Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
The observation was gentle but pointed, and it hit me right in the chest. “Yeah,” I whispered. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
He didn’t push, just waited, giving me space to continue if I wanted to. I found myself talking despite my intention to stay quiet.
“I had this first-year seminar,” I said, my fingers fidgeting with my coffee cup. “With this professor who did work on philanthropy apps. Software designed to optimize charitable giving, match donors with causes, track impact. I didn’t really understand most of it—I was barely getting through intro courses—but the idea fascinated me. Using code to actually help people, not just to make money or build games or whatever.”
Mike’s expression shifted, something lighting up in his eyes. “Philanthropy software. That’s interesting.”
“I don’t know much about it,” I admitted quickly. “I just… it stuck with me, you know? The idea that technology could do more than just make rich people richer.”
“I’ve gotten where I am through more profitable things,” Mike said, a wry smile playing at his lips. “But I’ve been thinking lately about ways to give back. My companies have done well. Very well. And at a certain point, accumulating more money… well, it doesn’t stop being fun, but it stops being as… fulfilling.”
I found myself leaning forward slightly, drawn into his words. There was something compelling about the way he spoke—not arrogant about his wealth, but matter-of-fact. Like having billions was simply a circumstance he found himself in, one he was trying to figure out how to use responsibly.
We talked for another twenty minutes, the conversation flowing more easily than I’d expected. He asked about my family (middle child, often overlooked), my hobbies (reading, though I was too embarrassed to admit most of it was romance novels), what I did for fun (not much, honestly). He told me about his companies—tech infrastructure, mostly, the kind of behind-the-scenes work that made the internet function but that most people never thought about.
And somehow, impossibly, I found myself starting to fall for him.
Not because of his money, though god knew that was part of it. Not even because of how attractive he was, though every time I looked at him my stomach did a little flip. It was the way he listened. Really listened, like what I was saying mattered. Like I mattered.
When was the last time someone had made me feel that way?
There was a lull in the conversation. I took a sip of my now-lukewarm latte, suddenly aware of how long we’d been sitting here. Mike looked at me across the table, his dark eyes holding mine, and smiled.
It wasn’t a polite smile. It was something else—knowing, heated, possessive.
My pussy clenched so hard I gasped.
The seal prevented any real sensation, but my body tried anyway, muscles contracting around nothing, the ache intensifying to something almost painful. I bit my lip hard, trying to keep my face neutral, trying not to let him see what that smile had done to me.
But the look in his eyes told me he knew. He knew exactly what had just happened between my legs.
“I’d like to see you again. Tonight.”
It wasn’t a question. There was no question mark at the end of that sentence, no upward inflection asking for my permission. Just a statement of intent.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Don’t say yes just yet.”
He leaned forward, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something expensive and masculine that made my head spin. His voice dropped to a murmur, meant for my ears only.
“I want to make sure you understand that if we have dinner tonight, your panties are coming down.”
I couldn’t suppress the whimper that escaped my throat. My heart started racing so fast I thought I might pass out. The words echoed in my head—your panties are coming down—and I knew exactly what he meant. He was going to spank me. He was going to punish me, bare-bottomed, probably for the cheating, probably for everything.
And then… I had to suppress a sob as I considered it.
Then, god help me, I nodded again.
I wasn’t completely sure why. My body seemed to be making decisions my brain couldn’t process. Mike’s eyes held mine, dark and unrelenting, as I struggled to find my voice. The noise of the café—the hiss of the espresso machine, the murmur of other conversations, the clink of cups on saucers—all seemed to fade into white noise.
“Use your words, sweetheart,” he said, and his eyes were twinkling now, like he was enjoying watching me squirm.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry despite the latte I’d been nursing. “Yes,” I managed to whisper.
His eyes narrowed. Not in anger, but in something else. Expectation. Correction.
“Yes, sir,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.
My lips parted. My breathing had become ragged, coming in short little gasps that I couldn’t quite control. I looked wildly around the café, suddenly hyperaware that we were in public, that anyone could hear this, that the couple at the next table might be listening to me agree to let this man spank me and take my virginity.