Punishment

"No... No, no, sir, you've got it all wrong," I stutter, my fingers moving fast against the screen of his phone as I type in my number. After this, I go to him and extend the phone to him, but he doesn't accept it and just watches me. His intense scrutiny makes me tremble.

I know he saw me watching him. I'm lying about it, but he clearly saw me. What does he plan to do to me? Since he is a man who would punish his own son for going against his words, does it mean he'll also punish me for watching him stroke himself?

The thought adds to my fears, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. After a while, I lift my gaze to him. "Will you... punish me?" I ask, my eyes gazing into his.

He tilts his head at the question and silently watches me for a few seconds before taking a step toward me, but I step back immediately.

"Do you want to be punished? I'm quite good at meting out punishments to disobedient kids," he says, his voice sounding inviting and terrifying at the same time.

I take another step back, my grip tightening around his phone as I admit my mistake. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have looked at you," I say regretfully.

Then I ask, "How do you intend to punish me?"

His brows narrow as he contemplates the question, and then he takes the phone from me. He stares at it for a few seconds before bringing his gaze back to me.

"I just sent you a text. When you get home, be sure to respond to me," he orders.

I nod, my heart racing faster than a supercar as I start to move toward the door. I'm about to open it when he speaks.

"Wait!"

I halt, but I don't turn to look at him even as I feel him approaching.

He gets to me, and I feel his body heat as he stands very close. He reveals a hidden security system on the door, and as he starts to type in a password, I can't help but become curious, so I lift my head. When I look at him, I see him gazing down at me, a smirk on his face.

I peel my eyes away from him just as the door unlocks, and I step out.

"Thank y-you," I whisper before rushing out of the house like my feet are on fire.

***

The first thing I do when I enter my room is grab my phone. I open my text messages and see Mr. Darian's message among the others.

I scroll to his first message.

"Save my number," it reads, followed by the pictures we took.

I see only four of them, and this confuses me a lot. We took up to nine pictures; why did he send just these four?

I should ask him.

"Four pictures? Where are the rest of the pictures?" After sending the text, I bite my nail—a dirty habit I developed in elementary school—as I wait for his response.

It comes within seconds.

"They're not for the public's eyes," the text says.

Huh.

Not for the public's eyes? What public? I only planned to send them to Beatrice and Rory.

"I'm not posting them on my wall, just sending them to Rory and his girlfriend," I type in my response, and I wait for his reply.

"Doesn't change anything," he replies.

Still confused, I type, "Then why did you make us take those really intimate photos if you don't plan to use them?" I send the message.

None of those bed-scene pictures is here. He didn't send them either. Even the ones where he had his head on my chest.

Fuck. That picture is the hottest for me.

"I'll send them only if you promise not to show them to a third party," he texts.

I bring my nail to my mouth again, and as I stare at my screen, I can't come up with a reply.

Why doesn't he want others to see them? Is he perhaps trying to preserve his image?

Maybe...

That has to be it. I'll ask.

"Are you scared of what the townspeople will say if they see those pictures?" I send the message.

His reply comes very quickly. "Fuck no! Why would I care about some loser's opinion? I just don't want people staring at what's mine." The tone of his message is intense, and it triggers a strange feeling within me.

What's mine?

Is he... referring to me?

I feel my cheeks heating up. I'm about to ask him what he meant by that when I remember our earlier conversation. We're supposed to date for one month.

Oh yes. I almost forgot about that part.

Is that why he referred to me as his?

My fingers tingle as I think of a proper reply. I'm still trying to figure something out when his text comes in again.

"Did you enjoy the little show you watched in the...?" I am still reading the message when the front door starts to open.

I drop my phone on the bed and go to the sitting room. Mom walks into the house, looking exhausted.

She works at the only hotel in our small town as one of their cooks, and she's often drained after work.

"You're back," I say, smiling at her.

"Oh, Amelia, why aren't you in bed?" She asks, dropping her bag on the floor and collapsing onto the three-seater.

I go to her and start to massage her feet; she stands for long hours while working, so her feet are always swollen by the time she gets home. Since the hotel is the only one in town, it's always busy, and it also has an outdoor restaurant. The only reason Mom still works there is that she likes the pay and because there are no jobs around here.

We live in a tiny town in a part of North America; I doubt the world even knows we exist.

And as for me, I work multiple part-time jobs while slowly saving up for college. It's my dream to go to college. I love school, and I graduated as the top student, so why shouldn't I go further? While others stop their education after high school, it's always been my dream to further mine, and my mom shares the same dream. It's the reason she won't give up on her job.

My sweet mom.

After she falls asleep on the three-seater, I cover her with a duvet and return to my room. Without checking my chat with Mr. Darian, I go to bed.

But the next morning, I quickly realize how grave a mistake I made when I open my texts and see multiple messages from him.

With the last one explicitly describing how intensely and harshly I'll be punished for being a bad girl.