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)
I tried, instinctively, to dart away, through the door, but Christian followed, his hand still firmly on my ass. I knew what it meant… I knew he wanted me to think about his intentions, about the consequences of not telling him about my lingerie when he had asked, in the bar. I felt the heat flood into my cheeks, and I felt an even more troubling warmth down below, where I realized to my confusion I didn’t mind having a billionaire’s hand holding me that way—the threat, or really the promise, of discipline notwithstanding.
I turned around and backed away. Christian let me go, and I watched the door of my apartment close behind him. I found that my hands had traveled to my bottom, shielding me there as I gazed into the gorgeous face of the man who intended to punish me… and, I could see in his chocolate eyes, to claim me as his sponsored girl—his kept property.
My eyes had gone wide, and my lips had parted. I swallowed hard.
“You can tell me about your underwear now, Leah,” he said, his voice soft but so steady and firm that it made my heart race. “Or I can take down that romper and see for myself when I spank you. If I do that, I’m afraid I’ll have to spank you harder. From this point forward, disobedience isn’t going to be tolerated.”
My breath went in and out between my lips in ragged pants. I had to say something, but his frightening, degrading words whirled in my mind so fast and so violently that all I could do was repeat, in a whisper, “From this point forward?”
Christian nodded slowly. “I’m taking you in hand, Leah. You can pretend all you want that you don’t need a man’s firm hand to help guide you into a real adult life, but we both know it’s not true. You wouldn’t be here in LA, as an associate member of Selecta Arrangements, if you knew how to get where you’d like to go—and where, by the way, I think you deserve to go.”
I frowned, my mouth closing and a little of the panic ebbing out of my chest at his unexpected—if vague—endorsement of my life prospects.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I mean… when you said… deserve…”
My question trailed off, as I realized how many variables he had introduced: where would I like to go? What would it take to get there? What does it mean to ‘deserve’ to go there? What does any of that have to do with… guidance and… I had to swallow again… discipline?
The fear of a moment before receded, though. A warmth I had started to feel in the bar, and on the walk home after Christian had seemed to forget about my lingerie, swelled in my chest. This unbelievably handsome, incredibly wealthy man seemed for some reason to have plans for me that went beyond the bedroom.
“You’re special, Leah,” he said. “Maybe not the kind of special they can see in school, but you have the kind of imaginative spark that people in my business look for.”
My jaw had gone slack again.
“But,” Christian said.
My heart skipped a beat and the butterflies in my tummy seemed to change into hummingbirds. Christian regarded me intently for a long second before he continued.
“You know as I well as I do that your history in the New Modesty says something about your needs. Selecta wouldn’t have let you in unless they thought you were a good candidate for a traditional courtship, and—”
“No,” I interrupted. “No… I fooled them—I put the answers I knew they wanted on the… the… you know… the questionnaire.”
My words had come out of my mouth more and more slowly as I saw Christian’s eyes smolder and narrow in response to my interruption. They trailed off, and I had to swallow hard, yet again. When silence had fallen, he spoke again.
“Do not interrupt me, Leah. This is your only warning.”
I opened my mouth, my heart pounding. I tried to speak, but I found that somehow all the swallowing had left me so parched that I could only manage a little croak. Christian waited. I closed my lips, tried to work up some saliva.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“That’s alright,” he replied, a smile returning to his lips, to my surprise. “But I want you to think about why you interrupted and, more important, how your body responded when I called you on it, and told you there will be consequences for interrupting in the future.”
He paused, looking into my eyes as if he could see my brain, furiously at work, trying to decipher his meaning and to relate it to myself. It felt suddenly like he had spoken those words about some other girl, even though at the same time I knew he had seen deep into a part of me that I hadn’t even known existed until that morning.