By day she worked hard, made the best grades, and landed a prime job. But at night, when the sun dipped low and darkness masked sins, she’d changed into her short skirts and high heels and hit the honky-tonks. She liked meeting men. She was intoxicated by her feminine power over them. She liked to watch their eyes light up as she slowly peeled off her clothes and then teased them and told them that perhaps she’d changed her mind. She liked to hear them whimper and beg.
It was well past eight when Rebecca stepped off the hotel elevator and walked the carpeted hallway toward her room. She smiled. Tonight she had an old customer and a new fantasy to fulfill.
She opened the door and dropped the key on the mahogany side table by the door. She kicked off her shoes and savored the way her bare feet sunk into the plush carpet.
A long time ago, she’d learned to set her standards high. If a man wanted her, they’d not be meeting in a dumpy motel. No, sir. She wanted the best. She wanted to hold her head high when she crossed a lobby decorated with marble and fine carpets. She wanted to know she could call room service on a whim and order strawberries and champagne if it suited her or step into a marble shower bigger than her old bedroom.
She set her purse on the end of a bed made with a lush white comforter, shrugged off her jacket, and shimmied out of her slim skirt. She’d been looking forward to tonight. It had been nearly impossible to concentrate as she thought about slipping out for this meeting.
She turned on the television and switched to an all music station. The music was a soft, seductive jazz that made her sway as she glanced toward an ice bucket with an open bottle of chilling Chardonnay. She smiled. He’d followed her instructions well.
“Good boy,” she purred as she poured herself a glass. “I’ll reward you for that.”
In the bathroom, she sipped her wine and filled the tub with hot water. She pinned her hair up loosely, letting key strands drape over her breasts. He would like seeing her this way. Warm. Wet. Seductive.
Rebecca sipped her wine and leaned her head back against the tile. A sigh shuddered through her. She closed her eyes, letting the warm water waft over her skin. When she’d finished her wine, she rose out of the tub, pulled a plush towel from the rack and dried. She picked up her empty wineglass and moved toward the bottle for a refill.
As she filled her glass she had the sudden sense that someone was behind her. Her skin tingled. Stiffening, she slowly replaced the bottle into the ice bucket. Her fingers clutched her wineglass as unexpected anxiety sliced through her body.
As she slowly turned, her peripheral caught the form of a tall, thick man. A black mask covered his face and dark gloves covered fisted fingers. Gripping the glass tighter, she hurled the wine toward him hoping for an extra second to race to her purse still sitting on the bed.
The stranger dodged the paltry attack and returned with his own. A hard open hand slapped her face.
Pain rocketed through her jaw and head as she stumbled toward the bed. She caught herself from falling into the plush comforter and scrambled off the side of the bed toward the back of the room. Her attacker laughed, clearly enjoying the chase. She reached toward the wine bottle and picked it up by the neck.
As she raised it over her head and wielded it like a club, cold expensive wine sloshed her arm and over her naked breasts. “Get the fuck away from me.”
“You try to hit me and I’ll make this worse.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughed. The hunt excited him. He moved toward her and she swung, a glancing blow striking his shoulder.
“Bitch,” he growled. He closed the gap between them, grabbed her by the throat and backed her up to the curtained windows. As he squeezed her windpipe, he pressed her into the silk fabric and the cold glass behind it. She choked for air but didn’t release the bottle. He squeezed harder, banging her hand none too gently against the thick hard glass. “Keep fighting. Please. I’d love to snap your neck.”
She stared into the masked face, dark gray eyes staring at her with feverish intensity. She screwed up her face and spit.
He grabbed her naked breast and dug his fingers into the soft flesh around her nipple. Pain mingled with a lack of oxygen and soon her vision blurred. The fight drained from her body. She dropped the bottle. Seconds before she would slip into unconsciousness, he yanked her away from the window and threw her on the bed.
She choked in air, the skin around her nipple burning, as she scrambled to gather her wits. The tip of a knife pressed to her jugular tracked the blue-green line along the column of her throat past the hollow of her neck. “Make a sound and I’ll skin you alive.”
Her gaze narrowed and he must have read the defiance because with the knife tip he nicked her breast. Pain shot. Blood trickled down the side of her breast.
“Be a good girl?”
She nodded.
He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out handcuffs. Cold metal clinked around her right and left hands. In seconds both were secured to the bedpost.
The man ran his hands over her naked mound, squeezing hard before clamping metal around both her ankles.
“Spread your legs,” he ordered.
When she hesitated he traced the knife the length of her thigh. She spread her legs.
“Wider.”
She complied.
He fastened the cuffs to the end of the bed. She lay spread-eagle on the bed, gasping for air, hurting, and bleeding.
He moved back a step to admire her form. He reached in a jacket pocket and pulled out several metal objects and tossed them beside her on the bed.
“Have a good look,” he said.
She shook her head.
Laughing, he stripped off his jacket and then ripped off his mask, giving her a good look at his face. The makings of an evening shadow darkened his face. He wasn’t much to look at and if she’d passed him on the street she might not have thought twice about him if not for his expensive haircut and hand-tailored suit. He unfastened his shirt, slowly, one button at a time.
“I’ve been watching you for days,” he rasped. “I’ve dreamed about this.”
She glanced at the bulge in his pants. Instead of fear, desire pricked her skin. She moistened her lips. “You’re a dirty man, lover.”
“Sugar,” he said. “Call me Sugar.” His was a baritone’s voice, deep and seductive. He tugged off his gloves and ran his hand roughly over her body.
“Sugar,” she whispered against his ear.
“You drive me crazy.”
“Stop talking.” Her voice held an air of command now. “I don’t want any more talk.”
Hesitation flickered in his gaze.
She was chained to the bed.
But she was in charge.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“I’m always ready.” Shoes kicked off and tailor-made pants whooshed to the floor.
He climbed on top of her, straddling her body. His erection pressed against her flat belly.
He could have penetrated her in a second and she’d have been powerless to stop him but he waited for her next order. His breathing was fast with his desire.
She liked it when he was on the knife-edge of desire, his wanting so acute that it hurt more than the nick in her breast. To make him suffer more, she wriggled under him, pressing her sex into him.
She had designed the entire scene. She’d picked the hotel, she’d told him when to arrive and how to act.
“Now,” she said. “You can fuck me now.”