Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Really? She got a good one?”
Martha smirked. “I’ve seen him. Just forty-four and fit as fuck. Treats her like a princess. I’m so jealous—hope I’ll be bought by someone half as good.”
Sam barely stopped himself from cringing. It was hard to believe that all these seemingly normal people actually wanted to be bought like slaves. To be fair, he knew money likely wasn’t the only motivation for them. According to his research, some sugar babies liked the feeling of security, the feeling of being provided for, cared for. Some genuinely liked making older men—or women—feel young again and providing them with comfort and affection after a stressful day. Sam also knew that some of them actually got off on being pets, got off on serving other people. And of course some sugar babies were in it just for money.
He wondered what category Martha belonged to. He decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
“What are you looking for?” Sam said. “A full relationship or a mutually beneficial companionship?”
Martha shrugged. “I’m open. I mean, obviously I’m not going to sign an all-inclusive contract with someone I’m not reasonably attracted to, but I’ll be okay with everything else as long as they’re nice and treat me well. I like people and people like me, so I don’t expect any problems with providing just companionship.” She winked. “But obviously I’d be happier with a sugar daddy who will worship my frankly amazing body.”
Sam snorted and decided that he liked her.
“What about you?” she said.
Sam shrugged. “I like the idea of being someone’s favorite. Like, I love being doted on, spoiled, and praised. Sex is secondary to me, but obviously I won’t mind sex if he’s not ugly.”
She smiled at him in understanding. “I’m sure you’ll find someone,” she said, patting him on the arm. “You have amazing eyelashes! I wish mine were—”
“Attention, please!”
They turned to the middle-aged woman in a suit who appeared in the doorway. If Sam hadn’t known better, he would have taken her for an administrator in your average business company.
“Please get ready. You may leave your clothes and things here. No phones are allowed. Don’t worry, your possessions will be safe.”
Martha grinned at Sam and started undressing. There was no hint of shame or embarrassment on her pretty face, as if undressing in a room full of strangers was perfectly normal.
Sam followed suit, hiding his uneasiness.
I can do this, he told himself firmly.
* * *
Half an hour later, kneeling on the round platform in the middle of the huge room, naked and shivering, Sam was no longer so sure that he could do it.
The whole experience was surreal. He could see from the corner of his eye the other pets, kneeling in a similar manner, with their heads bowed, completely naked, while dozens of rich men in bespoke suits and a few women in equally expensive dresses walked around the platform, making idle conversation and scrutinizing the pets as if they were livestock on show to prospective buyers —which he supposed they were. Sam was torn between laughing hysterically at the utter ridiculousness of the situation and hating every single of those rich gits. It was disgusting and kind of sad that money could make any deprived, ridiculous fantasy of some people come true.
The worst part was, he hadn’t even glimpsed Agent 11 so far. It made his stomach clench with anxiety. As instructed, he hadn’t been in contact with MI6 since arriving in Turkey. What if something had happened and Agent 11 wasn’t even on the ship? What if his cover had already been blown? What if Sam was alone here? What if—
“Lift your head, boy,” a male voice said, in a heavily accented English. A Polish accent.
Sam did his best not to freeze. He lifted his head slowly and managed to keep his expression docile as he met Brylsko’s pale eyes.
He had seen the target’s picture, of course. Objectively, Brylsko was quite attractive for a middle-aged man. His blond hair had just a hint of gray at the temples; his teeth were white, his skin smooth. But despite his groomed appearance, there was something… oily about the man. Snake. He reminded Sam of a snake. A slimy, slippery snake.
“How old are you, pet?” Brylsko said, his gaze sweeping over Sam.
Suppressing the urge to snark that all the information was available on the tablets provided by the auction organizers—one of which was in Brylsko’s hands—Sam looked down and said softly, “Eighteen, sir.”
Brylsko gripped his chin and lifted Sam’s face again. Sam couldn’t quite suppress the shudder of revulsion at the touch. Hoping Brylsko mistook it for excitement, Sam leaned into the touch, his eyes scanning the room discreetly.
Where the hell was Agent 11?
“Such a pretty boy,” Brylsko said, cupping his cheek and brushing his thumb over Sam’s bottom lip. “Perhaps I will bid for you.”