“Houston, okay. Is that near where you live?”

“Close enough.” My heart thudded in my chest. Could this be for real? Because now that it was thrust upon me, I realized this could be a very good, or a very bad, idea. What if we met and he hated me? Or I hated him? This could ruin everything.

Or, it could give me exactly what had been lacking from our experiment, or training, or whatever you wanted to call it—the kinky fuckery we engaged in.

“You’ll be flying out of what city?”

“Seattle. I live in the area.”

“But not in Seattle?”

“No, a little bit outside the city. It’s more rural, woodsy.”

“Oh. Sounds nice.”

“It is.”

“Great. Should I find a place for us to stay?”

“That would be nice. Why don’t you make a reservation, and I’ll pay for it. Email me a few dates that are good for you.”

“Yes, sir.” I could hardly contain my excitement.

“It’s nice to hear you so upbeat. I’ve been concerned lately that we were hitting a roadblock in your training.”

“You’re right. I’ve been quite frustrated lately, but I think this will help a ton.” Of course I had my doubts. I knew meeting each other in person could completely destroy everything between us, but I needed it so badly that I couldn’t let on that I expected anything but for this to be the perfect next step in my journey.

“All right.”

“Oh, sir… there’s one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Well, if you want me to make a reservation, I should probably know your name, in case you get to the hotel before I do.”

“I see.”

Flustered, I forged ahead, babbling, “I mean you know my name, at least my real first name, but if you don’t want to tell me, I’ll understand—”

He interrupted me. “It’s all right, Sophie. My name is Quentin Andrews.”

From the moment he told me his name until the morning I finished packing my bags to drive to Houston, Quentin Andrews consumed my thoughts. He hadn’t balked when I told him which hotel I’d chosen, so I assumed he could afford it. We continued our play sessions, and I had to admit the passion between us felt energized by our upcoming meeting. I no longer fretted over not having a “live” man, and that allowed me to focus enthusiastically on the tasks he gave me. After all, he’d shown me he was willing to give me what I needed—a live experience with a Dom.

I’d considered shopping for some sexy lingerie, but that would probably be a waste. I imagined he would expect me to be naked in his presence most of the weekend. The very thought gave me goosebumps all over. What would he do to me in person? Would it be better or worse than what he had me do to myself? It had to be worse, and in some ways that might be even more delicious. Oh, I was all discombobulated, but for the most part I tried to remain on an even keel and keep my expectations low. If I wasn’t attracted to him, it would be okay. I could always close my eyes and focus on what he did to my body. Surely, that would be acceptable. It was close to how we currently operated.

The day before we were to meet he sent me these instructions, which ratcheted my anticipation up another notch.

Sophie,

If I’ve heard you correctly you have a burning desire to become a bondage fucktoy. That is my specialty, and we can definitely go there. We haven’t practiced much bondage yet, but since we will have a live session this weekend, I am devising an extra-special and intense session for you that will involve several toys. Pack your elastics, your favorite dildo, and a new role of tape.

You are a delicious plaything, and we are moving in the right direction. I look forward to showing you where compliance and bondage can take you. I plan to turn you into a puddled, sweaty mess. As I’m creating this latest session, my lust is fucking boiling, and I can feel my cock starting to harden in anticipation of how helpless I’ll have you. I wonder how much you will whimper all tied up, how well you will absorb the pain, and how many times that fuckhole will collapse with sweet release.

When you arrive at the hotel, take your luggage to the front desk. I will leave instructions for a bellhop to bring it to the room. I’ll meet you in the hotel restaurant at 5:15 p.m. this Friday. I will expect you there at five p.m. sharp, where you will request the table I’ve reserved for us. You will sit with your back to the entrance. You may have a cocktail, but no more than two. I realize alcohol has a tendency to ease one’s nerves, but I want you sober enough to remember every filthy thing I intend to do to you. From the moment we meet, you will follow my directions exactly, addressing me properly as Sir.

Understand?

I hope that cunt is aching for me. I’m looking forward to a weekend with my little play-slut. Remember, for every ounce of pleasure, a price must be paid.

Quentin

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

I followed Quentin’s instructions to the letter. I waited as patiently as I could, staying within his two-drink limit, even though I desperately wanted a third bourbon and water. Finally, after all that time wondering about the man behind the MC moniker, he was finally here, sitting next to me, dominating me in the hotel restaurant.

The moment I heard his deep, gravelly whisper, “Close your eyes, my pet,” I came alive. Shivers of anticipation danced down my spine, and his touch when his hand encircled my neck electrified my skin. I pressed against him, shamelessly asking for more, and even though we were in a public place, it was all I could do not to moan out loud.

I inhaled the smell of him, that of a raw outdoorsman, all pine and woods, but clean and fresh at the same time. I could feel the warmth coming off his body even when he wasn’t actually touching me. He’d forbidden me from opening my eyes, so I still had no idea what he looked like.

But he could see me, which was one more way to keep me off balance, and to remind me of how the power differential worked between us. And if that wasn’t humiliating enough, sitting there with my eyes closed, he had just made me suck my own pussy juice from my fingers in a room full of people, so my nerves were frayed. I had no idea if one person had seen me, or if everybody had seen me, or no one at all. I was trying to hold back the hysterical laughter bubbling up at the back of my throat when he told me to open my eyes.

I hesitated, knowing that once I did see him, there was no going back. If he frightened me with troll-like features, I could never go back to picturing him the way I currently did in my mind. If his beer gut protruded so far that I would have trouble finding his penis underneath it—so be it. I reminded myself that it was his mind that drew me to him, his dominant personality. The relationship did not have to change because of what he looked like. In the back of my mind I knew this was bullshit, but I felt compelled to psych myself up somehow.

Just as I started to flutter my eyelids open, I thought about how he had already seen me. He was probably staring at me right now. My stomach did a flip, and I hiccupped. “Excuse me,” I mumbled, covering my mouth, worried I might lose control of all bodily functions right there in the middle of the restaurant. My breath hitched, and he said, “Relax, Sophie. Everything is going to be all right. I will make sure of it.”

I gulped and grabbed on to the arms of my chair, trying to regain my composure. Suddenly it seemed like everything in my life had led up to that moment, and the pressure threatened to vanquish me. It wasn’t so much that what he looked like would change everything, but that having seen each other would alter our lives forever. There would be no going back. No more hiding. No more secrets.