I’m tied to his bed and completely naked.

Curiosity, attraction and a hint of fear got me in this situation.

I’ll probably have to beg to get myself out.

There’s no explanation for why I allowed things to go this far. He doesn’t utter a word when he leads me off the rooftop and out of the gala. We sit silently at the back of his limousine, each of us on separate sides of the vehicle, avoiding the energy coursing through the air between us for the drive home. We don’t speak for the short walk inside or the elevator ride to our floor, and when he takes my hand and shows me to his door instead of Vivian’s, I go with him willingly.

Maybe I should resist or object in some way, but the words don’t come, and there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to leave his side.

The cocktail dress is now in a crumpled pile near the bedroom door, along with my bra and panties. Because I’m in Jackson’s bed with nothing on. I crane my neck up at the rich red silk ribbons that Jackson uses to tie my wrists to the bedposts. Looking up in that direction is somewhat better than the alternative, because looking down my body will only remind me that I stood in at the door of Jackson’s room, frozen like a doll while he undressed me.

He stands at the side of the bed, grazing his eyes appreciatively down my body. The contrast of my utter nudity compared to his being fully dressed in a tuxedo adds to the power he has over me. But it’s my doing. I gave that power to him the second I got here. I don’t regret handing it over to him, but I’m curious about how he’ll use it. Curious and hopeful. And more aroused than ever. All I can do now is press my thighs together and wait. Well, there are some things I can do, and a whole lot more I should do, but I have to admit, the mental state I’m in feels like anticipation mixed with suspended judgment. Letting the moment take me wherever Jackson wants to go feels strangely right.

Jackson leaves through the door we came in from, and I use the time to look around the massive bedroom decorated in tan and chocolate tones. The lights are turned down, casting shadows across the two club-style cream leather armchairs near the floor to ceiling glass windows looking out over Central Park North. The blinds are up, and moonlight mixed in with city lights stream in through the glass, making the room appear brighter now that my eyes have adjusted. Lifting my head for a better view, I try to bring my elbows close to my body for support, and am reminded that my hands are still tied up. I rest my head back down on the pillow, wondering what Jackson will do to me. One thing has to happen somewhere along the way. Any minute now, I’ll have to tell him that I’m a virgin.

A shallow sigh escapes my lips when Jackson returns to the room a few minutes later. His tuxedo jacket, vest, and bowtie are gone. He’s undone the top few buttons of his dress shirt, and looks a lot more relaxed now in just the shirt and slacks. Stopping at the foot of the bed, he holds two wine glasses in one hand. In his other hand, he grips the handle of an expensive looking silver bucket filled with ice that half covers a bottle of red wine. He rests the glasses on the nightstand closest to him, and retrieves the wine from the ice bucket.

Opening the bottle of wine with a sleek electronic corkscrew, he fills both glasses and returns the bottle to the chill in the ice. I start to wonder if he’ll untie one of my hands so I can drink with him. Moments later, he answers my silent question by sitting beside me. With one steady hand slid under my neck, he gently lifts my head and upper body before picking up one of the glasses of wine.

“Have a few sips. It’ll help you relax,” he instructs me.

I do as he says, gazing up into his eyes as I take two small sips, careful not to spill any wine on his expensive white-on-white stripe sheets that feel like satin. The chilled liquid travels over my tongue, infusing its semi-sweet, slightly tart flavor along its path to my throat, and I swallow. He pulls the glass from my lips and places the glass on the nightstand again, then lightly glides the back of his hand down the side of my cheek. My eyes close, and my head leans into his warm touch, craving more. Then Jackson lowers his face to just inches from mine.

“You’re quiet now, but I’m going to make you beg, doll.”

I swallow hard, and my throat releases an unintended sigh. It’s the first of what’s sure to be many instances of my body betraying me by revealing how aroused I am right now. I’m filled with lust, from the center of my core to every tingle along my skin. And he’s barely touched me yet. Heat and need are pooling between my legs, my nipples are hard from the cold air and from being exposed, and my skin is surely hot to the touch and working on overdrive.

Jackson really doesn’t know me, so I’m at a loss for how to inform him that I’m not likely to beg for anything at all. Or maybe I’m about to learn that I’m dead wrong.

I open my mouth to form an answer, anything at all, but my attempt is put on hold by his hands trailing down past my neck, across my collarbone, and pausing mere inches from my nipples. He’s going to stretch this out. I just know it, but I’m not going to complain. The longer Jackson takes to make it to the punch line of this salacious evening, the more time I have to muster up the courage to admit that he’ll be the first man to ever be inside of me.

Assuming we get that far at all.

My lips stretch across my teeth threatening to bring a smile to my face for a moment as I picture myself still tied to his bed a week from now. At the rate he’s going, I’ll still be a virgin. He lifts his hands from my skin in a painstakingly slow pace, and my chest raises off the bed, yearning for him to inch toward my breasts.

I should be scared. Terrified. The truth is I’m taking a risk being here, allowing myself to be taken by a man I hardly know.

Jackson reaches up and runs his hand along the side of my head, tucking some stray strands of hair behind my ear. I shiver at the spark of electricity that spreads from his fingers and hits me like lightning. Does he feel it too, or is this buzzing, aching, and breathlessness only going on in my head? I hesitate to ask that question aloud.

He stares into my face. Somewhere playing in his features is the answer. I shouldn’t trust him, but I do. Looking into his light blue eyes, I tilt my chin up toward him.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs.

Maybe tonight is exactly the way it needs to be. Thinking back to my high school years and this past year at college, I can’t remember taking the initiative for anything except my studies. I went out on dates with the boys who asked, and made friends with the girls who came to me. I never had the guts to make the first move. The sad part about this realization is I can’t even complain. I don’t have a single recollection of a time when I wanted to do anything different. There’s no boy I wish that I’d kissed and never got to. There’s no regret about a friendship that never came to fruition, or one that ended before it should have.

I’ve never asked for much. What’s worse is I haven’t ever had to fight for anything.

It’s as though I’ve been moving through my existence like a lifeless rag doll.

Christ, it’s no wonder I’m still a virgin.

Tonight has to be different.

Mind you, Jackson has stripped me naked and tied me to his bed, so on some level, he’s already exerted a measure of control over me. He’s already made me his doll. But his suggestion is resonating in my thoughts. I’m going to have to beg for what I want. Nothing will happen without my asking for it.

“Kiss me.”

I can hardly hear the words leave my lips, and Jackson confirms when he asks me to repeat what I said and to make sure I ask nicely.

Clearing my throat, I part my lips again. “Please kiss me, Jackson.”

He slides his hand to the base of my neck and grips my hair, bringing our faces closer. My eyes flutter closed as he brushes his lips against mine.

“Of course, I’ll kiss what’s mine, doll,” he whispers against my lips.

My core clenches, and heat spreads out from the spot, making my knees go weak, and I’m almost glad to be tied to this bed, so I don’t end up molding my lips to his myself.