He made her wet and needy with fear and excitement.

What if she said what she thought, what she wanted? What if she told him she hated the idea of another woman having him and yet a terrible thrill raced through her at the same time? What if he got mad? Her life was full of scary what-ifs. She was afraid of things that hadn’t even happened, always trying to come up with ways of making sure they never would happen, anticipating reactions, plotting, planning, keeping her mouth shut, pretending.

He stood at the end of the long bar, his finger crooked at the bartender who was already running from one end to the other, grabbing bottles, glasses, mixers. Yet Luke was the kind of man people jumped for when he signaled.

Instead of a highball glass, the man pulled down two champagne flutes from the glass shelving along the mirrored wall of the bar. The low lighting flickered in the reflection and the room seemed to narrow down to Luke and the bartender as he poured champagne. Champagne made her more tipsy than a hard drink, the bubbles going to her head faster.

Then Luke was laughing, his smile deep, wide, head slightly turned. A woman about Bree’s age sat on a stool next to him. A redhead. She was pretty, her hair short and sassy. Was that why he’d gone to get the drinks rather than waiting for a server to come to the table? Bree drummed her fingers. He turned fully toward the redhead, holding only one flute of champagne, the other one still on the bar. They laughed together this time.

Bree’s skin flushed hot. She never said what she wanted or what she didn’t want. It was always yes, Master, whatever you want, sometimes with passive-aggressive sarcasm, but she always said yes. She didn’t care what men did to her, as long as they wanted her, made her feel special, desirable. If Luke had given her to the dom at the club on Friday, she wouldn’t have minded as long as he’d stayed with her and told her how excited it made him, how hot and hard, how it was all about her.

Yet right now, she was miles across a crowded room, and he was laughing with another woman. It was terrifying. She wanted to crawl across the floor and beg, debase and humiliate herself, anything to get him to stop, to notice her.

The bartender brought his change, Luke waggled his fingers at the two champagnes, and suddenly there were three. Luke and the woman tipped glasses together, and she drank deeply, her eyes steady on him. Then she ran a finger down the sleeve of his suit jacket.

Bree flinched as if she felt the arc of electricity between them.

She didn’t want to watch him. And yet, as he gazed down at the big-breasted redhead, Bree could feel the wetness between her legs, every breath in and out of her lungs, her skin sensitized, her heart pounding. There was a certain excitement in being a voyeur, especially remembering what he’d said he’d do to her, tie her down, make her watch, make her do things. Yet at the same time, jealousy fueled her blood. God, he could probably see mountains of the woman’s cleavage from that angle.

Bree didn’t have cleavage.

He didn’t look at her across the tables, didn’t turn. But she felt him. He knew she couldn’t take her eyes off him, knew her thoughts. Do bad things to me. Anything you want. Everything you want. She knew he was totally and completely aware of her.

He leaned on the bar and let the woman touch him, just his arm, but still an invasion of his personal space. She flipped her hair back, probably thinking it was sexy, and even over the distance, Bree thought she heard an annoying tinkle of laughter.

Would he bring her to the table? He’d bought her a drink. It was the start of something.

“You’re just too damn pretty to be sitting all by yourself without even a cocktail.”

Bree jumped, knocking her knee on the underside of the table. The man slid a glass of white wine to her and slipped into the booth. “Mind if I join you?”

Forty or so, short dark hair, suit and tie, handsome, with a nice smile and a wedding ring he didn’t bother to hide. Her gaze shot to Luke.

He was otherwise occupied.

“You looked so thirsty. Waiting for some girlfriends?”

She shook her head and didn’t touch the wine.

“A man then.” He raised a brow and looked even more attractive. “Is he late?”

A normal person would have used the opportunity to give Luke a little payback. Bree was suddenly terrified and not in a good way. She didn’t know how to talk to men, how to flirt. She didn’t know how to pay Luke back, and she didn’t even want to. She wanted Luke to direct everything, not have to take charge herself.

Go away. She tried to say it with her eyes, yet all she could manage was another headshake.

“So you arrived early.” He smiled, and it was nice. “Is he going to be jealous if he sees you drinking wine with another man?” His eyes sparkled in the waver of candlelight. “Maybe that will be a good thing.” He waved the backs of his fingers at the wine. “Go on, taste. I got you something sweet because you look so sweet.”

Man, he was bold. And sure of himself. Just like Luke. She chanced a glance at Luke. He’d turned and he saw, picking up on her every move like radar.

She was suddenly parched under his penetrating gaze and grabbed the wine to slake her thirst. It was far too sweet, more to her mother’s tastes, but the man . . .

She looked at him, his handsome face and more than decent body. Why was he hitting on her? She wasn’t the USDA choice piece of meat here tonight. The woman with Luke offered more cleavage. So did the brunette Luke had pointed out.

“Name’s Frank.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “And you are?”

“Her name’s Bree.” Luke’s low voice didn’t even startle Frank, nor did the menace in Luke’s tone as he went on. “She’s taken. Buzz off.”

Frank kept on smiling. “So I was right. Jealous lover in the wings.”

Luke pushed the wine away from her fingertips and back at Frank, then replaced the glass with a champagne flute. “Jealousy would imply I have something to worry about.” Luke shark-smiled the guy. “I just prefer that Bree isn’t bothered by lounge lizards.”

Frank laughed out loud, turning a few heads. “I haven’t heard that term since I watched the old fifties movies when I was a kid.”

“Yeah. But it fits.” Luke’s lips thinned. “Do I have to bodily remove you?”

She thrilled to his voice, casual yet brittle, charming yet hard. Like the night he’d taken her from Derek. He meant what he said; he would not back down. And all for her.

“Maybe we should ask the lovely lady.” Frank indicated her with an arch of his brow.

Were they fighting over her? It was awful, the antics of a self-absorbed woman, but it excited her. She was wet and wanting more, needing the affirmation. “What if I said you should both sit down, and I’d share.” She waited a beat, letting an image settle in their minds. “The drinks, I mean,” she clarified after her point was already made.

Luke’s eyes glittered, promising retribution. He sat in the round booth, moving in on her, lowering his voice so it could only just be heard above the din of conversation. “I’m the one who decides when to share, not you, my sweet.” He raised his gaze to Frank. “Tonight, I’m not in a sharing mood.”

She opened her eyes, going for the wide and innocent look. “But just a few minutes ago,” she said, not knowing where the temerity came from, but loving it, “you wanted to share that woman over there.” She jutted her chin at the bar. The redhead was still sipping her champagne and gazing wistfully at Luke.

He chucked her under the chin. “Different kind of sharing, baby.”

Frank’s face was fairly glowing, his cheeks ruddy with either amazement or desire, maybe both. “Guess I found the right party, didn’t I.”

Luke stared at him for long seconds. “Right party, wrong time.” Then he grabbed Bree’s hand and practically dragged her out of the booth.

Luke hadn’t dropped her hand since the moment he’d yanked her out of the bar. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re already trolling for other men.”

“I wasn’t,” she whispered weakly.

“You were.” He punctuated with a growl rising up from his chest. He couldn’t say how he’d felt when he lifted his gaze to the table and found her flirting with another man. It was a heady brew of astonishment, anger, jealousy, fear, and desire. He was well aware Bree hadn’t started it, but she sure as hell hadn’t ended it either. Promptly forgetting the redhead named Liza, he’d waded in to do the ending for Bree.

Only to have her make that suggestive remark.

Emotion and desire were inextricably connected; the higher the emotion, the bigger the kick of desire. In that moment, he’d wanted to haul her up out of the booth, force her face first onto the table and take her that way. All very macho.

That’s what she did to him and for him, pushed his emotions higher until his desire simply burst out of him.

At the car, he whirled her around, shoved her up against the driver’s side door and plastered his body to hers. “You were trolling. And you will be punished.”

“Honestly,” she started.

He stopped her with a hand beneath her skirt, a finger in her pussy, and suddenly she was gasping for air.

“See how wet you are,” he whispered against her ear. “See how much you wanted him.”

“I—I—” She wasn’t capable of more as he played her clit.

“You test me, push me. You want me to punish you. You ask for it, beg for it because you’re a dirty, horny little slut.”

She quivered and moaned against him.

He wanted her this way. When he threatened, she melted, and this was what he wanted, needed. Most women didn’t need the threat; she did. He just needed to shut down the naysaying voice in his head whispering that it wasn’t good for her.

He pulled away, let her straighten her skirt. “Get in the car.” He didn’t play the gentleman and follow her around to open the door. Instead, he climbed in and started the engine, then, once she was beside him, he couldn’t resist a taste of his fingers as she watched, the remnants of her desire coating them.

She opened her mouth. He pointed a finger. “Don’t say a word. I’m so pissed I can’t talk to you without hurting you.”

He pulled out of the lot, making his plans. “Fast hot sex,” he muttered to himself. “Lots of it. With you tied. You won’t be able to stop me.” He entered the freeway and headed home. “I’ll show you what it means to push me to the limit.”

The silence beside him was electric. Her hot sexual aroma perfumed the car. Like the scent a feline gave off when she was in heat, attracting every male.

“You did this on purpose to incite me. To force me to punish you.”

She squirmed in her seat, and he knew she loved this theme.

“You better be afraid of what you’ve unleashed, slut,” he warned, his voice harsh enough to rasp in his throat. He was into it, playing her game, giving her what she wanted. As if he were truly forcing her to do it, that it wasn’t her desire.

The sexual tension in the car rose until it was so thick around them he could damn near touch it. By the time he pulled into his driveway, he was as hard as marble.

Still in silence, he rounded the hood, opened her door, and yanked her out of the car. She stumbled; he acted as if he didn’t care. She tripped on the step; he let her catch herself.

The house was dark, cold, and smelled faintly of Italian seasonings. “Where to punish you . . .” he mused to the empty hall.

Then he had it. “Brilliant,” he muttered to himself. “In the dining room. Stand in the corner next to the sideboard.” She followed his direction, facing the wall. “Not that way. Turn around. Face me, whore.” The name calling and abuse was becoming so easy, second nature; it fueled them both.

She gulped, but did as he said without a word.

Over her head, he took down a hanging plant. Beth had loved the greenery. He didn’t know why he kept up the habit. Now, he laid bare the hook in the ceiling.

Leaning in, he pointed his finger right between Bree’s eyes. “Don’t you move; don’t you run.”

“No, Master,” she whispered, her first words since getting into the car.

He left her there in the dark, standing in the corner like a naughty child.

She wanted this, whatever it was. And oh, she’d had such an idea from the moment he took the plant down from the ceiling and she saw that hook. She couldn’t catch her breath, and without her panties, her thighs were coated with her desire. She dripped with it. He’d ordered her not to run, but she couldn’t anyway. She wouldn’t. She had to have whatever he planned to do to her.