I get home and my heart is still pounding. I can’t believe I told my fantasy to Dr. Leeds, and even more unbelievable is that he’s going to make it much more than a fantasy for me.

I don’t know why it’s a fantasy of mine. Then again, having Dr. Leeds tie me down and blindfold me is a form of surrendering to a man’s power. My fantasy is really just another version of that—being taken and used by a strong man who knows what he wants.

I get home, run into my room, and throw my bag onto the bed. I collapse onto it, and my breasts feel sore as they bounce against my bra. The soreness reminds me of what is growing inside me, what I’ve not told Dr. Leeds.

I have him back for one night, and I’ll tell him after that. I can’t risk him disappearing on me again.

I’ve felt sore in a number of places since Dr. Leeds ravaged me, but it’s been long enough now that I’ve mostly healed. I roll my sleeve up and look at the faded marks, which remind me of the big red gashes I had all over my right wrist. The cuts were bright red and of varying intensity, showing each place where the cuffs dug into my skin. I had to wear long sleeves for almost a full week to make sure no one saw the cuts.

My ass was sore, too, and even though he only spanked me once on each cheek, he spanked me hard.

My muscles were sore in general, as I hadn’t done such prolonged physical exertion in months. It hadn’t felt like exercise while we were doing it, but thinking back on it, I was stretching myself to the limit for several hours.

I reach up and touch my breasts through my shirt. I press down, and I realize they are definitely tender. This is the most delayed soreness of what we did together. My breasts are going to grow as my pregnancy progresses. After all other soreness has healed, this reminder will remain.

I sigh and pull my shirt off, then unhook my bra. The air hits my breasts, and I fall back onto the bed and sigh out in relief.

“That feels better,” I whisper.

I look at the clock. It’s one o’clock. I don’t have any more classes or obligations for the rest of the day, but I have a lot of work to do in preparation for tonight.

Even though I’ve mentally run this fantasy through my head hundreds of times, planning for the real version of it requires a smidge more accuracy and precision than the fantasy version.

I can’t just wear “the hottest and most ‘fuck me’ pair of thigh high boots” like in my fantasy. I have to actually find those boots, try them on and make sure they fit, and be able to afford them. I run that same issue through with every item of clothing, down to my choice of underwear, and I realize that there’s no way I’ll be one hundred percent ready by this evening.

I should have told him I’d text him a time and location two or three days from now. The issue with that would be that I’m impatient, and that Dr. Leeds’ cocky ass has already forced me to wait two weeks. I need him now.

I can sacrifice the quality of my outfit in order to live out my fantasy a few days sooner. It’s certainly worth the tradeoff.

Besides, I can’t exactly hold this pregnancy information secret much longer. I owe him honesty, and I know how he’s likely to react when I tell him.

“I don’t want one-point-five children and a white picket fence.”

I decide that for tonight I won’t worry about being pregnant. Tonight is for living out my fantasy. It might be my last time with Dr. Leeds.

In my fantasy, it was always a random guy out of nowhere. I’d honestly never thought of it actually being Dr. Leeds. I told him to pretend to be someone else because he specifically asked me what my fantasy was, and not to hold back.

Now I’m realizing that this is essentially combining my two biggest fantasies. I’d wanted Dr. Leeds ever since I’d laid eyes on him, and now he’s going to become the center of my other darkest fantasy.

I try to imagine who he will pretend to be. Will he really do a good job at pretending to be someone else, or will he phone it in like some kind of porn actor? I imagine some cheesy porn where a cable guy comes to fix the TV. He throws out a few cheesy lines about fixing the TV, and then the woman smiles at him, and suddenly they are fucking each other for no logical reason.

That’s not what I want. I should have been more specific. I really want Dr. Leeds to pretend he’s someone else. I want to believe it. And it’s not because I don’t want him for who he is, it’s because I want to be taken and used by a total stranger. But in the back of my mind I’ll know it’s him, and I’ll know that I’m safe.

I decide I will be someone else too. It will let Dr. Leeds know straight away that I’m serious about pretending, and that I don’t want either of us to phone it in.

I open my closet and push all of my real clothes to the side. I dig deep into the back and find what I’m looking for. It’s this super slutty dress my friend bought me almost as a joke. It has so many openings in it that I somehow doubt it could really stay on my body. It has openings all down the legs on both sides, creating “windows” that show the bare skin of my leg. There are even more windows that would show my back and breasts. The dress itself is form-fitting, so even while showing a ton of skin, it’s tight as hell. The windows even go up to the hips, exposing large parts of my ass.

Not that I’ve ever worn the thing, but I think it will fit.

Who would wear this fucking thing, though? I’ll have to build my character around this gaudy dress.

No sane woman would wear this out to a club. I can see someone wearing it for her boyfriend or someone on a special occasion...in the bedroom. But wearing it out? You’d have to have some serious complex…

Then it hits me. I imagine who I will be: I’ve been sheltered my whole life. I’m from a town in West Virginia that’s so small you’ve never heard of it. It’s tucked up in the mountains, and it’s ten miles to the nearest Wal-Mart. When it snows, we can’t even get to the gas station because the roads are impassable. My parents homeschooled me, and I wasn’t ever allowed to so much as talk to boys—and as I got older—men.

Even at 25 years old, my parents still tried to control me. They made me dress like we were going to church just to eat supper on the weekdays, and I finally just snapped.

A few weeks ago, I went down to the main road and hitchhiked up to Pittsburgh, which to me is the biggest city I could possibly fathom.

As a reaction to having to dress like a good little girl for over two decades, I go on a spending spree—maybe I had inherited some money from a grandparent’s passing—buying sluttier and sluttier outfits…until finally I get this dress. The sluttiest dress you can wear without being naked. And tonight I’m going to wear it out, because I’ve decided that I’m going to lose my virginity tonight.

I’ve messed around since arriving in Pittsburgh. I’ve flirted with guys, but I’ve completely chickened out when they made the slightest hint of going in to kiss me.

Tonight, though, with this dress, I’m going to lose it to whichever guy is man enough to take it from me.

I lick my lips and find my hand is down my pants. I finger myself for a few moments, then stop.

I don’t want any release until tonight. Until whoever Dr. Leeds pretends to be tonight comes and takes me for himself.

* * *

I walk into the club in the Strip District. It’s the area just north of downtown filled with all kinds of nice shops, bars, and great restaurants. It has a solid clubbing scene, as well, and it’s further from campus. I don’t want anyone from campus to see me tonight, especially not a student. It’s a risk, I realize, but I’ll take certain risks to live out this particular fantasy.

The moment I walk into the club, all eyes are on me. The dress is covered in those little “windows” that run up the sides, including windows on the top and bottom of my breasts. Only the nipples are covered, really, and a small strip of fabric runs across my cleavage, dividing it in two.

The fabric is a dark, wine-colored red, and it’s thin and sheer enough that—was I not wearing a thong—you’d definitely see my panty line through it.

The women look at me with judging scowls. I can hear what they are thinking even as they look at me. “What kind of bitch wears that to a club?” Hell, it’s the same thing I’d think if someone else was wearing this dress.

The guys just ogle me like a fresh piece of meat. I catch a few women elbowing their boyfriends as they stare slack-jawed at me.

Before I can even reach the bar, one of the single guys is on me.

“Hey, girl, hey,” he says.

What a fucking poet.

“Hi,” I say, trying to do some kind of mountain girl drawl.

“You...you from here?” he asks. “I’m Chez. Let me buy you a drink. Or two. Whatever you want, baby.”

I laugh nervously, giggling. “I’m Betsy-Sue. Pleased to meet you, Chez. That’s an interesting name.”

I see his eyes widen. He thinks this is too good to be true. A guy who opens with, “Hey, girl, hey,” must be used to striking out, and I’m letting him feel like he already hit a homerun.

He pulls up a stool for me and waits for me to sit down. “You wait here, gorgeous, and I’ll get us some drinks. What you having?”

“Umm,” I stammer. “Something virgin.”

Even though Betsy-Sue isn’t pregnant, I am. No way I can actually drink.

As soon as his back is to me, I pull out my phone and text Dr. Leeds the name of the bar. For the time, I just write ‘now.’”

He should be here in thirty minutes or less, assuming he’s ready to go, and assuming he takes my request seriously. If he somehow stands me up or makes a fool out of me tonight, I’ll be done with him. I decided that before I put on this damn dress.

“Your name’s really Betsy-Sue?” the guy asks me.

He’s got thin lips, which he’s licking as he looks down my body, his eyes lingering at each window into my bare flesh. His blonde hair is buzzed almost bald on the sides, and it’s just slightly longer on top. He’s tall, but wiry, and I get an immediately weird vibe from him.

My adrenaline spikes as I consider my answer. As soon as I start talking again, there will be no turning back. I could still walk away right now.

But the fantasy is that whoever Dr. Leeds pretends to be will all but kick the door down to rescue me from this guy. He’ll take me away from him—and whether I like it or not—he’ll take me home with him. I already told Dr. Leeds to come right now, and I don’t have time to start over with another guy.

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess it makes me stick out like a sore thumb in the big city.”

“Where you from?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Ohio?”

“West Virginia,” I say. “So I’m a real hillbilly.”

“You, uh,” he stammers, looking down at me. “Hillbillies dress like this? Maybe I should have gone to West Virginia a long time ago.”

I laugh nervously, giggling louder than really makes sense for his joke. He gets a big dumb grin on his face at that, and I actually start to feel bad for leading him on.

The bartender slides us shots of vodka.

“Ah,” he says. “Here we go!”

I ask push my shot back toward Chez. “This isn’t virgin.” I look up at the bartender, and he pours me a glass of ginger ale, then mixes with with some juice.

We clink our glasses together and drain the drinks.

Chez looks pissed off that I’m not drinking vodka, but he tries to keep his emotions from getting to his face.

Chez gestures toward the bartender for more drinks, and I watch intently as he pours.

“I ain’t gonna slip you anything,” Chez says.

“Huh?” I ask.

“I see you watching the bartender pouring, like you’re worried I’m gonna slip some rope in your drink.”

How bad a sign is it that he calls rohypnol “rope?” It implies to me that he says the word often enough to need a convenient abbreviation for it.

“Rope?” I ask

“Uh,” he says, “like, drugs guys slip into girls’ drinks so they can…” he looks down at my tits. “You know.”

“Oh, my!” I say. “People do that?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Not me, though. To me, rope is all like going fishing with a bazooka. Where’s the fun in it? And not to brag or nothing,” he says, looking down at his jeans. “But my fishing rod is more than enough to catch even a pretty fish like you.”

Okay. I don’t feel bad anymore about Dr. Leeds humiliating this guy. I get the feeling he’s definitely used “rope” before to go “fishing,” meaning humiliation isn’t even a bad enough punishment for him.

He takes two more shots as I sip at my drink. I start to complain about wanting to try one of those fancy drinks “like from Sex and the City, but with no alcohol in it.”

Chez looks a bit annoyed at that, mostly because those drinks are a lot more expensive, and with no alcohol, won’t even get my drunk.. Even if he’s not going to slip me a date rape drug, he probably figures his modest “fishing rod” plus as much vodka as he can get me to chug down will do just about as well as a specialized drug. Since I’m refusing to drink a drop of alcohol, he’s just got his limp rod and no bait.

“I gotta hit the ladies room,” I say, and as I get up to walk. I sigh relief that I didn’t drink, not just because of the baby, but because drinking around a guy like Chez feels incredibly dangerous. Even a few drinks could give him too much control over me.

I pee and wash my hands, then I check myself out in the mirror. The mirror is filthy, and it’s hard to see myself clearly, but I really do look like someone else entirely. Dr. Leeds might not even notice it’s me on his first scan of the room. I check my phone and see it’s been about twenty minutes since I texted him. I actually need him to arrive soon, because Chez isn’t going to be happy if I keep stringing him along, and it’s only a matter of time before he makes some gross move on me.

I step out of the bathroom just as another woman comes in, and I walk back toward my barstool next to Chez.

Before I can even sit down, Chez holds up a big glass to me. It’s a Manhattan with a cherry in it. “You said you wanted a fancy drink. No alcohol either.”

He flashes a shit-eating grin, and I see a nervous anxiousness in his eyes.

“Umm,” I mutter, resisting the urge to look around the club for Dr. Leeds. I didn’t see the bartender pour this drink. There’s no way I can drink it. “I actually don’t want to have to keep peeing…maybe I’ll drink it later? Let’s dance!”

“You wanna dance?” Chez asks.

I point to the dance floor, and I nod my head along to the beat of the music.

“Maybe if you grind that nice ass up against me,” he says. “Otherwise, I’d say we just get a hotel. Dance there, if you know what I mean.”

I try not to glare at him, but it takes real effort.

“Just drink this,” he says, holding it out. “I paid twelve bucks for it.”

“You can have it,” I say, sounding as sickly sweet as possible.

“Fuck that,” he says. “It’s a bitch drink. I ain’t a bitch.”

I can almost hear his implied “but you are a bitch, for not bending over and letting me fuck you right here.”

“Well,” I say, “I’m going to dance.”

I start to stand up, and I watch as he looks down nervously at the Manhattan, which I’m now all but certain is drugged.

“At least take a sip,” he says. “See how it tastes.”

“Hey,” a deep voice booms from behind my shoulder. Chez’s face scrunches up, and for a moment, he looks like a scared little child.

I turn around to see a big, wide-shouldered man in a leather jacket. He’s wearing tight jeans that hug his powerful thighs, and even the bulge of his cock is plainly visible. He’s wearing a tight black V-neck beneath his leather jacket, and his hair is slicked back. His sharp cheekbones are prominent as he smiles down at me.

It’s Dr. Leeds, of course, but at the same time... it’s not. He’s a big bad biker, and he’s here to save me from Chez.

“I came in here,” Dr. Leeds booms, his British accent completely gone now. “Saw the most beautiful woman in the room sitting with some slime-ball creep, and I told myself I’d go and fix that.”

“Hey, man,” Chez says, jumping off his stool. “What did you just call me?”

He thought getting up would help him stand his ground, but the fact that he’s a full foot shorter than Dr. Leeds—and with way less muscle—only makes things worse.

Dr. Leeds scoffs at Chez, then looks me right in the eyes. “I’m Rock, this guy bothering you?”

My heart is pounding. Rock. He’s not phoning this in at all. I one hundred percent believe that my old German Lit professor from England is actually a badass American biker.

I look nervously back and forth. “He’s...he really wanted me to drink that.” I point to the drink. “And when I didn’t want to, he kept pushing.”

Chez throws his hands up. “Hey, hey, I wasn’t gonna—”

He looks so guilty already, and Dr. Leeds sees it, too. He grabs Chez by the collar and pulls him right into his face. “Tell me a lie. I dare you to.”

Chez starts stuttering. “I—uh—uh—but—hey-I-w-w-w-asn’t. I didn’t—didn’t do nothing!”

He shakes his hands wildly, as if that will strengthen his pathetic denial.

“So there’s nothing in this drink?” Dr. Leeds asks. “Nothing but whatever the fuck goes into one of these fancy drinks? I’m a straight whiskey kind of guy myself.”

“I swear to God!” Chez says. “Please, let go of my shirt, you’re stretching it out!”

Dr. Leeds lets go, then slides the drink toward Chez. “If there’s nothing in here, then you drink it.”

“I need to drive home tonight,” Chez says meekly. “I already hit my two-drink limit.”

“I think we had five or six together already,” I add in loudly enough for Dr. Leeds to hear.

“I think you’re full of shit,” Dr. Leeds says. “Drink it, and have it knock you out, or I’ll knock you out myself.” He balls his hand up into a fist and glares at Chez.

“Alright!” Chez says, and takes a sip.

“Finish it,” Dr. Leeds orders.

Chez looks down nervously at the drink as if he was drinking snake venom. He starts taking bigger sips of it, and each time he looks up at Dr. Leeds hoping he’ll say he’s done, but Dr. Leeds only furrows his brows. Chez drinks down the whole thing.

“You stay right here,” Dr. Leeds says. “You don’t get to leave.”

“But…” Chez mutters.

“Stay! If I see you trying to slither out of here and get a cab, I’ll make sure you can’t even walk.”

Chez pushes his elbows into the bar and sulks. “Fine, not like anything will happen if I stay here. I was planning to stay here, I mean.”

Dr. Leeds grabs me by the forearm and pulls me away from Chez. “You all right?”

“I am now,” I say, my voice catching.

I worry for a moment that he’s about to break character, to laugh and say something to me in his real accent.

Instead, he asks, “What’s your name?”

“Betsy...Betsy-Sue,” I laugh nervously. “Gosh, the way I said it just now, you’d think I’m James Bond. I mean, if any of us is James Bond, it’s you, saying you only drink straight whiskey and keeping all cool and—”

“I can tell you’re not from here,” Dr. Leeds says. He narrows his eyes. “You’re not used to dealing with guys like that.”

I blush. “I...don’t judge me because of that. My parents never let me get out, not until I ran away, and now I don’t have anyone to protect me.”

“You’ve got me,” Dr. Leeds says. “Though if you take my protection, there’s one problem.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Ain’t no one strong enough to protect you from me.”

He pulls me into him by my waist, and suddenly my body is pressed against his abs and chest. He looks down at me, and I force myself to look away.

“Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you, Betsy-Sue,” he says. “Just say you don’t want it.”

I look up at him and feel my cheeks burn. “It’s too soon,” I whisper. “I don’t know you.”

“That ain’t a ‘no,’” he says, and he dips me back and kisses me. His lips press against mine, and I realize it’s been so long since we’ve kissed or been together. Then I feel him kissing me differently than before. He’s less nuanced and sensitive—more forceful. His tongue presses into mine, and he sucks on me as if he’s just rode his bike through hundreds of miles of desert. Like he’s thirsty, and it’s all I can do but lean back and moan as his hands run across my back, his calloused skin touching my back as his hands run across all the little windows lining the back of my dress.

His hand slides down and squeezes my ass, which reminds me of the first time he squeezed me like that. I feel myself becoming soaking wet, and when he pulls away and looks down at me, I have to force myself to remember that I’m Betsy-Sue, not his “Ms. Faria.”

“I…” I stammer. “I can’t believe I did that. I barely know you.”

“The less you know,” Dr. Leeds says, “the better.”

“I should really go,” I say. “That was enough excitement for one night. Or for the rest of the year, even.”

“Go where?” he asks. “You going to walk out alone in that little dress?”

I look at him with wide eyes.

“I can give you a ride,” he says, grinning.

“Even I know what that means,” I whisper. “How about you stay here with me until I feel less tipsy?”

Dr. Leeds gives a gruff grunt and nods. “Fine, but you don’t mind if I drink, too, do you?”

“Drinking while I sober up?” I say, putting a hand on my chest and pretending I’m horribly offended. “That’s not very gentlemanly.”

“I never said I was a gentleman, sweetie,” he says, slapping my ass.

I swat his hand away. “You can’t do that.”

“I just did,” he says, licking his lips.

“Well,” I say, furrowing my brow. “Don’t do it again, then. I need to find a nice wholesome guy, one who doesn’t say stuff like, ‘the less I know about him, the better.’”

“Sweetheart,” Dr. Leeds says, laying the American accent on thick. “You don’t find wholesome guys wearing a dress like that.”

I frown. “I usually dress so darn frumpy and boring. I wanted to force myself out of my comfort zone, but I think, just maybe, I went too far.”

Dr. Leeds’ eyes run across my body, lingering on my breasts. “I’d say you didn’t go far enough.”

“How about,” I say, “you dance with me, as much like a gentleman as you can? Or is that asking too much, Mr. Rock?”

“I can’t promise my hands won’t stray,” he says, grinning, “but I’ll dance with you, sure.”

He pulls me onto the dance floor, and just as we move toward a more open spot, a slower R&B song comes on.

“Not my music,” he says, “but it’ll do.”

He pulls me forcefully into him, until my cheek is pressed against his broad chest. His hand finds its way to my lower back—way down there—and he begins to sway back and forth to the music.

He holds me protectively in his arms, and I lose myself in his warm embrace. The music flows through, and I wrap my hands around his strong back. I can’t really feel him through the thick leather, but I can still feel how big and solid he is.

We dance through the song, and near the end, I feel Dr. Leeds tense up.

I look up and see him staring toward the bar, so I turn around and look without letting go of him.

There’s a crowd gathering around pointing, and between two people I can see Chez laid out flat on the ground.

Dr. Leeds pats me on the back, and we move toward the commotion.

“Should we call an ambulance?” someone asks.

“Nah, he’s just drunk,” someone says.

Dr. Leeds shoves past the crowd, takes a knee next to Chez, and reaches into his jacket. He pulls out a bag of pills. “Looks like he took some of his own medicine, fucking dumbass.”

Everyone looks at each other, wondering what to do.

“I’m a biker,” Dr. Leeds says. “So I wouldn’t tell you to call the cops under any circumstances, but if I wasn’t busy with something else, I’d kick this guy’s ass as soon as he was awake enough to take the beating.”

He tosses the pills down onto Chez’s face, and Chez’s face scrunches up, but he doesn’t move or open his eyes.

“Come on, babe,” Dr. Leeds says, grabbing me by the hand.

He starts to tug me, and I let him, walking behind him. When I realize he’s taking me out of the bar, I pull back. “Where are we going?”

“For a ride,” he says.

“I’m not comfortable with that,” I say.

“You don’t know what you want,” he says. “But I do. Come on.”

He pulls more forcefully, and I bite my lip to suppress my smile. Both of us are acting so well, I find myself forgetting we’re acting at all. I really believe he is “Rock,” and I actually believe myself when I protest. Neither of us have even had a “wink wink” moment where we acknowledged that we know each other.

I’m sure the illusion will fall away a little bit when I get outside and “Rock” doesn’t even have a motorcycle. Are we going to take the bus together, or maybe he will have his car and tell me that his “bike is in the shop.”

He pulls me out of the bar, and I decide to fight him again now.

“Rock,” I say, pulling back. “I don’t want to get tied up in some dangerous thing.”

He turns around to face me. “Just one night, sweetie, the danger around me won’t catch you in just one night. I can’t promise you won’t get tied up, though.”

As he pulls me further, I see two police cars with their sirens on pulling up to the bar. It looks like Chez is going to be taken in.

“Here’s my bike,” Dr. Leeds says, and I do a double-take when he points to an actual Harley.

“Umm,” I stammer. “You have a bike?”

“Of course,” he says. “You couldn’t tell I was a biker?”

He’s still got the thick American accent going, and I realize I should play fully along instead of doubting his character. He must have rented the thing, or borrowed it from a friend? Can he even drive it?

“I, uh,” I say, “I’ve never been on a bike.”

It’s true. Nicole Weissman has never been on a bike, nor has Betsie-Sue.

“It’s easy,” he says. “I help you on, and you just hold on tight to me.”

Does he even know how to ride a motorcycle? He must have got it here somehow, but how far is he going to take this acting thing? Did he join an actual biker gang this afternoon to help get into character?

I reach up, submitting to him, and he takes my hand. He goes in and lifts me up. He holds me up by the waist, and he plops me right down onto the seat.

“You want in front or on back?” he asks with an evil glint in his eye.

“Uh,” I stammer, “which is safer?”

“Probably with you in back,” he says, and he slings his leg up onto the bike, getting on behind me.

“Mr. Rock—”

“Rock,” he grunts.

“Didn’t you just say the back was safer?” I ask, feeling the back of my head fall back against his broad chest.”

“I always choose the more dangerous path,” he says. “Hold onto the bars.”

I reach up and clasp the bars, and then Dr. Leeds—who I’m almost convinced now has been entirely replaced by Rock—cranks his wrist and moves his leg, and the bike roars to life.

“I’ll take you to a hotel,” he shouts over the engine. “Might be some beef brewing around my place. I wouldn’t want us to get interrupted.”

Before I can protest, he hits the gas, and I clasp onto the handlebars, terrified I’ll fall off. His strong, muscular legs are pressed against my outer thighs, and I realize that even if I did let go with my hands, he’d have me held in place with his legs. Not that I’d actually let go under any circumstance.

He roars down the road, the skyline growing as we drive deeper into the city. The wind really starts to hit me, whipping my hair up and totally messing it up all at the same time.

When I feel tears starting to sting my eyes, I worry it’s smearing my makeup, but Rock isn’t the kind of man who would care if he messes up a girl’s makeup.

We hit a red light, and he slams on the brakes.

“You good?” he asks over the engine’s roar.

“I think,” I shout back, panting.

I feel his hand slide up my body, and he rests it on my chest. “Your heart’s beating fast. Is that ‘cause of the bike, or ‘cause of me?”

I laugh nervously and lay on my fake accent. “A little bit of both?”

“Don’t worry, babe,” he says, revving the engine. “Once I get you into bed, your heart will be beating all for me.”

* * *

We get to the hotel, and he pulls out a keycard. It looks like he got it all set up before I even texted him.

He holds me tightly against him as we wait for the elevator. I look around to make sure we’re alone. “Rock...I’ve never done something like this.”

“That’s why it’s going to be so fun,” he says, squeezing me tighter against him.

“I mean...I’ve never done...it before.”

He looks down at me, locking eyes with me.

This is the real core of my fantasy, the one part I didn’t tell him beforehand. I lost my virginity to a guy even more clueless than me. We basically fumbled awkwardly until we were more or less in position. I remember him asking me, “Is it okay if I put it in now?”

I nodded, and with no passion or any real feeling, he just kind of shoved it in like a sweaty hotdog from Sam’s Club. He slid in and out a few times, and I think he had the condom on backward, because it stuck and hurt. He said something like “Crap, I’m going to cum…sorry, Nikki,” and then without feeling anything, he slid back out and apologized again.

Of course, he figured things out real quick, but with other women. He dumped me as soon as I caught him sexting another girl.

Ever since then, I’d imagine it being different. I’d imagine a man exactly like Dr. Leeds—or in this case, Rock—asserting total dominance and giving me everything all at once. I wanted someone to feel just as uneasy and unsure as I did back then, but to be taken so fast and hard that I didn’t even know if I really wanted it. I want that feeling of the rollercoaster slowly cranking up the first hill, gaining altitude. I want to feel terrified and unsure—almost regretting getting into it—but then as soon as I drop down that first hill, I know just how badly I needed it.

A few people pass by as we wait for the elevator, and they glare at Rock.

Jesus, they think I’m a prostitute. I realize it when they look me in the eyes. It’s a mix of pity and disapproval. Rock just grins at them and holds me tighter against his body.

As soon as the elevator arrives, the doors open and we step in.

“Why’d they look at us like that?” I ask.

“Sweetie,” he says. “You don’t even wanna know.”

He takes me by the hand down the hallway, and he slides his keycard into the panel on the door. The light turns green, and I hear the lock disengage. He opens the door and pushes me in.

He comes in behind me, shutting the door behind us.

“Now the hardest part is over,” he says.

“The hardest part?” I ask.

“Building up the courage to come here with me,” he says. “Now you can just lay back and let me take charge.”

My heart is pounding. We’ve both gotten into our character so deep that it feels real. I was looking forward to tonight, but I never thought it would feel this real. I knew it would be fun at least, but I never dared to think it would feel as if we’d become two different people entirely.

And deep down, in the back of my mind, I realize that this intense fantasy is helping me forget that I’m pregnant. That as soon as I tell Dr. Leeds, it’s all over.

“I could still leave,” I say, looking at the door behind him.

He smiles and pulls off his jacket. He throws the jacket over his shoulder, revealing his bulging biceps. “You’d have to get through me.”

“So you’ll hold me here against my will?” I ask, my voice catching in my throat.

“Will is a funny thing,” he says. “If you didn’t want it, would you have come here with me?”

“If I wanted it,” I say, “would I go past you and walk out the door?”

He steps back, blocking the door. “I think you’d regret walking out as soon as the door shut behind you.”

“I’d regret it?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says, crossing his arms. “In about two seconds. You’d have all the adrenaline flowing through your veins…”

He reaches out and takes my wrist. He puts his thumb against the veins of my inner forearm. I feel my pulse slamming against his strong hand.

“Then you’d be alone in that cold hallway. You’d go home alone, and you’d start fantasizing about a guy like me...probably you’d chase out another chance. Maybe not me, but some other guy like me, but it would never be the same as if you’d just stayed right here all along.”

I look up at him with wide eyes. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it’s almost like what Dr. Leeds did back at Oxford. Is he saying he regretted walking away from me? Is he trying to tell me that, or is he just talking out of his ass right now, saying what he needs to keep Betsy-Sue in this hotel room?

“Maybe I’ll have a drink,” I say. “Water, I mean. You probably were thinking I meant whiskey.”

He laughs. “Water it is, whatever you have to do to keep yourself from walking out that door.”

He pops open a bottle and grabs one of the glasses on the table. “Did you want ice?”

I nod.

He scoops some ice out of the ice bucket, and it clinks into the glass. He pours from the bottle, and I hear the cubes crack as the room temperature water hits them. Everything sounds louder than normal; my ears are burning as if I was embarrassed.

I start to sip at the water, and just as I begin swallowing, he asks, “So, you’ve never really fucked before?’

I spit up a bit of the water and look at him with my mouth agape. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t act all offended,” he says undoing his belt. “You already told me, I just was wondering if you’ve done anything. You’re totally pure?”

“Nothing,” I whisper. “I kissed you. That’s all.”

He whistles and shakes his head as if it’s too good to be true. Technically, it is. It’s not like I’m really a virgin, we’re just pretending I am, but who knew both of us were Hollywood-calibre actors?

“I was your first kiss, huh?” he asks. “I’m into some freaky shit, Betsy-Sue, and it will all be a bit much for your first time.”

I chug down the rest of the water, and I feel the cold go down into my stomach. “Maybe we can just kiss again.”

And he’s on me in an instant. He lifts me up and pulls me against him. Our tongues press together and my legs wrap around his waist as he draws me up against him with his strong arms. I don’t know if Betsy-Sue would really wrap her legs around him like I am, but it’s not like there was anywhere else for them to go, so hell, maybe she would?

I dig my fingers into Dr. Leeds’ back, and his fingers inch down toward my ass.

I tighten my thighs around him, and suddenly I feel increased pressure around my back. There’s a loud ripping sound, and suddenly the pressure is gone.

Dr. Leeds lets go of me and lowers me down. He starts laughing.

I pull at my dress and see that it’s torn in three or four places. The windows stretched out, and the fabric between them wasn’t strong enough to hold.

I let the dress drop back down, and Dr. Leeds cranes his neck to see. “Nice thong.”

I spin back around and look at him with burning red cheeks. “Don’t look!”

“Now I guess you really can’t leave, unless you want everyone to see that fine ass of yours more than they already could.”

I have no idea what I will wear in the morning when I leave the hotel. I hadn’t planned that far ahead. Tomorrow morning feels like a century away anyway; all that matters to me right now is tonight.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Rock says, grabbing me forcefully by both of my arms.

He shoves me forward until I’m pressed right up against the wall. I feel myself dripping wet as he pins me up against the hotel’s cheap wallpaper.

“Please,” I beg. “No.”

“No?” he asks. “You’re going to tell me no when you so obviously want it?”

“I don’t,” I say, forcing tears to my eyes. “I don’t want it…”

“You’re lying to me, Betsy-Sue,” he rumbles. “I’ll have to punish you for that.”

He presses me harder against the wall with his forearm, and then I feel a sharp pain as the slap echoes across the room. My ass burns as it shakes back and forth from his powerful strike.

“Ahh!” I scream out, and real tears form in my eyes. The force of the second hit—on the same cheek this time—sends the tears rolling down my face.

“God!” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Please, Rock, let me go.”

If I really wanted him to stop, I’d say “Morning Bell.” But I’m not even considering using the safe word—I want him too bad.

“You want to walk through that door?” he asks me as my body trembles in pain.

“It hurts,” I say, avoiding his question.

“Don’t lie to me then, Betsy-Sue.”

“I won’t,” I say, voice trembling.

“I’m going to do something really nice for you then,” he says. “To make you want to stay.”

He reaches down and pulls my hips and ass back, then he presses my back down so that my ass sticks up. I hear him drop down to his knees behind me.

He pulls at my thong, and it tears apart. I feel it slide across my skin, and then it’s gone.

I brace myself for anything, but relief washes across me as I feel his fingers delicately running up my thigh and across my soaking wet mound.

“You see, Betsy-Sue,” he says. “You’re so wet, that means you don’t want me to stop.”

I force myself to make some pathetic and pained whining sound, even though I really just want to moan approval and urge him to touch me more.

“You make that sad little sound,” he says, “but you don’t tell me to stop.”

Then I feel his tongue pressing against my outer lips, and he sucks up my juices. My legs buckle, and I press my arms and face harder against the wall to support myself.

A moan escapes me, and drool begins dripping down the corner of my mouth. Even Betsy-Sue wouldn’t dare tell him to stop when it feels this damn good.

“Oh, my,” I say, dialing the accent up even harder.

“You want to walk out that door?” he asks breathlessly between deep licks.

I don’t answer him verbally, I just stick my ass further out in hopes it will spread me wider for him.

He laughs at that and goes in. A finger slides up inside of me with no warning. All the way in before I can even have time to tense up in surprise. When I do tense up, his tongue finds my clit, and my inner walls squeeze his finger like a vice as my hips buck back and forth.

“You’re tight, Betsy-Sue,” he says. “But that won’t stop me. Nothing will stop me now, not even if you beg me to stop. I feel just how bad you want me, my finger all the way up inside you is soaked. Your body is begging me to keep going.”

“No,” I whine. “It’s not my fault…”

That earns me another finger. It slides in just as fast, and it stretches me wider. He begins to slide his fingers in and out, and his tongue runs gentle circles around my swelling clit.

I let out a high-pitched yelp as the feeling intensifies. His fingers feel so damn good inside me, and it makes me crave his thick cock. I want to feel his veiny rod stuffing me airtight, and I need the warmth of his seed blanketing the inside of me.

He hasn’t even pulled my dress up, he’s just working me through the big tear, which tears open farther as I bend forward and press myself into him.

“Ahh,” I scream. “It’s too much, stop—”

And he stops. Without warning, he stops.

I look at him aghast over my shoulder. My face is red, not from embarrassment, but from anger. I established a safe word, and he’s not supposed to stop unless I say it. He’s supposed to press harder whenever I say stop. But I’m not going to break character this deep in.

I open my mouth, but I don’t even know what to say. Why would anyone, even an idiot like Betsy-Sue, have said stop at that point? I was just about to cum, for fuck’s sake!

He grins at me, exposing his perfectly white teeth. “You didn’t want me to stop, did you?”

“I…” I stammer. “It was so intense.”

“I’m teaching you a lesson, Betsy-Sue, that you don’t know what you want. I know what you want better than you do yourself, so you shouldn’t tell me what to do.”

I’m still bent over, and I can feel my pulse slamming hard in my chest and in my pussy. Can he just forgive Betsy-Sue this one time and go right back to work? I lean forward more, hoping he’ll just do it.

“Oh, no,” he says. “I wanted to give it to you for free, but you were bad again, so now you’ve got to work for it.”