He pulls the boat up to a sandy patch of land that juts out from the beach, where a small team of two chefs and a waiter are standing beside a smoking grill. There’s even a table set up with candles.

“This is for us?” I ask.

“Just for us,” he says before hopping out of the boat and offering me his hand.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, because I’m extremely grateful either way, but why did you bother having me pick out a dress if we were going to eat out here?”

“I wasn’t about to have you walk into the restaurant looking this fucking sexy. Whether you’re ready to trust me or not, I’m sure as hell not ready to let other men see you like this.”

I notice both of the chefs and the server are female and smile a little despite myself. I don’t know if I’ve ever met a man more possessive than Damian, and I can’t say the idea of being wanted so badly and so greedily by him doesn’t make my skin prickle with excitement. Somehow he manages to make nothing but the black compression shorts he wears look classy and mouth-wateringly sexy at the same time.

Even wet, his hair seems to fall perfectly over his piercing blue eyes. The small beads of water that occasionally run down his muscled frame catch my eyes, dragging them down his carved chest and rack of perfectly defined abs, and down more to the bulge I would think was too big to be his cock if I hadn’t experienced it first-hand already. In some ways I thought I had managed to embellish it in my memory, but I can see the outline clearly now, and I know I was remembering it just right.

I press my thighs together against the growing heat I feel between my legs. I’m sorry, Dean. I’m doing my best to handle this the right way. I really am.

The guilt rises up like something black and vile, tainting all the excitement and happiness I feel. It’s not the first time tonight, either. Every time I start to let go and enjoy myself, I’m haunted by the idea that I’m being careless. Worse, that I’m doing something that will put my son in danger.

And yet nothing about Damian is making me feel like I’m in danger. His idea of sex is vastly different than anything I ever imagined, and he practically radiates sexuality, but that doesn’t have to mean he’s a bad person. I need to give him a chance. It could turn out that he’s wrong for me and Dean, and if that’s true, I can walk away. But if I never give him a real chance, and in doing so give myself a chance to be happy then how will I know? I won’t be able to go back and change it if I push him away now.

I force the guilt back down, wishing it would stay there because I have nothing to feel guilty about. I’m a responsible adult and I am allowed to date.

“This is beautiful,” I say, but I forget to remove my eyes from the outline of his cock against his pants, where I was absent-mindedly staring while wrapped in thought.

“You can take a closer look if you want, but I may need to send the staff away.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks. “The table. This. It’s very sweet and thoughtful of you to set this up.”

“Don’t give me too much credit. I was honestly trying to figure out a way to keep your clothes off as long as I could. This was the best idea I had.”

I laugh as he guides me into a chair at the table and lets his hand graze my ass. The quick touch makes my pulse race and fills my thoughts with dirty and dark desires. He takes his seat across from me with a knowing look on his face.

“Well, whether your intentions were good or not, this has been great. I’ve never been on a date like this before. Just movies and chain restaurants, pretty much. Maybe mini golf here and there.”

“So it is a date?” he asks.

I sigh. “I forgot I was trying to keep you hanging on that.”

The chefs take the fish we caught and begin filleting them right by the water on a cutting board. I half-watch, but I can barely draw my attention away from the way the candle light flickers in Damian’s eyes as he watches me. His attention doesn’t waver, not even for a second. He’s consumed by me, and I’ve never felt so flattered by a man’s attention.

Before long I’m just as entranced, unable to look away in what must be several minutes of wordless communication like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I’d normally find my eyes darting away from a man’s after a few seconds of silence, overcome by awkwardness and the impulsive need to fill the silence. But with Damian?

I feel comfortable. I listen to the water lapping at the sand to our side, to the crackle of wood burning beneath the grill, and to the rustle of wind through the palm trees beside us. The smell of freshly cooked fish begins to fill the air as well, mingling with the sweet salty smell of the ocean.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

“Took you a while to think of that one.”

He smirks. “I didn’t see you complaining.”

The server, a smallish woman with blonde hair tied back in a severe ponytail brings us plates. “We have two fresh lobster cakes crusted with panko. The sauce is a jalapeño lemon drizzle. Please enjoy.”

I give Damian an ooh so fancy wiggle of my eyebrows. He half-smiles.

“I think I’ve only ever had crab cakes. And those were imitation crab,” I say.

“You’ll enjoy these, then.”

I pick up my fork, looking at the food and not feeling as sure as he does that I’ll enjoy it. I’ve never been a fan of spicy foods, and the idea of lemon and jalapeños mixed together sounds kind of unappealing. Still, I don’t want to be rude. I’m sure this whole night cost a fortune, including the food, and I’m not about to be ungrateful by turning my nose up.

I take a forkful and bite in. The crust on the lobster cake is perfectly crisp in a way that complements the smooth, creamy interior. The first taste that hits my tongue is a savory blend of herbs in the breadcrumbs. The rich lobster flavor comes through next, followed by a sweet bite of spice from the jalapeño and then the acidic bite of the lemon is quick on its heels to neutralize the burn on my tongue.

“Oh my God,” I say. “That’s so good.”

“I know. I come here all the time, and these are a big part of the reason.”

“Do you bring a lot of women here?” I ask. I mentally scold myself as soon as the words are out. Really? Could you have possibly fabricated a sentence to sound more needy and jealous than that? Of course he brings other women here, he--

“It would probably sound less sad to say I do,” he says, sounding unfazed by my immature question. “In all honesty I haven’t even looked at another woman that way since I laid eyes on you. I always thought men who talked like that in absolutes with women were full of shit. They’d say once they met their wife, they stopped noticing other women. I never believed it until you.”

I swallow hard, not failing to notice the way he might have just implied he could see me as a wife. He really doesn’t move slowly, does he?

“Say I decide I can really trust you completely to be part of my life and my son’s life… Have you thought about the possibility that I might not be everything you’ve spent three years imagining I am? What if you couldn’t stand living with me, or the way I sing in the car? As much as it’s nice to hear all the things you’re saying, I don’t know how you can know with so much certainty.”

He sets his fork down, leaning forward just enough to intensify the effect his eyes have on me. No matter how much he looks at me, I can’t stop wanting more of his attention. Having those eyes of his on me feels like a drug, one I can’t get enough of.

“I know people,” he says. “It’s how I made my fortune. It’s part of the work I do every day. It has always been a gift of mine. Everyone says so much more than they realize through their body language, and I’ve been fluent in that language as long as I can remember. You’re not saying it, but what you’re really worried about is that my sexual needs will be more than you can handle.”

A jolt of surprise runs through me. Whether I realized it or not, I think he’s right. That fear was at the heart of what I was saying. “And what if it is more than I can handle?” Is it a deal breaker? That’s the real question I’m asking, and maybe the most important. It might even be the only thing standing between us. What if I can’t dive into the lifestyle he wants. What if I can’t live my life as some kind of submissive to him?

“I’ll make this as clear as I can,” he says. “My sexual appetite revolves around you. You know what gets me off? You know the only fucking thing that has brought me any kind of pleasure for the last three years? The idea of making you cum.”

One of the chefs pauses, knife held in her hand. I feel a flush of embarrassment when I realize they can probably hear every word he’s saying right now, but judging from the looks they are exchanging, they are all wishing they were sitting where I am right now.

“I don’t care if you cum because I’m fucking you missionary while you wear a bathrobe with the lights off, because we’re sneaking a quick fuck in a place where people could find us, or because I’ve got your hands tied up over your head and I’m spanking your ass with a paddle. All I care about is giving you the hardest, most life-shattering orgasms I can. That is my sexual appetite.”

I feel a little dizzy, and my pussy is so hot and wet it feels like I need to jump back in the ocean or…

No. The “or” isn’t an option. Not yet. Damian knows what to say to make me want to leave logic and good sense at the door, but I still don’t know enough about him.

“That’s--well,” I say, clearing my throat and taking a drink from the glass of wine I just noticed by my plate. “That’s good to know.”

I shift in my chair at the office, struggling to think of anything but him. I let out a long breath, shaking my head.

“So?” asks Melina, who rolls her chair over during Greg’s usual bathroom break.

“So what?” I ask, but we both know exactly what she’s talking about.

She gives me a dry look. “Don’t make me beg for details. You know I’ll do it. I’ll get down on my knees. I’ll suck your toes.”

“Ew,” I laugh. “I’ll tell you as long as you promise not to suck my toes.”

“Deal. Why, were they already sucked last night on your wild date with Mr. Billionaire?”

“No, for starters. And what makes you think he’s a billionaire?”

Melina clicks her tongue in disappointment. “Young Kylie. One of these days I’ll introduce you to this crazy thing called the internet, where all the answers you could ever want are right there at your fingertips.”

“I’m not an idiot. I just,” I clear my throat, realizing I’m about to admit just how reckless I’ve been so far. “I don’t actually know his last name.”

“I didn’t either,” she says. “I didn’t even know his first name. But there are only so many billionaires in the world, so finding a list of billionaires with homes in California wasn’t hard at all. Then I just had to cross-reference the names with pictures annnd, tada! In less than four minutes I had a sizzling picture of Mr. Damian Price on my computer screen. Thirtieth richest man in the US, business and real estate tycoon, blah blah blah. Point is, he has a lot of money, and he’s hot as hell. And you went on a date with him last night. So you had better spill every last detail or so help me God, I’ll take you into the broom closet and waterboard you.”

“You’ll waterboard me? First you want to suck my toes and now you’re going after my boobs?”

She spits out a surprised laugh. “Waterboard, Kylie. You’re thinking of motor-boating. Waterboarding is torture, motor-boating is… never mind. The point is I’ll torture your innocent little ass if I have to.”

I grin. “You’re absolutely crazy.”

“Yeah,” she says, bulging her eyes threateningly. “So don’t test me, bitch.”

I laugh, covering my mouth quickly incase Greg has lurked back into the office. The sound of laughter draws his attention as quickly as blood in the water draws a shark. He can smell fun from miles off and will come to stomp it out as fast as he can.

I spend the next few minutes filling her in on every detail of the date. When I’m finished, her eyes are dreamy. She leans back and raises her eyebrows with a satisfied sigh. “Wow. I didn’t even know they had a place like that. And the whole private dinner on the beach thing? That was a nice touch. Very nice. So what next? Are you seeing him tonight? This afternoon? On your lunch break? I need more!”

“Calm down, I mean, I don’t even know for sure. He said he wanted to see me again, but we didn’t set anything in stone.”

“He drove you back home, you didn’t even kiss him, and he just said he wanted to see you again?”

I shrug, hoping she doesn’t see the guilty look on my face. I may not have told her absolutely everything, like the fact that Damian walked me to my door and gave me a kiss that still has my knees feeling like warm butter.

I kissed him even though I told myself to wait. But I don’t know who could’ve resisted in my position. Who could stay cold under those blazing blue eyes of his?

“He might have been a little more specific than that,” I admit.

“Like how?”

“He said he wanted to bring me to a BDSM club. He said I didn’t have to do anything, but he wanted me to see what it was like to be his submissive for a night.”

Melina’s jaw literally drops. “He’s into BDSM? Are you serious?”

“You’re surprised? I met him at that crazy party you made me go to. You know, the one with the room full of people in red clothes who were slapping each other with whips and having sex out in the open?”

“I already told you I didn’t know about that little section of the party. I totally would’ve crashed that area if I knew.”

“Well, do you remember the guy I told you about three years ago in the airport? The computer cords he tied around my wrists…”

She claps her hands to her face. “It’s him?” she gasps. “Shut up!”

“No!” I hiss, looking around for Greg. “You shut up before you bring Greg down on us both.”

She rubs her hands over her knees, shaking her head. “This is so insanely cool, Kylie. You know you have to go right? You need to fuck him. Not just for yourself. Not just for me. For every woman alive. You need to go to that club and be his little submissive, whatever that even means, and you need to enjoy every fucking second of it. Do you understand me? I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll disown you if you pass this up.”

I roll my eyes, smiling a little. “You can’t swear on your mother’s grave if she’s not dead yet.”

“Just because she’s still alive doesn’t mean we haven’t ordered the headstone.”

“Seriously?” I ask, frowning in disgust.

She tries to look offended, but can’t pull it off. “It doesn’t matter if we’ve ordered the stupid headstone. All that matters is you and him going to that club. I’ll watch Dean for you if I have to.”

“Angie’s still with me for another couple days, thanks to Alec.”

“See? You have no excuse. Literally no excuse.”

I rub my temples. “You are like a bulldog sometimes. You know that? You just grab on and don’t let go until you get what you want.”

She snaps her teeth playfully at me.

I laugh. “I’ll go, but only so you’ll get off my back about it.”

Damian helps me out of his car in front of a place in a very ritzy part of the city that looks like a nondescript brick box. “This is it?” I ask, feeling a little unimpressed. I was expecting a sleek, modern style building with big floodlights or something. Maybe a huge neon sign of a woman with a whip.

“High profile clients,” he says. “They would rather not broadcast what kind of club this is to anybody who happens to be driving by. You’ll find senators, actors, TV personalities, doctors, and any other type of person you can imagine inside. I’m not just talking about the men, either.”

I take in a deep breath, feeling my stomach flutter with nerves. Damian brought me something to wear, and I’m already feeling self-conscious in it even though there is hardly anybody nearby to see me. The dress fits loosely, but the material is thin enough I could see my underwear and the outline of my body with relative ease. When I tried telling him there was no way I could go out in public like this, he assured me I’d feel even more out of place if I went in there dressed conservatively.

I’m just glad Dean was already asleep when I left. I could never let him see me in something like this, even if he’s still too young to understand. As much as all of this is exciting me, the sneaking around after Dean goes to bed has me reexamining everything. Isn’t that exactly the kind of thing I was afraid Damian would bring? I don’t want to feel like I have to hide my life from my son. Yes, it may be my sex life, but should my sex life really be such a big part of my life that I have to go out of the way to hide it from him?

“There are a few rules once we go inside,” he says, turning to face me. He looks mouth-watering, as usual. His suit is black--fitting him snug in the right places so that it emphasizes his masculine frame perfectly. He wears a white collared shirt beneath and a black tie, making the simple colors somehow look striking. Even with a body like his, it’s his eyes that always demand my attention. They carry so much weight it’s like they have a gravity of their own, drawing my eyes up and up until I’m locked into those blazing blue eyes that always seem to be full of heat.

“Rules?” I ask. “Like the club’s rules?”

“Some of them. Some of them are my rules for you,” he says with a very serious tone and expression that makes me gulp down my response. “The club rules are based on what type of jewelry you wear. The more jewelry, the more off-limits you are. A necklace means you have a dom,” he says, pulling a necklace from his jacket pocket and putting it around my neck.”

I grin a little, feeling my cheeks burn. I have a dom. I’m his. But my dom doesn’t know we have a son together. The thought sends a guilty stab of panic through me. Somewhere along the way it started to feel like he deserved to know. Hell, he always deserved to know, but I was being overly cautious. I knew if he knew the full truth about Dean, he’d stop at nothing to be part of his life. And if I didn’t want to be part of Damian’s life, there’s no question about whether he has the financial means to take Dean from me. Not that I think he’d do that, it’s just… Now that I’m getting to know him more, I know I should’ve told him the moment he first saw him. I should tell him now.

Except now I’m afraid of what might happen. What if he walks away? What if withholding the truth makes him so angry with me that he doesn’t want to be with me anymore? Worse, what if he decides to take Dean from me? Using an expensive army of lawyers to teach me a lesson?

He wouldn’t do that. I’m only thinking those kinds of things because they make it easier for me to avoid doing what I need to do. I’ll tell him. Tonight. I don’t know when, but I’ll tell him.

“Bracelets mean your dom isn’t willing to share. One bracelet,” he says, sliding a diamond studded bracelet onto my wrist, “means your dom doesn’t want another man to touch you. Two,” he says, sliding on another. “Means your dom doesn’t want another man to speak to you. And three,” he says with no hint of a smile, “means your dom doesn’t want any men to make eye contact with you.”

I look up at him seriously. “What if I accidentally look at someone?”

He grips my chin, tilting my eyes up to his. “Then I’ll have to punish you.”

A chill runs through me, but it’s not entirely cold. This is another side of him. I’ve seen him with his guard down. I’ve seen that he can be sweet, considerate, and thoughtful. He’s good with Dean, too. But this side of him? It reminds me of what he was like in that conference room. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. The truth is I still feel the same thrill and freedom from being commanded, from being dominated.

He takes out a pair of diamond earrings and puts them in my ears.

“What do these mean?” I ask, wondering what other possible restrictions there could be.

“They mean your dom bought you earrings and wanted to see you in them.”

I laugh.

He watches me approvingly. He doesn’t smile, but there’s a slight change in his eyes that shows his amusement. I brace myself for tonight. Yesterday, I enjoyed the lighter side of Damian, he was almost playful. I could see myself falling head over heels for that Damian. At the same time, this serious, almost scary side of him is incredibly sexy. I don’t know if the effect he has on me will fade with time, but right now, I know I’m helpless when he’s this way.

It’s the same sense of power that made me do something so crazy I never would’ve even dreamed it three years ago, and I can already feel that I’m at his mercy as completely as I was that day.

“Now for my rules,” he says.

More rules? What more could there be? Don’t look at, talk to, or touch any other guy in this place. What other trouble could I possibly get into?

“Inside, you’ll call me Sir. You’ll stay within arm’s reach of me at all times. You will treat my word like law. If I say it, you will do it. And the most important rule is to use the safe words. Yellow means you’re nearing your limit, and red means stop.”

“You won’t be angry with me?” I ask.

“Kitten,” he says, stroking my cheek with his thumb and pulling me to him. “My only goal is your pleasure. My job as your dom is to challenge you, to bring you to your limit, to find thrills you never would on your own, and to give you the most mind-shatteringly perfect orgasms you’ve ever had. A relationship between a dom and his submissive requires more trust than a normal relationship. Much more. If I’m going to bring you to the edge of your comfort, I need to trust that you’ll tell me if it goes too far. And you need to trust that I won’t be angry if you stop me. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Sir,” he corrects. “The next one will cost you.”

“Cost me what?” I ask.

“You’ll be punished, and my punishments can get creative.”

“But I’m supposed to enjoy the punishment, right? What if I just disobeyed you because I wanted to be punished?”

He shows me the first sign of his more relaxed self and grins. “Then I’d find ways to make sure my kitten didn’t behave so mischievously. The relationship between dominants and submissives isn’t just about sex. Honestly, the sex is secondary. The true reward is the bond. There’s no stronger bond on earth than the bond we could form if we put our trust in each other completely.”

I nearly tell him about Dean right then, but listening to him talk about the club already has me itching to go inside. I want what he’s promising. I want it so badly it hurts. If my biggest worry about him is that I can’t trust him to be in our son’s life, then what better way to learn if I can trust him than this? I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m also so turned on right now I don’t think I could make myself get the words out. I want him too badly. I want to be his again, even if it’s just one last time.

“I want to try,” I say.

He bends his neck to kiss me softly on the lips.

I lean into it, savoring the taste and the way his powerful arms encircle me, making me feel small and safe at the same time. He pulls back with what I think is more than a hint of reluctance. For a second, it looks like he might push me back into the car and take me there, but he must overcome the desire, because he puts his hand on my lower back instead.

“This way, Kitten.”

The two men standing outside the door who look more like secret service than bouncers nod to him and open the door.

The club interior appears to be lit entirely by candlelight and it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. We walk directly into what seems to be a main gathering area that branches off into several smaller sections and hallways. The walls are paneled in deep, rich woods and lined with alcoves that hold candles. Chandeliers holding dozens of lit candles hang beautifully from the ceiling as well. I scan the crowd, which is bigger than I thought it would be, but I’m careful not to make eye-contact with any of the men.

Many wear masks, not unlike what I saw at the masquerade party I went to with Melina and Alec, but some don’t. The men all wear expensive suits, though none make theirs look nearly as good as Damian does, I notice with pride. Damian was right about my clothes. Compared to what many of the women are wearing, I still look prudish even with a see-through dress.

One woman wears a leather bikini, the top has open holes for her nipples, which are pierced with three silver rods. Another wears a dress even more transparent than mine but she’s completely naked beneath. Her dom has a silver leash around her neck and he’s leading her to one of the darkened rooms in the back.

“Am I allowed to make any rules?” I ask. “Like that you don’t get to look at any of these women?”

Damian looks down to me, taking my hands and making me face him. “There’s only one woman I want to look at. The one I spent the last three years of my life searching for, and the one I will do anything to keep from slipping away again. They are nothing, Kitten.”

I bite my lip. I want to believe him. I really do, but my self-doubt nags at me, asking why a man like him would possibly choose to look at me when there are so many beautiful half-naked women around. I’ve done my best to keep in shape after having Dean, but my hips are definitely more full than they were before, and I even have a few stretch marks now that I’m sure none of these women have. “So if I can’t look at the men and you don’t look at the women, why do we come here?”

“To show you off, for one,” he says. “Every man here would kill for a chance with you, but they won’t get it. You’re mine, and I want everyone to know it. There are also some unique experiences we can find here that would be difficult to find elsewhere.”

I try and fail not to smile stupidly at the thought of being shown off. I’ve never thought of myself as the kind of woman a man would show off. I probably would’ve thought the idea was insulting if anyone else had suggested it, but like everything else with Damian, it feels different coming from him.

“Come,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

I follow him to a room lit by blue flames, which cast the two dozen or so people inside in a transfixing, icy glow. It’s only once we’re inside that I see what’s happening on stage. I instinctively take a step back, like I’ve just walked in on something private that I shouldn’t be seeing, but Damian’s reassuring hand on my back and the other people watching, tell me I’m not intruding.

A woman on stage is lying face down on something that looks a little bit like a massage table, if it had been modified by a middle-age torturer. Her legs are splayed out, held by what look to be adjustable leg cushions and straps. Her arms are free, but another leather strap holds her down by the shoulders. A man with a black hood over his face from the nose up is kneeling between her legs, eating her out. Two more men stand on either side of her, completely naked except for black masks. She grips their cocks in her hands and masturbates them as her head slowly rolls from side to side with her moans.

The jealous part of me is relieved that Damian can’t really see much of her naked body.

“Back here,” says Damian, who leads me to the corner of the room, where I can still see what is happening on stage but we’re out of the immediate view of spectators. “You like to watch, don’t you? I saw the way your eyes were drawn to the stage.”

I open my mouth to speak but snap it closed again, unable to decide what I should say.

He shakes his head. “No, Kitten. You’re trying to figure out what I want to hear. Remember, there’s one thing and one thing alone I care about here. Your pleasure. If my Kitten likes to watch, she can.”

“You said I couldn’t look into another man’s eyes.”

“I did. Because that would tell other doms here that you were receptive to their advances.”

“I don’t… I don’t think I like to watch,” I say. “I’d rather…”

“You would rather?” he prompts, eyebrow raising.

“I’d rather see you,” I say. “I mean, it’s hot to be here with you, while they…” I clear my throat.

Damian smirks. “You don’t need to say anymore, I understand.”

I relax a little, thinking it’s good that he understands, because even I don’t. It’s not that I want anything to do with the men on stage--or the woman, for that matter. It’s that being in such a sexually charged atmosphere is putting my own desires into overdrive. It feels dirty here, and not in a bad way.

Damian leans so close I think he’s going to take me into his arms, but he puts his lips right next to my ear so I can hear the rasp of his whispered voice. “I’m going to make you cum right here, Kitten. Right in front of all these people.”

A dirty thrill runs through me. A second later, my stomach turns over when the fear comes. What if someone turns around and sees us? What if they decide we’re the show they want to watch?

Damian’s hand meanders from my hip to my thigh, where it reverses its downward direction and moves up, this time sliding under the hem of my dress. Everywhere his touch roams leaves a fiery trail of ecstasy. I’ve secretly dreamt of having his hands on me like this again for so long now. Whether I realized it or not, I knew something like this would happen when I agreed to come here with him. Honestly, I knew so long as I kept agreeing to see Damian and give him chances to prove I can trust him, it was only a matter of time before I’d end up sleeping with him again.

Being around Damian is like stepping into a river with a powerful current. I can only fight the current so long before I’m swept along with it. The only way to fight it is to get out of the water all together. And I’m starting to think I’d rather drown in it than get out.

“Oh God,” I gasp.

His hand finds my panties, which are embarrassingly soaked already.

“You’re so wet, Kitten. Tell me, did the show get you wet? Or was it something else.”

“It was you. Only you.”

“Liar,” he says. His finger does something I can’t even begin to describe against me--something between a quick vibrating buzz and a wonderful circular motion.

The sensation is so overwhelmingly pleasurable that a moan spills out before I can bite it back. It’s so loud I think someone must have heard. I scan the crowd Damian has his back to with nervous eyes. One woman has her head turned toward us now. She winks when I notice her before turning her chair to face us.

“Someone is watching us,” I whisper.

“Good. That was your punishment for lying to me. Displease me, and I’ll make sure you’re noisy enough to draw more eyes on us.”

My heartbeat grows even more rapid. I expected to be mortified at the idea of someone watching, but knowing the woman is watching us makes me imagine everything from a new, even more exciting perspective. I picture how we must look with Damian pinning me to the wall, my dress hiked up and his hand stroking my soaked panties.

He kisses my neck while his hand slips inside my panties, finding the bare skin of my pussy. He moves his hand expertly, touching me in places no man ever bothered to take the time to. His fingers move slowly down my mound, sending chills pulsing through me and making even more heat blossom in my core. His fingers eventually find my entrance and he’s able to slide one finger in with ease. Even the single digit feels absolutely amazing as he curls it back and puts breathtakingly wonderful pressure on a place inside me I thought for sure was a myth.

My body bends forward involuntarily. I’m gasping into his chest now, fingers clawing into his back. “It feels so good,” I moan.

“That’s your g-spott,” he says. “and I’m just getting started.”

He somehow has the dexterity to use his thumb to circle my clit while he works a second finger into my entrance, still pumping into me and dragging his fingers along that spot that’s making me delirious with pleasure. He seems to have a natural sense for how close I am to orgasm, because just when I near the edge he shifts his movements and attention just enough to keep me from climaxing.

He works a third finger inside me, still using his thumb on my clit with unbelievable skill. He pumps his hand inside me now with some kind of twisting motion that feels incredible, and when he starts to splay his fingers out every time he pulls back, my legs shake and threaten to give out.

“Oh fuck,” I gasp, surprising myself. I’m not normally much of a cusser, but I’m too far along the wave of pleasure to care about manners or appearances anymore. I’m moaning louder with every thrust of his hand and movement of his thumb. I know my voice must be drawing more eyes. Right now, the idea only turns me on more. I distantly know I’ll probably be mortified later, but I can’t make myself stop.

I peek past Damian toward the crowd and see more than half of them are watching us with interest, and some of them are even kissing or touching each other as they watch.

I don’t think Damian wanted me to cum yet, but the sight of so many people getting off on watching us combined with his fingers inside me is too much. I spasm, feeling my walls squeeze and contract around his fingers. “Oh God, Damian,” I gasp, squeezing onto him like he’s the only thing keeping me from being blasted away by the force of my orgasm.

When the last tremors of my pleasure have passed, he bends to pull my panties back up, then takes me by the waist and leads me toward the exit of the room with a proud expression on his face. He looks toward the crowd and licks his fingers clean.

I nearly have another orgasm just from the sight of it. He catches the look on my face and chuckles. “You were perfect, Kitten. Absolutely perfect.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” I say.

“Sir,” he corrects with surprising sternness.

“Sir,” I say, lowering my head. Even though this is in many ways just a game--I don’t want to disappoint him. It doesn’t feel like a game when his hand is on my back and the pulsing music of this place hums in my chest. When I think I’m pleasing him, everything feels right.

“What now?” I ask. “Sir,” I add hastily.

“It’s time for some privacy.”

He takes me down a long hallway full of doorways. I can’t help thinking back to the corridor in the airport with the conference rooms. It’s like we’re walking through a darkened shadow of that memory now. I only hope this time doesn’t end like the last.

He uses a key on a door at the end of the hall, opening up a space like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s dark, and the faint shape of countless devices and tools stand in shadow. Fear stabs through me. “Damian,” I say, stepping back toward the door. “Yellow. This is…”

He flicks a lighter, bringing the flame alive on a candle near the door. “You’re scared. I know, Kitten. I’d be worried if you weren’t, frankly. We don’t need to use any of this tonight if you’re not ready. We can just sit in here and talk, let you get used to seeing all of this.”

“Have you used everything in here?” I ask, looking around as my eyes adjust to the darkness and I can see the countless devices and tools, not to mention furniture that I can’t even begin to guess the use of.

He chuckles. “No. I’ll be honest with you. A hundred percent honest. I’ve always been drawn to… this,” he says, motioning around the room. “Sex never brought me any real pleasure. I thought something might be wrong with me. I eventually stumbled upon the world of BDSM. It felt right, but I never wanted a submissive for myself,” he says, pulling a leather paddle from the wall and running his thumb over it thoughtfully. “I never made it past the initial phases with any women. None of them were right. Until you.”

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I still don’t understand. Why me?”

He moves close and breathes in deeply through his nose. “Because you infatuate me. Your smell, your beauty, the aura of innocence that clings to you like armor. I want it all for myself, more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want you. I want to be part of your life, part of your son’s life. I don’t even care if you never want to use a room like this. I just want you.”

I put my arms around him and nuzzle my face into his chest. I can’t believe how good it feels to be held by him, to be close to him. “There’s something I need to tell you,” I say. “Before we can go any farther with this, before… I just need to tell you.” The words tumble out of me faster than I can stop, but I know I’m doing the right thing. He needs to know.