My body has a mind of its own. It revels in the power it has over the mysterious man taking such thorough and expert possession of it.

It prepares to fall apart again, crash with mindless frenzy on the shores of bliss.

“Come for me, firecracker. Kill me with that pussy.”

Convince me you’re worth dying for.

The words from our first meeting slam into my head. It triggers a strange sensation inside me. Suddenly, I don’t want this to be a forgettable fuck he tosses over his shoulder the moment he leaves the room.

I may be selling my body to save my life. That doesn’t mean my pride is dead too.

My hands are shackled in his, but I have my hips. My legs.

I throw them around his waist. He’s lean, superbly honed. Perfect to lock my legs around. Thanks to my recent fitness regime, my thighs are stronger. I use the purchase to lift myself, meet his thrust mid-air. I almost black out from the overload of sensation that hits me.

“Fuck!”

The roar blisters my ears. This one is for me. Not the cameras recording our every move. Shame is still a live wire twisting inside me. But alongside it, there’s also pride. This one is for me.

His next thrust drives me back into the bed. But I’ve unleashed something within myself. An animal that needs to be fed.

I execute the move again, and a strangled moan leaves his chest.

Between the pressure building inside my body and the pleasure-pain high of meeting his relentless thrusts, I know I won’t last long.

Sweat drips off his body onto mine. The heat between us is combustible. I’m about to perish in the inferno. I’m not sure where the words come from. They must have been building from that single memory.

His rough keening growls from his chest. His free hand digs into my hips, guides me into his final thrust.

And I murmur into his ear, “Am I worth dying for?”

Q tenses as if he’s been shot. Then he’s coming like mad, flooding my insides with thick, hot semen. His release triggers mine. My body jerks and twists beneath his and we fight for air. Several minutes later, he’s still twitching inside me.

My mind staggers beneath the lessons my body has thrown at me. I’ve never known anything like this. I want to hate it, but it feels good. I battle with myself for a full minute, then abandon the fight. I breathe out, and let myself revel in the moment.

His head falls on my chest.

The touch of cold metal freezes everything inside me. From one instant to the next I’m reminded of everything that is wrong about this situation.

As if he senses my withdrawal, he tenses. Then rises off me.

My wrists are released from his hold. Before I can lower them, he growls, “Stay.”

The bed dips for a second, then levels when he steps away. As quickly as he entered, I hear him leave.

A minute ticks by. Two. I’m frozen in a twisted tableau of shame and satiation. The blood still roaring in my ears means I can’t tell if the cameras have stopped rolling. My senses won’t calm and I can’t stop the onslaught of emotions that batter me. I’m not sure how long I lie there, before his voice flares into the room.

“The cameras are off now. Take the blindfold off.”

My hands shake as I free myself. The lights are low enough not to cause my eyes discomfort. I’m alone in a sea of silk pillows and indignity. I raise my gaze, and thank God, the cameras have receded. I throw the blindfold to the side and stare down at my body. The evidence of his rough possession is everywhere. My thighs, my breasts, my wrists. I look around the room and spot a door to one side.

“The bathroom. Use it if you have to, but don’t clean yourself up.”

My eyes widen. “Why not?”

“I want you dirty. When I come back, I want you smelling of me.” The primitive possession in that statement holds no apology.

I feel the stamp of it all over my body. “When will you be back?”

“In a few hours. Don’t leave the suite. Are you hungry?”

I’m ravenous. For more than just food. Although how that could be when he’s commanded such powerful orgasms from me, I can’t fathom. A flush creeps up my neck as I nod. “Yes.”

His laugh holds a tinge of cruelty. “You’ll have me again soon, Lucky. Rest for now. Your food will be brought to you shortly.”

That he can read me so easily when I don’t know the first thing about him irritates me. “Thanks. You’re far too kind.”

“No. I’m not.” There’s a deadly ring to the three words that immediately chills my spine. They also tweak a part of my brain, attempt to make a connection that flounders for a brief moment, then fizzles and dies.

I catch a corner of the heavy coverlet and draw it over me. Whether he takes that as conversation over or he has nothing else to say, I sense the instant he clicks off.

Tiredness seeps into my bones. I’m the kind of sore that draws a moan each time I move, but not ones of distressing pain. I sink into the bed and surrender to the conflict raging inside me. When it exhausts itself without my help, it releases me long enough for me to fall asleep.

Stephanie wakes me gently what seems like five minutes later. Without windows, I can’t tell how much time has passed. She tells me I’ve been asleep for four hours.

The large tray she sets on my lap contains a steaming bowl of linguine in a creamy sauce. The cutlets of Parma ham melt in my mouth and I polish off the meal in minutes, soaking up the remaining cream with thick focaccia bread. I leave the wine alone, and settle for a club soda. Once she takes the tray away, I slide out of bed and make my way gingerly to the bathroom. Like everything else Q-related, the bathroom is huge, every luxury and amenity within reach. I stare with a little longing at the multi-headed shower before I shake my head.

I return to the room after I take care of business, but I don’t get back into bed. There’s an entertainment center with a sleek looking MP4 player sitting on a glass surface. This remote, unlike the one I used in the Hell’s Kitchen loft, looks simple. I press the power button and strings of an Italian operetta fill the room. I grimace and hit the next button.

Imagine Dragons’ Demons slowly pounds into life. My eyes widen and my shocked gasp ends in laughter. A tiny part of me is thrilled that I like the first thing I’ve learned about Q. No, not my first thing. This is the second. The first thing I like about him is stamped inside and outside my body. Q is extremely skilled when it comes to a woman’s body.

The song is halfway through when I sense him again. My skin grows feverish and my belly rolls with trepidation and excitement.

Was this some form of early onset Stockholm Syndrome? The remote slips from my hand onto the floor and I don’t bother to pick it up.

“Lucky.” He’s outside the door.

I return to the bed and put the blindfold back on. I’m not sure where he wants me so I remain standing by the side of the bed and place my hands on top of the rumpled sheets. I don’t need sight to confirm his purposeful stride toward me. The very air seethes with thick, sexual intent.

He reaches me, pulls me back against him and runs his hands all over my body. Each powerful caress pulls a shiver from me. He bends his head and sniffs the curve of my shoulder. “Was that amusement at my choice of music I heard a few minutes ago?”

“Ah…no. It was unexpected, that’s all.”

“Why unexpected?”

“They’re my favorite band.” I let out a self-conscious laugh. “I was just surprised that…I don’t know what you look or really sound like but we like the same music.”

He slides his hands beneath my breasts. “And that pleases you?” he rasps.

I shrug. “It helps make this a little less…weird.”

He pauses for a second. “What else would help?”

Instinctively, I know a request to take the blindfold off will be denied. That courtesy, if it happens, will come from him. “I would like to touch you. With my hands. Maybe see you?” I throw in there anyway.

My breath hitches when he picks me up. Since I haven’t been given permission to touch, my hands hang down by my sides as he strides away from the bed.

A few seconds later, he settles on a seat that I remember looks like a leather-studded La-Z-Boy recliner next to the fireplace, and he arranges me over his lap so my feet are on the floor either side of him. The thick rod of his cock lies snug between my pussy lips, but he doesn’t penetrate me. He lies back and grabs my hips, slowly grinds me into his hardness. I’m slick and wet and he groans at the delicious friction.

After about a minute, his hands caress up my sides. I jerk a little, and he chuckles.

“You’re ticklish just there.”

“Yeah…” My hips move over him, the desire to pump almost unconscious.

“I’m going to let you touch me now.”

My breath expels in a burst of excitement. “Okay.”

His hands trail up and over my breasts. For a long moment, he just plays with my mounds. Then he cups my shoulders, draws his hands down my arms and captures my hands.

I stop breathing altogether when he brings our entwined hands to his abdomen and lays my palms flat against his skin. I can’t help my soft gasp at the hard, hot sleekness of him, the tight muscles shifting beneath my touch. His hands stay on mine for a minute before he lifts them away. I tentatively explore him, hear his sharp intake of breath when my short nails scrape over his skin. Between my legs, his cock thickens, extends a little more. My hips continue their slow grind as I trail my hands up over his ribcage. Flat nipples harden at my touch, drawing another sharp breath from him.

When I reach his pecs, he settles his hands over mine. “Stay,” he commands.

I’ve had my fun. But already it’s over. Disappointment tears through me, but the feeling doesn’t last for long. His hands leave mine, grasp my hips and elevate me long enough to position himself at my entrance. Between one breath and the other, I’m impaled. I scream as Ready, Aim, Fire blasts through the speakers. And even though I’m on top, Q totally tops me with relentless drives into my pussy from below.

“Love hearing you scream…”

My nails dig into his skin as I try to hold on. But it’s no use. I stop screaming long enough to ask the question that’ll fling me into nirvana. Permission is granted. I throw my head back and surrender to the fireball exploding between my legs.

When I collapse forward, he allows me to rest on his chest. But the thrusts never diminish. He draws another mind-bending orgasm from me before he roars his own release.

I’m a useless, boneless mess on top of him, when he murmurs, “Tomorrow, Lucky. I’ll let you see me.”