Eric doesn't say anything more for the rest of the drive, and I'm trying to think of nothing at all, because if I do, I'm doomed.

We're driving past the airport, and I watch a large plane accelerate down the runway, take off. I've never been on a plane and that realization feels like a giant just gripped my middle and squeezed really hard.

"I thought we were going to a hotel?" I mutter, my eyes still following the path of the plane climbing into the bright blue sky.

"We are," Eric says, just as the driver turns down the ramp, and slows down.

A few minutes later we're parked in front of a tall black building, and I'm not at all sure I want to exit this black car to enter it. But I do it.

Eric is looking at me as I climb out, holding my bag, a slight smile playing across his lips. It seems he likes what he sees, but I'm suddenly very aware of just how shabby I look. I'm wearing my working clothes, a white shirt tucked into a long brown skirt. I'm not even sure what I packed, and I certainly didn't want to take the time to change before I left. But maybe I should've. At least I put on shoes, but they're strappy sandals, and my feet are grimy.

"You look just perfect," Eric says like he's reading my mind and a whole new fear floods me.

He means to sample what he bought. Now. Before he even brings me home. He's undressing me with his gaze, and the rising wetness between my legs, the slight tingle there is a clear indication that I want him to do just that.

But I don't. The mere suggestion is scaring me stiff.

He looks away, and the spell is broken like it was just a figment of my imagination.

He hands the bag to his driver. "Get her a room and then be back here at seven to pick us up."

Then he enters the hotel lobby without even looking at me.

"Come on, Miss," the driver says. He's looking at me like he can't quite figure out what to make of me, and it's to get away from that look, more than anything else that I enter the lobby too.

And if I felt underdressed outside, in here it's a whole new ballpark. The lobby itself is the fanciest place I've ever been to, all done up in black marble and glass, flowers of every color, the kinds that I could never get to grow in our garden, brightening up the austerity of it. I'm still admiring the decor, the gorgeous paintings showing the most exotic places in the world, from sunlit tropical beaches to ancient castles and churches, when the driver returns and hands me a white card.

"Here's your key," he says. "Follow me."

I take the keycard and walk behind him to the elevators. He uses his own key when we reach my room at the end of a white carpet lined hallway on the 10th floor.

"Here you go," he says and holds open the door for me, then deposits my bag just inside the room.

I catch the door right before it closes. "Wait! What am I supposed to do now?"

He's probably not the person I should be asking this question, but he's the one here.

He shrugs. "I'm sure Mr. Worthington will come and tell you soon."

I think I detect a smirk in his voice, like maybe he's already picturing the things Eric has in store for me, and the realization feels like I've just been sprayed with icy cold water.

"Maybe take a shower and change your clothes," he adds and I know my face must be bright red despite my tan, because my cheeks are burning. I don't look that dirty! Do I?

I let the door close before I say something inappropriate. But that’s even worse, because the cool silence surrounding me now is begging for answers. And I have none.

To chase the questions away I unpack my bag by tossing the contents on the bed. I packed a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a dress, a sweater, but only one pair of underwear and no shoes save for the ones I'm wearing. I was in such a hurry to get out of the house before I changed my mind that I wasn't thinking. At least I somehow managed to pack my toothbrush.

I grab it now, along with one of the towels off the foot of the bed. He bought me and now he can clothe me. Or not. My cheeks grow hot at the thought, and I'm not sure whether it's in anger or embarrassment. I can't deny that I feel Eric’s presence somewhere just behind my navel, but I don't want to dwell on it either. I’m twenty-one, but I've never been with a man, never been aroused by anyone enough to let him get past first base. And there were precious few I even let get that far.

The hotel towel is softer than any piece of cloth I've ever felt, and the shower alone is the size of our whole bathroom back home, perhaps even a little larger. It's tiled in tiny squares in shades of turquoise, blue, white, grey and black, and the way they shimmer in the light makes me think of the ocean. I've never actually seen the ocean, but I bet it sparkles even nicer than this.

I force myself to think of nothing but the sweet citrus scent of the complimentary soap as I lather up. I even wash my hair, letting the water cascade down my back and enjoying the sensation of the jets hitting my scalp. I packed no shampoo or conditioner, but the stuff they have here is high quality and detangles my long hair just fine.

I don't exit the shower until my fingertips are all puckered up. Because as soon as I turn the water off and step out into the steamy bathroom, the fantasy of being safe and at peace will be broken. I'll once again be the scared girl that was bargained off like a piece of meat.

Though I did it to myself.

I try not to dwell on that as I dry myself off, then use the towel to wrap up my hair.

A cold breeze hits my back. When I turn, Eric is standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of jeans that are neither too loose nor too tight, and a dark blue polo shirt with the buttons undone, revealing just a hint of his chest muscles. His gaze as he takes in my nakedness feels like a caress, but a rough one. And the hunger in his eyes is unmistakable, reminds me of wild beasts right before they go in for the kill. The towel wrapped around my hair topples off, probably because I'm shaking. I catch it, hold it over my naked body.

"Don't," he says hoarsely, and moves closer so fast I don't really register it. I take a step back, but he stops me by placing a hand on my lower back. I expected his touch to be rough, jarring, but it's almost gentle, yet firm, manly, and I freeze instinctively.

He lowers his head to my neck, and I present it reflexively. His lips are so close I can feel the heat they're giving off. He's my captor, I should be more aloof, make this harder for him, but my very skin is aching for the touch of his lips right now, my pussy tingling.

"You smell delicious," he whispers, his hot breath hitting my already burning skin.

But instead of kissing me, like I fully expected him to, he straightens and leans back.

"You'll be a real treat, but we'll take it slow,” he says, caressing my breast. He rolls my nipple between his thumb and index finger, then pinches it hard, the pain sharp and sweet at the same time, drawing a sound somewhere between a yelp and a moan from my throat.

He grins. "And I think you'll like it just fine. Get dressed now. We're leaving soon."

Then he's gone, and I'm alone again, fears of being a prisoner, his to do with as he pleases, rushing my brain, louder, fiercer, more urgent because I’ve been fighting them so hard. Yet his words were strangely comforting too. Maybe I will like it.