“Miss?” The waitress in the cute yellow dress and little white apron gives me an impatient, inquisitive look.

She knows. Shit. She knows.

I look up from my seat in the booth that I share with Caine and give her the most normal smile I can muster. My index finger lands on a random item on the menu.

“This one,” I say.

“The pancake? Sorry, but breakfast is only until eleven,” she says, pointing to the big-ass sign by the entrance of the diner. I must’ve missed that. It’s hard to focus with the soft rumbling on my clit. My brain is too overloaded with pleasurable sensations to think.

“Right. This one, then.” I point at something on a different page of the menu. As long as it’s not a breakfast item. As long as it makes her leave.

“Okay,” she says with smooth, practiced friendliness. She repeats our order and waits for a nod from Caine before she leaves.

I remember being her, waiting on tables to pay the bills. Maybe she’s also struggling through school at the same time, or maybe she has some other job. Maybe she has family members to take care of.

I wonder if she thinks her job is hard. It’s definitely unglamorous, and it wears on you, dealing with difficult diners all day, many of whom stiff you on the tips.

I actually miss it, now that I’m sitting here being served, with a gorgeous, wealthy, successful older man sitting across the table from me, smiling at me.

The ironic thing is, maybe that waitress envies me. It’s not about me. I’m not unattractive, but I’m also not pretty enough for people to envy me for my looks. I’m not wearing anything flashy either; just a pair of skinny jeans and a black shirt.

It’s Caine. He stands out wherever he goes, with the Armani suit on his tall, solid frame, the shiny Rolex around his wrist, and the Mercedes.

It’s not that living with him has desensitized me to his good looks. It’s just that this is the first time I’m outside with him, and it’s freaking me out.

Women check him out when they think their boyfriends aren’t looking, then they size me up and give me the evil eye. Apparently, they find me unsatisfactory.

Or maybe they know.

Caine’s looking at me with victory gleaming in his blue eyes. He gives me a cocky smirk. He definitely knows. He’s the one who made me wear this thing in my panties. My prison guard, my oppressor, my tyrant.

I hope he’s the only one who knows.

He gave them to me before leaving the apartment: a pair of panties with a small vibrator at the crotch. When I emerged from my room with my duffel bag, he casually handed them to me and told me to wear them.

His tone of voice and his stern look told me it wasn’t a request. It was an order. And I had been paid to obey.

At least there’s dignity in the time-tested profession of waiting tables.

Even if the customers yell at you, curse at you, fondle you, you can politely tell them to fuck off and a good manager would have your back. Worst case scenario, the trouble-makers would be out of your hair in about an hour, at the most.

At least a waitress can’t be required to wear panties with a vibrating crotch.

I mean, yes, the grass is always greener on the other side. But next time I’d rather be someone else, I’ll remind myself that at least I don’t have a vibrator pressed right up against my clit in public.

I hardly taste the food. I just half-heartedly chew it and let it slide down my throat, spoonful by spoonful.

“Here you go, baby” Caine holds his fork up to my mouth, offering me a bite-sized chunk of his steak. I give him a blank stare and take it in my mouth.

This is torture, and Caine is enjoying it. I can tell by the mean curl of his lips when he asks the waitress yet another question to keep her at the table longer, or the way he watches me as he slips his hand into his pocket to turn up the vibration with the remote. He always does it when we’re around people, too. It’s like he can sense when I’m struggling, and decides to up the ante at that exact moment.

Like right now. I hold on to the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white. I grit my teeth, clench my jaw. I give Caine a look to tell him to cut it off, but the cocky dominance in his eyes only gets me hotter.

Come. He moves his lips without making any sound so nobody else can hear.

He's ordering me to come like a dog and, Jesus, I should be furious, but I can't get angry with the buzzing in my clit distracting me. He smirks, his eyes making it clear that I’m his possession, his to order and command. And just like that, without even touching me, he pushes me over the edge.

I suck in my lips and press them together until they hurt, holding on until the waves of climax pass. At the end, I’m panting, my face flushed from the orgasm—my first public orgasm.

I look around me and sigh with relief. Nobody’s paying attention to me. At least I didn't accidentally recreate that restaurant scene from When Harry Meets Sally.

“Let’s go, my little flower.” Caine puts his wallet back in his pocket, stands up, and offers me his hand, making the women who have been watching us wet their panties at this display of chivalry.

My panties are wet, too. My vibrating panties, just so we’re clear. I know I’ve mentioned it a few times already, but I feel like I can’t stress that enough.

Despite my annoyance, I need that little bit of extra support from Caine’s hand. When I put my hand in his, the electricity in his touch, combined with the electronic stimulation on my clit, makes me almost stumble.

Caine puts a steadying hand on my back, sending a thrill up and down my spine. He gives me a sweet smile. He doesn’t care what people think, but he knows I do, and he’s deliberately doing this to rile me up.

After spending more than one week with Caine, I’ve finally figured out just how much he enjoys pushing my buttons.

He didn’t choose me because I’m special, or because I’m pretty, or because I’m smart. He chose me because he can push me around just for his own amusement; he knows how important the money is to me, how desperately I need it.

Somehow, we manage to get back to the showy car.

“Where are we going?” I ask once we’re both seated.

“We’re already here,” he says with an uncharacteristically cheerful smile on his face.

“The diner?”

“No, kitten,” he says dismissively, as if I said something ridiculous, even though he hasn’t told me anything the whole drive. We’ve just been sitting silently as the high-end audio system delivers the crispest, smoothest jazz I’ve ever heard. “I mean this town. Ashbourne.”

* * *

“Who was that woman?” I sit on the bed beside him.

Caine has driven me all over town without telling me anything. After the diner, his mood gradually changed for the worse, after we stopped at a normal-looking house and the local high school.

When he walked out of the school, there was a woman with him. A stunning brunette with big doe eyes. She seemed happy to see him. She was smiling the whole time.

As soon as we got back to the hotel room, I changed back to my regular, non-vibrating panties. I didn't ask Caine, but the vibrator had been motionless for hours. I bet he got bored and forgot all about it. Besides, there's no point in using it now that we're on our own and he can't humiliate me in front of strangers.

“Jessica Lake,” he says. He doesn't even turn to look at me. Lines appear on his forehead and the bridge of his nose as he focuses on the screen of his phone and busily taps on it with both thumbs.

I roll my eyes. A name doesn't tell me anything about who she is. ”A friend?”

“Not really. That was business.”

Business. I wonder what kind of business he means. Technically, our relationship is business.

I wonder if that woman also used to be Caine's pet. Maybe one day, when I’m settled in my new life, Caine will pay me a visit and I’ll be happy to see him. That's hard to imagine, but stranger things have happened.

“Is she a teacher?”

“Why are you so interested in her, kitten?” He finally looks at me, his eyes penetrating. He's looking at me like I’m a puzzle to be solved. His puzzle. Every little piece of me his. “If I didn't know you better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” I look away.

To be honest, I don't know what it is about her that gets me so curious. Seeing her with Caine earlier sent a jolt of ice-cold shock through my system. I’d never seen him on such friendly terms with anyone before.

Granted, I’d only ever seen him at his office and the hospital, before today—environments where interactions naturally take on a formal tone. I guess it reminded me how little I know of this man who has paid me an outrageous amount of money for my virginity.

Caine reaches into his jacket pocket. He gives me a strange look and leans closer, staring at me.

“Did you take off the panties I gave you?” Caine raises one threatening eyebrow.

“Yes,” I say, anxiety snaking its tendrils around my body. “I didn't think it was a big deal.”

“It's not a big deal if I say it's not a big deal. And I didn't say it wasn't a big deal.” Caine's voice is smooth and silky, but the danger in it is real. He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls me closer until our eyes are only inches apart, forcing a surprised gasp out of me.

“You’ve been bad today, kitten. First you made a phone call without my permission, then you took off my gift, also without my permission.”

“A gift? It was a sex toy!” I protest.

“Which I gave to you. To wear.” He pulls my hair until it hurts, and I whimper. He stares me down until my eyelids flutter halfway shut. “It's time for your punishment.”

Caine pulls me by the hair until I’m lying on his lap with my belly over his thighs. He unbuttons my jeans and yanks them down, along with my panties.

This happens so quickly I’m still struggling to process what's happening, when suddenly my ass is on fire. I cry out, as much from the pain as from the shock.

Caine has just spanked me!

The contract did mention spanking, and I agreed to it. But I thought it was going to be fun and sexy, not painful and humiliating like this.

Thwack! The sound of Caine's palm landing on my ass reverberates throughout the hotel room.

“Maybe next time you’ll remember to ask me,” he says.

Thwack! Thwack! The sounds of the spanking and my own cries meld into one and I lose count.

Then, just when all I can feel is pain, Caine stops. Only my heavy breathing is heard. I gasp when his fingers make contact with my ass cheeks, light as a feather this time.

To my surprise, it doesn't feel bad. In fact, my skin, sensitive from the spanking, feels everything more intensely. It's like Caine's touch, already intoxicating on its own, has been magnified.

Caine rubs my ass with his palm, running his fingers over my folds every once in a while. Quickly, my pain turns into pleasure and my cries turn into moans. I feel Caine growing hard in his pants, his erection pressing menacingly into my belly.

Is he going to finally fuck me now, take my virginity when I’m at my most vulnerable?

He says he wants me to beg for it, but what if he's getting impatient? Or worse, what if I will actually beg him, only minutes from now? He’s already made my body do many things I didn't think I’d do, so what's another one?

He's dangerous. I know that. And yet, like I’m hypnotized, I stay. I don't know why. I can say the safe word, but I don't.

Caine pushes me off his lap and holds me up by my hair, until I’m kneeling on the floor, the bulge in his pants right in front of my face. Does he want me to give him a blowjob? Caine pulls me away just when my mouth starts to salivate at the thought.

He kicks my thighs apart and pulls his foot up until his shiny Italian leather shoe is pressed right up against my pussy. I gasp when he starts to move his foot rhythmically. I look up into his eyes. Does he really expect me to…?

Yes, he does, I realize as I see the darkness in his eyes, hear the cruelty in his chuckle.  He wants me to…

He pulls my shirt up, shoves his hand inside my bra cup, and roughly kneads my breast. His finds my nipple, then rolls it between his thumb and forefinger.

This is wrong. This is so wrong, yet my arousal is building up. Or maybe it's exactly because this is wrong that I’m so turned on.

“You know you want it, kitten,” Caine says, teasing me, as he continues to rub me with the top of his shoe.

He's right. There's something perverse within me. There must be. Because this is making me so mad with desire I don't even care anymore if it's right or wrong.

I give in. I turn off my brain and let the rest of my body do what it instinctively knows to do. My hips rock, rubbing my clit against the leather.

“Good girl,” Caine says. He strokes my hair gently, almost lovingly. “You’re being a very good girl.”

With a loud, sharp intake of air, I reach my climax. My whole body tenses, then shudders uncontrollably as I hold on to Caine's leg, the fabric of his designer suit pants soft on my bare belly.

When I finally regain the presence of mind to remember where I am, I look up into Caine's eyes, only to see a pair of cold blue eyes staring back at me.

“Stay here. I need some fresh air.” With that, Caine gets up as I crumple onto the carpeted hotel floor.

I don't want him to leave, and I realize why when Caine walks out the door and it finally closes with a soft click.

Now I’m all alone in this hotel room, with only my shame as company.

I humiliated myself in front of a man I barely know, just because he paid me to.

What does that make me?