Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I froze in the doorway of the bathroom, my eyes widening in shock as I took in the imposing figure leaning against the wall opposite. His eyes locked onto mine, a dangerous glint in their depths.
“M-Monsieur,” I stammered, my face flaming even hotter. “What are you doing here?”
Lucas pushed himself off the wall, taking a step toward me. His presence seemed to fill the narrow corridor, making me feel small and vulnerable.
“I think the better question, ma chère,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “is what were you doing in there?”
My heart pounded frantically in my chest. There was no way he could know… was there? I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I was just using the restroom,” I said, aiming for nonchalance but hearing the tremor in my words.
Lucas’ eyes narrowed. “Is that so?” He took another step closer, looming over me. “Because in addition to telling me where you are, the Selecta Arrangements app tells me when you do something naughty, like playing with what doesn’t belong to you.”
I shrank back against the bathroom door, my knees suddenly weak. “I don’t know what you mean,” I whispered, suddenly very glad that I had let the other occupant of the bathroom finish and depart before emerging.
In one fluid motion, Lucas gripped my upper arm and began steering me down the hallway. “I think you know exactly what I mean,” he growled in my ear. “And I think it’s time we had a little refresher on your rules and your responsibilities.”
“But…” I said as my feet moved mechanically despite the trembling of my knees. “But how…?”
Then I remembered. The sensor. I had thought they would use it only to make sure I was… like… that…
Like this, more accurately, I realized as heat seemed to fill my whole body, concentrated in my cheeks and, worse, between my legs, where I had just misappropriated my sponsor’s pleasure… trespassed on my lord’s rights.
“I don’t know how they do it,” Lucas told me, growling his words into my ear as he took me down a back staircase. “But I could see in your eyes the moment you came out of the bathroom that the app told me nothing but the truth.”
“Oh, God,” I whispered, turning to look at him as we reached the bottom of the steps. The grim determination in his eyes as he looked ahead, guiding both of us to the exit, seemed to have in it a certain conflict—as if his dominant sexual hunger had gone to war with his common sense. I wondered suddenly if he might even have been considering ending things with me. The dread that idea sent rocketing through my nervous system, to my dismay, utterly dwarfed my fear about Lucas’ plans with regard to disciplining me.
Then I saw his face change, just as he started to push the glass door open. I turned to look ahead of us, through the door, and I realized why: a large crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, between us and Lucas’ limo.
“Lucas! Lucas!” a voice called before he could even walk me through the door, and I heard someone say, “Oh, my God, it’s really him.”
Instantly the hand on my arm moved to go around my waist. I glanced over and saw that he had put on his face the same brilliant smile I had seen on… well, everything: screens, billboards, t-shirts, even. It had always struck me as genuine before, but now I could see that it represented Lucas’ primary defense against the prying eyes of the world’s millions of football fans.
The real Lucas definitely had that brilliantly sunny side—I had seen it at dinner, and felt almost instantly that I was falling in love. I had the sudden insight, though, that the intensity of my sponsor’s light could only exist in contrast to the darkness I had seen the previous night, the dominance that had brought to me a kind of pleasure and fulfillment I had never imagined.
Oh, God, I thought. How could I possibly be in love with a man I met yesterday? Who… who’s marching me out of a building with the intent of… of punishing me for playing with myself?
Who’s facing twenty fans and…
Not just fans. I saw someone who had a professional-looking camera. He was clearly the one who had shouted Lucas’ name, to get him to look in that direction and provide a good photograph.
No—a valuable photograph. The paparazzi. How Lucas must hate them, and yet his smile hadn’t dimmed, and his arm held me even closer.
“Lucas! Lucas! Who’s this?”
I could feel the tension in Lucas’ body, the rigid set of his shoulders and the tightness in his jaw. But to the gathered crowd, I knew he seemed completely relaxed, his megawatt smile never faltering. His arm around my waist tightened almost imperceptibly, a silent message of support and of warning.