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“I don’t have any way to pay for it.”
“I ordered your credit card. Hopefully, it will be here by the end of the week, but I’ll leave you mine to use in the meantime. I don’t want you to worry about the cost. In fact, the more expensive—the better.”
That was not at all how she rolled, and she wasn’t sure if she could pull the trigger on that request. Her inclination was always to hit the clearance rack, but she knew someone who might be able to help her spend his money.
Ugh. His money—not hers.
“Can I pay for dinner with Amy, too?”
She had to ask if she could buy her friend dinner.
“Of course.”
His answer was expected, and in his defense, he’d been more than willing to let her spend money. She just hated having to rely on anyone. Ever since “the incident in San Francisco”—as she liked to refer to it as, she’d vowed she’d never have to rely on anyone for anything again.
She laid her head against his shoulder and murmured, “Thank you.” Then added, “Sir.”
It was not her nature to be submissive, but somehow when her clothes came off, it became a lot easier.
Her fingers trailed down his chest, past his stomach, and slid under the waistband of his boxer briefs, where she found him already rock-hard.
Pressing her bare tits against his side, she breathed into his ear, “Is there any way I can work off my punishment tonight, Sir?”
She leaned back to look at him.
He considered her for a moment, then said, “No,” as he pushed his underwear down his thighs. “But you can suck my cock while I lick your pussy.”
He drove a hard bargain.
****
Utah
She slept like the dead and didn’t wake up once until her smart watch buzzed at six-thirty.
Liam was nowhere to be found when she went downstairs, but his credit card was on the island next to a note.
Good morning, little bee.
You looked so peaceful while you were sleeping; I didn’t want to disturb you.
Make sure you have breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.
Phoebe has been fed, so don’t let her try to fool you otherwise.
Here’s my credit card. You have no budget, get whatever you want, and enjoy a nice dinner with your friend.
Text me before you leave for work and drive carefully.
—Liam
She wished she could stay mad at him, but even with her looming unknown—and, in her opinion, unjust—punishment, he was so stinking thoughtful that she couldn’t.
And, she conceded, she may deserve a little punishment with her pizza stunt. And, she had to admit, she had been purposefully poking the bear with her “I’m not your girlfriend” comments.
Perhaps it was because she felt safe doing so.
Or maybe she was a masochist. The jury was still out.
