Realizing he’s serious, I quickly reply.
“Yes, Sir.”
He smiles, a thoroughly pleased look passing over the chiseled features of his face.
“Good girl. That’s averygood girl.”
My mouth falls open, I feel the heat of a flush as it peppers my cheeks. I’ve read a million romance books, have heard that line in my head more times than I can count, but this is a first for me. I told myself that if a man in real life ever dared to say that to me, that I would laugh in his face. Yet here I am, with goosebumps on my arms. Willing and eager to fall on my knees and do anything he asks of me.
“Thank you,” I say without thinking.
My eyes widen at the sound of my own voice. What the hell is wrong with me? Did I justthankhim for calling me a good girl? I know I really like him, but I must have lost my damn mind.
“Thank you,Sir,”he corrects, his southern accent suddenly very thick.
It’s then that I know that this isn’t some sort of flirty, playful thing. Sutton is deadly serious. Is he a Dom? I have no idea, but my curiosity is getting the better of me. I want to see where this goes, at least for the rest of our date. I can play along for a couple of hours. “Do it for the plot,”as my roommate Samalways encourages.
“Thank you,Sir,”I reply, mimicking his accent.
Narrowing his eyes at my flippant reply, his smirk widens in stark contrast. I can’t tell if I’ve annoyed him or turned him on. Honestly? I hope a little of both.
“Oh, careful Princess, you don’t want me to treat you like a brat. I want to reward you tonight, not punish you. Can you promise me that you will be respectful?”
Nodding a reply, I lick my lips nervously before answering.
“Yes, Sir. I promise to be respectful.”
An easy smile returns to his handsome face, his rigid body language relaxes. My stomach fills with butterflies as he starts to undress me with his hungry gaze. I’ve clearly pleased him with my answer, I find myself smiling along with him. I don’t understand why, but it makes me happy that I’ve made him happy. It’s a little unsettling, but also oddly thrilling.
Glancing behind me, he motions with his chin at what I assume is the waiter.
“Oh, heads up, Princess. I hope you’re hungry. I wasn’t sure what you would be craving so I ordered all your favorite things.”
Looking over my shoulder, a tiny gasp leaves my mouth as I see two waiters carrying trays filled with food. Concern immediately washes over me. Our tiny table isn’t big enough forevery plate, nor is my stomach. This is a crazy amount of food.
“Pick what you want, and I’ll have the rest taken to the women’s center.”
Whipping my head back to him, my heart skips a beat.Thisis exactly why I wanted to meet him, I need to know if his public persona is real. I’ve combed through dozens of news articles, interviews, and social media posts about Sutton Douglas. Everything I found spoke nothing but praise, saying essentially the same thing. That he’s an upstanding citizen of Dallas, known for his philanthropy to the city’s less than fortunate. He runs over a dozen charities, including one that serves fifteen food pantries. He also works very closely with the hospitals around Dallas. Last year he paid every medical bill of every transplant recipient. My favorite quote read,“God wouldn’t want them to start their second life burdened by a debt caused by the broken American Healthcare System. It’s my honor and privilege to wipe their slates clean.”
Can you believe that? An honest gentleman with a heart of gold? On paper, he seems too good to be true. I thought it was a little odd that someone with so much wealth, status, and power doesn’t seem to have any skeletons in his closet. But maybe that is the truth? He sure seems genuine to me. He might be a little kinky, but we all have our quirks, right?
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re welcome, Princess. Now don’t skimp because you don’t want me to watch you eat. I want you to enjoy yourself,is that understood?”
Hesitating for a moment, I try to override the part of my brain that only wants to have soup and water. My ex-boyfriend used to oink like a pig every time I ordered a cheeseburger, I hate that it left an indelible mark.
“I understand, Sir,” I reply.
Nodding his head, he casually leans back in his chair. Studying me with an intense gaze, he patiently waits for me to make my selections.
Swallowing hard, I look over the plates of food. I’m almost overwhelmed by my options, and shocked that my favorite entrees are indeed on the trays. How did he find out what I like to eat? I’m pretty sure I only told him that I like Texas bar-b-que.
Stepping closer to my chair, one of the waiters catches my attention. They both smile at me, but I know they want me to hurry. My anxiety spikes from the pressure, I begin to point randomly. Shrimp cocktail, a ribeye steak with a loaded baked potato, Caesar salad, truffle fries, and birria tacos. It’s more food than I’ve probably eaten all week.
Turning his attention to the waiters, Sutton dismisses them as soon as they are done placing the plates on our table. Picking up his drink, he brings the crystal glass to his lips.
“You’ve made some good choices, Princess. Now I want you to eat until you're nearly satisfied, and not a morsel more.Then I’ll have them bring out dessert.”
