Page 15 of His Naughty Girl

“That’s fascinating,” I said, a bit surprised to find I meant it.

Dylan’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he delved deeper into the subject. “The new combine uses advanced AI algorithms to optimize its harvesting patterns,” he explained, gesturing animatedly. “It can detect subtle variations in crop density and, like, adjust its speed and cutting height in real-time. It means we can harvest, I don’t know, maybe even thirty percent more efficiently than with the last model.”

I realized suddenly how far I’d leaned forward, so captivated by Dylan’s words that I’d lost track of my posture. The tension that had knotted my shoulders began to ease as I lost myself in his vivid description.

“But that’s not all,” Dylan said, glancing over at Devin as if to confirm that his boss didn’t mind him going on about this stuff. Devin nodded approvingly, and Dylan went on, his voice rich with excitement. “It’s got these onboard sensors that analyze soil composition and moisture levels, and they even detect early signs of pest infestations or nutrient deficiencies. It’s like having a team of scientists working around the clock, providing us with data we can use to optimize our crop yields for years to come.”

As Dylan spoke, I could almost see the gleaming machine in my mind’s eye—a behemoth of steel and circuitry, rolling through endless fields of golden wheat. I imagined the whir of its processors, the constant stream of data flowing through itssystems, all working in harmony to bring food to tables across the country.

Part of me realized my newfound interest in agriculture must come from how handsome Dylan was and how eager I was to keep myself from thinking about what would happen after dinner. Another part thought,Well, it really is pretty interesting, though, right?

“Of course,” Dylan added with a self-deprecating chuckle, “I’m probably boring you with all these technical details. I tend to get carried away when it comes to?—”

“No!” I exclaimed, my voice ringing out louder than I’d intended in my eagerness. I sounded a little desperate even to myself, but I really did want to hear everything Dylan had to say. I continued, my mouth on some kind of automatic pilot, “I mean, you’re not boring me at all. I can tell how important this is, not just for your farm but for the future of agriculture as a whole. It’s, you know, really cool, and I…”

As I babbled on, I suddenly realized I’d made a mistake. I’d spoken out of turn, interrupting Dylan and breaking the rule of silence Lydia had warned me about. The room fell deathly quiet, and I felt the weight of everyone’s stares once again.

Greta’s sharp voice cut through the silence like a knife. “Andrea,” she scolded, her tone icy, “we do not interrupt when others are speaking. It’s rude and unbecoming of a proper young lady.”

I felt my face flame with embarrassment, my earlier excitement evaporating in an instant. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my eyes fixed firmly on my plate. “I didn’t mean to?—”

“I’m going to have to spank you a little longer for that outburst, honey,” Devin’s deep voice rumbled from the head of the table. “Interruptions will not be tolerated in this household.”

My heart plummeted at his words. The spanking that awaited me after dinner suddenly loomed larger in my mind even than it had on the bus, when I’d heard Officer Porter’s words,the bare-bottom kind, on autoplay in my brain. Terror gripped me. I’d managed to make my punishment worse before it had even begun.

“It’s alright,” Dylan interjected quickly, his voice gentle. “I appreciate Andrea’s enthusiasm. It’s refreshing to see someone take an interest.”

Dylan’s kind words brought a little surge of warmth to my chest, but they did nothing to ease the dread that had settled in my stomach like a lead weight. I stared down at my plate, barely seeing the half-eaten chicken and vegetables through the tears that welled up in my eyes. A single droplet escaped, sliding down my cheek and splashing onto the white tablecloth.

The room fell silent, the only sound the soft clink of silverware as the others continued eating. I could feel their eyes on me, a mixture of pity and curiosity that made my skin crawl. My shoulders shook with suppressed sobs as I desperately tried to regain control of my emotions.

“Oh, honey,” Greta’s voice, surprisingly gentle, broke the silence. I looked up, blinking away tears to see her expression had softened, her earlier sternness replaced by something almost maternal. “It’s just a spanking, not the end of the world. We’ve all been there before.”

Her words, meant to be comforting, only served to heighten my distress. Just a spanking? The casual way she said it, as if it were a normal, everyday occurrence, made my stomach churn. In my world—my old world—spankings were something from the history books, not a real punishment doled out to adult women.

Greta turned to Lila and Lydia, her tone brisk once more. “Girls, clear the table now. And fetch dessert from the kitchen.”

Lila and Lydia sprang into action. They gathered the plates and serving dishes quickly, stacking them carefully before heading to the kitchen.

As they worked, I couldn’t help but marvel at their composure. How many times had they sat through dinners like this, knowing that afterward, one of them would be bent over a knee for punishment? The thought made me shudder, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

Devin’s deep voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Andrea,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Usually, a girl who’s going to be spanked doesn’t get dessert.”

I looked up at him, my vision blurry with unshed tears. His blue eyes met mine, and I saw a flicker of something—was it sympathy?—in their depths.

“But,” he continued, his voice softening slightly, “since it’s your first night here, and you’re still adjusting, I suppose we can make an exception. You can have some dessert tonight, if you’d like.”

His words should have been a relief, a small kindness in the face of my impending punishment. Instead, they only served to remind me of how much my life had changed in the span of a day.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. “I… I don’t want any dessert,” I said, aiming for a neutral, detached tone but hearing the slight quaver in my words. “Thank you.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d made another terrible mistake. Devin’s blue eyes hardened, his jaw clenching visibly. The other men exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of surprise and disapproval.

Greta’s sharp intake of breath cut through the silence. “Andrea,” she said, her voice low and warning. “Mr. Weathers has offered you a kindness. It’s not your place to refuse.”

The full weight of my error crashed down upon me. In my desperate attempt to assert some small measure of control, I’d only managed to dig myself deeper. My heart raced, pounding so hard I was sure everyone at the table must be able to hear it.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, my earlier attempt at coolness evaporating like mist in the summer sun. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… I mean, I’d love some dessert. Thank you. Thank you, sir.” The words tumbled out in a panicked rush, my voice rising in pitch with each syllable.

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