“Me, too.”

“I’m into littles, but I can do middles, if you’re more comfortable with that.”

She giggled awkwardly. What was he talking about?

“I’ve brought some outfits. Onesies. Baby-doll pajamas. I’ll buy some stuffed toys while I’m here.”

A picture was forming in her mind: a confounding, disturbing image.

“You don’t have to stay in my room while I’m at meetings, but I’d expect you to be there, dressed and ready, when I get back.” Nick gave her a lecherous smile. “If you’re late, you’ll get a nasty spanking.”

The vintage wine turned to vinegar in her mouth. A strangled noise escaped her throat.

“I’m fine to just play for a while,” he said, trying to appease her. “We don’t have to have sex until you’re comfortable.”

She grabbed her glass of water and drank. She was in way over her head here. Her voice, when she spoke, was hoarse.

“I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

Nick’s brow furrowed. “I told you to read my profile carefully. I was very clear about what I’m into.”

She had read his profile. She knew he was a tech guy with a net worth of eight million dollars. She knew he liked to travel, to rock climb, to dine at Michelin-starred restaurants. He appreciated fine wine, adventurous people, and a good sense of humor. What had she missed?

Nick spelled it out for her. “I’m into DDLG.”

“I . . . don’t know what that is.”

“Dominant daddy–little girl.”

“Oh God.” She couldn’t hide her revulsion.

Nick’s expression darkened. “Why did you respond to my message if you weren’t into it?”

“I—I wasn’t familiar with the acronym. I didn’t know.”

“Are you some kind of amateur?” He leaned in, lowered his voice. “Or are you just here for some easy money?”

“No,” she said, and she could feel her face heating. “I must have read your profile too quickly because I was excited to meet you.”

“Yeah, right.” He drained his glass of wine. “You’re one of those, aren’t you?”

One of what?

“You think you can waltz in here in your tight skirt and your cleavage, and I’ll just hand over four hundred dollars.” His voice dripped contempt. “You never had any intention of getting to know me or building something with me. You’re a user. . . . You’re worse than a whore.”

This man, who wanted her to dress up like a little girl and play with stuffed toys for his sexual gratification, dared to insult her this way? She could point out the irony, the hypocrisy, but her words had abandoned her. Humiliation burned her face, clogged her throat, made her eyes liquid. Because she knew, at her core, that Nick was right. She’d never planned to get to know him, sexually or otherwise. There was an honor code in the sugar bowl for which she’d been unprepared.

She stood. “I won’t be insulted like this.”

“I won’t pay you four hundred bucks for nothing.”

“Fine,” she snapped. Though it wasn’t fine. Her next tuition installment was due. Rent was looming. And she knew she could not do this again. Both of her dates had been disasters, leaving her embarrassed, ashamed, hating herself. She didn’t judge Ava or other sugar babies for choosing this lifestyle, but Nat was not cut out for it. She was not a user. And she was not a whore.