Connor’s fingers close around my throat and I want to moan in the flash of pleasure it brings. There’s nothing rough in his touch, not squeezing or pain; and I realize he’s not trying to hurt me. He’s making sure I know he’s in charge, that I’m supposed to be afraid of him.

And it makes me melt. I feel like a candle in the hot sun.

I am scared of him. I’m not sure why. Something about him is just so menacing.

His fingers feel so heavy on my throat and so rough. He’s got calluses like he works hard with his hands. It’s sexy after all the soft, well moisturized and maintained hands of the guys I’ve been with over the years. Not that any of them ever grabbed my throat like this.

Staring into those incredible blue eyes, I find myself hoping he does more, that he proves his dominance over me by taking me. He can keep his hand round my throat, hell, it’ll make me come faster, I’m sure.

Damn, I never even knew this was a thing that would work for me. I guess this is one hell of a way to learn about a fetish.

“We must have a conversation,” he says in a rich, deep tone that rolls over me like warm water. As it passes over me, I feel my muscles turn to jello and I just can’t hold myself up. It’s like he’s speaking an order that my body can’t deny. The jump in my pulse leaves me lightheaded and I can’t see as a haze of excitement rolls in like thick fog.

As if to keep me on my feet, Connor leans into me, his weight crushing me into the wall. It's not painful or even unpleasant. It’s kind of sweet, the thought of him holding onto me so I don’t fall at his feet.

There’s a little growl from him as he adjusts against me and I realize the hard thing pressing into my stomach is his cock. He’s got a massive boner and he’s pressing it against me, and I can’t even…

I need this. I need it now. I want him to fuck me, no I need for him to fuck me.

Maybe if I go home with him, he’ll…

My head nods before I can even consider how stupid I’m being. Yes, please, possible serial killer, or worse – shudder – method actor, take me back to your room and dissect me. No one knows I’m here. Even my dad won’t come look for me for a week. He's like a fucking bloodhound.

What can I say? I’m clearly an idiot.

As if he’s pushing to make sure I agree, he asks again, in a slightly different way. “I’d like you to come back with me,” he says, and my knees buckle. With his weight holding me in place, it’s hardly a noticeable thing.

I nod, wanting him to know I agree. That I’m consenting. With whatever he’d like to do to me. Except murder. I’m not consenting to that.

This time, it sounds less like a question and more like an order. “You’ll come next door with me?” He asks, his blue eyes slashing back and forth between mine like he’s trying to read my mind.

I nod once more.

And it clicks. He’s making sure that I agree. He’s trying to make me feel like it’s my idea, that I had many chances to say no. That way, if I get upset later, I won’t have a leg to stand on. I agreed. On three separate occasions.

God, I want to tell him that I want this, that I’ll follow him like a lost puppy right now; if only to try and figure out why my body is acting like this around him.

He backs off. For the first time since he came in my room, I feel like I can take a deep breath. But it doesn’t help anything. As he takes my hand, looking at me like a lover he’s desperate to run away with, I feel mesmerized as I follow him.

Connor stops to close the door to my room before leading me to his room next door. My heart is pounding in my ears and I wonder if I’m really going to faint. I’ve never fainted before, so it’s yet another new experience this sexy brute could introduce me to.

In his room, there’s a single chair in the middle of the room with a broken back. I gulp, wondering how it came to be broken. Maybe it was broken when he came in the room. Surely he didn’t bust up that treated wood chair, designed to be sturdy.

Right?

I expect him to put me on the chair, but instead he leads me into the kitchen. When he turns to face me, I feel my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth. What is he going to do to me in here? Why is his room nicer than mine?

Somebody in the booking department definitely shafted me.

Connor reaches down and grabs my hips. With an easy motion, he lifts me and plops me on the counter.

He places his hands on either side of my knees at the edge of the counter and leans in. His face is inches from mine and I love it. “So what’s your name?” he asks, his tone decidedly lighter. The smooth sound of it sends a shiver down my spine and I know my nipples have got to be rock hard based on the sensation flowing through them and jolting pleasure right to my core.

“Jane.” My throat is so dry the word is a rasping shadow of sound.

His electric blue eyes lock on mine and I stare him down.

Next door, someone begins banging on the door and my heart sinks. No way he’s here.

“Jane?” The guy shouts and I squeeze my eyes closed. My boyfriend. He figured it out. But how? I was so careful! I covered my tracks!

“Open the door!”

That’s Zac alright. And he sounds pissed.