“Have you ever worn a collar?” she says.

“Huh? A collar?” I just read about the significance of collars in Lukas’ book, but for some reason my gut tells me to play dumb.

“You know, a master has his submissive wear a collar.” She seems bored now, like she just wants to get this over with.

I laugh. “Oh, of course. I’ve seen those. Naturally. No, I’ve never worn one of those. Chad . . . my boyfriend . . . was very traditional.”

“Were you punished as a child?”

“Of course. Who wasn’t?”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How were you punished?”

“Well . . . I got yelled at a lot.”

“Were you ever spanked?”

“No, actually, I wasn’t. My dad was . . . is . . . very nice. Tame, in fact. Too tame. My mom is passive aggressive. She manipulates. I wouldn’t call it punishment. She always made me feel bad.”

“Feel bad how?”

“She made me think everything was my fault. Why can’t you be more like Ashley? Why can’t you be more like Addison? What is wrong with you? I grew up thinking there was something wrong with me.”

“Who are Addison and Ashley?”

“My perfect prim and proper older sisters.”

I suddenly realize I’m sharing too much. An alarm bell goes off in my head and I find myself standing up.

“I have to go,” I say. I don’t actually say it, but the words just fall out of my mouth. Dammit, Abigail, don’t run!

“We’re almost done,” says Erica. “It’s really okay.”

I have no clue what’s wrong with me, but all I know is I’ve got to get the fuck out of here. “No, I seriously have to go. Thanks and all. Bye.”

“If you go out that door, you cannot reapply.”

I pause at that, but the urge to leave is overwhelming. I nearly leap out the door into a sea of pounding rain, flashes of lightning exploding all around me.

I feel like I’m underwater as I round the corner to the bus stop. Luckily, mine is right there and I jump on board. Even though I was only exposed to the rain for a few moments, I’m soaked and dripping.

Oh God, that was weird.

Why did I run?

I was curious. I was getting closer to finding Lukas Thorn. Why the fuck did I run?

What’s wrong with me? What makes me think a man like him would be interested in a blonde plain Jane like me anyway?

On the ride back to Karissa’s, my thoughts drift back to the plane. Back to that orgasm in the sky. Back to those eyes behind the Ray-Bans. My breathing goes shallow and my heart beats faster. I uncross and re-cross my legs in the tiny uncomfortable window seat, biting my nail and glancing out at the drenching rain.

I get a flash of a video I saw on one of those kink sites once. It was a girl tied up by ropes with her hands behind her back and a ball gag in her mouth. She’s bouncing up and down on a big black dildo sticking up from the floor. I remember staring transfixed as I watched it moving in and out of her ass as a man pulls on a chain resting between two clamps attached to her nipples.

In my mind, I see Lukas Thorn as the man. I feel my face flush. A droplet of sweat forms on my upper lip.

The old Latina lady sitting next to me turns and gives me a look. She can tell I’m thinking dirty thoughts just like the lady on the plane, can’t she? World is so full of fucking prudes! I turn back to the window, watching the luxury condos give way to low cinderblock houses with tile roofs and iron grates as the rain subsides.

What fascinated me so much about the kinky girl in the video was how much she was enjoying it. I mean, I felt her. She was in some kind of blissful state, her eyes rolling into her head as she grunted with pleasure at being treated like a piece of dirt.

I mean, I’m all for feminist values. Women are equal to men in every way. I want to do great things in life (not that I’ve figured out what they are yet), and nobody should ever tell me I can’t.

So I argued with myself for a long time over what it was about that video that made me so horny. Because that girl was treated like pond scum. But she loved it. And I loved watching it. And secretly . . . deep down . . . I wanted to be her.

What the fuck?

Dammit, I’m a goddamned horny mess again. I should have stayed at the school. Why did I chicken out? Now I can’t go back, according to what Erica said.

As the bus draws near to Karissa’s, I ponder how I’m going to keep my boutique bag with my new dress from getting soaked because I forgot my damned umbrella.

But, lo and behold, the sky miraculously clears as the bus pulls up to the intersection that’s two blocks away from Karissa’s. Florida is weird like that. Back home, when it rains it stays . . . and takes forever to clear up. Here everything happens fast.

Funny thing is that smell that was so pungent when I first arrived has diminished a little. Or is it that I’m just so used to it now that I don’t notice it anymore?

I let myself in, realizing that Karissa and Jaxon are already gone.

So yep, you guessed it, shorts come off. Panties come off. Fingers, clit, folds, and tunnel get all happy to thoughts of the one and only Mister Lukas Thorn.

I close my eyes and imagine him standing above me with a flogger in his hand. I’m wearing nipple clamps and a ball gag in my mouth. He whacks my back with the flogger.

There it is. First orgasm.

Wait . . . here comes another. Oh God!

My head starts to clear when I see him take the Ray-Bans down and stare into my eyes. Then he moves behind me and says, “Come for me, you little fucking whore.”

Oops . . . Make that three orgasms.

Oh God, I’m a mess.

Chapter 3

Lorena’s building is one of the super-tall modern condo skyscrapers over on West Ave. A large circular driveway with a team of valets is out front. Must be nice.

I’m in my new lavender dress, which I gotta admit hides the fifteen pounds I need to lose. Shit, I need to find a Planet Fitness or something and get on a diet, seriously. I put waves in my blonde hair and took extra care with my makeup for the first time since I arrived in Florida.

I wish Karissa wasn’t working so she could have come with me. I hate being here alone, but I have no other friends in Miami. Okay, here I go. I take a deep breath and walk up to the elegant entrance.

I must look good because the security guys just smile and hold the door for me. I breeze past the desk and over to the elevators, admiring the view of Biscayne Bay and the city before I step in.

I take a deep breath and press floor twenty-two. Here we go.

At Unit 2201, I knock. A girl in an outfit that can only be described as a leather bikini with metal rings opens the door and stares at me.

“Hello,” I say.

She just continues to stare at me, saying nothing. Then she starts to close the door.

“Wait!” I say. “Um . . . whistle.”

She smiles and opens the door again. “Name, please.”

“Abig . . . no, um, Jayd,” I say.

She looks at an iPad, scrolls, then touches something. “Come right in,” she says without raising her eyes. “My name is Osira. Is this your first time here?”

What kind of question is that? This isn’t a mall store.

“Yes,” I say.

The apartment——no, wrong word——the cavern——is gorgeous. Shit, it must be the entire floor of the building. Ultra-modern design with lots of sharp angles, beveled glass, and large spherical globes that spin very slowly while changing color. One moment blue, the next indigo, the next violet, and so on. There is a low sexy beat of ambient music that’s loud enough to drown out conversations, but not loud enough that anyone needs to talk loudly.

The fourth wall of the apartment is open space leading out to a dramatic sky behind the spectacular Miami skyline. A long outdoor deck runs the entire length of the apartment. There appears to be no glass anywhere so it feels like we’re neither outside nor inside and yet a little of both.