Highest Bidder (Salacious Players’ Club)

Ronan

“Where are we going?” she asks as we reach the back of the club. There are some things I’d like her to see. Things that are more than just explicit displays of carnal debauchery.

L’Amour is deep and intricate, like a maze. Unlike Salacious, which was obviously well-planned to be a sex club, this establishment feels a bit more like a converted night club that they made up as they went along. The entire floor is dark and cavernous with dim glowing lights around the perimeter. It operates much like Salacious’s VIP room, but less discreetly and on a much larger scale.

That is not where I’m taking Daisy. She wouldn’t last a minute in there. I’d have to hide her in my coat to keep their dirty hands off of her, and I don’t have the patience for that tonight.

Instead, I want Daisy to appreciate the other side of kink.

This part was my addition. It’s a smaller section of the club, and much like the voyeur hallway of Salacious, but instead of a hallway, it’s a grand room with large partitioned stalls inside. Each one is open, not even a plexiglass window between the partaker and the audience. Although it’s not about voyeurism and exhibitionism here. It’s about something deeper and more meaningful. Almost like artists in a museum—Daisy did say she wanted more art in her life.

As we enter the BDSM level of the room, I watch her eyes grow rounder as she takes in the sights. She hugs herself closer to me as we walk, and I’m forced to remember that I’ve been desensitized—Daisy hasn’t, and it’s a bit much to take in at first.

So, we take it slow. Starting a good distance away, I let her curiosity lead us. There’s a bondage performance that catches her attention for a moment before she wanders toward an intense impact play scene, which surprisingly piques her interest.

She watches with rapt attention as the man strapped to the St. Andrew’s cross is taking a lashing with the bullwhip. His Dom is attentive and slow with the swings, checking in on his sub after every few hits.

“He likes that?” she whispers to me as we walk slowly across the room, away from the two men who seem to be coming to the end of their scene.

I’m not so sure how to answer that question. “In short, yes. But…sometimes it’s not always about what they like. It helps them to understand themselves better…or to heal from trauma, to build their confidence, to strengthen the communication with their partner. There are a lot of very positive reasons why people like it.”

“Did being a Dom help you?” she asks, gazing up at me with that sorrowful expression. And I know what she’s referring to. Did it help me to heal from the trauma of losing my family?

How on earth do I explain to her that it didn’t just help me heal? It saved me.

“Yes, it did. What started as just sex quickly became something far more powerful. Even I doubted it in the beginning. I thought being a Dom was all about feeling powerful and superior, but domination is really about control. And it allowed me to control the things I could and accept the things I couldn’t.”

Her gentle blue eyes are focused on my face as she nods with understanding. As we reach a dark wall on the side of the room, she slowly presses her back against it, her blonde brows drawn together in contemplation, and I’m dying to know what is going on in that adorable head of hers.

“Even the pleasure parts?” she asks, and the corner of my mouth twitches upward at the innocence of her question.

Putting my arm against the wall over her head, I press myself closer. “Yes, even those parts. After I lost my family, I lost my purpose. Finding this lifestyle and becoming a Dom gave me back my purpose. As strange as that sounds.”

“It doesn’t sound strange,” she replies, leaning in. “You’re…a giver.” There’s a playful smirk on her face that’s far too tempting. So I avert my gaze, focusing on the wisp of hair in her face as I continue.

“Most Doms take their own pleasure from their subs, and that’s fine. Their subs enjoy it. That’s what their subs need. But the control and power I feel when I can make a person come, not just once, but over and over and over, until it’s like I control their body more than they do…is intoxicating.”

Her bottom lip is pinched between her teeth in that way she so often does, but her eyes are glued to mine, a hint of the red light overhead glinting in the blue irises of her eyes.

“I think that’s healing for me,” I continue. “To take care of someone. To make them feel good. To provide what they need. And to give me a purpose I’ve lost along the way.”

Her throat moves as she swallows and softly nods. “That makes sense.”

Our eyes are locked for a few moments, and I wish I could keep her here forever. In Paris. In this club. Mine.

But that’s impossible, so I’ll savor every sweet moment I do have.

Sliding my hand down her back, I whisper against her ear, “That’s enough for tonight. Let’s go home.”

Daisy is restless during the entire car ride back to the apartment, and not in a worried, anxious way. She keeps readjusting herself in her seat, her fingers rubbing at the locket around her neck. I have half a mind to ask if she needs to use the restroom, but I refrain.

When she hums a tune and mumbles a little song to herself, I turn her way. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” she replies, looking out the window.

“Were you just writing a song in your head?” I ask, a smile tugging shamelessly on my lips.

With a slightly embarrassed blush in her cheeks, she replies, “Yes.”

“About me?”

She snickers. “About Paris.”

“Let me hear it,” I reply, nudging her arm.

“No way! It’s just…thoughts and ideas. It’s not even good yet.”

“How long does it take you to write a song?” I ask.

She shrugs, twisting her pretty pink lips in a little knot. “A few days, maybe. Sometimes less.”

“Why don’t you ever record them? Or perform something?”

“It’s just a silly, little hobby,” she argues.

“No, it’s not,” I snap in return. “It’s a talent not many have. You shouldn’t waste something like that.”

“I’m not wasting it if I’m enjoying it,” she replies smugly.

“Well, other people could enjoy it too is all I’m saying. I certainly would.”

Her head shifts in my direction. “You want to hear my songs?”

“Very much,” I say as the car pulls up to the apartment building and the driver gets out to open my door. Just like last time, Daisy opens her own door, facing the street no less, before I can rush over to open it for her.

“Will you stop doing that?” I mutter sternly at her.

“I’m capable of opening my own door, Ronan.” Her tone is sweet but obstinate.

“I know you are,” I reply with a sigh as I lead her to the door. I’d still like to open it for her. I want to say that, and maybe I should. But Daisy doesn’t need to know all the things I’d like to do for her. Literally everything if I could.

When we reach the apartment, I notice her yawning on her way inside, and I’m surprised to see her walking toward the guest room. We might be keeping it strictly in the friend zone for now, but we’ve shared a bed nearly three times now, if you include the plane ride and the four-hour jet-lagged nap earlier today.

“Where are you going?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound too desperate. I was looking forward to having her next to me tonight.

She starts to shuffle toward the bedroom, when I notice something strangely erratic about her behavior. As if she’s worriedly weighing the option of what bed to sleep in, like it’s a matter of life and death.

“I…uh, think I should sleep in the guest room tonight,” she stammers.

“Okay,” I reply, loosening my tie. “That’s fine. Is everything okay?”

Heaving a sigh, she looks at me in disbelief. “Don’t you need to…be alone?” she asks awkwardly.

“Be alone?” I’m confused.

She seems exasperated with me by the time she finally comes out with it. “We were just in a sex club, Ronan. I don’t know about you, but I’m in a severe state of arousal, and I am dying for relief.”

I’m not often struck speechless, but she’s done it. I don’t know what’s more stunning—her basically admitting that she has plans to masturbate or the fact that she’s excessively aroused.

“Okay,” I reply dumbly before she scurries off to the guest room, probably mortified at what she just declared she’s about to do. In a state of shock and confusion, I shuffle into the master bedroom and begin undressing.

The entire time I’m getting myself ready for bed, I have these questions roaming around in my head. Is she doing it right now? Is Daisy somewhere in my apartment touching herself under her covers? How does she do it? Does she roughly finger herself, curling them to find her G-spot? Or does she circle her clit with her thighs pressed together? Does she have a toy in there? Is she watching porn?

I’m going mad. Absolutely fucking crazy.

My body feels strung tightly, wired and anxious, ready to tear down the doors of this apartment to see what she’s doing. It’s obvious to me now that the more I deny myself what I want with Daisy, the more intense it’s going to get. Before long, she will have me literally insane with need for her.

I try to crawl under the sheets of my bed and go to sleep alone, ignoring what I know she’s doing a couple doors down the hall. I try, but I fail miserably.

Why did she have to tell me that?

In a fury, I throw off the blankets and storm across the room. There’s not a rational thought in my mind to justify what I’m about to do. I have absolutely no right in the world, but I don’t care.

I don’t know what I’m about to find as I march to her room like a savage. I’m fully aware of how rude and brutish it is for me to barge in the way I am, but she has me wild beyond decorum. As I throw open the door to the guest room, I’m shocked to find her lying silent and still under the covers, on her side.

She gasps as I enter the room, jumping up to stare at me in shock. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” I reply with accusation. She responds with a roll of her eyes, dropping back down to her pillow.

“Relax. I’m not doing anything. I was too humiliated for saying that. Sort of killed the mood.” Then, her brows furrow as she glares at me from her bed, her eyes raking over my half-naked appearance. I’m standing in her room in nothing but a tight pair of gray boxer briefs with my rock-hard cock pointing upward. It’s obvious that I’ve been thinking about her masturbating for the last five minutes—which is exactly what I was doing.

“Why are you here? Am I not allowed to have privacy?” she complains.

I don’t answer her. There simply isn’t a response for that question, not one that makes sense at least.

So I walk silently around the bed and climb in behind her, sliding under the sheets until my body is nearly touching hers.

“Let me,” I say in a bold request. She stares at me over her shoulder, a rightfully perplexed expression on her face.

“Let you what?”

I nuzzle closer. “Let me relieve your ache, Daisy.”

Her breath hitches, just as her eyes meet mine, hope and anticipation coloring her features. As her lips part, I know she’s itching to say something, but she stops herself. Instead, her head tilts into a slow nod.

“I need to hear you say it, baby,” I say, using a soft, authoritative tone.

Her eyes are moist and her pupils dilated as she licks her lips and softly mumbles, “I want you to touch me, Ronan. I want you to make me come.”

My cock twitches in my boxer briefs and all of the reasons in my head that have been telling me to keep my distance seem trivial and useless now. Self-preservation and defense mechanisms have nothing on those beautifully wanton words leaving her precious lips.

“Lie back, Daisy.”

I can’t believe this is about to happen, even as I pull her back so close to my body, we’re practically fused together. Then, I ease my right hand under the covers and over her soft hip. She’s in nothing but a small T-shirt and a lace thong. As my fingers skate over her belly and down to the warmth between her legs, she lets out a strangled gasp.

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” I whisper.

Her hand covers mine as she shoves my fingers over the moist center of her panties and says, “Don’t you dare stop.”

My jaw is tight as I ease the fabric aside and run my finger through the delicate lips of her precious cunt. She’s already soaked, pools of arousal at the entrance, her clit so swollen and sensitive to the touch that she flinches and gasps every time I graze it.

“Oh, Daisy.” I growl. “You’re suffering, baby girl. Do you want Daddy to make you feel better?”

What the fuck am I doing? I’m throwing caution to the wind. I’m sailing headfirst into a storm, and I don’t know if I’ll make it out alive. But those words just slip through my lips so effortlessly, like I was made to utter them to her. And it’s not wrong, perverted, or sick—it just feels right.

Judging by the way she groans and shoves her backside against my aching cock, she doesn’t think it’s so wrong either.

“Yes, Daddy,” she cries with a needy hum. “Please help me.”

My middle finger plunges deep inside her, just as her hand grasps at my forearm, her nails digging into my skin as I pump it slowly to find the rhythm she craves.

“Like that, baby?” My voice is strained. I’m struggling to maintain my composure. She feels so good in my hand—soaked and trembling. Fuck, I’ve been craving this longer than I should. But this isn’t about me and what I want. No matter how much I love it.

“Yes,” she gasps, practically riding my hand. Determined, I add a second digit, thrusting and curling until she’s moaning loudly.

My self-control starts to slip as my lips find her neck, trailing hungry kisses across her jaw and cheek, then up to her ear. She’s writhing against me, and I can tell by the way she jerks my hand tighter against her skin that it’s the clit stimulation she wants.

So, I pull my soaked fingers from her depths and drag them to her swollen clit, rubbing fast and hard circles that have her practically gasping and shaking.

She’s breathtaking like this. So vulnerable and real. Blonde waves cascade over her pillow as her pink cheeks dimple from squeezing her eyes closed. Her legs are fidgeting under the blanket, squirming and writhing in desperation.

A desperate sounding yelp escapes her lips right when I know she’s there. “That’s my girl,” I murmur against her ear. “Come on Daddy’s hand.”

The cries of pleasure get louder as her thighs seize around my hand, her body contorted in pleasure. Her cunt pulses against my fingers as she comes, her fingers still gripping my arm so tight, I can feel the marks of her nails already.

I’ll gladly wear those scars with pride.

We lay like that for a while as I kiss her neck again, listening only to the sound of her rapid breathing. The shape of her body is curved against mine so perfectly I don’t want to move.

I wait for her to come down fully from the orgasm before reluctantly slipping my hand from between her legs and sliding her panties back in place. I mistake her for being asleep when she whispers, “What about you?”

Her hand slides across my hip as if she’s reaching for my cock, but I grab her wrist to stop her. Placing it back at her chest, I hug her close.

“Don’t worry about me, baby girl,” I reply comfortingly.

Not another word is spoken before I hear her breathing change, and I know she’s asleep. I lie awake for a while, reliving the entire thing, hearing the word Daddy on her lips over and over until it lulls me off to sleep.