Dominic lay flat on his back on the hotel bed, naked, hands stacked beneath his head, staring at the ceiling made of swirled plaster accented with a small teardrop chandelier. The mattress was high off the floor, the comforter thick, the pillows down. It wasn’t a big high-rise San Francisco hotel right on Union Square, but it was expensive, exclusive, and luxurious. Erin had chosen well.

Over the past two days, she’d sent him a laundry list of instructions. He’d followed every one to the letter. He’d driven to the city by himself, showered, shaved, cranked up the wall heater, and laid on the bed completely naked. She hadn’t said he couldn’t improvise, so he brought champagne for her, a couple of bottles of beer for himself, and two glasses. They might be drinking different beverages, but they would both be sparkling.

Rain pattered against the window, drowning out the sounds of traffic from below. She’d booked the room in his name, and he’d asked for the highest floor he could get. He ended up on the eleventh.

His skin sizzled with anticipation. He’d been waiting for ten minutes. He felt his breath, in, out, accompanied by the shifting air currents across his body. A muffled sound drifted from the room next door. The hotel was older, the pipes louder.

His cell phone vibrated on the side table. Identifying a text from her, his heart actually skipped a beat. The games they played added a new element of excitement, as if she were some mystery woman who’d shown up in his life, fucked him, then disappeared again. In a way, that’s exactly what Erin did, a different side of her coming out to play, a side she wouldn’t give him at home or work.

He opened the message and read. “Stroke your cock. I want you hard.”

He wouldn’t put it past her to leave him alone in a hotel room to jerk off by himself as punishment for not telling her about WEU. But Dominic did exactly as she instructed, closing his eyes, imagining it was her hand on him until the blood pulsed in his dick.

Another vibration, another text. “Lube it.”

She’d ordered him to bring a tube. He poured the cool liquid over the tip of his cock, let it drip down to his trimmed balls, massaged it in. He didn’t text her back. She knew he’d do whatever she ordered him to. Ah God, his cock ached for her. If she didn’t come to relieve him, he’d die. He’d done plenty of jacking off, had no problem with it, but he needed her here.

Once more the phone vibrated. “Unlatch the door but don’t open it. Then get back on the bed.”

In two seconds flat, he’d returned to his position in the middle of the bed. He enjoyed the step-by-step instructions, the anticipation in each vibration of his phone, the mystery of what she’d demand.

“Close your eyes and keep stroking” read the next text. “I’m sending someone to you. You will allow this person to do anything.”

Sending someone? He wondered . . . but, no, it was a trick, another part of the game. Eyes closed, fist stroking idly, five minutes later, he felt the waft of air over his body as the door opened, the hall cooler than the room. The chandelier over the bed clicked off, and she turned something else on, perhaps the bathroom light. The sensuality of darkness washed over him. Blind, he could scent her better, a subtly sweet, exotic aroma he didn’t recognize.

She said nothing, but he heard her movement about the room, the rustle of clothing, the slide of silk against skin. Then he sucked in a breath as a thick liquid splashed over his cock and hand. In moments, it heated, a tingling that spread from his crown down his shaft as he stroked in the warming gel. He groaned. The mattress dipped beside him. Two fingers massaged his balls, then a hand cupped his sac with the caress of satin. She wore gloves.

Lifting his head, she slipped a satin-lined blindfold over his eyes. Elastic holding it in place cut out even the dim light from the bathroom. Sliding something with the rough texture of nylon around his wrist, she pulled it tight. She wiggled a finger beneath it, then, with the tear of Velcro, clasped it more loosely. Grabbing his other wrist, she secured that one, too. Nylon cuffs. She’d taken a long lunch yesterday. Obviously she’d gone shopping. But he needed more than a few props.

“Touch me,” he whispered, begging, his cock aching for her.

She answered by pulling his arms over his head and fastening them to the head of the bed. By the feel of it, she’d slipped a rope through the cuffs.

Then she crawled to the bottom of the bed and went to work on his feet, securing him spread-eagled with more ropes and cuffs. The bed shifted once more. The door opened, closed.

He waited. “Erin?” Unease trickled down his spine. He had no phobias, but being tied, blindfolded, and naked did leave a man vulnerable. He couldn’t even hear her breathe.

The door reopened.

“Erin?”

No answer. Just a light tread across the carpet. Something soft trailed over his foot, up his shin, along his thigh, then tickled his balls. He was completely exposed, and when he tugged on the cuffs and ropes, his range of motion wasn’t more than a couple of inches.

After a crackle of plastic, a tearing, she lifted his dick and rolled on a condom. Expertly. Tantalizingly.

Where had Erin learned the technique so skillfully? They hadn’t used condoms beyond those first fumbles back in college. Why a condom now?

Unless it wasn’t Erin at all.

His heart thumped faster as the unease became something more. She straddled him, soft inner thighs along his hips. Then she stroked his cock between her legs, the heat of her pussy searing the tip.

It was her. It had to be her. But she didn’t smell right, not like Erin. It was good, but it was more fragrant, hotter, sweeter, as if she’d rubbed another scent on herself.

He felt suddenly as he did when the clock flipped past midnight and she fucked him without a word. When he lost himself in her, yet hated the things she held back.

“Stop,” he murmured.

She put a satin glove to his lips. Then she took him, his cock sliding into heat and wet. Christ, it was good, his hips surging without conscious effort, driving deep. He groaned.

The gloved fingers tweaked his nipples, pulled until pain mixed with the pleasure. Behind the mask, his eyes rolled back.

“Say something, baby.” He couldn’t beg for her voice in their bed at home, but he could beg here.

Yet she said nothing, gave him nothing but the sweetness of her body. God, yes, it was punishment. It ripped his guts out. He wanted to shout, shake her, force her to talk to him, but he couldn’t stop his body’s reactions, jamming his feet into the mattress for better leverage. She rode him, fucked him, took him. Part of him feared it wasn’t her, that it was some nameless, faceless woman she’d sent to torture him. Without her voice, her words, he couldn’t be sure. Yet how could he be unsure if this was his wife? Shouldn’t a man know?

She leaned back, changing the angle of penetration, robbing him of thought, turning everything into sensation. It was hot, and it was terrifying, shooting adrenaline through his veins like a fearthreat reaction. Yet nothing could stop the build in his balls, the throb, the ache, then the hot pulse through his cock, reverberating through his body, his extremities, finally working up his throat with a shout. And mindlessness.

He barely registered the untying of the ropes, the slither of clothing being rolled on. Then the soft snick of the door.

She was gone. Like a ghost. Or a soul-stealing succubus. He felt drained. Something vital had been missing. Her. He hadn’t felt her.

She’d turned the game against him. And Dominic didn’t like it.

For a moment, when he’d said her name, she’d actually believed he didn’t know who she was. Or that he had his doubts. She’d planned it that way, no talking, the gloves, the condom, the scented oil he wouldn’t recognize, yet she hadn’t gotten the kick out of it she thought she would. She’d wanted to tie him down, have her wicked way with him, and show him what it was like to take orders. Ultimately it was supposed to be fun, and when she’d thought it all up, she figured he’d love every moment of it, even the niggling doubts about her identity. But she wasn’t sure he’d enjoyed it. She wasn’t sure she had.

There was something wrong, something missing. She’d needed a boost, a relief, an escape; she’d needed to take all her chaotic emotions out on him. Yet it hadn’t worked the way she’d wanted it to. She hadn’t felt triumph, or even power.

Give them what they want, then you get what you want. That’s what she’d told Matt. The problem was she still didn’t know what she wanted. Was sex with Dominic really nothing more than a shot of heroin or a snort of cocaine?

The elevator hit bottom with a slight drop of her stomach, and the doors whooshed open. As the wall of voices in the lobby crashed over her, she suddenly grasped what had been missing up there in the room. The banter, the sexy dirty talk. Even when Dominic had been talking about her, over her, not just to her, she’d thrilled to that. He filled her up, made her feel desirable, wanted, needed. She’d liked being a sex object. Before Orlando, the sex act had driven out all the bad thoughts. Now she needed the words, too. It might not be the final answer, the final need, but it would do for right now, for tonight.

No one boarded, and the doors closed again, but the elevator sat when she didn’t select a floor. Then it began to move as if someone from above had pushed a button.

She’d unfastened his restraints before she left. Maybe it was him, pushing the button for her, waiting for her, wanting her. Her pulse actually started to race. Then her stomach sank when the elevator stopped at the fifth floor and an elderly couple stepped on. The man pressed the lobby button, and the car dropped once more before Erin had a chance to do anything.

At the bottom, the wife got off, and the man held out a hand to let Erin precede him. She felt like an idiot. “I forgot something upstairs.” Then she hit eleven on the pad.

The gentleman smiled politely, and the door closed after him.

Minutes later, standing outside the room, she put two fingers to the door and listened. Complete silence. Not wanting him to be sure she was gone, she hadn’t latched the lock when she left. With a gentle nudge, the door snicked open. Light fell across the carpet from the bathroom just as she’d left it.

Inside she let her eyes adjust to the dimness. She didn’t see him at first, then finally made out his bare feet on the carpet, where he sat in a chair. He’d pulled on his jeans, but not his shirt. The ropes, nylon cuffs, and blindfold lay heaped in the middle of the bed.

“Where did you find her?” His voice was rough gravel.

He really thought it was another woman. No. He was just playing along. Wasn’t he? There was a certain delicious thrill in having to wonder. “I’m not telling you all my secrets,” she answered.

He rose, stalked her. Even in his bare feet, he made her tremble with his height and size.

“She was good,” his voice whispered over her. “Her pussy was tight, and so wet. She flexed around me, milked me.” His voice dropped low, lower, and he crowded her up against the bed. She almost toppled, holding on to his arms to steady herself. “And Christ,” he said on a mere breath, “I wanted to come inside her without that fucking condom on.”

Her pulse pounded against her eardrums. This was part of the game. He’d known it was her. Right?

Then he shoved his hands beneath her armpits, picked her up, and tossed her on the bed. “Your turn,” he whispered, then crawled after her, all carnal, all predator.

This was what she’d ached for, the animal in him taking over.