My body goes rigid.
That voice, my brain screams.
I gasp and scramble off the bed without thinking, completely blind under this stupid hood.
Pain explodes through my foot.
“Son of a—” I yelp as I stub my toe on something solid. A chair, maybe. I lurch sideways and slam my knee into what has to be a table. I’m hopping on one leg, disoriented and panicking.
Just when I think it couldn’t get any worse, I firstfeelthe pop, thenhearthe unmistakable thud as my pretty pink plug flies out of my ass and hits the floor.
Mortified, I fling my hands out, only to crash into long, flowing fabric.
Curtains.
They wrap around me, swallowing my arms and shoulders. I flail, trying to free myself, knocking something over—probably a lamp. There’s a clatter, then a crash.
I slide to the floor in a heap of curtain and humiliation.
Another knock.
The door opens again.
Footsteps.
Then the same deep voice that just said my full government name speaks low and dangerous to whoever just walked in.
“Leave.”
The stranger mutters something under his breath.
The door clicks shut.
Silence.
Heavy. Charged.
I’m still on my knees. Half tangled. Fully embarrassed.
The mask is pulled off my head.
And that is how I found myself on my knees in a hotel room facing the dick I wanted in the first place.
But we’ll come back to that.
Two
Unbelievable
Ryan
Seven Months Earlier
I don’t like the way the energy changes when I walk into a public place.
I’m used to it, but I don’t like it.
Okay, fine—I’m a social butterfly—and I do well in those settings, but I don’t feel I should be treated differently than anyone else in the room.
