We’re back in the car and I have no idea where we’re going. Rhys whispered something to the driver, making sure I couldn’t hear him. My eyes scan the bright lights and bustling streets around us trying to find a clue as to what our destination is. We’re definitely staying in Manhattan it seems, but we’re on the east side, the opposite side of the city to where the Sexton Hotel is located.

“It’s time for you to repay your debt,” Rhys’s voice says from the other side of the back car seat.

I swivel my head to look at him in surprise. “Here?”

He’s relaxed back into the corner of the backseat, one long arm draped across the headrest as though he’s lounging on his own living room couch. I see the smile on his face in the passing lights and my heart skips a beat.

“Mmm-hmm,” he hums, nodding his head.

My eyes dart to our driver sitting on Rhys’s side. He can definitely see me in his periphery. He can also hear what’s being said in the back, even over the soft jazz on the radio. I don’t know exactly what Rhys wants from me, but, considering our shared…interest, I have a pretty good idea. I’m both appalled and thrilled.

“What do you want from me?” I ask quietly, hoping it’s low enough for the driver to have to strain to hear me.

Rhys just stares at me for a moment, looking like that dark predator in the shadows of the hotel room at the Sexton last week. “For starters…your underwear.”

His words are like wildfire, rushing at me and completely consuming my body before I even know what’s hit me. That voice of his simply intensifies the heat, turning a simple lit match into a nuclear blast. I have to grip my thighs to make sure that I haven’t vaporized.

My eyes once again dart to our chauffeur. It’s one thing to bare it all for the unseen, anonymous eyes of New York City safely behind a window. It’s something completely different when one of those anonymous individuals is only three feet away.

Rhys just stares at me with challenging eyes. The smirk on his face remains in place, doing a better job of urging me on than any words could. My eyes are glued firmly to the driver as I swallow and nod. I’m about to remove the only article of clothing separating literal virgin territory from the well-traveled explorer sitting across from me.

“Eyes on me,” Rhys orders, his voice sounding exactly like the low, hungry growl of the carnivore he resembles in these moments.

My eyes skim across the back of the car until they rest on his, where he grabs hold of them with his own, leaving me almost hypnotized. I slide my hands down my thighs until they hit my knees. The skirt of my dress drapes over them, demurely and modestly. I fix that by curling my fingers into the fabric to inch it upward. The hem rises past my knees and I drag the rest of the skirt high enough to reveal most of my trembling flesh. I reach under and hook my fingers into the waistband of my underwear. I have to buck my hips up to get them past my ass, which forces my body into a vulgar position, practically offering myself up to both him and the driver. Maybe to anyone passing by who happens to see what I’m doing.

Rhys breaks the hold he has on my gaze as his eyes wander down to where all the action is happening. I feel my face burn, which is ridiculous. He’s already seen me in all my glory, and in my lowest, filthiest, most sinful state. Maybe it’s because the conditions he’s forced me to perform under tonight are so different. Because our audience is sitting close enough to touch. Because all the driver would have to do is turn his head a few degrees to see everything. Because one red light is all it would take for any pedestrians walking by to get their own free show. Because of the honking horns, the muted conversations, the approaching sirens. The vibrancy of the city is so much more within reach than the distant buildings and ant-like wanderers viewed from the high windows of the Sexton Hotel.

Maybe it’s the hot pink, lacy thing I’m now peeling away from my pussy. Pussy. Cunt. I’m beginning to like this sort of language. It’s so appropriately dirty.

“What have we here? Hot pink panties?” Rhys muses, loud enough for the driver to hear, much to my horror. “You continue to surprise me, Prynne. First, it was that black lace thong from last week, now these.”

“There’s plenty you don’t know about me,” I sass, just to have some retort to give him as I quickly shimmy the panties down my legs. These are another Victoria’s Secret purchase, worn just in case the night in some way mirrored last weekend. “There, they’re off.”

“I believe they belong to me now.” He holds out his hand.

I laugh. “You aren’t actually going to keep them, are you?”

“Tit for tat, Prynne. I gave you some of my dinner, you promised me something in return. Now, I’m calling in that claim.”

I ball up the underwear and shove it at him. “Here.”

He laughs at me. “Don’t worry, they’re going to a good home. I promise to treat them well.”

That manages to get a laugh out of me as I smooth my skirt back down to a decent length. I’ve never gone without underwear before and the sensation is odd. I can actually feel how exposed I am even with the dress on and my thighs firmly clamped together. I spread them a bit and the effect is immediate. The cool air of the air-conditioned car rushes past my thighs to lap at the inner folds that lie between them. I’m not even aware of my gasp until I hear Rhys’s voice.

“It’s a nice sensation isn’t it?”

My eyes fall on the driver, then past him to the pedestrians walking in the crosswalk. My thighs part even more, almost involuntarily, turning something thrilling into something teetering on the edge of danger. Sure enough, Rhys is the one to push me over.

“You know what to do, Prynne.” He sounds like a scolding parent or teacher, ordering a child to complete her punishment. Go stand in the corner and face the wall. Write “I will not be a bad girl” one hundred times. Bend over on my lap so I can spank your bare ass.

I gasp again and feel the result of it between my legs. It’s a vicious cycle, the terror of being discovered feeding the depraved thoughts in my head, which signal my insides to release more and more wetness, which only intensifies the feeling between my legs. Using my fingers to stimulate me even more would only lead to insanity.

Rhys slides in closer, close enough to lean in and whisper in my ear. “If you don’t, I will.”

“Rhys,” I cry softly, sounding like a newborn kitten. I see the driver’s head jerk in response, wondering what’s going on back here. If he were to turn his head right now, I’m not sure whether I would die or have an orgasm.

“Do you want me to?” Usually his voice is like a velvet glove, stroking my senses. Tonight it’s combustible, sparking a violent reaction inside of me. I feel like one of those science fair volcanoes I’ve seen on TV. Boring, lifeless, inert. Until Rhys’s voice pours into me, causing an eruption that boils over, drowning me in a lava stream of pleasure. Despite that, I don’t want it to end there. I’m not some dormant volcano that spits and sputters, I want the top completely blown off.

“Yes.”

The soft chuckle coming from somewhere deep in his throat sounds more like the warning growl of a predator. Careful, little girl, the big bad wolf is coming. Rhys’s hand comes to rest on my thigh and it might as well be a claw the way it causes me to jump in my seat.

He laughs in response. “That was nothing compared to what I’m about to do.”

I hate myself for that, feeling like a silly little girl. When his hand begins dragging my skirt up again, I feel anything but silly. I feel naughty. Naughty enough to help him along, lifting my ass ever so slightly to give his hand free rein over my dress. He takes complete advantage, practically tearing it up my thighs and hips so that the tangle of dark hair is completely exposed.

“Rhys!” I gasp.

“Hush,” he admonishes. “I’m in charge now.”

When his hand slides down the curve of my inner thigh, I inadvertently squeeze them together, trapping it there.

“What did I say?” The warning in his voice has me feeling like a little girl being scolded, but it does get me to slowly pull my thighs apart.

He comes in closer, so close that his lips brush up against mine as I face him. “Wider.”

I swallow the breath that those words escape on and obey. A sharp exhale leaves my lips as everything in between unfolds and is introduced to the night air. Rhys traps it between us as his mouth presses against mine. The feel of those soft, commanding lips and that playful tongue teasing me add a new ripple of spice to the smell of animal heat in the air. His aftershave is intoxicating. I can actually smell how wet I am and my face burns with embarrassment, wondering if this crazed odor of sex is reaching the driver’s nostrils.

Rhys’s middle finger begins tracing along my outer lips. I’m actually whimpering, wanting him to stop, but at the same time go so much further. He only laughs softly against my mouth, showing me no mercy at all as his finger draws lazy lines and circles along the most sensitive parts of me.

The car comes to a stop at another light and I break the kiss, twisting my head in a panic to look out the window. We’re in a middle lane and the car next to us is an SUV filled with people at every window. I know the windows of our car are tinted, but these newcomers are so close, all they would have to do is turn their heads and look down, peering in closely to see the woman with her skirt hitched around her waist, exposing herself to the world as the man next to her unabashedly has his way with—

“Rhys!” I cry out, my body arching upward, when his finger suddenly detours to my clit.

“That’s right, let go completely. Give them a good show,” he urges, sadistically taunting me with the twisted addiction he’s got me hooked on. His finger is no less vicious, rapidly torturing that tiny bundle of nerves, causing my body to buck and squirm. At this point, the driver would have to be in a coma not to realize what’s going on right behind him. Even the passengers in the car next to us must at least see the shadows of my violent reaction through the tinted glass.

It’s only when the light turns green that he gives me any release. His thick finger slips away from my clit to trace along the slick inner folds, slipping lower and lower until it’s right at the cusp of no-man’s land.

“Don’t,” I whisper, reluctantly bringing my thighs closer together. “You can’t…I…I”

“I know,” he whispers in my ear.

I turn to him, eyes wide. “Know what?”

“You’re a virgin.”

“How do you—what makes you say that?” I ask, his wandering finger all but forgotten with that announcement.

Rhys just laughs, “Come on, Prynne. It’s been obvious from the start.”

Now my thighs are firmly together again, forcing his hand from between them. I tug at my skirt, trying to pull it down. Obvious from the start? I think about him lecturing me with regard to my novel. Even as he was telling me to write from experience, did he know I had no such experience to work from?

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Prynne. I don’t know why you tried to hide it in the first place.”

“It’s none of your business,” I snap.

“Hey,” Rhys says, bringing his hand up to take hold of my chin. I can smell myself all over his fingers, which only heightens my shame. He turns my head so I’m facing him, looking into dark blue eyes that are suddenly serious. “I know and I don’t care. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

I maintain the stubborn set to my jaw.

“Tell me that you haven’t been having fun and I’ll tell the driver to take you home right now.”

I don’t reply, still feeling a bit raw.

“Or…” he leans in closer so I can feel his breath on my face. “We can go back to where it all began and have even more fun. There are a million different things I can do to pleasure you that don’t involve sex.”

I can feel my pupils dilate at the prospect. I know Rhys can see them, that innate reaction giving him my real answer, no matter what my lips are inclined to say.

“Yes or no, Prynne.” His voice loosens my inhibitions. It’s like some potent nectar seeping into my bloodstream, clouding my sense of what’s right and proper with the drunken haze of reckless lust. Good girls don’t go to hotel rooms with boys. Chaste girls don’t let a man pleasure them a million different ways, especially in front of others. Flanders girls don’t have the sort of fun that Rhys is proposing.

But I’m not Faith Flanders anymore.

I’m no good girl.

I’m certainly not chaste.

I’m Prynne Dawson.

“Yes,” I whisper.