The Auction: Young Adult Romance, New Adult Romance, Forbidden Love (Magnolia Grove Book 1) (2 page)

“You are loved just for being who you are, just for existing. You don’t have to do anything to earn it. Your shortcomings, your lack of self-esteem, physical perfection, or social and economic success—none of that matters. No one can take this love away from you, and it will always be here.”

-Ram Dass

“What good is social class and status? Truthfulness is measured within. Pride in one’s status is like poison—holding it in your hand and eating it, you shall die.”

-Sri Guru Granth Sahib

My eyes lock with hers as a cold sensation spreads over my cock. “Dammit. They haven’t even had dinner and people are already spilling their shit.” My mouth gapes open as I pull my pants away from my body and start to shake them. I look back up, but she’s gone. The group of young women who are responsible for my now ruined slacks have covered their mouths, obviously trying unsuccessfully to contain their giggles. Or maybe they’re not even trying at all. Who actually gives a fuck?

“I’m so sorry,” the blonde, whose tits are about to fall out of her black, strapless dress, says as she leans over, attempting to wipe the spillage.

Brushing her hand away, I roll my eyes and shake my head. The last thing I need is some random chick feeling me up right now. “Whatever. It’s fine.” The only thing available is a cocktail napkin, so I grab it and start dabbing my crotch all the while searching the crowd, trying to find her again, but she really is gone, nowhere to be found.

It’s just as well. The thin paper of the napkin is disintegrating on my drenched slacks. I need to clean myself up before I run into her again. There’s no way I can do what I intend if I look like a toddler who just wet his pants. Turning on my heel, I round the corner to the men’s restroom, which much to my surprise has a line longer than the ladies’.

I smirk at all the guys waiting and do an about-face. It’s not like I need to take a piss. I just need something to absorb some of the fuckin’ wine the drunken lady emptied on my trousers. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. My plan B is so much better. I bet, if I’m lucky, I might be able to even find another pair of pants instead of just drying these.

Fuck.

The valet has my keys, which I need. Turning back around, I pass by the bathroom and out the side door, which opens right to the tent where the keys are kept.

“Yo, Lewis. I’m not here to pick my car up. Just need to use my keys for a minute.”

He nods, smiling, the wrinkles around his hazel eyes curving up. “What’s your number, son?” I love it when he calls me that. He’s one of the few people who doesn’t treat me any differently around here after all the shit that went down years ago.

Reaching in my back pocket, I pull my billfold and snatch the stub. I glance at the number. “Thirty-seven,” I say before nestling it back into place.

Lewis opens and scans the metal box, then hands me my keys. “Bring ‘em back when you’re done. Don’t want someone to think I lost your keys. You know that happens, right?”

I chuckle. Lewis has been a part of the valet crew nearly my entire life. We’ve had many talks through the years, but this is new. They lose keys. Comforting. Unable to keep the grin off my face, I reply, “I’ll bring ‘em back.” I pat his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

The noise from the party dissipates with each step I take toward the pool area. My family co-owns a cabana. It’s a stretch to think there would be any clothes stashed away that are adequate for this type of event, but I say a silent prayer that maybe my worthless father kept an extra pair of work clothes in there for the summer. If not, there’d at least be a terry cloth towel. Any kind of towel has to be better than any paper version likely to be found in the bathroom. And I bet there’s even a hair dryer.

This plan is brilliant.

But the thought of my father causes my steps to come to a quick halt. I stare at the sky, the sun and moon both visible, and contemplate just going home. Through the years, I’ve grown to despise anything to do with the country club.
Keep your eye on the prize, Holden
. Shaking my head, I start to walk again. There’s a reason I agreed to tolerate an evening of excessive drinking, exorbitant spending, and kissing ass with yuppies—even though, by definition, I am one.

Each year, I’ve attended the country club’s annual fundraiser, The Magnolia Grove Spring Fling, which benefits the local hospital’s cancer facility. It’s one of the best in the country. Running my hands through my light brown locks, I flash back to when this shindig was actually fun. Years ago, I’d hung out with my buddies. Our activity usually consisted of making fun of the girls on the dance floor. I’d laughed with them, but not for the same reasons as they had. My eyes had only ever focused on one girl. The others long-forgotten blurs of my memory.

Camellia Spencer, or Cammie as everyone calls her, has lived in Magnolia Grove just as long as I have. Her long, curly, chestnut locks cascaded down her back; her green eyes twinkled from the lights strewn throughout the white, massive tent. She never acted interested in being more than friends. In fact, she paid less and less attention to me the older we got.

Now, she’s engaged to the douchenozzle, Oliver Willoughs. How I’m the only one who can see he’s using her as arm candy beats me. Can I blame him? Hell no. She’s so much more than a beautiful face. She’s beyond smart, graduating the top of our class, and one of the most caring people I’ve ever met. No, she
is
the most caring person I’ve ever met. Yeah, most of the girls at the country club have been raised to give back and work for charity, but I’ve spent a good portion of my entire life watching her. She doesn’t just show up to do what she has to do. When she’s helping others, that’s when she seems at her happiest.

“Hey, Holden,” a voice that’s not Cammie’s says.

I’ve wandered pretty far off the beaten path for the fundraiser. I’m unsure why anyone would be in this neck of the woods so to speak, but I recognize the voice. Glancing up, I see some girls with drinks sitting by one of the bunkers of the golf course. I don’t really know them.

But at my side is Charity Winthrop, the voice I recognized belonging to her. She’s walking a little too close by my side. She’s always been sweet and innocent…more of a sister. We attended the same church for years. She’s always flirted with me, and word through the grapevine is she’s always liked me.

How many ways can I send the message I’m not interested in anything more than friendship?

I smile. Politely, not even a little bit flirtatiously. “How’s it goin’, Charity?” Even though it’s posed as a question, I pick up my pace, hoping she gets the clue I’m in no position to have a chat. I have to get my shit together before the auction starts.

Lucky for me, Charity giggles—as if we’re back in middle school, and she’s excited that her crush just talked to her for the first time. “Good.”

“That’s great. I gotta run and grab something. I’ll see ya up there, okay?” I point toward the tent.

“Save me a dance?”

Shit. I sigh, but try to smile through my frustration. “Sure.”

She breaks away, I assume rejoining her clique of friends. As I approach the cabana, I fidget for the right key, shaking my head. I shouldn’t even be in this position, dammit.

When I was little, I didn’t have a choice about attending this fundraiser, or church for that matter. The past couple of years I’ve been guilted by my mother to come. But this year, I swore I wouldn’t come. No matter what. Never again. So it meant she got creative at finding a way to get me here without the guilt.

How? My lip quirks up.

The only thing that made it a no-brainer was when I found out the single ladies, which by party rules is defined as not married, are doing auctions for a date.

See, moral of the story: never say never.

The kicker’s that I won’t know which girl I’m bidding on because the only thing the guys will know is the girl’s ideal perfect evening. Just the thought of a night with Cammie causes my cock to grow hard, tingles to course through my entire body.

If only I can get some time alone with her, then I can convince her of how wrong Oliver is for her.

Of just how right Holden Masters is for her.

Cammie’s always been popular. But since we graduated, the only time I’ve seen her happy in the public eye is when she’s working with the needy. Her happiness with Oliver is as fake as Cupid. She’s intelligent, feisty, and beautiful. But the frown on her face, the droopiness in her eyes that washes over her face when she thinks she’s alone and no one’s watching, is something I simply can’t tolerate. My jaw clenches. She deserves so much more.

Inserting the key, I turn the knob, entering the dark, empty cabana. Before I have a chance to flip the light switch or think another thought, an arm reaches out and grabs me. I’m about to firmly remove said arm, maybe practice those martial arts skills I taught myself just as I hear a voice. It’s the most melodic music to my ears, like a symphony of hushed major harmonies. “Kiss me. Now. I’ve been waiting for this all night,” she whispers, as if we’re hiding from someone.

Ah, fuck yes.

We are.

And what kind of gentleman would I be to not oblige?

Using my free arm, I slam the door closed while she yanks me against her delicate body. It only takes an instant for my dick to come to full attention. In a swift, quick motion, I have her wrist in my hand. The room’s completely dark, the door fitting the frame like a glove, the windows covered by blackout curtains. There are no cracks in the entire room for light to seep through.

Relying only on my senses and memory of the room, I pin her to the side wall and do what I’ve only fantasized about in my wettest of dreams. Opening my mouth, I insert one of her fingers, then suck and savor the salty sweetness of her skin. She moans, and I pull harder as I ram my hips into hers. Releasing her, I unzip my wet pants, then hike her skirt. Reaching down, I’m prepared to yank her panties off and shove them in my pocket as a souvenir to remember this moment forever, but instead my fingers brush against her bare pussy. Fucking yes. Wet, warm, inviting Cammie. I strum her thigh before inserting a finger into her pussy. The instant access has my heart pounding, my cock throbbing, begging for release.
Fuck, she’s hot
. Hotter than I ever imagined, and I didn’t think that was possible.

I pick her up with the intention of hoisting her right on my dick, but instead push her against the door. She wraps her legs around my waist as my lips slam into hers. This wasn’t exactly how I’d planned our first time together. While I want so badly to take full advantage of this opportunity, to release a lifetime’s dose of want in a quickie, the need for her is feral. I want to treasure our moment. So, I slow it down, savoring and prolonging every lick of her neck and every suck of her tender earlobes. Her ass perfectly fills my palms. She tangles her hands in my hair, controlling my head, demanding deeper and deeper kisses. Fuck, does she even have a gag reflex? My dick twitches thinking about her mouth around it, taking it all in. Our teeth clash, but I don’t care. Fuck, yes. This is what I have been waiting for. My lids close and my eyes roll in the back of my head.

I can’t wait another second to see if we fit together the way I’ve always imagined. As I continue to kiss her, to hold her, to deal with the pain of my cock growing larger and harder with each touch, I push my hips further into her, pinning her to the wall. I release a hand, grabbing my wallet for a condom. What words are adequate for how much this means to me?

Hers, of course.

“You said you’d been waiting for this all night, but, baby, I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.”

“Holden?” she hisses quietly, again, as if someone can hear us.

What the fuck?

Why did that sound like a question? She saw the drink debacle. It was obvious I needed a towel. Our families co-own this cabana, so we both have a key. And here she is fucking waiting on me, and without panties to boot. My mouth grows dry. “Yeah.” My voice is hoarse and laced with unparalleled need.

“Fuckin’ A. What the hell were you thinkin’?” Her voice rises. “I’m engaged, Holden.”

I don’t think her pitch can get any higher. It cracks on my name.

“I thought you were Oliver. Fuck, put me down. Now.”

She thought I was Oliver? How is that even possible?

Doing as she asks, I lower her, making sure she’s steady on her feet before letting her go. Light blinds me as she flips the switch. Drinking in the sight of her bare pussy as she adjusts her skirt, my semi-hard cock begs for release. She fingers through her disheveled hair. A small, crooked smile forms on my lips as I run the play-by-play of what we’ve just done in my head complete with visuals of her just like she is right now.