Sexually inexperienced as she might be, Kate was and always had been kinkier than a bag of zig-zags. It felt like she’d been born that way, craving things she didn’t understand way before she reached sexual maturity. The dad in Taken had a particular set of skills, she had a particular set of fantasies. Unlike her, they weren’t polite, they weren’t nice, and they didn’t leave when they were asked. Instead, they dominated her romantic desires so fully she couldn’t have an orgasm without thinking about spanking or date a nice, vanilla bank manager called Paul. Her fantasies steered her, full-force, toward men like Tyler Henderson, near-mythical embodiments of male authority who—surprise, surprise—weren’t the slightest bit interested in having very depraved sex with her.

In her effort to rid herself of this handicap, Kate had tried celibacy, therapy, self-loathing, and prayer; it was no use. Her kinks were like that weirdly sinister kindergarten rhyme about the teddy bear picnic and the thick dark mud that deterred attendees. Her kinks chanted in her ear; ‘you can’t go under it, you can’t go over it, you have to go through it.’ So, she went through it. Not as proudly as she’d liked, but she went through it. She had an account on a kinky personals website, even though the only messages she ever got were from nutcases and couples looking to have a threesome. She went on dates with nice, attractive guys and when the time came for them to go to bed, she told them what she liked, even though it usually resulted in bad foreplay followed by a ghosting. She understood where they were coming from. That she wanted a man to smile with pleasure as he caused her pain was weird to her, too.

In bed with this big stranger, Kate gave herself permission to pretend. She teased Rugby Boy and imagined him growing frustrated enough to make her comply with his demands, to lay her across his lap and blister her backside. To call her the things she longed to hear. She was so lost in her fantasy that when a heavy hand descended on her head she was so startled she let out a yelp.

“Enough,” a rasping voice told her. “Suck it. Now.”

Kate had half-forgotten Rugby Boy could talk, but he had a beautiful voice all dark and deep as a marble quarry. She frowned. “What?”

“Happy to play with it, weren’t you? Well, my dick’s not a toy. You’ve wound me up good, now it’s time to finish what you started.”

He pulled his t-shirt over his head, exposing a ridiculously defined chest, then he yanked down his briefs one-handed. His cock slapped down onto his bare stomach—thick as Thor’s hammer. “Put your mouth on it.”