What just happened?

I stare at the man in shock.

Something just happened, right?

The way he’s staring at me . . . It’s hard to tell because he’s wearing that mask, but I think he felt it, too.

“Let’s go,” he says as he pulls me up effortlessly. Obviously, he doesn’t want to talk about it.  

“Where are we going?” I ask, taking one last glance at the mess I’m leaving on the floor.

Two cocktail glasses are on the ground, the liquid seeping into the red carpet. And two guests are going to have to wait a long time to get their drinks.

Kendra’s going to kill me. And then, I’m going to get fired.

But who cares? It’s not like I need the money from this job anyway.

“You need to learn to address me properly, Katie,” the masked man says. His big, strong hand is hot on my skin as he leads me down the aisle to the back of the hall.

I don’t need to learn anything because I’m getting fired soon anyway—because of him. Where does this guy get off, telling me what to do?

Oh, god, I’m really not suited for this job. I’m not some obedient girl who can just sit still while a man walks all over me—there’s nothing that makes me angrier than a man who does that.

But this is a job, and I need to remember to follow the rules.

And I hate to admit it, but the man holding my hand right now . . . Even though I hate the way he’s been bossing me around, there's something about him. Tingles spread all over my body from the place where our hands touch.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Where are we going?” I ask as the man pulls me into a hallway.

He takes sure, confident steps with his long legs. He cuts a sharp figure in his slim, grey business suit. The back of his suit jacket pulls snugly across his broad back.

I see hints of powerful, muscular arms under his sleeves, which make me wonder what else is hiding underneath those clothes.

I may be able to get a better look if the lighting were better. But like the rest of the club, it’s dark in this hallway.

There are crystal chandeliers overhead, casting soft, warm light all over the walls and carpeted floor. Mirrors hang on the walls, as well as paintings of women being bound naked and men striking them with crops and whips.

Along with the cries and moans from the women on stage, the atmosphere feels thick with sexual energy.

I can't ignore the throbbing in my core or the fact that the man holding my hand right now is the main cause.

“Sir, where are you taking me?” I ask again.

The man stops in his tracks and stalks toward me, forcing me to step backward until the heel of my shoe hits the wall.

“You need to learn to be silent when you're not being spoken to, Katie,” he says in a deep voice laced with danger. “Didn't the club tell you how to behave?”

Oh, right. I may have zoned out a few times during Kendra’s briefing earlier.

“I’m sorry, Sir. This is my first night.”

“I know. I can tell.” He takes another step closer and leans down, leveling his gaze at me. He's so close I can see the wicked glint in his green eyes and the short stubble along his strong jawline. “For future reference, next time I see you here, you're going to stay silent until you're spoken to, understand?”

I swallow. My heart pounds against my chest.

I should be angry. I should push him back and show him where to shove that attitude.

But I don't want to do any of those things, and not just because this is a job.

His gaze . . . It entraps me and hypnotizes me. The darkness in his eyes calls out to me. It sucks me in.

“Yes, Sir.” I find myself melting under his command.

“Good girl.” His voice sends a thrill down my spine. My chest expands, taking in his praise.

What's wrong with me? Why do I care what this stranger thinks about me?

But for some reason, I crave that feeling again, that assurance that I’m doing good, that thrill of knowing he takes pleasure in me.

“Aren't you going to thank me for saying something nice to you, Katie?” he whispers in my ear.

“Thank you, Sir.” A gasp interrupts my voice when the mysterious man nibbles on my earlobe.

“You're welcome.” His breath tickles my neck. “Now, you were asking me about where I was taking you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I gulp down my nervousness, grateful for the mint a girl gave me before I walked out into the big hall with my tray of drinks.

“Did you listen when they told you about the private rooms, Katie?” He leans his forehead against mine, our noses grazing against each other.

“Yes, Sir.”

The private room is where all the dirtiest, kinkiest things happen--behind closed doors where nobody can see.

Someone's true self comes out when they're anonymous; that's why Internet forums are filled with hatred and stupidity.

If this man takes me to a private room, there's no saying what he'll do to me. With the mask over his face, I don’t even know who he is.

Am I really ready for this?

And am I seriously considering having sex with a man as part of a job?

I mean, there's real attraction here. I’d still sleep with this man if we weren't waitress and customer.

At the same time, maybe there wouldn't be this level of attraction had we met outside, in the real world. The whole club has been designed to create exactly this kind of situations. The dark rooms, the hidden corners, the mystery . . .

The sound of the man’s palms landing on the wall behind me jerks me back to reality. He's caging me in.

“I see you have trouble listening,” he says. “I can help you fix that.”

Before I can protest, he grabs the hair at the base of my skull. It doesn't hurt or anything, but it suddenly seems pointless to resist. He wants to consume me, and I want to be consumed by him.

Pulling my hair to make me look up at him, he claims my mouth and gets me lost in the most intense, passionate kiss I've ever had. His lips, hot and firm, stokes the flame of arousal kindling within me.

Just when I want more from him, he pulls away. I lean into him for another kiss, but he holds me in place by the hair.

“I already know what your answer will be. But club rules say I need your explicit consent.” He smirks. “So, Katie, tell me, will you come with me to a private room?”

“Yes, Sir,” I blurt out before I have a chance to overthink it.

“Good girl,” he says in a voice that makes my core clench in anticipation.

* * *

End of preview.

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