Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Indeed, I realized, that simple compliment represented the very first words of praise I had heard from a man in a potentially romantic situation. None of the losers in Harristown had thought to say anything of the kind. I knew I shouldn’t find it so notable, because I had a strong sense of how attractive I was despite those Midwestern idiots, but to have a billionaire compliment me that way, on a balcony overlooking palm trees, had an unexpectedly strong effect.
I watched Christian take in my mortifying reaction. His eyes flicked downward, and with a hot blush I understood that he had seen me squirm. When he looked back up, into my eyes, he let silence fall for a moment, and I felt butterflies swarm in my tummy as I wondered what would happen next… what he would do, or say, next, because I knew I couldn’t do anything myself. Christian’s gaze seemed to pin me to my chair like an insect on a pasteboard display.
I blinked, and swallowed again. I had the simultaneously frightening and delightful impression that I could see through his eyes into his thoughts. I felt certain that he had left that moment’s silence precisely so that I would wonder, desperately, about his next move… so that I would think that he might say something… something…
Dominant. Masterful. Degrading. Shameful. Humiliating.
I felt my forehead crease, and I found that I’d started chewing on my lip.
Christian said, “What kind of movies do you like the most? Sci-fi thriller stuff like Moonglider? Or rom-coms?”
Then we had an ordinary conversation, for what I only realized was a whole hour when the waitress came back to ask if we wanted anything else, and I glanced at my watch. Christian looked over at me, and I felt heat creep yet again into my face, because that look didn’t ask for any input from me—instead, I felt it assess me, as if he were trying to figure out whether he wanted to continue the date, and in what particular way he thought it worth extending.
Or… he’s trying to decide whether I’m worth it. What I’m good for. Whether I’m suitable for his use.
He looked back up at the server.
“No, thanks,” he told her. “Just the check, please.”
For a moment I thought he meant that he intended to end the date right there. I almost whimpered, but I managed to hold it back. Christian turned his eyes to me again, and my self-restraint problem got much worse, because I could see in his eyes that he didn’t in the slightest mean to say goodnight at this point.
“Tell me about your underwear, Leah,” he said. “I think you must have followed my instruction to buy something pretty in a more intimate way, too.”
For a moment I could only stare at him. The hyper-casual way he had asked the question made me think I must have misheard or misinterpreted. We had just had a lovely conversation that had gone from rom-coms and thrillers to the books I read to my upbringing in the Midwest and his upbringing in suburban LA. Had he actually just asked me to tell him about my underwear?
Not asked. Christian hadn’t said, Would you please tell me about your lingerie? He had said, “Tell me about your underwear, Leah.”
The server brought the check and left it on the table, next to our empty glasses. Christian sat back in his chair and regarded me with slightly narrowed eyes and the merest hint of a smile on his lips.
“I…” I said. Christian’s eyebrows went up. My jaw went slack and, to my horror, I squirmed again, feeling how the thong between my bottom-cheeks seemed to insist on my remembering that the man across from me had, in an important way, dressed me in the naughty panties. Somehow, with the tiny movement of his face, Christian had just delivered a message that I couldn’t help understanding, as unwelcome as the meaning felt.
Fuck around and find out.
Find out what?
The answer came to my mind urgently and forcefully: so forcefully that I could feel my face going crimson over the course of half a second. The sun had set, now, so I hoped that maybe in the twilight Christian wouldn’t see the blush. His smile widened a little, though, and I knew how false that hope was.
Find out what it feels like to go over a man’s knee and learn the kind of lesson you deserve.
“I…” I tried again. I swallowed hard, sensed my face screwing itself up into a desperate pout, a plea to be released from Christian’s order to tell him about how I had spent his money on the intimate garments he had instructed me to have on. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a logical part of me understood that I could simply get up and leave. I could even tell from Christian’s expression—no, from everything about him… his words, his courtesy, even the easy, confident way he moved—that if I simply fled, he wouldn’t pursue me.