“What are you doing?” Alexander asked.

“Not much,” Isobel replied. She wiggled her toes on the couch. She had worked a few hours that morning, on the follow-up paperwork from her trip. Then she had surfed the Internet, waiting for him to call.

“Do you feel better today?”

“Much. I’m never drinking again.” Her hangover yesterday had been epic.

He laughed. “What are you wearing?”

She looked down at her favorite comfortable clothes. Gray and shapeless. “I’m naked,” she lied.

“Get dressed. I’ll pick you up in an hour. We’re going shopping.”

Alexander was already outside when she went down exactly an hour later. He looked self-confident and almost radiant. Isobel felt herself being drawn into his wicked eyes. Never again would she think that blue eyes were sweet and innocent; his were thrilling like a bottomless ocean or an infinite space.

“Where are we going?” she asked, thankful for how cool and sophisticated she managed to sound.

“What kind of a question is that?” he said as he took her hand, sending a thrill through her arm, and they headed off toward the city center. “To a sex store, of course.”

They took a shortcut across Norra Bantorget, found Drottninggatan, and when they got to the store, Isobel’s heart was pounding so hard she had trouble concentrating. She squeezed Alexander’s hand. She had been to some of the most dangerous places on earth, seen people die, saved lives; but going into a store that sold sex toys scared the life out of her. Alexander, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease. She peered around the place; it was bright and almost fluffy. Pink, white, and feminine. She studied a shelf full of feathers of varying kinds and gave Alexander an accusing look.

He winked.

“We’d like to look at some whips, stuff like that,” he said nonchalantly to the sales assistant.

Isobel looked down at her feet and understood, for the first time in her life, the appeal of being swallowed up by the earth.

They followed the sales assistant, Isobel with her eyes fixed on the floor. Oh. My. God. Kill me now.

“You can look up now,” Alexander said, sounding amused. “She’s gone. What do you think?”

Isobel peered up. They were alone, she noticed, relieved. They were halfway down a staircase, and in this part of the shop the colors were darker. She saw rows of whips, ropes, and blindfolds. Shelf after shelf of dildos, in all colors and sizes. Leather corsets on hangers and expensive underwear made from silk, patent leather, and lace. Boxes and packages of things she didn’t even recognize. Equal parts excitement and fear pulsed through her. “I don’t know if I …”

“Want to leave?”

She rubbed her ear. Her eyes flitted over a set of white handcuffs. Thick, white leather. Matt gold clasps. They looked more like wide leather bracelets than handcuffs.

She shook her head, feeling as if she were baring her soul.

“You like these?” He picked up the cuffs. Oh, but she loved them. “What about these?” Alexander held up what looked like small, silver clothes pegs. Aha, nipple clamps. She firmly shook her head. She had sensitive nipples.

Alexander put them down and picked up a small purple dildo. Butt plug, she read on the packaging. She shook her head. Not yet, anyway, she thought. Probably never.

Once she managed to overcome her nerves, they started to work their way through the more decadent shelves. Alexander was curious and calm, and she found herself relaxing. Most of the things in this section made her own inclinations seem utterly tame, she reflected, as she studied a dog collar and matching leash.

Eventually, they had a basket full of things that made Isobel’s pulse run quicker. She had said no to the long riding whips but nodded an embarrassed yes to a soft nine-tailed whip made of the same white leather as the cuffs, plus a white paddle. Alexander paid, refused to even talk about sharing the cost, and when she saw the price tag on the crystal-covered vibrator in a luxuriously lined box, she gave in.

“Are you nervous?” he asked when they stepped out of the taxi and headed into his apartment.

“A little.” Or a lot.

“I need to fix a few things,” he said. “Why don’t you get something to drink in the kitchen? I’ll meet you in the living room in a minute.”

She did as he said, went into the luxurious kitchen and poured a glass of water, and then took it with her into the living room, where it stood untouched on a side table as she waited on the couch.

He came back, sat down next to her, and kissed her on the neck. She took an uncertain breath, had trouble relaxing. It was still afternoon, and light poured into the apartment. Shouldn’t they go to the bedroom? Or at least close the drapes?

“Isobel? What is it?”

“I don’t know what I’ve started.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Being disappointed, I guess,” she said. So many times, the sex had been good to start with but ended with her lying uncomfortably, her toes freezing, worrying more about her partner’s enjoyment than her own.

“I’m going to ask you to trust me now. Okay?”

She nodded.

“Thanks. The first thing you’re going to do is tell me what you expect from this.”

Come on. Talking about it was even worse. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Talk? Sure you can.”

“I think it’s just a fun, one-time thing for you.” She tried to be as honest as she could. “It’ll start well but end like it always does. I’ll have to choose between faking it or disappointing you.”

“So it’s not just your own disappointment? You’re worried I’ll be disappointed?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Are my feelings your responsibility?”

She shook her head.

“You’re so used to taking responsibility for everyone and everything,” he said quietly. “I’m a grown man, Isobel. I’m responsible for myself. The only thing you need to do is tell me if anything feels wrong.”

Was Alexander right? Did she try to control everyone and everything?

“Now I want you to tell me what to do.”

She frowned, annoyed. The whole point was that she wouldn’t have to take charge of things. Didn’t he get that?

“I want you to decide,” she said, frustrated.

Alexander put a hand on her leg. She practically jumped. His hand moved to the inside of her thigh, and he caressed her, pulled up her dress and pushed her legs apart. Not roughly, but definitely firmly. She held her breath.

“I know. But you have to take part and decide where we’re headed. What do you want? Should I tie you up?” He pushed her legs farther apart.

She panted.

“Isobel?”

“Yeah?” she replied, stifled.

“Is this hard for you?”

“A little.”

His hand worked its way in, beneath her short dress, and she automatically spread her legs farther. His thumb gently grazed her panties.

“You’re wet,” he said.

She was breathing heavily now. How could she ever have thought Alexander was boyish? This was a man commanding her body. But he didn’t frighten her. Not in the slightest.

He took her hand.

“Get up.”

She had always had a weakness for dominant men with self-confident voices. She just hadn’t realized how powerful Alexander’s was, how he could turn her on with nothing but his words.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded.

She complied, held his hand tightly, and allowed herself to be led out of the living room, down the hall. She heard a door open.

“You can look now,” he said quietly. She opened her eyes, blinked, waited for them to adjust.

They were in the doorway to his room. But what had been a modern bedroom with a cosmopolitan, hotel feel to it had been transformed into something more like an erotic fantasy. He had switched out the bed. Before, he’d had one of those modern headboards, fabric-covered and soft. In its place today was an enormous iron bed. No covers, just the sheets and pillows on the bed, and more pillows on the floor. At the end of it was a chest. On it were displayed all of the things they had bought. The white leather cuffs. The paddle. The dildo, bottles of oil, ropes, and a silk ribbon.

She looked at him, swallowed hard.

He gently pushed her into the room.

“Take off your dress,” he said, calmly but with authority.

She paused at first, but then unbuttoned it and let it fall to the floor. She made an attempt to step out of it, but he shook his head. His eyes moved slowly over her.

“No. Stay there, but take off your bra.”

He watched as she unclasped it and dropped it to the floor.

“Now, get onto your knees. Your hands behind your back.”

She blinked quickly, glancing at his face. Are you serious?

He looked back, calm, confident in himself and his order. He nodded encouragingly toward the floor. “Down.”

She sank to her knees, not entirely gracefully. But the rug was soft as lambswool against her knees, as though he’d laid it there just for her. She found her balance, couldn’t help but suck in her stomach. Light poured into the room, and she squinted toward it.

“Hands.”

Obediently she put her hands behind her back. It should feel wrong, but it didn’t.

Alexander crossed the room. Closed the drapes. They were thick and heavy, and blocked out the light, throwing the room into forgiving half-darkness. He lit a match and started to light the candles, lots of them, all different sizes. She was still on her knees on the soft rug, her hands interlocked behind her back, peering at the different things he had laid out. In the store, both the nine-tailed whip and the little paddle had seemed harmless. But now they suddenly seemed much more serious. He came over to her, pushed a strand of hair from her face. “Are you comfortable?” he asked in a low voice.

She nodded into his hand. He ran a finger over her cheek. She swallowed, turned her face toward his palm, closed her eyes, and breathed him in. He smelled clean, was freshly shaven, and she loved that he had done that for her.

Alexander started to unbuckle his belt, pulled it out of the loops on his pants. It was a new leather belt, still glossy, and from her kneeling position Isobel followed the movement with a wary eye. He took it in one hand, wrapped it around the other. She held her breath, felt an unwelcome wave of fear.

“Shhh,” he said, as he moved round her. She heard him bend down, felt him wrap the belt around her wrists, several loops. He breathed onto her back and kissed her shoulder blades as he pulled on the belt, firmly but not painfully tight.

“I’m going to give you a safe word. Do you know what that is?”

A word that would make him stop if it all got too much for her.

“If you say Paris, I’ll stop immediately, no matter what I’m doing. Okay?”

She looked up at him. His eyes were warm, and there was no uncertainty in them. She couldn’t believe she had ever worried he wouldn’t be able to take command of her. He was a natural. He had taken complete control.

“It suits you, standing there like that.”

His index finger ran over her lower lip. With a thumb on her chin, he opened her mouth. She panted.

“You’re pretty on your knees, Isobel. Will you do what I tell you?”

She nodded.

He undressed and stood naked in front of her, a gorgeous male specimen. His erection, thick and hard, strained toward his flat stomach. He wrapped his fist around it and moved toward her. She opened her mouth again, and took him in, had time to taste the tiny, salty droplet on the tip of him before he began to move, slowly. She had always liked this kind of sex. It was an intimate act, and maybe it spoke to this side of her, she thought, as she closed her eyes, let him make love to her mouth, sucked him. Alexander stroked her hair to one side, pulled out, stopped her movements. She gave him a questioning look.

“I want you to look up at me as you suck.”

His voice was hoarse but firm.

“But …” she protested, not liking this command. It was difficult enough with her hands tied behind her back. Plus, it would break her concentration. She liked being bound, having his dick in her mouth; but gazing into his eyes … It made her feel awkward. And maybe a little vulnerable, off balance.

“Isobel …” he commanded, gathering her hair in one fist, pulling her head back, not hard, but with enough force to remind her of her role in the game they were playing. Their eyes met; his were kind but very determined. Reluctantly she nodded, feeling some odd excitement building inside her. He gripped his erection, guided it toward her again. Compliantly she opened her mouth, almost as by reflex, and took him again, reveling in the salty, warm taste of him. He was a big man and he wasn’t too gentle, and it was difficult at first. She had never understood the point of looking each other deep in the eyes during sex. But his eyes never left hers; they were hooded and his chest was heaving. She heard herself panting, could only imagine what she must look like, on her knees, tied, her nipples hardening almost painfully, her juices trickling down her inner thighs, her hair mussed from his hands. She sucked him harder, took him as deep as she could, and after a while it was as if they had connected somehow, as though they were communicating wordlessly.

“That’s right,” he said, his voice tight, guiding her with his hand in her hair, alternating between being rough and gentle. It was incredibly exciting, adding a whole new layer to sex. With Sebastien she had freaked out, he had scared her. But being manhandled and mastered by Alexander whom she trusted—it was insanely arousing.

He pulled out of her mouth. Let his finger trail her lips. “Sexy Isobel,” he murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear. She shouldn’t get so excited by this, by standing on her knees, horny and helpless, but she was—more excited than she’d ever been.

“Get up now,” he said gently, and put a hand on her upper arm to help her up. He carefully loosened the belt, took her hands, and kissed her fingertips one after one. A wave of disappointment rushed over her. She had hoped for more.

She heard him chuckle behind her, as if he had read her mind, and then he pushed her toward the bed. “Lie down,” he said. “On your stomach. Your hands by the headboard.”

She got up onto the bed on all fours, pulse racing again.

“Wait,” he said. “Stop there, I want to watch.” She obeyed and paused on all fours while he moved around the bed. She heard him moving things around but didn’t dare look. On one hand she felt incredibly conscious of herself, of her body. On the other hand, she loved being a little degraded like this, ordered around by him. She felt his forefinger sliding in under the fabric of her panties, tracing the seam of her damp lips, and couldn’t hold back a moan.

“I love how you get wet for me,” he said. “I want you to fuck my finger.”

She swallowed hard, but then she started to move against his finger, feeling an almost painful sensation of excitement, feeling the orgasm build up. She moved faster.

“Good girl,” he said, and his finger withdrew. “You can lie down now.”

She let out her breath, frustrated, she had been so near. But she did as she was told. The sheet was cool and smelled clean. She stretched out her arms and lay still while he picked up the white leather cuffs. He fastened her wrists to the metal railings. They had a snug fit. Her arms were outstretched, leaving her helpless and exposed.

“Comfortable?” he asked. She could hear him move around the room.

“Yes,” she replied, knowing she trusted him.

“I’m going to begin by giving you ten raps. Can you cope with ten?”

She blinked into the sheet. How the hell should I know?

“Isobel?”

“Yes,” she replied.

And then she felt his hands on her body. He kissed her back, her buttocks, and then, before she had started to buck under his administrations, he pulled off her panties with a quick, fluid motion. His hand moved between her legs, and she gasped, eagerly spreading her thighs for him. It was as though something happened in her brain whenever he took control like this; she wanted to be commanded, to be made to please, to serve.

His hands left her body and she almost whimpered, wanting them on her, inside her. “I’m behind you now,” he said.

She wasn’t afraid. Or maybe just a little. She had been very afraid with Sebastien, but it had been a bad kind of fear. This was a good one. One she knew she had control over.

“Ready?” He asked, dragging the whip over her skin. A shiver ran through her. This was really about to happen. Was she actually letting him do this?

The whip traced her skin. And then it disappeared.

“I’m going to whip you now.” She pulled at her restraints, and then the whip struck right over her ass. She didn’t know what she had expected. Maybe that he would be careful, play with the whip a little, but still be gentle. But the lash was hard. She heard the crack, and she gasped with pain, but then the next came, and now it really hurt. Mon Dieu.

“Breathe, Isobel,” he told her.

She took a deep breath. Exhaled. The next lash was even harder, and she pulled on the cuffs.

Crack!

This time, it was slightly gentler, and she let out a shaky breath. Maybe the worst was over after all.

Smack! She yelled.

He was still behind her, and she knew he was waiting for her to ask him to stop. But she didn’t want to, so she held her tongue. Breathed in and out, felt the excitement flooding her, could picture herself bound, exposed, being whipped, and panting at the fantasy. The next time was harder again. It still hurt like hell, but now another sensation was approaching, a warmth spreading through her, not just over her ass but through her hips, thighs, to her stomach. She squirmed against the sheet, pressed down into it, wanted to touch herself, wanted to come … she couldn’t think.

“No,” he said, and his voice was commanding. “Lie still.”

She groaned in protest but obeyed. Waited.

He gave her another three lashes. They hurt too, but now the pain had definitely crossed over to enjoyment, endorphins taking over, making the pain morph into an excitement beyond anything she’d experienced before, a dark, carnal pleasure sending her nearer and nearer to an orgasm.

She started to shake.

Crack.

She couldn’t lie still. It felt as if she were about to melt, to come apart. She pulled on the cuffs and felt the last blow. It was hard, much harder than the others, but she could take it, could transform the pain into something she had no words for. This was what she had fantasized about, this … And then Alexander was next to her. Roughly he pushed a hand between her and the bed, rubbed frantically, and she came so quickly that she barely had time to keep up, just bucked against his hand, came until her vision blurred. The pleasure was so intense, the breath caught in her throat. She panted into the mattress, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. He was on top of her now, his weight on strong arms to either side of her, and he shoved her thighs apart and entered her with hard, deep thrusts as she lay there, still tied up on his bed.

He pushed a hand in, beneath her again.

“Please, no more,” she begged hoarsely.

But he kept going, touched her gently as he continued to move inside her. He bit her neck, nibbled at the nape of it, and she shook from head to toe. Her arms were numb, and her hair was in sweaty wisps around her face when Alexander slipped out of her and finally loosened the cuffs. Relieved, she pulled her arms in as he flipped her onto her back. She watched him pull off the condom and wrap it in tissue before he pushed her hair from her face and looked at her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. But I don’t think I can talk.”

“You’re so goddamn sexy.” He kissed her breast. “I mean, I’ve thought you were sexy since the first time I saw you,” he mumbled between kisses. “But seriously, this was the most erotic experience of my life. You’re perfect; the softest, sexiest woman I’ve ever known.”

He rested on one arm and took a nipple in his mouth, dragged his tongue over it. She pressed into him. “It was completely incredible,” he continued, running his fingers along the inside of her thighs. He moved up, closed her mouth in a ravenous kiss.

His hand moved between her legs once more.

“You’re going to come again, Isobel,” he said.

She wanted to protest, tell him it had never happened before, that it was her medical opinion that multiple orgasms were a myth, but then he did something with those fantastic fingers of his, whispered what he planned to do to her, and his hands, his voice, and the feeling of him as he moved inside her was electric, intoxicating. His fingers were firm, his tongue hot, and she bucked against him, felt another orgasm exploding in mindless waves. As she shook and whimpered beneath him, her body tightening in delicious spasms, he twisted his fist in her hair, pumped himself, and came too, hard and jerky, and a satisfied sound rumbled from his chest before he collapsed. They lay there in a panting, sweaty heap. She ran her hands over his back, enjoyed the feeling of his muscles beneath her fingers, the sound of him breathing against her neck, the feeling of his powerfully pumping heart slowing down.

Eventually, he rolled off her and onto the mattress.

“How do you do that?” she asked as she watched him pull off yet another condom. “I never see you put it on.”

He didn’t reply, simply stretched out an arm and pulled her close to him.

“How are you?” he asked after a moment. Always this concern for her. She needed to be careful with her heart; this was a man who would have no trouble ripping it in two. When had anyone shown such consideration for her? Strong, smart Isobel, she’ll be fine. You can always rely on Isobel. Isobel will figure everything out. She hadn’t realized just how much she longed to be taken care of, to be able to rely on someone else being there for her.

“Good,” she replied.

He propped himself up on one elbow and studied her face. Took her wrist, turned it over. “You have marks. Was it too hard? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Embarrassed, she pulled her hand away from him. There had been such a difference with Alexander. With Sebastien, she had been scared. But with Alexander … She wanted what he did to leave marks. Wanted to be branded by his fingers and whipping, knowing it was crazy but wanting it still. “I liked it.”

“Wait here, I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, and got up from the bed. When he came back, Isobel felt something soft on top of her, a blanket that was as light as a cloud, as soft as sunshine.

“Here,” he said. “Drink.”

She drank the water, cold and bubbly, and let him tuck her in, stroke her hair. She crept into his arms. Allowed him to stroke her back and her shoulders. To kiss and hug and rock her.

That was the last thing Isobel remembered before she dropped off to sleep.