I think we’ll start off at the bar,” I say to Megan, the hostess.

“Of course, sir,” she says, nodding to me.

Megan knows who I am but no one uses names at Plaisir. It’s one of the many confidentiality rules.

Mia’s eyes are wide, and just by the way she’s walking, I can tell she’s nervous or intimidated. That smart exterior she had in my office earlier has faded and her lack of experience—either in journalism or sex, I’m not sure—is already showing. Her back is rigid and she’s trying not to look anyone in the eyes. It’s sort of cute, but mostly fun to know how uncomfortable she is.

I pull out the high-backed bar stood for her to sit. There are only a few people in the bar area talking in low voices—men and women dressed as if it’s New Year’s Eve, wearing cocktail-party attire and leaning in closely to each other. The whole vibe screams sexy.

Red wallpaper with black velvet patterns line the walls, and a mirror runs the length of the bar.

Mia, despite clearly being wound tight, looks beautiful beside me. She rests her elbows on the bar and it pushes up her ample cleavage. Her skirt, already short, is hiked up high on her thigh, and I'm not sure how I’m going to keep my hands from her skin. I’ll see how the night goes, but she’s beautiful in a neophyte sort of way. And we are at a sex club—but for work, of course.

“Good evening,” says the corseted woman behind the bar. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Whiskey neat,” I tell her. “What would you like?” I ask Mia.

“Just a wine, please” she says.

“What kind, miss?” the bartender says.

Mia looks like she’s in the middle of an oral exam she didn’t study for. “White,” she finally says.

“Chardonnay, pinot grigio? We have a nice sauvignon blanc from the Loire Valley of France…”

“Yes, that’s fine,” she quickly says, and I have to control myself from laughing.

Mia doesn’t say anything as our drinks are made; she doesn’t look around the bar either. When our drinks are finally placed in front of us, she quickly goes to take a sip.

“Wait,” I say, stopping her by placing my hand on her forearm. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers. “We have to make a toast. To your first assignment.”

“This isn’t my first assignment,” she says.

“To your trial assignment for Prerogative,” I amend. “Here’s to you impressing me with your reporting skills.” I clink her wine glass but she’s not looking at me. “Mia. It’s bad luck not to look the other person in the eye when you make a toast.”

“Really?” she says, darting her eyes at me.

“Actually, it’s bad sex if you don’t look each other in the eyes. Ten years, I believe it is.”

I’m watching her face, the beautiful lips that she keeps nervously biting. She turns her eyes to me, wide and tinged with fear—maybe anxiety is the better word. She’s nervous and way out of her element.

“Cheers,” she says, clinking my whiskey glass, eyes on mine. “To Prerogative.”

We take sips of our drinks and a moment later she seems like she’s pulling herself together.

She leans a little closer to me, giving me a better view of that cleavage. I’ve got a great view of it in the mirror behind the bar, but seeing it up close is far more incredible. I try not to stare.

I turn my body toward her, resting my hand on the back of her chair. “You do know what a BDSM club is, don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course,” she says quickly. “I mean, it’s been a while but…”

Now I can’t help but laugh. This is too much. It’s too…innocent. Too cute. Which means this will be too easy, bordering on cruel. I wanted to throw her off by bringing her here, but it seems that she really has no idea what goes on in a place like this.

“Mia,” I say. She turns her face to me, and I nod for her to move closer. I rest my hand on the exposed skin of her back and feel an immediate flash of excitement through my body. “Do you know what that stands for?” She pauses, but then slumps the slightest bit and shakes her head no as if she’s conceding defeat. “It stands for,” I say, then lean right into her neck, smelling her hair and skin, “bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism.”

I can see her skin flush red—it starts on her ample chest and rises to her face. “Good to know,” she says.

“Are you frightened?”

“I’m not scared,” she says.

“Sure,” I say, sliding my hand across her skin before moving away from her. “Come on, get your drink. I’ll show you around.”

I guide her to the back of the bar where the club really begins. Just having my hand on her waist is enough to make my cock twitch in need; seeing her full-length in that tight skirt and top, her calves flexing with every step in those red high heels makes me want to press her up against the wall and feel every inch of her along my own body. But we have work to do—namely, showing her the ropes of this sex club.

At the start of a long, dark, narrow hallway with almost a dozen closed doors is Mick, who nods at us.

“Who is that?” Mia asks me, her eyes darting back to the man dressed in black.

“He’s the dungeon monitor,” I say, and she looks at me with wide eyes.

“Is that really what he’s called?”

“It is,” I say. “See these little windows on the doors?” I point to the first door we pass. The slit in the door is too high for us to see in, which is the point. “He keeps an eye on the guests to make sure all is good.”

“He looks?”

“Yes,” I say. “But just to make sure everyone is playing fair and no one is in danger.”

“People could be in danger here?” she asks.

I chuckle. She really doesn’t get it. “It’s possible, but unlikely.”

Just then we hear a pop, and then a cry of ecstasy—Mia probably interprets it as pain as she sucks in a breath at the sound.

“And people like this?” she asks.

“Very much,” I say.

As we walk slowly down the hall, more noises fill the air. I keep my hand on the waist of her skirt, a light touch to let her know I’m here. I wonder if she takes it as comforting or dominance. Or maybe she’s so rattled she doesn’t even feel my hand there.

A man’s cry of more, yes, give it to me comes out from one of the rooms. We hear what sounds like a whip snap, and then the man moans out.

Mia wraps her arms around her waist as if she’s cold, but the way her shoulders are practically raised to her ears, I’m pretty sure she’s just nervous. I give her back a slight rub—as much for her as for me.

“Do you enjoy this?” she asks. We’re outside a room in which we can hear the slapping of flesh on flesh, fast and hard.

“What I enjoy is beside the point,” I say. One thing this Mia Cassidy does not need to know is what I enjoy. She will certainly never have access to that part of me. I’m not even sure I have access anymore, it’s buried so deep. But this is pleasurable enough for now. In fact, it’s quite fun.

“Then what is the point?” she asks. “Why did you bring me here?”

“To see how you can handle yourself,” I tell her, which is partly true. I’m surprised she hasn’t run screaming out of here yet. She deserves some props for that alone. “I need someone who can write about the kinds of topics that will garner notoriety and wider readership. I want stories that get people talking, even if they’re talking in secret.”

Just then, the couple who is in the room we’re just outside of seem to explode in total ecstasy, crying out while slapping the floor, the wall, flesh…we can’t know for sure.

Mia stops suddenly. She leans back against the wall, puts her hand over her forehead and closes her eyes. For a moment, I think she’s going to pass out.

“Are you okay?” I ask her. I take her wine glass and set both our glasses on a small nearby table.

She opens her eyes, looking at me. Her eyes trail down me for a brief second. She swallows hard, nodding her head yes. I place my forearm on the wall next to her, almost boxing her in. I lean close to her ear, making no secret about purposely being close to her.

“Are you sure, Mia?” I ask so close that her hair brushes my nose.

She turns her face slightly to me, and for a moment I think she’s going to kiss me. My dick is beginning to strain in my pants.

“Mr. Bridges,” she says softly. “Please.”

“Please what?” I ask, and there’s no answer I’ve ever been more excited to hear. I just hope she’s asking for what I think she is.