“You need more than that,” Mike said firmly. He guided me along the buffet, pointing out options. “Protein. You’re going to need your strength today.”
The implication in those words made me clench even as heat rushed to my cheeks. Today. When he would finally open me and take my virginity properly. When his huge cock would push inside the place that had been sealed and saved for him.
I selected some pineapple and mango with trembling hands, then let Mike add eggs and bacon to my plate. At the omelet station, the chef smiled at us—a genuine, warm smile that made me wonder if maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe no one actually cared about the marks on my bottom. Maybe this was all in my head.
But then we turned to head back to our table, and I saw her.
A woman, maybe thirty, sitting with what looked like her husband. Her eyes were fixed on me—specifically on my backside. I watched her lean over and whisper something to her companion, who glanced my way with raised eyebrows.
My face went nuclear. They’d seen. They knew. And they were talking about it.
I wanted to run. To drop my plate and flee back to the room and hide under the covers forever. But Mike’s hand was still on my lower back, guiding me steadily toward our table, and I couldn’t do anything but follow.
“Breathe,” he murmured as we sat down. “You’re doing beautifully.”
Was I, though? I stared down at my plate as I forced myself to take a bite of the bacon that even my current distress didn’t keep me from recognizing as perfectly crisped.
“I want you to think about the look on that woman’s face,” Mike said quietly.
His voice had an intensity that made me look up curiously into his eyes, my forehead furrowing as I tried to figure out what he meant. I saw it, in my mind’s eye, the expression I had taken for pure disgust. But had it been that, or had that been what I had expected to see?
“She’s envious,” Mike said in a level, utterly factual tone. “She wishes she had what you have.”
CHAPTER 27
Laura
The idea seemed to explode into my brain. I stared at Mike, trying to process what he’d just said. Envious? The woman who had been whispering to her husband about my welted bottom wasenvious?
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
Mike’s eyes held mine with that steady intensity that always made me feel seen in a way that seemed both terrifying and thrilling. “She sees a young woman who belongs to a man confident enough to mark her. To display her. She sees submission that she probably craves but has never experienced. Or maybe she had it once and lost it.”
I glanced back toward the woman’s table, my heart hammering. She was still looking in our direction, but her expression wasn’t what I’d thought. There was something wistful in it now, almost hungry. Her husband was absorbed in his phone, completely ignoring her.
“She’s wondering what it would feel like,” Mike continued quietly, “to be taken in hand the way you are. To be disciplined when she needs it. To belong to someone who knows how to use her properly.”
My pussy clenched hard. I actually had to grip the edge of the table. Was that possible? Could other women want this? Could they look at my marked bottom and feel desire instead of disgust?
“You’re not shameful, Laura,” Mike said, reaching across to take my hand. “You’re exceptional. Most women never have the courage to embrace what they need. But you’re learning to. And that’s beautiful.”
I felt tears prick my eyes, but for once they weren’t tears of humiliation. Something was shifting inside me, some fundamental understanding trying to take root. Maybe I wasn’t broken. Maybe this dark need that lived in my core wasn’t something wrong with me.
Maybe it was just who I was.
“Eat your breakfast,” Mike said gently. “And keep your head up. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
I forced myself to take another bite, then another. With each mouthful, I became more aware of the other diners around us. A couple at the next table—the woman kept glancing at us, at Mike specifically, with open appreciation. Two men by the pool who nodded respectfully at Mike when he caught their eye. And yes, people looked at me too, but the stares weren’t always condemning. Some seemed curious. Some seemed… interested.
By the time I finished eating, something had loosened in my chest. I wasn’t really comfortable—not by a long shot. My bottom still throbbed with every shift in my seat, and I was acutely aware of how exposed I was in this ridiculous excuse for a swimsuit. But the crushing weight of shame had lifted just slightly.
“Ready for the beach?” Mike asked, standing and offering his hand.
I took it, letting him pull me to my feet. The walk through the resort still made my face burn, but I managed to keep my eyes up this time. We passed the woman from breakfast, and when our eyes met, she gave me a small smile. Not mocking. Not superior. As if she had fought with herself, with her hot, dark places, the way I had, and she wished me well. I nodded back, feeling something warm unfurl in my chest.
The path to the beach wound through lush tropical gardens, and with each step I became more conscious of the ocean breeze against my barely covered skin. Mike’s hand was warm in mine, his thumb tracing small circles on my palm in a way that somehow both soothed and aroused me. When we finally emerged onto the black sand beach, I stopped short.
It was more crowded than I’d expected. Dozens of people lounged on chairs or played in the surf, and my immediate instinct was to turn and run. But Mike’s grip on my hand tightened, holding me in place.
