His to Claim

There were a hell of a lot better ways Mason could be spending his Friday night. Watching a documentary on television, for example. Doing woodwork in his shop. Putting together ideas for his upcoming pitch to a home and garden network for a renovation show.

Instead, not looking forward to the evening, Mason pushed through the door that led from the stairs to the reception area of the Quarter, New Orleans’ most exclusive BDSM club.

Because of the large number of guests arriving for tonight’s charity slave auction, Aviana, the owner, was helping the receptionist check people in. When she spotted him, she smiled. A moment later, she excused herself and rounded the podium to greet him. “Mason!”

“Milady.” He raised her hand to his lips. “Radiant, as always.”

Tonight, the tall, willowy woman looked fierce, every bit the Mistress she was. Her boots snuggled her thighs, and the heels sent her soaring past six feet tall. Her two-piece outfit was sensational. The skirt and cropped jacket-type top were brown leather armor and adorned with hundreds of metal pyramid spikes. Her long hair was piled on top of her head, and silver pins were stabbed into it, making sure none of the strands dared attempt an escape.

“You look dashing,” she said, smoothing one of his lapels.

“It’s rented.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

It wasn’t a secret. Mason spent his days in blue jeans, well-worn boots, and T-shirts as he visited his job sites. When he had the chance, he swung the hammer himself.

“I didn’t expect to see you.”

“You…” He cleared his throat. Coerced. “Convinced me.”

She smiled with obvious triumph.

To be fair, he owed her the show of support. They both served on the board of a charity his father had started, rehabilitating homes for the city’s elderly population. And once a year, Aviana hosted a fundraiser that helped make their work possible. He’d skipped last year’s event, and she’d made a point of mentioning that fact at each of their monthly meetings ever since.

Still, this was the last place he wanted to be. He preferred to visit the Quarter on those rare occasions when he desired the connection with a submissive.

“Program?” Aviana offered, taking one of the folded pieces of paper from the top of the podium.

He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Thanks.” Mason had no intention of bidding on any of the women participating in the slave auction.

“Who knows? Perhaps you might be tempted.”

To spend an entire weekend with a woman he’d purchased? Not likely. It had been more than two years since he’d invited anyone to share his bed. He checked his watch. “What time can I escape?”

“The festivities should end around midnight.”

“Drinks being served?”

“The bar is closed until the auction ends.”

He generally appreciated her rules. Right now? Not so much. The next few hours would be much easier with a nice bourbon.

A crowd entered the foyer, filling the space with laughter.

“We’ll catch up later?” she suggested. “Perhaps lunch within the next couple of weeks?”

“As long as it’s friendly, with no written agenda.”

“Of course.”

He eyed her suspiciously, unsure whether she was telling the truth.

Aviana turned away, then stopped to look back over her shoulder. “I’m glad you came.”

He gave her a half smile. It was the best he could manage. Until he picked up the tux a few hours ago, he hadn’t been sure he’d actually attend.

Mason pushed through the frosted-glass door leading to the dungeon that was filled with loud, thumping music, no doubt meant to excite the crowd.

The first thing he noticed was Aviana’s throne, placed on a raised dais off to one side where she could lord over the event.

All the usual play equipment had been removed from the area. The Saint Andrew’s crosses were lined up against the walls, with spanking benches placed in front of them.

A stage had been erected at the far end of the room. Never one to do things by half measures, Aviana had hired lighting and camera crews and had positioned two large screens at angles so that all attendees would have a good view.

Comfortable padded chairs had been arranged in precise rows for the bidders and gawkers who’d paid Aviana’s exorbitant admission fee. He knew exactly how much it was, since she’d billed his ticket to the credit card the club kept on file for his incidental expenses.

Numerous gilded cages hung from the ceiling, all containing at least one person, several containing two. The entertainers moved in time to the music, some holding on to a wire in the top, others grabbing the bars, a few sliding up and down. The atmosphere seethed with energy.

For twenty minutes, he talked to a few people he knew and thanked them for attending and supporting the charity.

Suddenly the lights dimmed. Music shut off, and as if on cue, performers froze in place in their cages.

“Welcome to the Quarter!” The words reverberated through the dungeon, loud and commanding.

On the stage, a flash exploded, and a stunning couple appeared near the edge. They were tall, exceedingly thin, and they looked so much alike he guessed they were twins, though one appeared to be female, the other male.

They were dressed identically in stark-white pantsuits. Each had enormous eyes, with long, feathery lashes. Stunningly, they also sported dark hair, cut in a long bob, accented by angular bangs. Aviana was providing her guests with a spectacle. Despite himself, Mason was intrigued.

The twins clapped in unison, then spoke as one. “Ladies and gentlemen, your seats, please.”

Dungeon monitors urged attendees toward the chairs. Mason remained where he was, back pressed against the wall. Tore, Aviana’s massive bearded chief dungeon monitor, nodded his permission to allow Mason to stay where he was.

As soon as everyone was in place, the twins spoke again. “Please rise for Mistress Aviana.”

The doors were thrown open, and Aviana stalked into the room. Two beautiful male submissives trailed behind her, their leashes attached to her epaulets.

She made her way down the center aisle. With each step, the gold in her outfit shimmered beneath the spotlights that were turned on her. When she neared the front of the room, Tore fell in step next to her, then offered his hand as she climbed onto her dais.

After waving to acknowledge her adoring crowd, she took her seat on the throne. It had been commissioned years before by an admiring sub, and Aviana’s likeness was carved into the top. The rounded arm ends were custom-made from a plaster cast of her grip. As befitting her stature, the upholstery was the finest maroon-colored velvet. It had been crafted with hooks in strategic places where she could attach a slave or submissive.

Once her subs were settled, curled at her feet and chained in place, the twins invited the audience to return to their chairs.

Aviana didn’t put on many displays of her dominance, but when she did, the power of her command was as impressive as hell. His gaze strayed to the men at her feet.

At one time, he’d had a submissive who showed him the same kind of deference. But behaving well during a scene hadn’t meant a flying fuck outside of it. When she finally left him—at the worst possible time—part of him had been relieved. Since then, he’d avoided personal entanglements.

Until this moment, he hadn’t missed having a sub.

Maybe Aviana had been right to encourage him to visit the Quarter more often.

The twins introduced the evening’s emcee, Jaxon Mills, a renowned—and at times polarizing—internet marketing superstar. The man had in excess of a million followers on his social media platforms, people who hung on his every video and podcast. He’d started giving speeches to rapt audiences, and since his recent marriage, he’d evidently stepped up his volunteer work as well.

A spotlight hit Jax as he all but leaped onto the stage. He pointed a finger, then swept it wide, indicating everyone in the crowd. “Get your checkbooks out and your credit cards ready. We have the world’s most stunning subs available for you tonight. And it’s all for a good cause. You’ve heard of Reclamation, a charity that benefits seniors living in our great city.” On the screens, a video started, showing volunteers scraping paint, hammering shingles into place, installing windows, working on plumbing, replacing furniture and appliances. Everyone was dressed in T-shirts bearing the charity’s logo. Volunteers were dirty, sweaty, but smiling, often pictured with the residents they were helping.

Surprising Mason, several of the images included a picture of him.

Without losing a beat, Jaxon continued. “This is what your contribution does. As you know, the need in our community is great. Because of your abundant contributions, last year we restored more than two hundred homes. If you were one of the heroes who made that possible, thank you.” He pushed his palms together and bowed. “But let’s be honest, shall we?” His voice was low and intimate.

The man’s charisma had the room spellbound.

“You know damn good and well that you’re fortunate sons of bitches. You can do a fuckpile more than you do. You can dig deeper. If you don’t help out tonight, you’re a loser, and I’m calling you out on it. We’re here for a purpose, and that isn’t just to leer at some gorgeous humans. It’s to leer and make our city proud.”

“Hear, hear!” a woman called out.

The video ended, and he stood there in a shimmering pool of light.

When the raucous clapping ended, Jax reached inside his tuxedo jacket, pulled out his wallet, and extracted a check. “Can I get a close-up, please?” Jax held up the piece of paper.

The audience gasped, and Mason nodded approvingly. A hundred grand. Not a bad way to start the evening. There was a stunning amount of good they could do with that kind of money.

“I have a confession.” Jaxon folded the check and used a thumbnail to make the crease sharp. “I’d budgeted fifty thousand for this event. But my wife watched this video. After seeing it, she volunteered for the charity.”

A spotlight found a woman who was at the front of the room. She wore a long gold gown, formfitting and glittering with sequins.

“In case you don’t know, this is my wife, Willow Mills.”

People cheered for her, and Mason knew, firsthand, it was deserved. Despite being a submissive, she was next to her husband, and he credited her with helping him become a better man.

“Tell them what you said to me, honey.”

“I told you not to be a cheapskate”—a close-up image of her face was being projected on the screen, and her eyes danced with laughter that showed the love between them—“Sir.”

The crowd exploded with laughter and more applause.

“All right, all right!” He grinned. When the attendees settled again, he went on. “So I’m passing along her words. Don’t be a damn cheapskate. Our seniors have given so much over the years. It’s time to give back. And hey, if you’re not bidding, or you miss out on your favorite slave, you aren’t off the hook.”

More hoots and cheers greeted his words.

“There are silent auction items in the bar and reception areas. I know you want to hear some of the highlights. How about a week on a private island in the Caribbean? Griffin Lahey has made the donation, and your stay there includes a chef and an outdoor massage for two.” Images scrolled across the screens, of a couple snorkeling among tiny bright-colored fish, then lounging on chairs beneath an umbrella, a cocktail in hand. A sunset was shown next, with kayaks seemingly being rowed out toward it.

How long had it been since Mason had taken a vacation? Shit. He dragged his hand through his hair. Not since his dad had passed. The year before that, Mason had been swamped with trying to keep the business running by himself. Maybe that explained his soul-deep exhaustion.

“If that’s not your style, how about a high-roller weekend at the Royal Sterling Hotel in Las Vegas?” The resort was pictured, soaring from the Strip with its glass sparkling against the desert sun.

Though Mason wasn’t a gambler, the restaurants were legendary, and the pool was the stuff of fantasies. He could sleep there for a week. Jesus. He really did need to get away.

“Perhaps you’d like to fall in love with New York this autumn with a package that includes tickets to the hottest performances”—the pictures showed Broadway, then Grand Central Station—“a horse-drawn carriage ride through Central Park, and three nights and unlimited possibilities in the penthouse suite at Le Noble.”

Even though he had no one to invite along, Mason was tempted to bid on every damn one of the escapes.

“We have something for every taste. How about a signed giclée by Flahey?”

A few people gasped at the sight of the bold colors and staggering lines slashed across the canvas. Mason knew the artist was well respected. He just didn’t understand why. The image was supposed to be of a rock star. If he squinted and turned his head to the side, he could make out a guitar. Maybe. Still, the man commanded a fortune from collectors. The cynic in Mason would definitely prefer that money go to Reclamation.

“If you don’t win a weekend with one of the Quarter’s amazing subs or one of our spectacular prizes, we’ll still accept your more than generous contribution at the end of the evening. There will be boxes throughout the space, at the coat check, at the exit, and a bunch at the bar. Oh, and one last thing—free drinks for anyone who donates more than five grand.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I hope you were prepared for me giving away your booze, Mistress Aviana!”

The camera flashed to her. She gave a half smile and a very regal nod.

“Ah, and finally, anyone who donates over ten thousand dollars will get an exclusive half-day consultation with me.”

That was reportedly worth a lot more than ten grand. Jax was gifted at studying a business, branding it, focusing on its strengths, and positioning it for success.

“And if you don’t contribute something, your name is going on my shitlist.”

His statement was met with laughter—some genuine, some nervous.

“In case this is your first auction, I’ll give you a little background on how the evening will proceed. We have a total of fifteen slaves. Yes, fifteen gorgeous, well-behaved individuals”—he looked directly into the camera—“who want to spend the weekend with you.”

“Get on with it!” someone shouted.

“They will be presented for your inspection in groups of five. After all the introductions have been made, we will have a brief intermission, and then the bidding will start. Now…who’s ready to begin?”

The dungeon plunged into darkness. Moments later, strategic lights hit the stage and the overhead cages with their writhing occupants. Cheers rocked the room, and music again blasted through the air, a thumping, arousing sound that penetrated even Mason’s jaded senses.

Behind Jaxon, a black curtain parted to reveal a large rectangular acrylic platform with two steps leading up to it. There were other round see-through pedestals fanned out in a semicircle.

Jax moved to one side, and Tore strode onto the stage. As usual, he wore a vest. Tonight, however, instead of the customary one with fleur-de-lis, this was crafted from the same brown leather as Mistress Aviana’s, and it hung open to show off his honed abs.

Over his shoulder was a long, thick chain, with the first five volunteer slaves attached to it. The group was eclectic. Tall and short. Male and female. Of various ages and ethnicities. Men wore only a scrap of stark-white material, not much more than a pouch that left little to the imagination. The women were dressed in string bikinis beneath sheer sarongs.

The twins floated onto the stage. Together, they unclipped the first slave from the chain and assisted her onto one of the platforms. The camera followed each of her flawless moves.

They repeated the process for each participant. When they were finished, they stepped aside while the camera panned the semicircle. Most of the slaves were relaxed, and one of the men was flexing his biceps, trying to draw attention.

“There you are!” Jaxon called. “It’s going to be an extraordinary night!”

Adrenaline fired through the room in the form of claps and appreciative whistles. As much as Mason wanted to be immune, he wasn’t. It was a hell of a spectacle.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present slave number one,” Jaxon said when the audience settled down.

The twins helped the first sub from her platform and escorted her to the front of the stage where she stood in the spotlight.

She lowered her gaze, then gave a quick peep through her lashes. It was seductive. Judging by the way one member of the audience sucked in a sharp breath, it was also effective.

“Fiona is looking for a top who is firm but fair. And fortunately for you, she’s happy to be won by either a man or a woman.” He went on to list her limits and then asked her to turn around so the bidders could study her from every angle. “The minimum bid will be five thousand dollars.”

Several people used lights from their cell phones to scribble notes into the margins of their programs. The woman, as beautiful and obviously well trained as she was, didn’t stir Mason.

After she’d turned around and presented herself in a variety of poses, the twins returned her to Tore, then escorted the second slave, a man, to the spotlight.

The process was repeated until all the slaves had been introduced. Once they were led away, the next set was brought on. Mason checked his watch. As he’d tried to tell Aviana, this wasn’t his kind of event. He either came to scene or he stayed away.

After an interminable amount of time, Tore led the final group in for viewing.

And the woman who was second in line snared his interest.

She was at least half a foot shorter than he was, with impossibly large, wide-open eyes, and brunette hair that tumbled over her shoulders. The gauzy film that covered her couldn’t disguise her small beautiful figure. The building’s air-conditioning hardened her nipples. To him, she was a tiny wisp of feminine perfection.

Repeating the same process as with the other participants, the twins unclipped her from Tore’s chain. As she walked toward her acrylic platform, she missed a step and stumbled slightly. The twins reached for her upper arms to steady her. All the other slaves had appeared to be veterans and enjoying themselves, but her actions betrayed her as a novice.

Mason was torn, his dominant urges stirred. Part of him wanted to protect her. The other, more primal part of his nature urged him to make her his.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He wasn’t given to wild fantasies. Or, maybe he had been, once upon a time. But that had been before Deborah.

The slave gave a quick smile of gratitude before stepping up onto her display platform.

The twins moved aside, and the spotlight moved on to the next contestant. But he looked toward the shadowed part of the stage to watch number twelve. Her shoulders shook, and she curled one hand around the small collar she wore.

He was consumed with a need to know more about her. Why the hell hadn’t he accepted one of the programs?

Mason checked his watch again, but for a different reason this time. He was anxious for the pomp and circumstance to be over with so he could have a better look at her.

After the other subs were in place, the first sub was brought forward. His impatience soared. He was interested in only one woman.

Finally, the twins led her to the front of the stage where she stood next to Jax. Her image was projected onto the big screens, making her larger than life. Confounding him, she kept her head lowered, shading her expression.

“Hannah joins us this weekend from Austin, Texas.”

When she wobbled a little, Jaxon steadied her, and she grabbed on to him.

Even though he covered his mic to ask if she was all right, the words whispered through the dungeon. “Bend your knees a little. It will help.”

She nodded and did what he said.

“Do you want to continue?”

She dropped her hand to her side and nodded several times. “Just nerves.”

After Jax studied her for a few seconds, he continued. “Hannah prefers a male Dom who is patient but unyielding. Her limits list includes canes, humiliation, isolation, being shared.”

Suited Mason fine. He didn’t like to share.

“Let’s see your face,” Jax encouraged softly, but firmly, part host, part reassuring Dominant.

In the glare of the spotlight, she turned to him, but he nodded toward the audience.

Hannah drew a deep breath before tipping back her chin. Her eyes were unblinking, and a bit wild. They were a rich shade of amber, ringed with a bright gold, speaking of riches. He shook his head. That was a trick of the light and his overtired imagination.

“Turn around so your potential Doms can inspect you better.”

The slave obeyed, and when she faced the front again, she seemed to seek Mason out. That wasn’t possible. The lights would prevent her from seeing the back of the room, and the idea of her picking him out from the crowd was ludicrous.

“After the intermission, you’ll have the chance to bid on our lovely Hannah. If you’re making notes, she’s number twelve in your program.”

The twins collected her.

Several men grabbed pens. A couple more typed notes into their cell phones, pissing Mason off. The fuck? It might be irrational, but Mason decided no Dom but him was spending the weekend with her.

She was his. And within the hour, he intended to claim her.

As if she knew that, she once again glanced in his direction.

The auction continued, but Mason refused to take his gaze or his fantasies from the brunette who’d awakened something inside him that he’d been sure was dead.

When she was unclipped backstage, Hannah propped her shoulders against a brick wall. Now that it was intermission, the entire club buzzed with noise. The music had been turned up again, and the excited slaves were talking to each other—or rather, shouting at each other—to be heard.

But she was drained, as if she’d survived an ordeal.

She’d known she might be nervous, but nothing prepared her for the near paralysis she experienced when the spotlight hit her.

The entire experience was surreal. Because of the glare, the audience was cast in darkness, but the moment she lifted her gaze, a jolt of awareness shot through her. Her intuition shouted that Master Mason Sullivan was out there, looking at her in a contemplative, considering way.

Hannah shook her head to banish the outrageous notion. With his ridiculously handsome looks, broad shoulders, honed biceps, six-pack abs, and haunted soul, he could have his pick of any sub at any time. Behind his back, he was called the One Night Dom. He was known as a considerate top, but he never played with the same submissive more than once. According to her friend, Fiona, a woman had left him so shattered that he offered no commitments and refused to form emotional connections.

Which made him perfect for Hannah since she wanted the escape she only found when scening.

Fiona rushed over, wearing a huge grin. “This is exciting, right?”

Hannah exhaled. How should she respond? In addition to being her best friend, Fiona was the reason Hannah had agreed to participate in the auction.

A couple of weeks ago, Fiona had insisted that Hannah had closed herself off for long enough. The event was for a good cause, and it was really a no-risk situation. Mistress Aviana vetted all members. Hannah would get what she wanted while being safe. As an added precaution, the sub could refuse to go home with the highest bidder—no excuse needed.

“Wait.” With a frown, Fiona took Hannah’s hands. “Are you okay?

A thrill seeker who enjoyed not knowing what a weekend might hold, Fiona offered herself up every time the club had an auction. “My nerves are shredded,” Hannah confessed.

“That can be good. Right? Like exhilarating?”

Maybe, beneath the fear. “It’s been a long time.”

“I know.” Fiona offered a reassuring squeeze.

Ever since the horrible, horrible night with Liam, she hadn’t attended a munch or her favorite clubs in Austin. The risk of running into him was too great, and she refused to take the chance.

“If it’s too difficult, you don’t have to go through with it.”

“Slaves!” Tore’s commanding voice cut through the chatter.

Obediently, everyone backstage fell silent. Fiona released Hannah, and the two of them joined the other participants who gathered around Mistress Aviana’s most trusted dungeon monitor.

“The intermission will last another twenty minutes. Then I’ll lead the first group out. Like before, you’ll be unclipped and escorted to a platform. One by one, you’ll be called to the front, and you’ll be bid on. Then you’ll be returned backstage. After the winner has completed the financial requirements, Trinity will come and get you. Any questions?”

“This is the time to drop out if you’re going to,” Fiona whispered.

As much as Hannah was tempted, a small part of her was curious. And damn, she’d missed her connection with the kink world. There was nothing like it. Despite the risk, she wanted to be here. “I want to go through with it.” She just wished adrenaline wasn’t making her jittery.

“We recommend you spend some time in the club before leaving for the night. Your contract with the winner ends at midnight on Sunday night.”

“Will I turn into a pumpkin?” a male sub asked with a giggle.

“Daveed, honey, you’re already a pumpkin!” someone called back. “You better hope someone turns you into a princess so someone will buy you!”

“Enough sass.” Tore folded his massive arms across his equally impressive chest.

In spite of his gruff demeanor, Hannah would have sworn he cracked a smile. His thick beard made it difficult to be certain.

Tore moved off, and conversation resumed.

“Promise you’re not going to pass out on me?” Fiona asked.

A few subs took hold of the massive curtain and drew it back to peek at the audience.

“Oh Lord!” a sub called. “Mistress Mandy is out there! I’d die to have the opportunity to lick her boots.”

Noise grew from the makeshift auditorium, turning the energy frenetic and making Hannah’s heart race.

“And Master Balderdash!”

A chorus of twitters rippled through the slaves.

“Master Balderdash?” she asked Fiona.

“A good guy, but talks too much, and some of what he says is a little…far-fetched.” Fiona shrugged. “Well, complete bullshit, really.”

With her luck, Hannah suspected she’d end up with him.

A female submissive dropped the curtain and twirled around. “Fuck! Fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck!”

“What?” Fiona demanded.

“Master Mason is out there. I thought I saw him. And he was looking at me.”

Hannah’s stomach plunged into a freefall.

Another sub laughed. “Don’t get your hopes up. The One Night Dom can have anyone he wants without paying for the privilege.”

Fiona shrugged. “I’d let him put his boots under my bed.”

I prefer to be tied to it. Shocked by her thoughts, Hannah again fingered the hated collar.

“Group one, line up,” Trinity, the club receptionist, called.

Fiona’s eyes brightened. “I’m so excited!”

Fiona hurried over to where Tore stood, holding the long chain. As the twins secured her in place, Fiona rocked back and forth, bouncing a little. So different from Hannah’s experience.

The house lights flashed in a subtle signal to let patrons know they needed to return to their seats.

Then Jaxon Mills’s seductive voice boomed across the atmosphere. “Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for!”

Ever since Fiona had told her about the megastar, Hannah listened to his audios every day at the gym. He was motivation and inspiration in one kick-ass package. In person, he was even more spectacular. He’d dealt with her nerves in a gentle way that was at odds with his public image.

With a clatter of metal, Tore led the slaves onto the stage.

With her thumb up, Fiona glanced in Hannah’s direction. Even with her inner turmoil, Hannah couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s glee.

Along with a few other participants, Hannah went to peek at the proceedings. Fiona was number one, and Jax called her forward.

Her friend was escorted to the front of the stage. She twirled around like they all had earlier, but this time, Jaxon asked her to strike several different poses, including bending over to ensure she captured the audience’s attention.

When he had stretched the anticipation so far that the whoops and hollers bounced from the rafters, Jaxon opened the bidding.

Through it all, he drove up the price, utilizing his customary combination of encouragement and berating. He reminded people of the good their contribution could do in the world, and he challenged them not to be miserly bastards and do something worthwhile.

“Ten thousand dollars,” a voice called out, calm and sure.

“Thank you, sir.” Jaxon pointed to acknowledge the Dom’s bid. “Hit him with the spotlight and show everyone else how it’s done!”

The Dom inclined his head when his picture appeared on the big screen.

Hannah didn’t recognize the man.

“He’s hot,” one of the slaves standing near her whispered. “And unfortunately for me, heterosexual.”

She grinned.

“Surely there’s someone with deeper pockets, hmm?” Jaxon tossed out the challenge.

A Domme offered ten thousand five hundred. Even though Fiona’s head was bowed respectfully, she glanced up to reveal a grin.

“Ten thousand six hundred,” the Dom offered.

On and on it went until the Dom won, at twelve thousand nine hundred.

“Thank you, sir!” Jaxon clapped. “And now, I won’t be satisfied until we break the thirteen thousand barrier. Next up is slave number two.”

Now that Fiona had been auctioned off, Hannah took a moment to scan the guests. She refused to acknowledge that she was looking for Mason, even though her gaze went straight to the spot where he’d been standing.

Not seeing him, she walked away. Nervous energy crawled through her, so she paced, hoping to wear some of it off. A couple of submissives shot her sympathetic glances, and she responded with a wan smile.

“Group two, get ready!” Trinity called. “Master Tore will be back soon!”

Several minutes later, the first five slaves were returned backstage. “We’ll get started on the paperwork right away,” Trinity promised. “Your name will be called as soon as we’re ready for you. Meet me at the podium in the reception area.”

The moment the submissives were released from their bondage, Hannah hurried to Fiona. “Who won you?”

“Master Andrew.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t really know him, so I’m hoping for the best.” But, ever the good friend, she gave Hannah a quick hug. “Call me tomorrow. I mean it. If you don’t, I’ll tell Trinity to check up on you.”

“Quit worrying.”

“No way. This was all my idea, and now I’m feeling a little guilty for talking you into it.”

Hannah gave what she hoped was a reassuring nod. “You didn’t force me to come here.”

They chatted for a few minutes before one of the dungeon monitors came backstage and shouted out Fiona’s name.

“This is why I like being first. I’ll be having fun while everyone else is still bogged down in the details.”

“Fiona!”

“Coming!” Then she grinned. “Have fun, Han. Seriously. This is supposed to be a good time. Remember that, okay? Liam was an asshole. Not everyone is like him.” She all but skipped toward the backstage exit.

On some level, Hannah knew her friend was right. But her wounds ran deep.

As the next few slaves were auctioned off, Hannah alternated between watching the proceedings and giving herself a pep talk. She’d meant what she told Fiona. Hannah did want to scene—especially with a Dom she wouldn’t run into in her everyday life.

When she signed up, she’d asked to be in the final group so that she would get a sense of how things worked. She hadn’t imagined how excruciating the wait would turn out to be. Now she was anxious to get it over with.

Finally, Trinity announced it was time for the remaining slaves to take their places.

As the collar she disliked was clipped into place, Hannah struggled to find peace. Instead, she could barely breathe.

Tore gave them a critical once-over. “Daveed.” He pointed to the man right behind Hannah, the one who’d asked if he was going to turn into a pumpkin. She loved his enthusiasm. “Contain yourself, man!”

“Sorry, boss.” He sounded anything but. “Excited.”

All the other slaves laughed as he adjusted his pouch. Her nerves appreciated the levity.

“Ready, boss.”

Tore gave a quick nod of satisfaction. “Hannah,” he snapped. “Eyes on me.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

He gave the chain a massive tug as he led them onto the stage.

This time, Hannah was unclipped and placed on the platform that was in the middle of the semicircle. She was thankful she didn’t falter, and she wasn’t trembling as hard.

The spotlight was shined on each participant, and the heat made a droplet of sweat trace down between her breasts.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’re running out of time and slaves, as well as the opportunity to do good in our community,” Jaxon announced. “Keep in mind, we’re all watching you. At the end of the night, you will be a hero or a wannabe. Which are you?”

Laughter rippled through the room, some of it nervous.

“Next up is number eleven. As a reminder, this beauty is looking for a sadist to complement his masochist.”

With his incredible skill, Jaxon drove the bidding up to almost twenty thousand dollars before shouting out, “Sold!”

Too soon, the twins came for her.

They each offered a hand as she stepped down from her podium. Hannah paused to take a shaky breath before making her way to the front of the stage.

Even though she knew what to expect, she was hyperaware of her sheer wrap and the string bikini barely covering her. Her image was projected on the big screens, making it impossible for her to hide the way she was twisting her fingers together. Though she’d played at clubs numerous times, she’d never been this exposed.

“This is Hannah’s first time on our auction block. You know what that means? I want a premium price for her. Dig deep, gentlemen, because I’m starting the bidding at seven thousand dollars. Who will give it to me?”

She froze, mortified when no one responded.

“Okay,” Jaxon said. “You cheap bastards. In that case, bidding is going to start at eight thousand dollars. Who will be first?”

What the hell was he thinking? She bit her bottom lip, wishing she could run away. Suddenly, the event with Liam was looking even less humiliating.

“Eight,” a man called.

She exhaled, her shoulders hunching forward.

“Thank you,” Jaxon replied. “Who will give me eight five?”

From the right of the room, another man responded.

The music became louder, thumping, adding to the tension as the number went over twelve, then thirteen.

“We have thirteen,” Jaxon announced. “Fourteen? It’s not often that you have the opportunity to play with someone brand-new. Open your wallets.”

“Twenty.”

She gasped. The unseen voice was firm with command. Master Mason? More than anything, she wished she could see past the edge of the stage.

“Twenty thousand five hundred.”

The bid had come from the opposite side of the room. Hannah wanted to pinch herself.

“Excellent,” Jaxon approved, circling her. He pointed to the right side of the spectators. “You’re going to give me twenty-one.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Twenty-one.”

Jaxon played the men off each other until they reached twenty-four.

Then the man on the right calmly said, “Thirty.”

Several people in the audience gasped. Hannah’s knees wobbled, and the twins raised their hands to steady her.

“Thirty thousand. Thank you. The bid is to you now, Master Kilgore. Thirty-one?”

She sucked in a breath. No response came.

“Going once.” He gave a long, dramatic paused. “Twice.” He waited even longer.

Her heart thundered.

“Sold! Thank you, Master Mason.”

Master Mason? She clasped her hands together on top of her heart. How was this possible? If she could have scripted an evening, it couldn’t have been this incredible.

“You may claim your slave at the end of the segment.”

As if it were happening outside of herself, Hannah was aware of the twins assisting her back to her podium.

“Congratulations,” the slave next to her whispered.

Time slowed as she searched in vain for Master Mason. The One Night Dom. Now that it was becoming more real, a million thoughts crowded her mind. She didn’t know much about him. He was devastatingly handsome. But that was hardly the best trait in a Dom. Liam, too, had been gorgeous.

The door to the reception room opened, flooding the threshold with light, enough for her to see the back of a tall man with dark blond hair.

Without a doubt, it was Master Mason.

No one else had that kind of presence.

She pushed out a hot, anxious breath. Was he lenient? Fair? Demanding? Would his touch be gentle or harsh? What kinks did he have?

God. She could no longer tell where one thought ended and the next began.

The rest of the auction dragged on for another thirty agonizing minutes.

When they were backstage, Daveed grabbed her up in a big hug. “Oh, Hannah, baby! You are so lucky. One Night Dom is dishy.” He batted his false eyelashes. “I wish I were you.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Do all the things. All the things.”

“Daveed!” Trinity shouted.

Tore and the twins left to help reset the dungeon with the equipment that had been stowed away.

Tension turned her tummy into knots when a dungeon monitor called the name of another slave, leaving just Hannah and two others backstage. Again, she regretted asking to be in the final group.

She paced to the far end of the area, and when she turned back, he stood there in his black tailored tuxedo, with his legs spread wide and his arms folded. Hoping to appear confident, she paused. But then she betrayed herself by grabbing hold of the sarong that was knotted at her shoulder.

Master Mason pointed to a spot in front of him as if he didn’t doubt—even for a moment—that she would obey. “Come here.” His tone was rich and firm, turning her insides into a river of compliance.

Her pulse hammered, drowning out the noise around them. Power emanated from him, drawing her toward him. A now familiar instinct to save herself urged her to walk a little slower, stay outside his force field.

Hannah stopped precisely where he had indicated.

The scent of his alpha male pheromones stamped the air, and her.

“I couldn’t wait to meet you.”

Hannah tipped her head back to meet his shadowed, haunted eyes. Then she wished she hadn’t. If she’d lowered her head, she wouldn’t have seen the pain written in the jade-colored depths, wouldn’t have had an urge to heal him flicker through her.

No doubt she wasn’t the first woman, sub, to be tempted by that ridiculous thought.

This was a weekend. Nothing more.

“What should I call you?”

His voice was hypnotic. Steel and silk. For a moment, she considered using a scene name, but she’d had too many lies told to her in the past. “Hannah.” Then because she was trusting him with her safety, she opted to share her full name. “Hannah Gill.” Then, belatedly, she added, “Sir.”

His lips curled in a small, slight smile. It didn’t make him appear any less formidable. “Sir is fine. Mr. Sullivan. Mason.”

“Master?”

He shook his head and moved his hand toward the leather cinched around her throat. “May I touch you?”

Unable to find her voice, she nodded.

“Master is a much more formal term. Something”—he traced the buckle—“much more permanent. It speaks of commitment, doesn’t it? Responsibility. A person who is honorable.”

“Which you’re not?”

“It depends on your point of view, I suppose. What you consider honorable. Where’s the line between duty to your sub and duty to someone you love?” He skimmed his finger lower. The moment his hot, rough skin touched hers, awareness shot through her, scattering her thoughts and leaving raw need in its terrible wake. “But I take care of the women who submit to me.” He pressed against the hollow of her throat. “I offer nothing more.”

“I understand…Mason.”

“Good.” He nodded.

He was warning her not to get attached. No expectations. One Night Dom. The earlier words and giggles from the slaves ricocheted through her mind.

Trinity peeked around the corner. “Master Mason!”

With a smile, he pulled his hand back in achingly slow measurements, and Hannah’s skin instantly cooled.

“We have a few details to handle.”

Money. Thirty thousand dollars. The sum was beyond her wildest dreams, enough to pay off the note on her car and some of her credit card debt. And he’d offered it for a couple of nights with her.

“Because you’ve never met me before, I suggest we spend some time here, getting to know each other a bit. Then, if you’re willing, we can make use of a private room on the second floor, giving you a chance to be sure you want to leave with me.”

Mistress Aviana had strict rules for what happened in the main dungeon and the quieter, more secluded area tucked behind it. But upstairs, almost anything was permitted, including nudity and sexual contact. The club’s safe word still applied, and the scenes were monitored.

“What do you say?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see you up front when the formalities are handled.” He brushed hair back from her forehead, and his touch was achingly gentle.

For a moment, she was tempted to wrap her hand around his, but that would imply a familiarity they didn’t enjoy.

He followed Trinity from the space, and Hannah couldn’t take her gaze from him.

Daveed hurried over. “That man is a honeypot. I’d like to dip my fingers in him.”

She laughed, and it was then that she realized she’d been holding her breath.

“Girl, enjoy your weekend, but don’t get your heart all wrapped up in that broken mess.”

“I won’t.” She wondered which one of them she was reassuring.

It was less than ten minutes until Trinity returned. “Ready?”

The same instinct that assailed her earlier flashed through Hannah’s brain again. Red. Danger. Not physically. Her body was safe in his hands, but her emotions? He overwhelmed her senses. Yet, as if compelled, she ignored her internal warning system and followed Trinity to the reception room.

On a side table, a slave was signing a piece of paper, and her temporary owner stood next to her.

Mistress Aviana stood behind the podium, flanked by two gorgeous—and mostly naked—young blond men on all fours.

Aviana gestured for Hannah to approach.

Master Mason was in the corner, talking with Jaxon. The moment Mason noticed her, he excused himself and walked toward her.

“Be gone,” Aviana said, waving him away. With a scowl, she added, “And this time follow the damn rules before I have you thrown out.”

“Of course, Milady.” He inclined his head, but his smile betrayed him. He charted his own course.

“He thinks he can get away with murder,” Mistress Aviana said when he returned to Jaxon’s side. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “The truth is, with the right people, he can. Which is why I wanted to speak with you alone. Despite his generous bid, you are not obligated to anything. The choice is entirely yours.”

Hannah risked a glance his direction…to find him watching her. Excitement and fear slammed together in a potent combination. He’d brought arousal to life for the first time in years.

“Hannah?”

“Sorry.” She turned back to the club’s owner.

“Would you like to proceed?”

Whatever the weekend held, Hannah wanted the experience. “Yes, Milady.”