I know for a fact that it's exceedingly rareandexceedingly expensive. Maybe ordering it will teach them all a lesson about them to dragging me out to party with them. I don't even care if it's good at this point, as long as it makes Phil's wallet hurt a little.

Maybe I'm grumpier about all of this than I thought.

When the rocks glass slides across the polished wood surface of the bar, I pick it up and take a long drag of the scent.

Oh yeah. This definitely smells like a hellish tab. Perfection. The best part? It doesn't taste half bad.

"So, what's going on tonight?" I ask after taking a languid sip.

"Best night of the month," Phil smirks at me, nodding at a stage across the room from the bar. "You won't be disappointed."
Just as he says that, an announcement crackles over the speakers above. The voice is that of a woman, silky smooth and low as it hums through the air. "Gentlemen, we are mere moments away from the show you've all been waiting for. If you would like to participate in our signature monthly auction, please make your ways to the stage."

My brow furrows as the men inside the club erupt into cheers. An auction? Surely they don't mean ...

Distaste roils in my gut. What elsewouldthey mean?

I'm not against sex work or sex workers. While it's never had any appeal to me, the people who work in the world's oldest profession deserve the same rights that any other worker does. The rumors I've heard about this place in that regard are actually really good. The girls here are taken care of and well-protected by the people who run the establishment.

But anauction? Really? What the hell does that even mean?

Within moments, club members are pressing forward against the stage, milling around as they wait for the even to start. I can't help looking on with curious eyes.

Suddenly, the club lights dim even further, and the stage lights come up, illuminating a luxurious velvet curtain. A woman steps out wearing black Louboutin pumps and tasteful black gown. She's older, but still attractive, her smile wide as she holds a microphone up and begins to speak.

"Gentlemen, welcome to The Black Door's monthly Parade of Vixens," she purrs into the microphone. Her voice is the same as the one who'd made the earlier announcement. "Thank you for supporting us tonight."

Cheers and claps rise up from the crowd as she explains the rules and etiquette for the auction. Finally, she gives them a coquettish smile, looking every bit like the cat who caught the canary.

"Now, I have a very special surprise. Our first vixen has a delightful little detail that I'm sure will have you all chomping at the bit for a chance to spend some time with her."

A murmur passes through the gathered men. I barely manage to hold back my eyeroll. This all seems like a really tacky way of conveying the fact that this first auctionee can bend in weird and exciting ways or doesn't have a gag reflex.

"It's been a while since we last had one, boys. That's right, our first vixen is a virgin!"

My heart sinks. Some poor girl is about to get bid upon like she's nothing more than a fancy vase. I can only hope she's doing this because she wants to, not because she's been coerced into it. Again I remind myself that this club has a good reputation, if only to put my mind at ease.

As the curtain parts, the stage lights flicker to illuminate a figure standing on the stage. Her pale skin gleams under the harsh light, her long legs made to look longer by a tiny skirt paired with impossibly high heels.

And that's when my eyes flicker upward to look at her face.

My vision goes red.

It's not just any virgin up there, auctioning off her first experience with sex for who knows what kind of profit.

Felicia. My guilty attraction. My secret treasure. The god damned best friend of my only daughter.

I start to shake with fury. How the hell did she end up in a place like this, wearing nothing but the tiniest, tightest little dress I've ever seen in my fucking life?

As the eager crowd erupts with shouting, I realize with horror that they're bidding on her. They're bidding on the little girl I've coveted for months. She's like a lamb being led to slaughter, and the thought that one of these bastards will take her from me makes me surge forward.

I will not let them pull her from my grasp.

Not today, not ever.

Felicia is mine, and everyone in this fucking club is going to know it by the end of this auction.