Despite eating bite after bite of everything he offered me, the wine was going to my head. I knew it because the room swam a bit and his voice sounded a little distant, and when I turned my head to look at him, it felt as if it took several seconds to catch up. I blinked at him. He’d said something, but I didn’t know what. “What was that?” I asked.
“I asked if you were ready for dessert,” he said. Was it the wine, or the lighting, or my own altered mental state? He looked ridiculously handsome sitting across from me, his stern eyes matching the downward turn of his lips, a scowl that sent a shiver straight down the length of my spine as he spoke. His voice was so deep it made my nipples pebble at the sound. He was dressed impeccably in an expensive suit and tie, his dark hair falling across his forehead, lending him an air of mystique, danger, and intrigue.
I wanted him to take me. My panties dampened at the memory of the spanking he’d given me earlier that day, my ass still sore from the bites of the bath brush, and my pussy throbbed at the memory of his hand between my legs.
He was keeping himself at bay.
I needed to let the beast out. He would not hurt me. I was tired of him playing nicely.
“I am ready,” I said. “I was starving, and the lobster was exquisite, but I can’t wait to see what your staff does with dessert.”
“I’m glad,” he replied, but offered no further explanation. The wait staff came then, bearing trays of food that looked fit to be served to kings and queens. Puffs of golden pastry teeming with rich, creamy filling sat beside thick slices of layered chocolate cake, decorated with dark red raspberries and billows of whipped cream. Despite having eaten the appetizers and main course like I was a starving waif in a third world country, my stomach growled at the sight of the dessert.
“Holy…oh my…yum,” I finished lamely.
He chuckled, then, a low, rumbling sound that made me shiver in delight. He didn’t smile or laugh enough. It seemed I brought it out in him.
“Thank you,” he said to his wait staff, taking the tray and placing it far out of my reach. What the hell? He waited until we were alone again in the room before taking an empty glass dessert dish from the center of the table and waving a fork at the desserts. “Are you a good girl, Annabelle?”
I swallowed, and licked my lips. I would play along. “Why, yes, sir, I am,” I said, sitting up straight with my hands in my lap like good girls should. “May I…have dessert, please?”
“Please, what?” he asked, fork poised, his stern look skewering me in place.
I swallowed and pushed my thighs together. “Please, Daddy,” I whispered.
With a nod, he pointed back to the desserts, and I realized he was asking which I preferred. “Chocolate, please,” I whispered. He pushed it onto my plate and handed it to me.
“Enjoy, sweetheart,” he said, getting to his feet. I blinked, startled. Where was he going? I didn’t want him to leave. I needed him here with me.
“Why — where are you…” My voice trailed off, but he came to me and leaned over, kissing my cheek.
“I need to consult with Worthington on a few matters, Annabelle,” he said. “Enjoy your dessert. In a little while, we’ll leave for Paris.”
I could barely contain my excitement, bouncing a bit in my seat as I sat on my hands to prevent them from clapping like a child.
“Should I go dressed as I am?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, honey. Before we go, you’ll dress in your pajamas, so you’re comfortable. Okay?”
I smiled. “Yes, Daddy.”
There were as many soft, plush pajamas in my drawer as there were dresses on the rack. Oh, God. This was amazing. As I pulled out a little pink pair of shorts with a tank top, I bit my lip, pushing aside the other clothes. I wondered if he’d put anything skimpy or skanky in there. I couldn’t help but ponder what it would feel like wearing a luxurious silk teddy or a lace-topped babydoll. But no, there was nothing here but comfy, soft pajamas. They were neither old ladyish nor babyish, but rather classy and comfortable.
At home, I wore thrift store t-shirts and shorts to bed on warm nights, and I alternated two simple warmer pajamas for cold nights. I got by with a minimal wardrobe by washing clothes frequently and putting them out on the line to dry. It saved on electricity that way. I frowned, looking at the extravagant array in front of me. This was amazing, and I could have paid for my first year of college for the cost of this simple wardrobe alone. With that thought at the forefront of my mind, I chose the pale pink pair of shorts with a matching tank top, then slipped on a pair of flip-flops that were in the closet. I looked around for a bag to pack my things in, but no matter how hard I looked, none could be found.
“Missing something?”
I jumped. “Don’t you ever knock?
“Door was open, Annabelle,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “And is that how you talk to me?” He raised a questioning brow and I shook my head, the responding thump of my heart in tune with the thrumming between my thighs. Damn, he had my number.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was just looking through my things here…or, rather, I should say…these borrowed things here…and I’m a bit disturbed by how extravagant this all is.”
He frowned a bit but didn’t say a word. I went on. “And I’m not exactly sure how I’m supposed to…repay you,” I finished lamely.
“We have an agreement, and I’ll not ask more than what we’ve agreed upon.” He looked almost hurt and angry at the same time. My cheeks flushed in shame.
“Mist— I mean, Sawyer, really, I…I didn’t mean to imply that you’re buying my favors or anything, I just don’t know—”
“Annabelle, enough.” His clipped tone arrested my speech. A beat passed between us, and then he took his hand out of his pocket, crooked a finger at me, and beckoned me to come to him. Dragging my feet across the plush carpet — wondering, wishing for, and dreading the possibility of a spanking — I went to him. When I stood a foot away, he leaned over, his massive frame taking up the doorway, needing to stoop just to reach my eye level. “I bought these things because I wanted to and because I could. I did not want you to feel uncomfortable. I merely meant to provide for a need a woman in your position has. Is that clear?” The gentle tip of his fingertip lifted my chin so that my eyes met his. My tummy flipped. His voice was soft yet firm when he spoke, his eyes earnest and wide as he gazed at me, his voice scolding. “What did I say about questioning me?”
I swallowed. “You said not to.”
He nodded, his lips thinned, eyes still on me. “Are you questioning me now?”
I shook my head. “No, sir.”
He nodded, satisfied. “Very good. Now come with me. We have a bit of time before our jet leaves after all, and there’s something I need to show you.”
Holding his hand, the feel of his rougher, warm hand completely engulfing mine welcome and tender, I followed him. We left the dining room and went down a hall I’d not seen before, a long hall that smelled faintly musty, as if no one had been here in decades.
“Where are we going?” I said, my voice just a whisper, as I felt the moment required reverence.
“Shhh, baby.”
Down the hall we went, until I saw a faint yellow light ahead of me, spilling onto the thick carpet. An arched doorway awaited us, and his steps slowed. My neck prickled with curiosity, and I shivered. He pulled me closer as if to warm me. Faint strands of music wafted through the doorway.
“This was a very special place when I was a little boy. I was never allowed to go here unaccompanied, and only then on very special occasions. My father spared no expense, but it is so vast and opulent, I rarely go myself now. I had my staff prepare it for us, though, and now I’d like to show you to the ballroom.”
I felt like a child on Christmas morning, eager with anticipation, excitement weaving through my limbs as he placed his hand on the small of my back, and with his other hand, pushed the door to the ballroom open. He led the way, and when I stepped into the room, I felt my jaw drop open.
“Ohhh,” I breathed, as I spun slowly around, taking it all in as best I could. “Oh, this is magical,” I whispered. The room was elaborately decorated in burgundy, gold, and blue, lit with glowing candelabras. In one corner stood a magnificent grand piano, gleaming obsidian black, the keys stark white below the glow of the lights. Music filtered in through hidden overhead speakers. Huge, oval paintings hung on the walls, and it was easy to imagine this magnificent place filled with guests, dancing in time to live music.
“You like it,” he whispered.
“Daddy, I love it. I feel like a princess.”
He grinned that rare grin that made his eyes crinkle around the edges, and his whole face light up. He extended a hand to me and I gratefully accepted it. “May I?”
I nodded, suddenly shy, as he swept me closer to him. “I...I don’t know how to dance,” I said.
“Just follow my lead.”
And then we danced, and he was right...all I had to do was follow his lead. He took care of me. His steps were expert, his touch gentle but firm, and I was touched by the intimacy of being held by him like this, moved to near tears at the surreal moment that didn’t seem to belong to me, Annabelle Symphony, the plain, poor schoolgirl who had nothing to her name.
It was magical.
We danced through two songs like that until finally, he pulled me to his chest and whispered in my ear. “It’s time to go.”
“So soon?” I sighed.
“I’ll bring you back,” he said. “I promise.”
“But I haven’t packed a bag —” I began.
He took my hand in his. “I had Millie pack your bag while we ate. Grab your phone and your bag and whatever other girl shit you need, and let’s go.”
Stifling a giggle, my nerves raw and bubbly from the alcohol and his presence, I grabbed my things then joined him… on a private jet to Paris.