He drags me away from the fancy hotel and back to the limousine.

The man’s got some confidence to do a thing like that, but I’m not about to argue. Something about the look on his face and the blaze in his eyes tells me that he’s not a man to argue with.

I find myself submitting under the pressure of this moment. Besides, I want to be with him in all ways, especially this—especially what I know is coming.

I trust him, though I don’t know why.

Maybe it’s the way he handles me so roughly—and yet there’s a tenderness there, too. Maybe it’s because I’ve been secretly obsessed for so long.

He’s in control, and I’ve never had a man be like that with me before. It’s something I’ve been craving in the dark recesses of my soul, but I haven’t even been able to admit that to myself…until now.

With him, my deepest desires threaten to come to the surface, and I think I might be game.

And yet, his touch, his force—as thrilling as it all is, he causes a steady stream of nerves to run through my body.

“Come on, baby,” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist.

Gravity gives way to his touch, and I feel like I’m falling into an ocean of need, an abyss of temptation and entrancement—and I never wanna come out. I want him to touch me all the time, to talk to me all the time, and to ravage me in any way he sees fit.

“I want you, Naomi. And tonight you’ll be mine. Understand?”

Oh, fuck, yes, I understand. I’m dying to quiver underneath his capable hands. I’m dying to feel and to taste that large cock of his that I can see is straining against his pants.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask. And then I joke to lighten the mood, “Your place or mine?”

“Mine,” he growls, and the gravelly sound of his voice sends shivers down my spine.

I feel myself getting wetter by the second.

Paul gets me into the limousine and instructs the driver to go fast.

The entire ride, my heart is beating hard against my chest, and I wonder if he can tell how fucking nervous I am. His commanding presence makes me feel weak, and I ask him for another bourbon to try to gain some liquid courage.

He pours me some in a crystal glass, and I take it down in one gulp, thankful that the liquid burns my throat and does something to offset my focus on him.

He’s my dream guy, and this is my fantasy come true—and yet I can’t help but feel like my world is about to shatter into a million pieces.

We get to his place, and I feel…not ready.

I take his hand and allow him to lead me into his building. I look at The Bradford and think how my home is close, and I’ll be okay. I can handle this. He’s just a guy, after all.

He goes to a private elevator in the building, and once we get inside, his fingers are snaking through my hair, and he’s pulling me in for a kiss. He tastes and smells like bourbon and earthy sandalwood…a masculine scent all his own that I find myself becoming addicted to.

He tugs the hair at the nape of my neck, forcing my mouth to meet his own. And he kisses me there in the elevator. I feel like all the parts of me that have been fragmented are falling into place.

I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

This man is the one.

Is it crazy to say that? I just know. It’s a feeling.

He’s the guy I’ve been dreaming about all these years—and it’s finally coming to fruition. A dull ache of desire forms inside of me as I realize what I’m in for.

“This is me,” he says as the elevator doors open to reveal his extremely nice place.

I walk in and try to take measure of it, but before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling me towards the double doors that lead to his bedroom.

The master suite is bigger than my entire apartment. It’s all grays and blacks, luxe and chic and manly.

He throws me down on the bed and makes good on his promise.

“Let’s get this dress off you,” he says, and he begins to tear the fabric away.

“Not my Valentino!” I find myself objecting.

“Fuck the Valentino,” he says in a measured tone. “You better be focused only on me.”

“Yes, Sir,” I say automatically, and I don’t even know why I say it—except that it seems like the correct way to address his commanding presence.

“Good girl, Naomi. You already know how to play the game.”

Game? Wait a minute, is this a game to him?

Because it’s not to me. I like this guy…a lot. I think I could maybe love him one day.

I’m suddenly afraid that this is all one-sided. Unrequited love and all that.

Before I have time to ruminate any further, he’s pulling me towards the edge of the bed, sliding my legs open. I feel utterly exposed, and yet I’m craving him to consume me, to fill me up with his darkness.

He kisses my inner thighs lightly, and then I feel it: his tongue probing along my heat, forcing my clit out of hiding.

I breathe deeply and try to keep up with what he’s doing down there, but the spasms begin all too quickly, and soon I find myself in another world.

“No, Paul, fuck, it’s too soon,” I say, pulling at his hair.

Like I said, my world just shatters, and it’s so fucking worth it. Game or no game, this moment is mine.

“Yes, baby. You came so quickly like a nice little fucking slut.”

His words turn me on more than I care to admit, and I find myself giving in to him in every way.

I watch him take a step back, and then to my delight, I see him slipping out of his pants and there’s that beautiful, huge fucking cock that I crave.

He strokes it and looks at me, spread out on the bed.

“Like what you see, baby?”

“Yes, Sir,” I say, licking my lips.

I watch him, not daring to move a muscle. I can’t believe this man—the guy I’ve been window-stalking for the past couple weeks—is here doing this to me, doing this for me.

I’ve never been so turned on in my life. A flush of hot desire spreads across my body, and there’s only one way to cool down: him.

But then instead of entering me, instead of climbing on top and sinking his thick muscle deep into my soaking pussy, he does the unexpected.

He turns to a panel in the wall and opens a secret door. It’s lit perfectly, and I see all manner of…toys.

He has a glow in his eyes as he checks my reaction. There are whips and chains, handcuffs and blindfolds, and things that I’ve never seen before...like clamps and stuff.

“Shall we get started?”

My senses are heightened, on high-alert. I’m not sure if this is right or wrong or somewhere in between. The only thing I do know is that there’s this fierce arousal threatening to overtake me if I don’t get him between my legs soon.

Do you ever think you’ll just explode from the feeling?

I’ll do anything to be his—even this.

I had highly underestimated Paul. I figured he was just your average tall, smoking hot hunk…but this? Looking at the closet, I shudder to think what might happen to me under his control, but I invite the feeling willingly.

I don’t know what he’s planning, and I don’t know how I’ll feel later, but the thing is: I inexplicably trust him, like I’ve never trusted anyone before.

Weird, right?

In this moment, it feels like he’s always existed in my heart somewhere.

And in this moment, I can choose—to run away and to never see him again, or to give into the passion and desire and to let him do what he wants with my body, mind, and soul.

I bravely choose the latter.

I choose to confront this raging fire that burns so bright for him.

I’ll walk through the flames and become a fucking phoenix, free at last.

He’s my undoing and my rebirth all at the same time.

I close my eyes and wait for it to begin.