“Are you okay?” I suck in my lips. “I mean, doesn’t it hurt to sit?”

    “Sitting’s a bitch,” she says. “But Master Sean made me promise not to stand at reception tonight unless it was necessary. He always seems to know when I break the rules, and then he punishes me.”

    “That wasn’t punishment?” Is this what’s in store for me? Is this really what I want?

    Kitty laughs. “That was a whip. A crop or single tail would be punishment. Then there would be no question of me being able to sit all night.”

    Panic looms in the pit of my stomach, but I fight for control. I didn’t come all this way just to chicken out at the prospect of a little pain. “Are all the Doms like that?”

    She takes her seat again, gritting her teeth as she settles on the chair. “The Doms here are all fantastic. Very professional. Very serious. But they also know how to have fun. That’s why we’re one of the top clubs in the city and why the membership fee is so high. If I didn’t have this as a second job, I would never be able to afford to play here.”

    “I didn’t pay,” I blurt out, ashamed to be freeloading.

    “Master Damien took care of your membership fee.”

    “I’ll need…to talk to him about that.” I twist my dress in my hand. “I can’t let him pay for me.”

    “There is no talking to him. He does what he wants to do.” Kitty laughs. “And he’s given instructions not to be disturbed all evening. He’s in a meeting with his attorney.”

    “His attorney?” My breaths come in short pants. Does he know what Amanda has planned? Is that why they’re meeting on a Friday night?

    “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.” Kitty grimaces. “I’m always getting punished for talking too much.”

    Punished. I am suddenly reminded why I’ve come to the club tonight. “Um…I’m meeting Master Jack. Where should I go?”

    “Are you sure it’s Master Jack you’re meeting? He only scenes with the most experienced submissives and the die-hard masochists.”

    “And me, it seems.” I smooth my hands down over my stretchy little white dress, the only thing in my closet remotely close to the fetish wear I saw when I visited the club. Black would have been better, but I don’t own anything darker than eggshell blue.

    “If you need someone when you get out…” Her voice trails off. “To talk to. Or if you need someone to call you a cab or take you to the hospital, just let me know.”

    Hospital? “You’re scaring me, Kitty.”

    “You should be scared. Even I wouldn’t play with Master Jack, and I like it rough.” She pushes the buzzer, and the door to the club opens. “Room six. It’s the one with all the scratches on the door.”

    “Yeah. I know.”

    Heart pounding, I walk along the corridor to room six. All the doors to the other rooms are closed, and the hallway is eerily silent. My heels echo on the polished tile, and I slow my pace to check out the framed, lighted photos on the walls of people bound in intricately tied rope. Everything I’ve seen so far speaks of an incredible attention to detail. Class rather than crass. I feel another twinge of regret that I will have some part in shutting it all down.

    The door to room six is open. I step inside and find a note taped to one of the glass display cases: “Clothes off. Underwear on. Kneel on rug.”

    Kneel? I’m not so sure about kneeling to anyone, but if this is the game I need to play, I’ll give it a try. After closing the door, I slip off my dress and shoes and put them in the white locker at the side of the room along with my purse. My ponytail brushes over my shoulders, and I adjust the straps of my new mint-green lace bra, at once relieved and disappointed he doesn’t want me naked.

    My knees hit the soft red carpet, and I take a few deep breaths as I look around the room. The bench with the cage beneath it has been pushed over to the wall, but I can still see the indentations in the area rug around me. I can’t imagine agreeing to be put into a cage. After spending the better part of my childhood being locked in my room as punishment for even the most minor disobedience, I haven’t been able to handle closed-in spaces. And yet I could never have imagined being here either.

    Stripped down, on my knees, my scars bared for all to see.

10

    Do you want me to stop?

    PENNY

    “Eyes on the floor.”

    I startle at the sound of Jack’s voice. So caught up in my thoughts, I didn’t hear the door open or notice him enter the room. My eyes drop right away, and I pull at the carpet with my fingers, at a loss for something to do with my hands.

    Jack’s footsteps echo on the polished concrete, and I wince when the door slams, catch my breath when the bolt slides into place. I am a mess of nervous anticipation, desperate to raise my head to see his face.

    “Hands on your lap. I like the area rug the way it is.”

    Grimacing, I place my hands on my lap in what feels like a very submissive position. Except I’m not submissive, and I have no secret desire to give up my power. I’m just here for the pain. I drop my hands to my sides and look up, only to see Jack leaning against the wall watching me. He is dressed head to toe in black, his leather pants encasing legs that are thick with muscle, his short-sleeved T-shirt stretched tight over powerful muscles, emblazoned with an ad for a local distillery.

    He lifts an eyebrow at my all-too-obvious perusal of his mouthwatering body. “You’re not very good at following directions.”

    My body heats at the unmistakable note of warning in his tone, but I owe it to him, and to me, to explain. “Not if they go against the grain.”

    “And the grain is?”

    “I’m not submissive, and I have no desire to be submissive. I didn’t really think about it the other night, but if that’s what you need, if that’s what needs to happen, I don’t know if this will work for me.”