Chapter 1
WHITNEY
I’m standing in front of a crowd of rich fucks, and I’m about to be sold to the highest bidder. Bid away, assholes, because I don’t give a shit what happens to me, as long as Sloane is safe.
Besides, I have a plan.
The Raven mansion in Boston is packed with two hundred Ravens who showed up to watch as the latest handful of widows get redistributed. I’m standing on the platform in the tight black evening gown they made me wear. The neckline plunges low enough to show the tops of my breasts. The slit up my left thigh goes almost to my hip.
My father sits in the third row, arms crossed, face blank. My brother sprawls in the chair beside him with a smirk. I hope watching his sister get auctioned off makes for an exciting Saturday night. He’s always been an asshole.
My late husband Gerald wrapped his car around a tree two months ago. The coroner called it drunk driving. The Ravens accepted that explanation. Thanks to Harrison Lockwood. Everything went as he said it would.
Now, I just have to let him buy me in this auction, and my daughter will be free to attend college and not have to marry an aged asshole.
I could have run. But the Ravens don’t allow widows to go free. Try to leave, and the Talons will hunt you down. We’re property. And these assholes are about to decide what I’m worth.
One of the Council members playing the part of the auctioneer starts his speech about my qualities.
“Dove #2. Thirty-eight years old but well maintained.”
He actually said that. That I’m well maintained. Fuck him.
“Previously married to Gerald Marsh. One daughter, Sloane Marsh, nearing eighteen years old and close to marriageable age. Unable to have more children. She’s a proven Dove who knows her role and has no history of causing problems.”
That last part makes me want to laugh. They don’t know the chaos and bullshit I’ll rain down on them if they come near my daughter.
The bidding starts at one million dollars. And a voice in the back calls out the first bid.
I acknowledge that I’m being bid on like livestock at a fair, but I don’t even hate my life in the Ravens. That probably makes me pathetic, but I have the finer comforts in life, and I can’t say it would be much better anywhere else.
If my late husband hadn’t gotten it into his head to arrange a marriage for our daughter to a man old enough to be her grandfather, he’d probably still be alive. It had been a perfectly agreeable marriage. He lost interest in me years ago once I wasn’t young enough to entice him. It was a relief not to have to fake an orgasm every time his wrinkled ass came to my room. After he left me alone to chase after sex workers and pretty housemaids, I had access to his money and my vibrator.
Both made for better company.
If Harrison wants to use my body for the next several years, then so be it. Maybe he’ll do something more than climb on top of me and grunt until he’s finished.
More importantly, as long as Sloane remains under protected status within the Ravens and Harrison upholds his promise that she won’t be forced to marry seventy-year-old Victor Ashworth, I’ll spread my legs wide as soon as he writes the check tonight.
An act that may very well come to fruition during the claiming ceremony. I never asked Harrison how he intends to claim me in front of all these assholes.
I don’t bother to look around to see who’s bidding. Harrison told me not to make eye contact with him so no one would suspect our plan. Instead, I keep my gaze on the expensive crown molding along the back wall.
“Two million.” Harrison bids next, outbidding the man just as I expected him to.
“Three million.” This man sounds older. Thank fuck Harrison is going to outbid him because I can’t stand the thought of another aged asshole who can’t get it up.
Harrison bids again. “Five million.”
The bids keep climbing. I recognize some voices, but keep focusing on the wall.
Seven million. Eight million. Nine million. Then ten million from Harrison. An unfamiliar voice offers twelve million.
Harrison counters with fifteen million. An edge cuts through his tone when he makes his bid. He never expected the price to go this high.
Chatter erupts throughout the room. They whisper about why I’m drawing such a high price, even as “well maintained” as I might be.
“Fifty million dollars.”
Holy shit. I recognize that voice. I shouldn’t look, but my eyes betray me, and I find him in the crowd.
He stands near the back of the room, arms crossed. He’s just as I remember him. Hot as fuck, even for a man in his late forties. Tall and broad-shouldered in a charcoal three-piece suit with dark hair and silver threading at the temples. His face is all harsh masculine angles with a sexy five o’clock shadow.
Dane Sinclair.
Everyone in the Ravens, no matter their place or rank, knows who he is. He’s from a founding family, a Council member, and the head of Talon enforcement. He’s the man they call when someone needs to be dragged back or permanently removed. His Talons do all of his bidding.
I’ve seen him at Raven events over the years, but haven’t spoken to him since that night.
His eyes lock onto mine from across the room. My pulse is racing at the sight of him. And now my pussy is throbbing.
Just one encounter, and he still has this effect on me years later. I have used the memory of that night and the things he said as a fantasy for me and my vibrator countless times.
The room falls silent. Fifty million dollars is an insane amount for any widow, especially one of my age and inability to produce more little Ravens.
The auctioneer clears his throat. “Fifty million dollars from Dane Sinclair. Do we have another bid?”
Now I focus on Harrison. He’s glaring at Dane, veins bulging in his neck. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.
He clearly can’t afford to outbid Dane, and even if he could, I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to compete with Dane Sinclair.
“Going once. Going twice.” This is it, and they all know it. The gavel comes down with a sharp crack. “Dove #2, Whitney Marsh, soon-to-be Sinclair, sold to Dane Sinclair for fifty million dollars.”
Polite applause ripples through the room. My father’s expression changes, and now he’s grinning. He receives a portion of the auction proceeds for providing the sperm that created me. Him getting a single cent bothers me more than being sold.
Dane moves through the crowd toward the platform. People move to clear a path for him without being told. He climbs the steps and stops directly in front of me. His emerald-green eyes stare into mine.
“I trust you are pleased with this turn of events, kitten.”
Up close, he’s even more overwhelming. He must be at least six-foot-three. His shoulders are broad enough that they block my view of the entire room.
All I can think about is years ago when his hand was on my throat and he told me all the ways he wanted to make me his. He was all talk, because the fucker never did.
“Fuck you.”
I really shouldn’t provoke him. Especially when he’s going to claim me in front of these fucks. But if he thinks I’ll cower, he’s sorely mistaken.
“You should know that only turns me on more.” His mouth quirks.
He shifts to stand beside me and grabs my hand. His grip is firm, and it sends a heated sensation up my entire arm.
“We’re ready for the vows,” Dane says, motioning for the priest. Or whatever supposed man of faith is officiating our marriage to ensure all will be legally processed. Not that it matters, since the Ravens operate outside of the law.
The man leads us in the simple vows we recite. Love, honor, obey . . . the usual shit. And then the man declares that we are man and wife.
“Mrs. Sinclair.” Dane’s voice is rough as he leans into me. “You belong to me now.”
The new name sounds . . . not as wrong as I thought it would. Mrs. Marsh died with Gerald.
I want to say something witty in return.
Thank you for the purchase. I’ll be a good little wife as long as you let my daughter go to college and marry a nice man. Or I’ll kill you in your sleep.
But his hand moves to my throat before I can decide just how difficult I intend to be.
He doesn’t squeeze hard, just grips enough to make it clear who is in control. His thumb strokes along my jawline.
“You know what comes next. Time to show them what it means to be mine.”
My stomach twists, and my pussy wants what’s coming, but I force an even expression. I can handle whatever it is he wants.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my father and brother leaving. Thank fuck they won’t stay for this part.
“I’m going to give you instructions.” Dane’s voice is low. His thumb presses hard against my pulse. “And you’re going to follow them exactly. Do you understand me, kitten?”
“I understand.”
“Good girl.” He releases my throat and gestures to someone offstage. “Bring me a chair.”
The attendant hurries forward with a heavy wooden chair and sets it center stage. Dane moves to take his seat. He leans back placing his arms on the armrests.
He doesn’t question for a moment that I’ll do exactly what he wants. I suppose he isn’t wrong.
“Come here.” His voice booms across the stage.
I walk to him on shaking legs. My six-inch heels click against the platform floor. Every eye in the room follows my movement.
“Turn around.”
My eyes narrow on him. Then, I turn away from him to face the crowd.
“Lift your dress over your hips.”
“What?” I glance over my shoulder at him.
He smacks my ass. “Don’t make me tell you again, Mrs. Sinclair.”
Fuck, I liked that far too much. I grit my teeth and bunch the side of my dress, pulling it up over my hips. The cool air hits my exposed skin. Every eye in the room is on me—on the black lace panties covering what they want to see.
Several men whistle from the crowd.
I should fight back with some sense of feminism, but my pussy has a mind of its own. And a sick part of me wants whatever Dane has planned.
“Take off your panties and hand them to me.”
I hesitate for a moment, but there’s no use delaying the inevitable. I hold my dress with one hand and hook my other thumb into my panties and slide them off.
They’re soaked.
Fuck. He’s going to know exactly how wet I am. My body’s already responding to him, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
Gerald never made me feel like this. Anytime he touched me, I was dry as a fucking desert. Five minutes with Dane Sinclair and I’m dripping. I hand them to him, my face burning.
His dimples appear as his lips curl into a smirk. Not quite a smile, but close. He tucks them into his front coat pocket like they’re his new fucking pocket square.
“Good girl. Now sit.”
I lower myself onto his lap. The moment my ass settles onto him, his hard cock presses against me. A normal woman would feel mortified, disgusted, concerned . . . anything besides this intense arousal. My traitorous body responds with a rush of heat between my thighs.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
His hands grip my hips and pull me back harder against him. Then, he uses his own legs to spread mine wider.
He grips my thighs and pulls my legs even farther apart. The men in the crowd roar their approval.
“Lean back against me.” His breath is hot against my ear.
I let my back rest against his chest. His body is solid muscle and radiates heat through his suit jacket.
One of his hands slides up my ribs to cup my breast through the fabric of my dress. He squeezes hard enough to make me gasp. His fingers trace along the neckline. Then he yanks the fabric down, and my breasts spill out, bare for everyone to see.
The crowd reacts immediately. More whistles. Someone shouts something crude that I don’t quite catch. My face burns, but I can’t cover myself. I can’t move. I’m pinned on his lap with my tits and pussy on display for two hundred Ravens.
And my nipples are hard. Apparently, my body is as fucked up as the rest of this situation.
“Everyone here can see you now.” His voice is low, meant only for me. “They’re looking at the pussy I just paid fifty million dollars to own.”
His words send a jolt straight to my clit.
“I’ll never let them watch me when I fuck you. So you’re going to give them the show they demand. And this is the last fucking time anyone besides me will see your pussy, so make it one hell of a show.”
His other hand moves to my thigh. I wish he would brush his fingers along my clit. But he won’t make this easy for me.
“Reach down and touch my pussy.” His lips brush my ear as he commands me. “They’re going to watch you come.”
This is insane. When I woke up this morning, I never imagined that I’d be sitting on Dane Sinclair’s lap with my legs spread in front of the Ravens. But here I am.
Public claiming is part of the ritual. Refusing is not an option.
And some messed-up part of me wants to touch myself, to ease the ache building between my thighs.
I don’t make him tell me again before I slide my hand down my stomach.
More groans rise from the crowd as my fingers get closer.
My fingers reach my pussy, and I’m not just wet. I’m dripping.
“Fuck.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
“That’s it.” Dane’s voice is rough against my ear. His hand squeezes my breast. “You’re already so wet for me, aren’t you, kitten? Rub your clit while you think about what awaits you tonight. But don’t finger yourself. The next thing you’re going to have inside that pussy is me.”
I circle my clit with my fingers. Pleasure sparks through me immediately.
This is the most intense thing I have ever felt.
“Faster.” Dane’s voice is a command. “I can feel you trembling against me. You’re going to come for me, Whitney. Only when I tell you, so everyone here can see exactly who you belong to.”
I move my fingers faster. My hips rock hard against his lap. He releases a low growl.
Fuck him. I hope it fucking hurts. I move my ass more forcefully against his hard dick. And I’m definitely wishing he had just fucked me while they watched.
His hand slides up from my breast to wrap around my throat, holding me tight against him so I can’t move as easily to tease his dick.
“Look at them. Look at all these bastards watching you. Every man who bid on you tonight. They’re all watching you, wishing they could have just a tiny feel of that wet pussy. But if one of these fucks ever tries to touches you, I’ll snap his neck and fuck you on top of his corpse.” He squeezes my throat tighter. “You are mine and I’m not the man you want to fuck around with.”
I should fear him. But I don’t. The threat only makes me want him more. The pressure of his hand on my throat, his hard cock pressing against my ass, his voice in my ear commanding and owning me—this is the most erotic thing I have ever fucking experienced.
My fingers work my clit harder. I’m so close. My breathing turns ragged. I hate him right now, but I hate the effect he has on my body more.
“That’s my good girl.” His voice roughens with satisfaction. “Who do you belong to?”
“You.” I manage to gasp it out.
“And what’s my fucking name?” His grip tightens on my throat.
I keep circling my clit faster. “Dane Sinclair.”
“Goddamn right.” His voice is full of satisfaction. His fingers find my nipple and pinch. “Now say it so they can fucking hear you.”
I want to come. My legs are shaking from the pressure of my building climax. “Dane Sinclair.” I shout it to the entire room. “I belong to Dane fucking Sinclair.”
“Good girl. You have claws, but you listen well, kitten. Now come for me. Right fucking now. I’m ready to take my wife home.”
I’ve tuned out everyone else. Only the pleasure building, only his voice, only this moment and the thought of what awaits me at my new home. The orgasm hits me hard. I scream his name again. My whole body convulses against him. My thighs clench around his legs.
His arm wraps around my waist to hold me steady while I shake and sob through the most intense climax I have ever felt. And he hasn’t even fucked me yet.
It keeps going. My pussy drips while these Ravens watch me fall apart on my new husband’s lap.
When the orgasm finally ends, I gasp for air. Tears stream down my face, and I can’t feel my legs.
The room is silent. I just rubbed one out in front of people I’ll see again at Society events for years to come. Dane’s sons could be in this crowd for all I know.
But I can’t bring myself to care. My body is still trembling from the aftermath of it all.
Dane keeps his arm locked around my waist. He presses his lips against my ear.
“That was just the beginning, Mrs. Sinclair.”
And I know without a doubt that I’m entirely fucked.