Page 16 of Bought and Enjoyed

—Lucas

I stared at his message, my heart racing. This was really happening. I had a date with Lucas Moreau. International football star Lucas Moreau. Who wanted to sponsor me through Selecta Arrangements.

As I got ready for bed, my mind swirled with a mix of excitement and trepidation. I couldn’t help but wonder what Lucas would be like in person. Would he live up to the charming persona his profile and messages portrayed? Or would I find myself in another nightmare situation like with Martin?

I tossed and turned, sleep eluding me as I imagined all the possibilities.

As exhaustion finally began to creep over me, my mind drifted in a haze between waking and sleep, images and sensations swirled together—Martin’s cruel smirk, Lucas’ cool blue eyes, the sting of the spanking still radiating from my tender flesh.

I shifted restlessly, the soft cotton of my oversized sleep shirt brushing against my skin. Without conscious thought, my hand drifted down my body, fingers trailing along my inner thigh. A shiver ran through me as I recalled Martin’s touch there in the car, so degrading and yet…

My fingertips grazed the edge of my panties and I froze, suddenly aware of what I was doing. This was wrong, wasn’t it? To find any hint of arousal in the memory of such a humiliating encounter? And yet…

Almost of their own accord, my fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my underwear. I gasped softly as I touched the bare outer lips, probed into the complicated inner ones, soothed my most private places, finding my sheath already embarrassingly slick with arousal. Shame and desire warred within me as I began to stroke myself, quiet whimpers escaping my lips.

In my mind’s eye, Martin’s sneering face morphed into Lucas’ chiseled features. I imagined his strong hands on my body, firm but not cruel. Would he spank me too? The thought sent an unexpected jolt of heat through my core.

My hips rocked against my hand as I worked myself harder. I moved my fingertips, desperately circling the bud of my swollen clit as I imagined Lucas’ touch. In my fevered fantasy, he seemed stern but not cruel, dominant yet caring. I pictured him bending me over his knee, his large hand coming down on my bare bottom in sharp, stinging slaps. But unlike Martin’s brutal assault, this imaginary spanking felt… right somehow. Like I was being corrected, guided.

“You’ve been a naughty girl, Alice,” fantasy Lucas murmured in my ear. “But I’ll teach you to be good for me.”

A quiet moan escaped my lips as the tension built within me. My back arched off the bed as I chased my release, torn between shame and desperate need.

“That’s it,” Lucas’ voice encouraged in my mind. “Come for me,ma chère. Show me your obedience.”

With a stifled cry, I tumbled over the edge of orgasm. Waves of pleasure crashed over me as my body shuddered through an intense climax. As the aftershocks faded, leaving me trembling and spent, tears pricked at my eyes. What was wrong with me?How could I find pleasure in the thought of being punished, controlled?

I curled onto my side, hugging my pillow tightly as confusion and self-recrimination warred within me. Tomorrow I would meet the real Lucas Moreau. What would he be like? And more important—what was I becoming?

CHAPTER 7

Alice

I had never felt as self-conscious as I did at 6:55 the next evening, looking at my reflection in the mirror. All day, which I’d spent wandering the medieval streets around the Pantheon, I’d tried not to let myself remember either of the things that pressed themselves into my consciousness at least five times a minute: I had a date with Lucas Moreau, and I had played with myself for the very first time, imagining him spanking me.

That’s not you. Nothing about that horrid encounter with Martin the asshole turned you on. Nothing.

Now I confronted the mirror, in nothing but my simple, modest white bralette and gray bikini panties. They didn’t even match. I didn’t own any sets. I had never thought about buying one. Martin’s condescending, almost menacing promise to buy me something more alluring echoed in my mind.

If Lucas Moreau… if he were to raise my skirt the way Martin had, and he saw these unexciting panties, would he decide I wasn’t worth his time and money?

I started to chew on my lip as I gazed at my reflection. I barely noticed as my hand drifted unconsciously down my body. What would Lucas think if he saw me like this? If he put his hands on my half naked body, how would it feel?

Possessive. Definitely possessive. Dangerous, too?

Would those icy blue eyes darken with desire as they roamed over my curves? Would his strong hands grip my hips, pulling me roughly against him?

Almost without my realizing it, my fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my plain gray panties. A soft gasp escaped my lips as I imagined strong hands raising my skirt, blue eyes flashing with lust and dominance. In my mind, Lucas growled low in his throat, aroused by my innocent underwear rather than disappointed. “Such a naughty girl,” fantasy Lucas murmured, “hiding this sweet little cunt under these boring panties. I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

My fingers found the nub in its complex hood, the still-unfamiliar smoothness there bringing a little hitch in my inhaling breath. I circled my clit slowly, again helplessly picturing Lucas bending me over, his large hand coming down in a stinging slap on my bare bottom. Heat gathered below my tummy as I imagined him taking what he wanted, claiming me as his…

With a start, I yanked my hand away, mortified at where my thoughts had wandered. What was wrong with me? This wasn’t like me at all.

Except for last night.I watched my reflection purse her lips and twist them to the side in what I meant as a dismissive gesture, asif to tell myself that one night’s weakness hadn’t changed me on such a fundamental level.

I shook my head to clear the forbidden thoughts and I hurried to put on the little black dress I’d splurged on earlier. The soft fabric clung to my curves in a way that made me feel equal parts daring and nervous.

With trembling fingers, I applied a light dusting of powder to my cheeks, a swipe of mascara to my lashes, and a hint of rosy gloss to my lips. I’d never been one for heavy makeup, preferring a natural look. But tonight, I found myself wishing I had more skills with cosmetics. Maybe then I could transform myself into the kind of glamorous woman who belonged on the arm of an international football star.

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