Blurb: When I auctioned my innocence to the highest bidder, I never imagined my three stepbrothers would be the ones to buy me.
It was supposed to be about money. Sell my innocence, pay off my debts, and move on to a brighter future.
But when I find out my stepbrothers are the ones who've bought me, things are suddenly complicated.
I haven't seen them for a decade. Now rich, powerful, dominant men, they want things from me that are more intense than I could imagine.
Kylian, fierce and unyielding, wants to make me pay for the past.
Nate was always my hero, but now he wants to leave his mark.
Lyle, my childhood crush, has wickedness in his obsidian eyes, but the memory of our shared history lingers behind every touch.
They introduce me to a world of dark desires and roleplay, and I become their willing victim. I pretend to hate what they do to me, even when it feels like I might break apart from the pleasure. I fight against every controlling touch, even as I ache to obey.
Because as hard as it is for me to surrender to their will, I still remember the love we used to share, and I'm determined to make them feel it again, even if it breaks me in the process.
Chapter 1
HONOR
THE PRICE OF INNOCENCE
In the moments before the auction starts, I can't sit still. Beneath my bare feet, the cream carpet is soft, but everything about me is drawn tight like a bow poised before an arrow is released.
My computer screen is lit up with the auction landing page, the seconds before the bidding opens ticking down on a digital clock.
Fifty-nine seconds.
An image of me takes up half the screen.
"Wear white," the auction organizer had instructed. "White is synonymous with virginity, and we want the bidders to be smacked in the face by your innocence.” When I’d hesitated, he’d reminded me that it would likely increase the amount of the bids, and that was the goal here, after all.
Fifty-one seconds.
The dress I'm wearing in the photo isn't overtly sexy. Despite the off-the-shoulder cut and the figure-hugging silhouette,there's a demureness about it. Beneath, the cream satin strapless bra and panties are understated and virginal, I suppose.
I have no idea what kind of a man buys a stranger's virginity. The kind who wants to control, to conquer. The kind who wants to take something from a woman that she can never regain. The kind who wants to break something and take that trophy of destruction. Will they want a reserved woman or a woman with confidence? Does breaking someone who is submissive have greater appeal?
These questions whirled in my mind for too long as I took the photo.
I chose to look at the camera because that's who I am. Brave. Able to overcome my fears. At least, that's who I'm trying to be.
Thirty-nine seconds.
I might be innocent sexually, but I've had my own share of hardships. I've seen and heard things I wish I could wipe from my memory but can't. I've learned to live with memories that cling around the recesses like shadows, allowing just a tiny aperture of light in the center.
Twenty-five seconds.
I take a deep breath, holding it to expand the bands of muscle encircling my rib cage, which feels clenched and vise-like.
The number of bidders waiting in the virtual bidding room increases steadily. "You'll be in demand," the auctioneer told me. "Blonde hair and blue eyes are always a favorite." He grinned as though I should feel great at his statement, but I don't.
I haven't chosen my appearance. It's something I inherited from my mom. What's on the outside is just a costume, anyway.
Fourteen seconds.
My achievements and character traits are listed beneath the image. Still, I'd bet money I don't have that most of the bidders won't care about any of it. They are only interested in my body and the experience of ravishing it. It’s irrelevant that I have a mind with wants and needs of my own.
Three seconds.
I freeze in front of the screen as the countdown nears the end.
One second.
The auction is live, and with it, I suddenly become conscious of every part of my physical self: the blood rushing in my ears, the fast-squeezing pulse of my heart, the coiling of my muscles as though I'm braced for an assault, and the hiss of breath as it passes through my lips and into the very center of me.
I watch the numbers now rising on the screen.
Usernames appear next to bid amounts that climb so fast and high that I'm dizzy, reaching to clutch the edge of the walnut console. The ground seems to move with every new bid, and with every new high, I'm overwhelmed by a heady mix of dread and hope.
This is really happening.
The money I need to pay off my debts and enter a future filled with possibilities is close enough to touch.
Questions flicker in the message bar on the screen as the bidding slows.Would you accept bids for more than one night?
I sit to reply. Yes, I type, knowing that the possibility of more time will only increase the value of the bids. I was prepared for this. The auctioneer suggested leaving it off the original bid terms to drive the price higher toward the end.
Another question appears:Would you accept a bid from three men?
Three men? I'm not prepared for a question like this. Giving myself over to one man in exchange for money is a hard enough decision to make. Three is soul-crushing. How would three men take my virginity? My mouth drops open, trying to imagine what it might be like, imagining something that feels too violent, too abusive, and too terrible.
It's not often that we're faced with questions that challenge the core of who we are and how far we're prepared to go to dig our way out of a hole and strive for impossible dreams. I never imagined that this would be my reality.
I know the auctioneer is watching. He'll see the question and expect me to respond. Before I have a chance to reply with anything, another message appears from the same username.We'd be prepared to pay more.
More.
How much more would make it worth it? How much money would I need to be able to suppress all my anxiety and deal with what comes next? Right now, the bids aren't where I need them to be, and I'll be devastated if I end up having to go through with the contract for an amount that won't settle all the debt I'm drowning in.
With trembling fingers, I type words I never thought would come from me:Yes, but the bid would need to be double the last offer from a single bidder.
My stomach roils, but what choice do I have?
What difference will two extra men make?I ask myself. I'm still losing the same thing. I'm still having to live with the memories for the rest of my life. At least, with the money, I'll have a reason to put the past behind me. I can seal it all up in a box and bury it.
I imagine the look on the auctioneer's leering face. His commission will be huge, but I can't resent him too much. I could never have gotten to this point on my own.
Double.
The bids are climbing. Higher. Higher. The current figure makes my eyes burn, but it's still not enough. Another bid.
And another.
Higher.
Higher.
Am I really worth this much?
Remember, you're the most precious thing in my life, my mom would say. We'd play a game where I'd tell her that I loved her more, but she'd always shake her head and shout 'impossible' with a bright expression that felt like a burst of sunshine on my skin.
Higher.
Higher.
And behind every bid exists a man with more money than common sense. A man who wants to buy a thing that is rarely given in exchange for money rather than love.
Higher.
A rush of breath leaves my body, like a balloon blown too big and allowed to deflate between loose fingers.
Would these three anonymous men afford to double the bid that hangs on the screen as the final seconds pass? There's a moment when I think the auction will end with boss69 as the highest bidder. Even the username he's chosen makes me cringe. Then one second before the end of the auction, the double bid lands.
Montg232527 wins.
Flopping back in the chair, I press my hot hands to my cheeks, closing my eyes and pursing my lips to narrow my swiftly inhaled and exhaled breaths.
Montg.
It has to be a sick coincidence that the winners chose that as their username when Montgomery House is where all my nightmares originated. Flinching at the memory of the sound a fist made against my mother's tender flesh, I rest my hands on the console table and drag myself to standing.
The phone rings, and I snatch it up, swiping the screen and answering with a terse 'hello.'
"Honor, I told you that you would do well. I was right, wasn't I?"
