THE DEVIL'S SILK

The air inside the auction house was heavier than it should’ve been, thick with perfume, sweat, and something colder. Amara could feel eyes crawling across her skin like invisible hands, tasting her, assessing her like cattle cloaked in lace. Amara stayed still as she knelt down in an open space her body was covered with nothing but a sheer black silk robe that shimmered around her. It clung to her curves and exposed everything it was supposed to hide. Beneath it no bra, no panties just skin, she was so vulnerable and up for sale. She hated the way the silk clung to her body. It wasn’t a dress, it was a trap. It was tight, red, backless, slit too high, neckline too deep. She looked expensive. But she felt like a caged animal dressed for slaughter. She just stayed there looking so drained, she felt so cold, the air conditioner pierced deep down into her body with absence of mercy, she had a miserable life for some while but this was so unbearable. Amara stirred, her bare legs brushing against velvet, wrists pinned tightly behind her but soft but merciless ropes. Her throat was raw, her tongue dry and her mind was full of fear, anxiety and the slow dawning horror that…… this wasn't a dream. Her eyes fluttered, blinding light poured through her pupils as a single spotlight beamed down on her. She couldn't believe her eyes, she was in a very big hall full of people with a lot of lust, hatred and hunger for soul, she was about to be sold to one out of this group of heartless men. “How bad could it be?”. She thought. A voice rang out smooth and dramatic “Amara, a twenty - nine year old, pure silk skin, natural curves, no enhancement, no prior owner. A fire inside her that hasn't been tamed yet. Let's begin the bidding”. Amara jolted her head upward, her vision swam, she could make up the number of rows of seats filled with masked figures in velvet suits and secrets. She twisted her wrist in vain, her breath hitched. She wasn't drugged anymore. This was real, it was so real. She was about to be sold out to one of these men. A slow camera scanned through her body, projecting her image onto the massive glass screens surrounding her body. Her long curls feel loose over her shoulder. Her lips painted deep crimson, trembled, just then someone whistled Her pulse raced. Her dignity felt like a distant memory, her hope long gone, all that remained was raw instinct, and the terrifying thrill to surrender.” Just as all this thought ran through her, she could feel herself tearing up “Don't cry, she told herself, don't let these monsters see you cry” She thought. Amara couldn't imagine bringing herself low in front of this asshole, even if she was suffering, she rather weep in silence than in front of them. Raising her gaze to the crowd, trying to find comfort in one of her bidders but there was none, it was all filled with lust Just then she saw him, she was cold, his eyes dark, someone unfamiliar but something about him felt wrong. Lucien Dante sat in the shadows, half a glass of whiskey in one hand, a black card in the other. His suit was midnight, shirt open, he had no tie. And when he looked up, those cold silver eyes locked with hers, Amara forgot how to breathe. He didn’t blink, didn’t smile. But somehow, she knew, he wasn’t here to bid, he was here to claim. She had never seen him before, but something in her gut twisted, as if her soul recognized danger before her mind could. She didn't know it yet, but this was the beginning of her undoing. There he sat, he wasn't bidding, he didn't look amused, he wasn't touching some glass of champagne or murmuring to anyone by his side. He just sat there observing all that was happening. He was a man curved from storm clouds and expensive sin. With his dark skin and dark blue eyes, he stares at her full of darkness. He didn't blink, didn't smile. His expression was a perfect blend of cruel curiosity and boredom, like a man studying a game of chessboard and deciding where to place the queen he'd just stolen. “Ten million dollars,” came a voice from the crowd “Twelve” someone else replied “Fifteen” came another bidder “Seventeen point five” ….. “eighteen”....... came voices from the crowd. Lucien raised a hand. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he said “Twenty million” It wasn't loud, it wasn't desperate, it wasn't said with emotions. But the room fell silent, as if hell itself held its breath. The auctioneer laughed awkwardly “Ah… Mr. Dante always knows how to make an entrance”. Amara's heart stopped “Mr. Dante?” Her vision fixed just enough to take him in again. Even while seated, his power radiated, the type that didn't beg but command. “Going one, two, gone” Sang the auctioneer “Sold to Mr. Dante”. Laughter, applause and champagne clicks came from the crowd. And then, her paddle was lifted making her free, she felt the first stitch of the collar tighten around her soul as he walks towards her. And Lucien just stood still, adjusted his cuffs and walked towards the stage like a man going to get his new toy. As he approached, Amara saw the dark humour twist on his lips, cold and amused. “You don't look like much fire”... He murmured stopping in front of her “I have tamed more dragons before. You'll be no different”. She couldn't reply, she just stared at him there were no word left to say “No safe word,” he added with a smirk. “Screaming will just be fine”. He reached out not to touch her skin but to brush her chin upward with the tip of a gloved finger. “Stand up pet”, he whispered, voice like silk wrapped around a blade “you belong to the devil now”.