He kneads my breast as he tongues the nub. I’m not sure how much more attention my nipple can take. It’s never had such prolonged action.

Finally, he stops and backhands the side of my breast.

The slap surprises me, but I’m quickly fixed on the hand that is now back between my legs, caressing my wet flesh. He teases my clit again. I make a sound that’s part whimper, part purr.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks.

“Yes,” I groan, feeling the heat of my breath bounce off the fabric and back into my face.

“You mean, ‘yes, sir.’”

“Yes, sir.”

I did it again. The words just fell from my mouth. Because I’m not really thinking. All I want is for him to release all the pent-up tension he’s built inside me.

He bears down on my nipple again with his mouth while he fondles my clit more intently. I feel my orgasm bubbling toward the surface. But he stops before it has the chance to erupt. He slaps the side of my breast again. I have to collect myself. I had been so ready to come. Maybe I should have vocalized more. I don’t want him to stop. I want him to keep going.

“I was so close to coming there,” I say.

“Were you?” he asks in a way that has me wondering if he already knew that and deliberately left me hanging.

“Yes! Really close.”

Maybe if he goes back to masturbating me right now, we won’t lose too much momentum.

His cellphone buzzes. I hear him pick it up and start texting.

“I want your headshot,” he says. “In case you’re able to make Thailand work. That way we can get your passport application started.”

“Um, okay. What about my coming?”

“What about it?”

“Can I? Please?”

Chapter 11

DARREN

Past

My head swims hearing her plea. And the way she said “Yes, sir.” So natural. So effortless. So goddamn sexy.

Through most of our discussion about how she could make Phuket work, I was thinking to myself why I should bother convincing her. If she doesn’t want to go, it’s no skin off my nose. But now I want her to go. So she’s going, one way or another.

The text I had just received was from Cheryl confirming our contact can get a fake passport made in less than forty-eight hours, and a real one issued within five days for the right bribe.

After putting down my phone, I look over Bridget, lying naked across my dining table, her wrists tied above her to the back of the chair pushed up against the table. I adjust my hard-on, imagining I had a crop right now. I look over all the places I could land the implement: her belly, her thighs, her breasts.

“Please, sir?” she asks when I still haven’t responded.

I smile to myself. She catches on fast. I knew she was smart, and not just because she goes to Berkeley.