The blinding brightness hits my eyes an instant before I hear the slight clink of the chain to the lamp being pulled.

Literally the speed of light.

I’m almost as quick to bring my hands up to cover my breasts. It only has the effect of making me feel even more naked. I still have my underwear on, which cover the most obscene parts of me, but there’s something about that feeling that makes it seem more sordid.

“Now, now Prynne, that’s not how this works,” Rhys teases from behind me with a laugh.

I look at him in the reflection created by the light of the room and feel my lower lip plump out in a pout. He just laughs even harder.

The light is not as bright as it initially seemed now that my pupils have adjusted. The one lamp creates a soft glow of exposure, revealing everything in a sort of half-shadow that feels intimate and caressing. The perfect light to strip to. I think about that girl from last weekend in another window of this hotel, the one who quickly flashed the audience below before skittering back to the safety of the room. Surely, I can muster up enough courage to top that silly little display.

I remove my hands, which instantly turn into anxious little fists at my sides as I bare my breasts to the world. Or at least to the lower half of New York.

Not quite eight million people. But close enough.

“That’s my girl,” Rhys murmurs behind me, which makes me absurdly proud of myself. I think about the gold stars Mama handed out on those homeschool assignments accompanied by enthusiastic words of encouragement written across the top. Good job! Great work! Very impressive!

Gold star for Prynne Dawson!

The laughter bubbles up inside of me. The idea of the rest of the Flanders Flock seeing me like this is so far beyond the scope of my imagination that I might as well be living in a parallel universe.

Which makes this so much more fun.

The view of New York is hidden behind a hazy reflection of the hotel room. I can see the sharp outline of my body, the details in front hidden in shadows that are filled in by office buildings, street lights, and the night sky.

“Welcome to the club. How does it feel?”

“Not as bad as I thought it would be,” I say truthfully. “I like it.”

“I thought you might.”

That has my head turning. “Really?”

“Why else would you have chosen this hotel last weekend out of all the hotels in New York?”

The various protests fill my head but stop before they reach my lips. Perhaps he has a point. Maybe I did subconsciously choose this hotel for this very reason.

I turn back to look out on the city. Now that the shiny newness of what I’m doing has worn off, I feel almost comfortable like this.

“So, how far do you want to go?” Rhys asks behind me, his voice lower now.

I look at his reflection in the window I’m already standing half-naked in front of. His face is a canvas painted with raw intensity. Hard lines sharpened into pronounced edges. Nostrils flared with heavy breaths. Lush lips flattened into a fine slash above his dimpled chin. Eyes blazing, broadcasting the challenge from across the room: How far do you really want to go?

“All the way,” I softly reply.

“Well then…” A smile appears on his face, but it’s anything but friendly. It’s the smile of a cat about to play with his mouse before devouring it.

Rhys eases into the chair next to the lamp, settling back into the seat and crossing one leg over his knee. I know he can see all of me in my reflection now. He stares hard, his eyes drinking me in like that champagne from dinner. Except, I’m the one left feeling dizzy and light-headed. The eight million residents of New York City are lost behind his stark reflection, which oddly enough makes me feel more exposed than anything else.

“Touch yourself,” he says, catching my eyes in the reflection.

I swallow hard. “What do you mean?”

“Play with your tits.” It’s a direct order. Even behind that smooth, velvety voice of his, I hear the command, leaving absolutely no room for protest.

I start with my nipples. They’ve persisted in their diamond-like state throughout this entire ordeal. My breasts have always been sensitive, something I discovered during intense, furtive, well-past-midnight sessions underneath piles of quilts in my twin bed back in Missouri. When the pads of my fingers glance cautiously across the right one I hiss at the pain and pleasure of static electricity that flows between them. It rages throughout my entire body causing my insides to melt like icebergs in the sun.

“That’s right, put on a good show for them.” Rhys’s sinfully sexy voice has a hard edge, challenging rather than comforting.

Earn that gold star, Prynne!

It only serves to heighten the pleasure running through me. I bring my other hand up to play with my left breast, filling my palm with the weight of that supple flesh as my thumb tortures the rigid peak. A tremble runs through me that only hints at the intensity of the orgasm that’s to come.

But Rhys is a cruel maestro.

“Enough.” It isn’t stern or impatient, but soft and sensual, like a panther sneaking up behind me, preventing my escape. It’s enough to have me frozen in place, waiting to see what torment awaits.

“Take your underwear off. Leave the shoes on.” It might as well be the devil himself talking. A voice like Rhys’s, hypnotically deep and sensual, would be just the thing to lure a good girl like me past the threshold of damnation.

I obey.

That intense thrill sends tremors through my body as I hook my thumbs into my underwear, one of those black lacy things I bought at Victoria’s Secret, and slide them past my hips. The fabric clings to my lips, my pussy (how’s that for dirty words, Rhys!) already wet with the excitement of everything that’s happened tonight so far. The cool air of the hotel room shocks me once they peel away. I pause to let the feeling run through me.

“Hold on a second,” Rhys says, the tone in his voice jarring and incongruent to the atmosphere.

I blink as he gets up from his chair and comes closer to me, leaning on his side against the windows. It feels like a violation, like he’s crossed some barrier he shouldn’t have. His eyes stare right down at the area that’s just been revealed, my most privately intimate area. As appalled as I am, I feel the wet, erotic rush of pleasure betray me as it begins seeping down my bare thighs.

“This is so…retro,” he says in a tone that sounds almost reverent.

“What?” I ask, feeling horribly self-conscious. My fingers are still hooked into the hemline of that lacy black thing as it rests against my mid-thighs.

His eyes drag up to meet mine. “This explains so much.”

“What are you talking about?” I feel my irritation begin to set in. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

He considers me for a moment, as though wondering if I’m asking the question in earnest. “Well, for starters, it’s interesting to learn you’re not a true blonde. It’s even more interesting to learn that you’re into the natural thing.”

I feel my face heat up and my eyes shoot down between my legs. “That? That’s a problem?” I cry out, my attention coming back up to Rhys.

“Not at all,” he says easily, his calm, rich voice instantly putting me back at ease. “A refreshing change from the norm, in fact,” his eyes slide to the window with a soft smile. “I’m sure you’re giving the public more than they bargained for.”

“Well, at least one of us is,” I say, my eyes scanning his still fully clothed body.

“This is your show Prynne,” he replies with a smirk.

“So are you going to let me finish?” My eyes dart to the chair behind us. By now, the annoyance has surpassed any self-consciousness on my part.

All humor disappears from his face, which now stares back at me with that intensity that sets every nerve in my body on fire. “I like this vantage point better. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” I say, a bit too quickly. Actually, my insides are like a see-saw, feeling awkwardly on display, like some kind of sex mannequin for his personal pleasure…but also happily drowning in the erotic feel of it.

A tiny smile appears on his face, not believing my lie. He doesn’t bother moving.

Teach me a lesson, professor.

“Continue where you left off,” he says, his gaze forcing mine down along with his to that black lacy thing, which now seems like the only wholesome bit left of this adventure. I unhook my fingers and allow them to settle atop the dress pooled around my black heels with those complicated straps.

I’m now completely naked in full view of New York.

And worse…completely naked in full view of Rhys Connors.

That was it, the last boundary. Any hold I had on decency has been ripped away. I’ve crossed a line I can never return back from. Faith Flanders is a distant memory. Even Prynne Dawson is wandering blindly in this terrifying, yet mysteriously thrilling, forest of wicked delight.

As though Rhys would allow it to stop there.

“That was just the introduction.”

“What?” I reply, at this point feeling like some idiotic parrot.

Rhys takes a moment to capture my eyes with his before he responds. My eyes are glued to his, wondering what’s coming, even though the dark recesses of my mind already know.

“I want to watch you pleasure yourself. What does Prynne Dawson look like when she comes? Eight million eager eyes want to know.” He punctuates this with a sinister grin.

The last breath I took gets stuck in my lungs. Isn’t it bad enough that he’s brought me this far down the path to hell? Now he wants me to put on a show for the enjoyment of my fellow sinners.

“Oh, Prynne, we both know you aren’t that innocent,” he says in a low, deep voice, just the right pitch to shatter any resistance. His eyes roll down to the triangle of hair between my legs. “I’m more than happy to help you along if you need it.”

Those wicked, wicked words!

As though I’m any better. My gaze slides to the window, focusing on what lies beyond the reflection of the room. Each one of those twinkling lights is a pair of eyes crawling over every exposed inch of me, feasting on what no person on earth has sampled before.

Now would be the moment to put an end to it, fall on my knees in atonement hoping there’s enough salvation left to wash away this transgression.

Instead, I place my hand between my legs. My middle finger—oh how apt—slips between those wet folds to find that tiny bundle of nerves I’m quite familiar with by now. I inhale sharply when it first makes contact with the swollen nub. I close my eyes and lose myself in the sensation of it, already moaning with pleasure.

“That’s right, show them what a bad girl you are.” Rhys’s voice pierces through the cloud of ecstasy surrounding me.

Depraved.

I circle my clit—there’s one word I’ve picked up in my blasphemous late-night reading adventures—teasing it with my fingertips.

“That’s it Prynne. Let New York know what you get up to late at night when no one’s looking.”

Vile.

“Rhys,” I cry out, wishing he’d stop this torture. It’s not fair. It’s as though he’s invaded my most wicked fantasies.

My fingers work harder, flicking, tapping, following that rhythm that I can memorize by heart. My body reacts, picking up the flow, unfurling the sails to increase the power as I wait to be carried off with that final wave.

“That’s right, faster, harder. Show them how much you love this. Fuck that innocent act you put on. You want this. You want them all to see you disgrace yourself. The perverts and voyeurs and innocent bystanders and hypocritical, holier-than-thou saints who secretly love this shit and all the horny bastards jacking-off to you right now. All of them. All of them are watching you right now, Prynne. You can’t back out now. Finish what you started.”

“Please…don’t,” I protest, practically sobbing even as my fingers obey his command. Is this what the serpent sounded like, whispering in Eve’s ear, encouraging her to learn all about the depravity that existed in the world? Eat the apple. Discover what sin is. Do it. Do it. Do it!

“Admit it, you love this,” he growls, without any hint of sympathy. He’s taunting me, pushing me over the edge. “What would the people you know say if they saw you like this? Your friends? Your roommates? Your coworkers? Your family back home?”

That does it.

I come so hard, every muscle in my body goes tense, leaving me paralyzed as the climax washes over me. When the moment passes, I’m left helpless and weak. I fall against the window, my breasts and stomach and pubic hair pressed up against the glass to give my audience one last garishly distorted view of everything they’ve already witnessed.

“So how do you feel?” His voice is soft now, tender and comforting, like a warm blanket and lit fireplace after getting caught in a thunderstorm. I turn to him, finding those teasing eyes of his staring back at me. How do I feel?

I feel filthy.

I feel horrified.

I feel elated.

I feel alive.

I feel…noticed.