Page 15 of Bought and Enjoyed

When I tapped the notification, and Lucas Moreau’s full profile did in fact pop up on my screen, the possibility of doing an old-fashioned swoon—reinforcing, of course, Selecta’s corporate philosophy I supposed—became very large. Even I, definitely not a sports-loving kind of girl, had heard of Lucas Moreau. In fact, I recognized his freakishly handsome face before I saw his full name down below.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my phone, my keys forgotten in my hand as I stood transfixed in the hallway outside my apartment. The soft glow of the screen illuminated his chiseled features, those ice-blue eyes that had graced countless magazine covers and billboards staring back at me.

My finger trembled as I scrolled through the details of his profile, each revelation more astonishing than the last. Lucas Moreau, star midfielder for Paris Saint-Germain and the French national team. Lucas Moreau, whose goals had led France to World Cup glory. Lucas Moreau, whose face launched a thousand ad campaigns and whose name was synonymous with sporting excellence.

And he wanted to sponsor me?

I leaned against the wall, my legs suddenly weak. The worn wallpaper of the hallway felt rough against my back, grounding me in reality as I tried to process this surreal turn of events.

His sponsorship level was listed as ‘Platinum Elite’—the highest tier available. The monthly allowance figure made my eyes widen. It was more money than I’d ever seen, let alone had access to. With that kind of financial support, I could focus entirely on my studies without worry. I could travel to every archive in France, pore over ancient texts to my heart’s content, maybe even start writing the dissertation on medieval French social structures I’d been dreaming about.

TheExpectationssection, though… I felt my forehead crease as I read it, and my tummy fluttered distractingly.

I wouldn’t be here on Selecta Arrangements if I weren’t a dominant man. What does that mean to me? I like to take charge in bed, obviously. I expect you to obey me outsidethe bedroom, too, though—and I expect you to accept the consequences if you don’t. Because I’m a public figure, it’s especially important that you behave yourself, if I sponsor you—and I’m guessing you’ll face a good deal of pressure to talk to the press. Think about whether you can handle that in an appropriate way, before you accept a request for a date from me.

Another moment of impending swoon came over me, and I had to rip my gaze from my phone and let myself into the apartment so that I could collapse on the surprisingly comfortable couch in my little living room. When I had endured the distress and mortification of the heat from my still sore backside at first contact, and swallowed hard, I looked at my phone again.

I noticed that the app had put a notification underneath the profile.

Not sure what ‘consequences’ means?

I swallowed even harder and tapped it. It took me to the FAQ.

What does my potential sponsor mean by ‘consequences’ or ‘learning a lesson’?

Selecta Arrangements is designed to facilitate the kind of relationships that align with Selecta’s corporate philosophy of emphasizing traditional gender roles. That includes corporal punishment when your sponsor deems it appropriate to impose consequences in that traditional way. When you accept an offer of sponsorship, you commit yourself to accepting yoursponsor’s discipline. Remember that Selecta Arrangements vets every sponsor thoroughly, and monitors the progress of your arrangement with him continuously, eliminating the possibility of abuse. Remember also that your associate membership in SA is a result of our vetting you, as well: if our expert psychologists hadn’t confirmed your submissive sexuality, you would not have been accepted as an associate.

I cursed my idiocy for not having read through the FAQ before the date with Martin, but I knew it didn’t really have anything to do with idiocy. I hadn’t wanted to know aboutconsequences, because I knew how confused it would make me.

Confused.I insisted to myself that confusion was what I was feeling, that the signals that seemed to be radiating forward and inward from my spanked bottom represented ambiguity rather than anything more definite. It didn’t make logical sense, but I needed it for the moment.

I read Lucas’ message again. I read his profile again. I felt my face pucker into a pout of… confusion.

I stared at my phone, my thumb hovering over the reply button. The memory of Martin’s cruel dismissal was still fresh, the taste of humiliation bitter on my tongue. And yet… Lucas Moreau.TheLucas Moreau.

My eyes drifted to the window, where the lights of Paris twinkled in the distance. When I craned my neck I could even see the Eiffel Tower standing proud against the night sky, a beacon of romance and possibility even to me who valued the medieval chateaux so much more. Wasn’t this why I had come here? To chase my dreams, to immerse myself in the rich history of this beautiful city?

But at what cost? The FAQ’s words echoed in my mind:corporal punishment when your sponsor deems it appropriate. I shifted on the couch, my bottom still tender from Martin’s brutal spanking. Could I really subject myself to that again?

And yet… there was something different about Lucas. His message had been polite, almost formal. He seemed genuinely interested in my studies. Perhaps with him, it would be different. Perhaps he would be kind, patient. Perhaps…

Before I could talk myself out of it, I began to type:

Cher Lucas,

I apologize for my hasty response earlier. Upon further reflection, I find myself intrigued by your offer. I would be honored to meet you for dinner tomorrow evening. The bistro near the Tuileries sounds lovely.

Thank you for your interest in my studies. I look forward to discussing French history with you.

Cordialement,

Alice

My finger hovered over the send button as I reread my message. Was I really going to do this? Give myself another chance to be used and discarded? But Lucas seemed different. His profile, his polite message… maybe this time would be better.

Before I could second-guess myself further, I hit send. Almost immediately, a reply came through:

Wonderful, Alice. I’m delighted you’ve reconsidered. I’ll send a car for you at 1900 tomorrow. Until then, ma chère.

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