Highest Bidder Collection - Lauren Landish Page 0,140

glass on the front. Being so far away from anyone else affords me the luxury of having privacy while also being able to expose my home. The entire front of the house is open to the deep woods we’re nestled in. I own the ten acres the house sits on, so it will always be like this. Quiet, serene and one with nature.

The soft grey sky disappears as I pull into the garage and quickly park the car.

“Come, kitten, come see your new home.”

I slip off my jacket as I lead her into the open kitchen. I have to take off the cufflinks in order to roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt. I don’t enjoy wearing a suit. I'd much rather be in jeans. But Club X has a strict dress code. Thank fuck we won’t be going there anymore.

Every step she takes seems deliberate. She’s on edge and waiting for something. Maybe waiting for my demeanor to change? I’m not sure.

“Have a seat,” I tell her easily, turning my back to her as she climbs onto the bar height chair at the granite island.

“I need to know your daily schedule and the plans you have every day for the next thirty days that I have you.” I continue to talk with my back to her, letting her get comfortable without having to worry about the possibility of me scrutinizing her.

I am. I’m taking in every little move and change. The angles of her body and the way she’s presenting herself. But it’s not for the reason she thinks.

I’m not judging her. I’m gauging her emotions. And so far it’s worse than I anticipated. It’s like the last two weeks haven’t happened.

I pluck three tomatoes from the basket next to the sink and set them down on a wood cutting board.

“Start with tomorrow.”

“I have work. From seven in the morning until seven at night.” She clears her throat slightly, and I can hear the slight squeak of the chair moving under her weight. “That’s all I have planned.”

“And the next day?”

“The same. Every day.”

“And the holidays?” I ask as I scrape the knife across the board, pushing the first diced tomato to the side.

“Nothing. Just work.”

The knife slices easily through the tomato and hits the cutting board. I’m still for a moment. I know her mother has sent her messages.

“You weren’t invited to go anywhere with family?” I ask as I grab a hand towel off of the counter, wiping the juice from my fingers.

“I was.”

“And?” I ask, my eyebrow raised. She’s a very lucky girl she didn’t lie to me.

“And I said I couldn’t go.”

“I see, and where was it that you were invited to go?” I ask her.

“To see my parents a few hours away.” She shakes her head slightly, dismissing the invitation. “They won’t be expecting-”

“We’ll both be attending,” I say, cutting her off. I don’t know why I made the decision so quickly. I hadn’t decided on whether or not I’d be going. But she sure as fuck is. She’s in desperate need of contact and conversation in person. From what I can tell, all of her friendships are online. I want more for her.

And it should start with her parents.

She stiffens in her chair, but she nods her head and says, “Yes, Master.”

“And for New Year's?” I ask her.

“I have no plans, nor was I invited to anything.” Her voice is quiet, but clear.

“We’ll spend that together then,” I announce and turn my back to her again to continue dicing the tomatoes.

A moment later I pipe up and say, “Well, that’s easy enough. You’ll find someone else to work on the days I have off.”

She’s quiet until I turn to look over my shoulder. “Yes, Master.”

I can’t stand this tension anymore.

She needs to get off. That’ll calm her ass down.

“Kitten,” I say and wipe off the blade and gently set it down, putting dinner on hold. “Come here.”

I take a look at the utensils and kitchen tools, my eyes scanning them to find something useful. Finally, I settle on a French rolling pin. It’s a pale hard marble and cold to the touch, but it’ll do nicely.

“Strip,” I tell her as she stands to my left.

She’s barely wearing any clothing at all. Without her coat, all she has on is a sheer black dress with skimpy straps that end mid-thigh, and a lace pair of panties. She slips the straps down her shoulders and the thin piece of fabric pools at her feet