Highest Bidder (Salacious Players’ Club)

Daisy

The sun will come up any moment now, but sleep still evades me. No matter how long I lie in this cloud of a bed with my eyes closed, praying that my dreams take me away, I can’t seem to fall asleep.

I just keep thinking about that photo. His wife. His son. Sadness aches in my chest for him. Right next to shame and regret for opening my big mouth. Why couldn’t I just put the photo back and let the moment pass? We were getting along so well and were both so happy with thoughts of Paris in our future.

Then I had to ruin it by bringing up the one thing I’m sure he doesn’t ever want to think about.

I shouldn’t have gone to bed that quickly. Why didn’t I comfort him or say something else, instead of sitting there silent and ignorant?

It’s almost five when I finally give up on sleep and climb out of bed. The house is quiet and dark. His office is empty, and I stare at it, considering for a moment that I might find some of my answers in there. But I only get to the doorway before I stop myself.

Why am I doing this? What on earth will I find? Pictures of her? Proof that I might be falling for the same man my mother did nine years ago? Is that what I want? Or do I want a reason to dislike him? Something that makes him anything less than perfect. Maybe he was buying my mother’s silence. Maybe he hurt her in some way and offering me a bright future was all she wanted in return for it.

No. Not Ronan. It just doesn’t fit.

When I decide that there is nothing in that office that will make me feel better about this, I abandon the idea and turn around. Instead of going back to my room, I continue into the main living area and see a faint light coming from his room.

It would be inappropriate to go in there. Ronan and I are barely even friends. But I admit, we seem to be swimming in unfamiliar water, treading awfully close to something without crossing that line. Why do I suddenly want to?

Curiosity. Loneliness.

Maybe both.

Or perhaps I just want to be someone special to Ronan. Someone he’d find first in a crowded room. And I’ve never wanted that from any man, but strangely with him, I do.

Without a sound, I follow the dim light across the house and down the short hallway until I’m standing at his slightly open door.

I gently rap my fingers against it, peering farther into the room. “Ronan?”

“Come in, Daisy,” he answers in a cool, gravelly tone.

I step in with my arms crossed over my chest as I take in the sight of him, shirtless in his bed, in nothing but a pair of dark gray sweatpants with his laptop resting on his legs. He’s wearing glasses, but he slowly takes them off, resting them on the nightstand before closing the computer.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I’m too busy staring at him. This sudden desire I’m feeling for him is like an intense and all-consuming burn. When did this happen?

“Can’t sleep,” I reply. The room is silent; the only sound I hear is the thrumming of blood in my ears and the shaky cadence of my breathing.

“Come here.” His voice comes out in a cool, low command as he pats the empty spot in his bed.

For a moment, I hesitate. Is this crossing a line? Too intimate? Or is this something two people can do without there being any expectations? After I swallow down my nerves, I cross the room and climb into his warm bed. His familiar scent fills my nose as I rest my head against the pillow next to his.

He moves his laptop to the side table, clicks off the light, and lies down next to me.

“Why are you taking me to Paris?” I ask.

“Because I want to,” he replies simply.

“But why me?”

There’s a low chuckle coming from his side of the bed as he replies, “Most women don’t give me so much grief about it. But then again, most women think they have to sleep with me to get trips to Paris and gifts and jewelry.”

“That’s not true,” I say with a yawn. “Most women want to sleep with you.”

He laughs again. “Maybe so.”

“Those women at the club tonight sure did.”

After he lets out a sigh, I roll toward him.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

He turns my way, his broad arm curling under his pillow, and with the bit of light coming through the window, I can just make out the curve of his bicep. “Of course.”

“Are you…a pleasure Dom?” This is what working at a sex club does to you. You no longer shy away from asking blunt, invasive questions, as if it’s as casual as are you a vegetarian?

To his credit, he barely reacts. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“I heard those women say something about it when I was…passing by.”

He smirks. “When you were eavesdropping.”

“Okay, fine. I was eavesdropping. Don’t tell on me.” I smile sheepishly.

“I won’t.”

“So, what does that mean?”

He clears his throat, adjusting himself on his pillow. “It means I like to be in control, but I like to bring my partner pleasure. I like being able to control when they come, how they come, and how often they come.”

I force my breathing to remain steady as I suck in a lungful of air. Beneath the blankets, my feet rub together—my own little nervous habit because, right now, my kinky mind is going wild.

“The person I’m with has to be submissive, though. It’s not like just anyone can fill that role.”

“Do you have…a partner? Like someone you do that with all the time?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“So you just find random women at the club?” I ask.

“Daisy, I’ve been around a long time. I’ve had lots of vanilla sex and I’ve tried just about every kinky thing a person can try. At the end of the day, I’ve decided that this is just what I like. I’m not ashamed of it, and I have no problem finding partners.”

I lift up on my elbow as my eyes widen and a sense of panic starts to rise up inside me. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sorry. I’m not judging you, I swear.”

With one soft smile, Ronan eases my worries. Then he places a firm hand on my shoulder, letting it cascade down my arm, and I let him ease me back down to the pillow. I know it’s meant as nothing more than friendly comfort, but I’m hyperaware of it, noting the way I’m reacting to his touch.

“I know you’re not judging me. I’m glad you asked. It’s good to be curious.”

When he takes his hand away, I immediately feel the absence of his touch. But he quickly distracts me with his next question.

“Have you experimented at all with kink, Daisy?”

“No.” The word comes rushing out of my mouth, and he notices my lack of hesitation.

“Why not? Not interested?” He’s not pushing or prying, just genuinely curious.

“Um…not uninterested, I guess. Just…”

“Intimidated?”

“Yes.”

“I get that. Well, if you ever get interested, Eden is a great person to talk to.”

Why on earth was I momentarily hoping he’d offer up himself as a guide? But on the mention of Madame Kink, I remember my next question.

“Do you mind if I ask…”

“If we’ve slept together?” he finishes my question, which must mean he gets it a lot.

I nod.

With a little chuckle, he replies, “No, Eden and I are just friends.” I breathe a sigh of relief until he adds, “We do play together from time to time.”

My feet stop their fidgeting and my eyes are like saucers. “What?”

His laugh is gentle and quiet. “I forget that not everyone is so comfortable with this stuff. It means Eden and I sometimes share a sub or rent a room together.”

“Oh, I know what it means,” I reply. “I just pictured it playing out in my head and everything.”

His laughter grows louder. “Go to sleep, Daisy. I think that’s enough talk for tonight.”

“Oh, come on…” I reply with a whine. When he reaches out to touch me again, it feels less like comfort and more like connection. His large hand brushes my unruly hair out of my face then strokes my head for a few minutes, our eyes on each other in charged contact.

“You are so innocent and naive, Daisy. And I think I’d like to keep it that way.”

I let those words play over and over in my mind as we both fall off to sleep. I’m not sure if I love the idea of him cherishing me or if I’m terribly disappointed that Ronan Kade has no interest in corrupting me.