Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
My heart began to race, pounding so hard I was certain he must be able to hear it across the small table.
“What exactly does that mean?” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
Pierre’s eyes never left mine as he replied, “It means I’m prepared to offer you a simple arrangement to start. I will give you a week’s allowance if you’ll give me a night. If that leads to me paying the First Intimacy Premium, as Selecta so delicately calls it, so be it—but that won’t be my principal motivation.”
“A night?” I repeated, my mind racing with implications, with images that made me burn with equal parts shame and desire. A night on which he might take my virginity—or might not?
“Yes, Audrey. One night in which I will introduce you to the principles of the New Modesty in a very… practical manner.” His lips curved into a smile that held no humor, only purpose. “I think you need to experience it rather than simply discuss it. Theory rarely illuminates as well as practice.”
My eyes went wide, and I felt a fluttering panic in my chest that somehow coexisted with the molten heat pooling between my legs. Pierre noted my expression and leaned forward slightly.
“I want to be certain you understand that Selecta’s monitoring services would never let me force you into anything you didn’t want,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “Every Selecta apartment is equipped with safety protocols. A simple voice command would summon assistance immediately.”
I hadn’t known that, and the information provided a strange sort of comfort even as it reinforced the reality of what I was considering.
“You will be safe from me, Audrey,” Pierre continued, reaching across the table to lightly touch my hand. The contact sent electricity racing up my arm. “The question is whether you’ll be safe from your own needs.”
I sat frozen as Pierre signaled for the check. The café suddenly felt too warm, the air too thick to breathe properly. I watched in a daze as he pulled out a sleek leather wallet and placed several large bills on the table—far more than our coffees had cost. The waitress’s eyes widened at the extravagant tip, and she thanked him profusely in rapid French.
Pierre stood, buttoning his impeccable gray suit jacket with a single fluid motion. He looked down at me, his hazel eyes unreadable.
“You have my offer, Audrey,” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You can confirm my access through the SA app. I’ll receive the notification immediately.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My mind raced with objections, protests, questions—yet my voice failed me completely.
“If you grant me access,” he continued, seemingly untroubled by my silence, “I will authorize the transfer of a week’s allowance to your account. Eight thousand euros.”
The sum made me blink in surprise. Eight thousand euros for a single night? The amount was staggering—enough to live on for months if I were careful.
“Should you decide to proceed,” Pierre said, adjusting his cuffs with precise movements, “I will arrive at your apartment at eight o’clock this evening. You are to wear the white babydoll nightgown from your photo session, with the matching thong underneath. Nothing else.”
Heat flooded my face at his specific instructions, at the memory of those humiliating photographs.
“If I find you wearing anything else,” he added, his voice dropping to a register that sent shivers down my spine, “I will punish you. Do you understand?”
I managed a tiny nod, unable to meet his gaze.
“Good. I hope to see you this evening, Audrey.” With that, Pierre turned and walked out of the café, his movements graceful and controlled, like those of a predator confident in its power.
I remained seated, my coffee long forgotten, my hands trembling slightly in my lap. The other patrons continued their conversations around me, unaware of the life-altering exchange that had just taken place at my table.
After several minutes, I gathered my purse and stood on unsteady legs. The waitress caught my eye and smiled knowingly, as if she’d witnessed such scenes before—perhaps she had, in this city where Selecta’s influence seemed to reach everywhere.
I stepped out into the warm afternoon sunshine, blinking against its brightness. The Marais bustled with activity—tourists snapping photos, locals hurrying about their business, couples strolling hand in hand. None of them knew or cared about my internal struggle, about the choice that loomed before me.
There’s no way I’m going to do this, I told myself firmly as I walked toward my apartment. The very idea was absurd. Granting a stranger access to my home? Agreeing to wear… that. or… or be punished?
There’s no way.
CHAPTER 12
Audrey
I repeated the mantra all the way back to my apartment, my steps quickening with each block as if I could outrun the heat building between my legs, the shameful excitement Pierre’s words had kindled.