“Yeah. She’s a beauty.” He opened the door for me, and I slid onto the bench seat, the leather warm on the back of my thighs.
“Nice,” I said, as he settled himself behind the wheel.
“Nineteen-sixty-three Buick LeSabre,” he said. “I fixed her up myself, although to be fair, she was in decent condition when I bought her. And,” he added, as he peeled out of the lot, “she drives like a dream.”
He proceeded to prove that point by opening her up once we hit the highway, so that I was squealing in surprise and delight as my hair went flying in the warm night air.
“Nice,” I said. “And although it’s got less of a vibration thing going than your motorcycle, I think we could make this bench seat work for us.” I gave the red and white leather seat a pat.
He took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at the seat—and then at me. “Interesting information. And good to know. Especially considering where we’re going.”
“Oh.” I waited a beat. “And where are we going again?”
“Nice try. But you’ll just have to wait and see.” He gave the seat a pat of his own. “You know the nice thing about bench seats? You can slide right over and get cozy.”
“Is that an invitation or an order?”
“Take your pick,” he said. “Whichever one gets you here faster.”
I grinned and slid closer. He kept his left hand on the steering wheel, but his right went to my thigh—high enough to keep my blood pumping and my body primed, but not enough to touch. All of which effectively drove me a little bit crazy.
“I’m practically naked,” I said. “I think you could take a little bit more advantage of the situation.”
“Is that what you think?”
“Or maybe you’re just not as clever and resourceful as I’d thought. Or maybe I’ve just worn you out already. Stamina,” I said with a sad shake of my head. “Some men just don’t have it.”
“Careful, or I just may have to spank you.”
“You teased me with that possibility before,” I said, squirming a little at the thought. Would it hurt? Would I like it? “So far you haven’t made good on the threat. So tell me, Mr. Sharp. How does a girl have to misbehave to be punished by you?”
“Oh, we’ll figure something out,” he promised.
Really? I’ll have to remember to misbehave.”
“Don’t worry,” he said wryly. “I’ll remind you.”
Ten minutes later, we’d arrived at a red brick building that, as far as I could tell, had no windows and no signs.
There was, however, an intercom by the set of double steel doors, and when Tyler gave them a membership number, the lock on the doors clicked open.
The doors opened into an alcove that reminded me of the entry to Destiny. A woman in a black latex bodysuit smiled at Tyler. “Welcome back.”
“Thank you, Tricia. This is my guest, Ms. Watson. If you could take her coat? And I was hoping I could use one of the collars.”
“Sure,” Tricia said, then winked at me. “Lucky you,” she said, but I barely heard her through the Klaxons ringing in my suddenly fuzzy brain.
“Collar?” I said to Tyler, as the girl disappeared through a door in the back. “She said collar? For me? And what exactly do you expect me to do once she takes my coat?”
“I’ll expect you to follow me,” he said, then smiled, slow and easy and seductive. “You recall our arrangement, don’t you? You’re mine, remember? You know what I want from you.”
“A collar,” I repeated, as my gut twisted with nerves. But even as it did, I couldn’t deny the prickles of heat building between my thighs, or the way my now erect nipples rubbed provocatively against the silk lining of the jacket.
A collar.
And nothing else.
Oh, my fucking god.
I let it all sink in. We were in a dungeon, a playroom, a BDSM parlor, whatever you wanted to call it. He wanted to take me inside, and I didn’t have even a clue what he intended to do in there.
I was nervous. Hell, I was terrified.
But I was also wildly turned on.