I’m freaking. What's the matter with you? What do you think you're doing? This is going to ruin everything!

I’ve always admired Daniel, it isn't that. He gets my engines revving. I’ve been fantasizing about him for a long, long time. But this could end badly. Fantasies were just that. I don't really know anything about the kind of man he is. At work, yes, sort of. Out of work? No clue. He could be an arrogant bastard. He could be lame in bed. He could be twisted, as in the I'm-going-to-cause-you-pain kind of twisted. I’m looking for something exciting in the bedroom, but I don't necessarily want pain. A pinch here, a slap on the ass there is okay, but nothing truly painful. I want to enjoy the sex too, not just endure it.

I've also heard the rumors. Office gossip. He’s often seen about town with a different woman on his arm every night. How in the world am I going to compete with them? The women he goes out with—again gossip—are the hoity-toity type. Socially aware, known in their circles, attached to boardrooms or high-power positions. Does he do… does he have regular sex with them or are they all into the bondage scene? I scoff. What difference does it make?

I‘m here now. Me. I’m going to dip my toe into the waters and see what happens. He promises nothing, except that I will still have my job and he'll still publish my book. If things don't work out like I expect, things will just go back to the way they've been.

Won’t they?

I know nothing about the world of bondage. Sure, I’ve read about some of it, but reading and doing are two different things. I imagine myself handcuffed to a bedframe with pink, fuzzy, padded handcuffs, and him having his way with me.

No doubt about it, that image gets me hot. Just the thought of it has my nipples tingling and hardening and my pussy clenching with anticipation. At the same time, I know that I’m no match in sexual prowess nor as experienced as Daniel. I know that he can please me, but what if I don't please him? Can I please a man like him? Self-doubt creeps in. I'll be mortified if I don't.

No, I’m making a mistake. I’m leaving myself open to ridicule, to—

"Don't be nervous," he says as he guides me out of the restaurant and down the short hallway toward the elevators. He planned it this way. A light lunch in the restaurant of the Westin Hotel. A room already reserved upstairs for our rendezvous. I can't help my vivid imagination from running amok. I fantasize him emerging from the bathroom wearing a pair of leather chaps, holding a short whip or something. God, how cliché is that? No, no he wouldn't do that, he isn't the type.

Is he?

Anything I know about bondage I’ve read about in other books, other romance novels. At the moment, more than any other time in my life, I feel like a fraud. Embarrassed, I stand next to him in the elevator, the scent of his cologne or aftershave, whatever it is, wafting toward me. He smells good. He always does. He holds my hand; warm, strong, offering a sense of security and comfort.

I might as well just fess up. I look up at him, watching as he watches the numbers of the floors we pass light up in fluorescent green. "Daniel, I should tell you..." He glances away from the numbers and looks down at me, giving me his full attention. "I'm probably not as experienced as… no, that isn't right." I shake my head, along with an eye roll. "I'm not as experienced as some of the other women you've been with, so—"

"Relax, Ashley," he says. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? You want to learn?"

I nod.

"I'll be your teacher. I'll show you. But first, we just need to become acquainted with one another in a more carnal sense. You just need to trust me, all right?"

I nod and say nothing more as the elevator continues to rise until it finally stops on the top floor. A penthouse suite? The elevator doors ding open and, still holding my hand, he guides me out into the carpeted hallway. I walk beside him toward a door a short distance down the hall. I swallow, then laugh at myself. Why the dread? You're not being led to the gallows!

He pulls a key card from his inner jacket pocket. My heart pounds. I hope my hand isn't clammy. I stare down at our joined hands; his large, firm, and browned by at least part of his life lived outdoors, mine smaller and pale.

The green lights of the electronic door lock flash, and he pushes down on the handle and opens the door. He let’s go of my hand and braces it against the door over my head, gesturing for me to enter in front of him. Despite my nervousness, despite my urge to suddenly turn and run, I do, and then pause in the small foyer, forcing myself to be brave. I want this, don't I? I’ve admired Daniel from afar for so long, and now here I am, about to have sex with him in a penthouse suite of one of the nicest hotels in the city.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says.

Heavy curtains are pulled back from an expansive and gorgeous view of the city through a floor-to-ceiling window. A filmy white curtain pulled halfway across the massive window allows a sense of privacy and bathes the room in a comforting glow. I pause, taking it all in; the plush carpet, freshly vacuumed, the sunken living room, resplendently furnished with not one, but two beige leather sofas, two arm chairs at opposite ends of a maple coffee table, and beyond that, the wet bar in the corner between the edge of the window and a hallway that certainly leads to the—

"Would you like a drink?"

A buzz might be nice, consider it, but then change my mind. Good or bad, I want to remember every second of what is about to happen. I don't want my thoughts dulled with booze. "No thank you." I step toward the windows, staring at the buildings that fill the horizon until, in the distance, I find the interstate, cars streaming along like a slithering snake, and beyond that, a brief glimpse of the harbor.

I hear movement behind me, then feel his hands on my shoulders. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I feel the need to fill the silence. I briefly close my eyes and tell myself to relax.

"It is," he agrees.

He turns me so that I face him. My breasts press against his chest, standing so close that my chin brushes against his shirt as I tilt my head to look up at him. I’m a tall girl, and Daniel, standing at six-feet-two, is only about six inches taller than me. Our eyes lock and I find it difficult to look away. Those light greenish-blue eyes of his, the way they look at mine, have me frozen like a deer in the headlights.

He glances down at my mouth, and my nipples harden. I barely squelch the gasp that rises in my throat. Such heat, such promise… a small smile plays about his lips.

"You're nervous."

He sees it, so I can't lie. I nod. He lifts a hand and cups it around my jaw, his thumb tracing the skin of my cheek under my eye. His index finger traces the line of my nose, and then along the bottom of my lip. I barely hold back a shiver. How long have I wanted this? How many times have I been in bed with Stewart, wishing that the man rocking his hips above me was Daniel? I’m excited, anxious, and filled with trepidation all at the same time. What if I don't please him? What if—

He takes my hand and leads me down a short hallway, pausing only long enough to allow me to enter the bedroom before him. If I wasn’t so nervous, I would’ve been more dismayed by the opulence. A massive, king-sized bed with a plump maroon comforter, white pillowcases stark in contrast. At least eight pillows, plump and carefully arranged at the head of the bed. On either side of that bed stands two small end tables, maple like the coffee table in the living area, with Tiffany lamps. As with the main room, a glass, floor-to-ceiling window looks out onto the city, but as with the living room, a filmy white curtain is completely drawn over the glass, offering more privacy.

On the wall to the left stands a bank of rolling glass closet doors. The bed and end tables take up the other wall, and opposite that stands a dresser, a built-in niche with shelves and a huge flat-screen TV, and beside that, through a half-open door, is the bathroom.

Now's your chance to change your mind… The idea reverberates around my head. This is crazy. Risky. Yes, I've crushed on Daniel ever since I first started at the Pen and Quill. Yes, I always wanted something more in my sex life, although I couldn't quite identify what that implied. It was only after I started editing some of the novels submitted for publication that I learned about the world of bondage. Only then did I realize there was so much more. Only then did I discover that Daniel obviously knew a great deal about that world based on his comments on my edits before we went to press.

My heart pounds. I can't help feeling nervous. What if my body doesn't appeal to him? What if I don't please him? What if—

He grasps my hand again and guides me toward the bed. He sits down, gently tugging me down as well. I sit next to him, focused on our intertwined fingers.

"This is just us getting to know each other, Ashley. No pressure, okay?"

I’m glad we’re just going to have normal sex first, which might help me feel more comfortable around him. I shouldn't expect myself to be an expert in this. He shouldn't either. I also have to think of him as just a man, a handsome, desirable man. Not my boss. I can't think about having sex with my boss. That is just too… complicated. I also can't start freaking out about a world that I only read about, one that I barely have a grasp on, one that I barely understand, and expect myself to know—

"First, a few rules."

His comment startles me from my thoughts. "Rules?"

He nods. "The world of dominance and submission is not a free-for-all, Ashley. It's not about inflicting pain. It's not about making you do something you don't want to do." He pauses. "Of course, in this relationship, I am the Master or the Dom. You, likewise, will be the sub, sometimes called the slave."

I knew that much.

"But in order for us to be completely successful in this Dom/sub relationship, we also have to be able—and willing—to communicate. To feel free and safe, expressing our feelings and our desires." He pauses again. "Do you understand?"

I nod. Already I’m learning something new. This type of relationship is supposed to be satisfying for both partners, not just a person taking on the Master role and having his or her way with the other participant. He’s also suggesting that we have to be compatible; that we have to have an affinity for one another.

"In order to be successful and create a full and satisfying relationship for both of us, we both have to have goals, and our goals should be one and the same."

"All right," I say. "So, what is your goal?"

"That both of us gain pleasure from the experience."

I nod. "I want that, too." I mean it, but I’m also slightly afraid. In some of the books I've read, the interactions seemed relatively one-sided, sometimes venturing into cruelty and dissatisfaction. With Daniel, I want to—

"Mutual enjoyment of both partners in the Dom/sub relationship is the goal. Neither has all the power, and neither gives up complete control. Remember that." He stands and removes his jacket, placing it carefully over the back of a chair near the end table.

My heart trip-hammers as I watch. This is happening. It’s happening now.

"Whether it's with me or someone else, it's important to understand your role as a sub, but at the same time, never to give up all control over the situation."

My eyes are riveted to his fingers, and I watch as he begins to unbutton his shirt. Beneath the starched white of his dress shirt I see a glimpse of hard, muscular chest, hairless. When he yanks his shirt from his trousers, I barely hold back a gasp of surprise. He’s beautifully formed, his muscular definition much deeper, more apparent than I ever imagined. I feel an immediate surge of desire contracting my pussy.

"Take off your blouse."

Startled by the command, I hesitate. Embarrassed and self-conscious. But this is what I want, right? I feel a flush rise in my cheeks, but I try not to show outward emotion. Slowly, nervously, I unbutton my blouse and allow my blouse to slide off my shoulders onto the bedspread, watching as his eyes focus on my breasts, covered only by the black lacy Victoria's Secret bra that I spent half of my grocery money on yesterday.

I sit straight, resisting the urge to cover my breasts with my hands from his unwavering gaze. Instead, I place them on either side of me on the bedspread, my fingers clutching the plush fullness of the maroon fabric.

He slowly unbuckles his belt as he continues. "Neither one of us is to initiate any action that causes injury. Neither to our bodies, nor toward our mental and emotional comfort levels. We will discuss our boundaries before we proceed deeper into the Dom/sub relationship. You understand?"

"Yes," I barely manage to choke out, my gaze riveted to the bulge behind his zipper. He unzips his pants. I can barely breathe.

"Pain is acceptable, as long as it provides pleasure, although sometimes it can be used to correct behaviors. Nevertheless, pain is not the foundation of this relationship. Do you understand?"

I yank my gaze from his crotch and look up at him, gazing intently down at me. I nod, then swallow as he shrugs off his shoes and allows his pants to slip down and pool around his ankles. I feel an almost electrical charge surge from behind my breasts down my spine, warming my belly, and causing a growing heat in my own groin.

"We will make pre-agreed-upon limits, specifying what is acceptable and what is not. Boundaries. These boundaries are not to be crossed unless discussed beforehand, and the boundaries don't change unless we both agree to them. Do you understand?"

I try to focus. Really I do, but oh my God, he’s so much more than I ever expected. His voice is low, soothing, like a teacher, but all I can focus on is that broad chest, those muscular abs, his narrow hips, and his rock-hard legs. At the junction of those legs, his obvious arousal, pressing against his… not exactly the traditional boxers that I remember my brother wearing around the house, but not those tighty-whities, either.

He sits down on the bed next to me, warmth emanating from his skin. He smells wonderful, sexy, like a man. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me backward onto the bed, facing each other. His hands begin to work at the button of my pants. Every part of my body begins to throb with desire and anticipation. I struggle to catch my breath, not sure exactly what to do with my hands as he continues to talk to me, explaining these rules, as if I’m not lying practically naked next to him.

He lay right in front of me, his hand on my hip, his mouth so close I feel his breath on my cheek as he speaks, my hands clutch in front of my breasts, not sure what to do with them.

"We'll have to come up with a safeword for you, something that you can say that will stop any action. Safewords are important, but are not typically needed if the Dom and the sub understand one another in regard to their desires and limitations."

His fingers ease under the waistline of my pants and begin tugging downward. I lift my hips slightly off the bed to facilitate their removal. His voice purrs.

"Remember, Ashley, communication is essential."

He pauses, his fingers now tugging on the strap of my thong. "So, tell me, Ashley, tell me what you want."

What do I want? I want to feel his lips on mine. I want to feel his tongue in my mouth. I want to feel his mouth encompassing my nipple, suckling. I want to feel his rock-hard cock inside me, surging, my legs spread wide to accept him. I want to…

"I want everything," I murmur.

He rolls me onto my back and in the next instant his mouth is on mine, not gentle, but not particularly harsh. Firm and demanding. Obviously taking control. The following seconds have my head swimming. His mouth is everywhere, as are his fingers, as if testing my limits. I wince only slightly when he unexpectedly twists my nipple between his finger and thumb, but then immediately follows the move with a swirl of his warm, soft tongue, eliciting a surge of desire that has me lifting my back off the bed, thrusting my breasts upward, demanding more of his attention.

While his mouth devours one nipple, a broad hand strokes down along my waist, along my hip, and grabs my ass. Squeezes. Hard, but not painful. An instant later, I feel the open-handed slap on my butt cheek. I giggle—

"Stop that!"

His firm tone of voice startles me, and I squelch the giggle as once again he squeezes my ass, harder than the first time, and then strokes his fingers along its contour, delving into that wet niche between my legs. He asserted his dominance with that tone of voice, and I realize… I realize that I like it, that sense of control.

My body is on fire. I want to roll onto my back, spread my legs, and reach for him, but he controls every move, giving me specific instructions to follow. Lie still. Don't touch me. His orders are clear. I want to touch him, to feel his strength beneath my fingertips. To wrap my hand around his engorged dick, but I can't. Not until he allows me to.

Instead of finding that off-putting, I find it titillating and exciting. After a few moments, I’m allowed to touch him where he instructs me to touch, stroke where he orders me to stroke. Squeeze where he demands me to squeeze. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. Not quite gentle sex, but not dark and dirty either. He’s a little rough, squeezing my breasts harder than I've ever felt before; he plucks my nipples, grabs a handful of hair and tugs my head downward so I can see his dick, but not to the point of causing me pain.

Rather, I find it invigorating. I feel empowered under his instructions, determined to follow through with his commands, to give him what he wants, and allow him to take what he wants from me.

Finally, every nerve in my body thrumming, afraid that I’ll explode, he seems to sense my need. Gasping for breath, feeling like I’m going to finish before he tells me I could, he flips me onto my back and spreads my legs. He half kneels between my legs, bending and pushing my knees apart. He stares at me, at my eyes, and then pointedly glances down at my breasts, his mouth slightly open, his pupils dilated. His gaze sweeps downward and fastens on my exposed pussy. My internal muscles contract under his gaze, and then his mouth is there, his tongue laving my lower lips, suckling on my nub, causing me to groan and lift my lips higher. I reach for his shoulders.

"Hold still. Don't touch me, " he orders, his voice vibrating against my mound.

It takes every ounce of my effort, but I place my hands at my sides, clutching the bedspread beneath me. His skin glistens with a sheen of sweat. I catch another glimpse of his engorged cock, but I can't reach it, can't touch it, as per his orders.

His lips and tongue work on my pussy, rough, but thrilling at the same time. He nibbles gently on my nub, and then I feel a finger plunge into my slit. I can't halt the moan that escapes my throat as I throw my head back, enjoying every sensation as that finger strokes in and out, his thumb circling my nub. I want to feel him plunging his cock deep inside me, but he doesn't. Not yet.

He shifts position, his lips and tongue still focusing on my wetness; he lifts his hands and grabs both my breasts, squeezing in a rhythmic action and then twisting my nipples and plucking at them with his index finger, repeating the process in time to his suckling. A myriad of different, slightly painful, sensations hum through my body and overcomes any sense of discomfort. The burgeoning flame in my pussy continues to rage, and then, his lips suckling deeply, his fingers twisting my nipples, I fall over the edge. Waves of contractions take over my body, take my breath away, and leave me laying limp and exhausted beneath him.

When I open my eyes, he kneels over me, his gaze riveted to my face once again. I glance down, see his cock, thick rope-like veins on its surface, thinking that now he’ll take me, fully and completely. I can touch him. Finally, I can touch him.

Instead, he climbs off the bed and stands before me, allowing me to look my fill. But I want him back on the bed, next to me. I want to suck his—

"Next time I will take you, in any way that I wish. Do you understand?"

My arms at my sides, my knees still bent and spread, I nod, my gaze riveted on his face as he gazes down at me, his expression motionless. The only indication that he gained the least bit of pleasure from our… whatever this is, his dick, still jutting out at an angle from his body. He abruptly reaches for his clothes and then disappears into the living room. He’s getting dressed. Is he just going to leave? Just like that? Without talking about—

He appears in the doorway, fully dressed. I look at him, confused. Did I not please him? Is he disappointed—

"I'll get in touch with you after Christmas. We'll make plans."

Then he’s gone.