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"No one sent me," I say with a trembling voice. "I came by myself."
"Don't lie to me!" he roars, letting me go but not pulling away. "Why are you here?"
He leans on his arms, his torso hanging in the air inches from my body, and I'm stuck in between his hands.
There's nowhere to run. Even if I scream, I'm sure no one will hear that. If they do, they'll just think that it's some kind of sex game. Because no matter how fancy and high priced this hotel is, almost everyone stays here because of the sex club in the basement.
I have to stay strong. I have to show him that I'm not afraid.
Can he hurt me? A couple of minutes ago, I thought he would never do that. I was starting to trust him. I was on the verge of giving him my virginity because of how passionate and gentle he is.
But he's not gentle anymore. He's looking at me as if I just stabbed him: furious and a little disappointed.
As if I really hurt his feelings.
If he hurts me back, no one will ever know that I was even here.
"I'm not lying," I continue, looking straight into his eyes to convince him. "I came here because my boyfriend cheated on me. I did the fake invitation. I wanted to get revenge."
His teeth clench, his lips press into a thin line, and his gaze travels over my face as if he's trying to decide what to do with me.
"Please don't hurt me," I beg, and a tear runs down my cheek. I hate myself for being such a coward.
After he sees me crying, his face softens a little, but he doesn't pull away, watching as another tear runs down my face.
I want to wipe it off and hide my face in the pillow. I hate it when someone sees me crying.
But I'm too terrified to do that.
"Is that what you think of me?" he asks, calmer this time. "That I'm a monster capable of hurting a woman?” He shakes his head as if telling me he cannot believe it, looking to the side. "Then why did you stay?" He looks at me again. "Does the thought that you may get hurt turn you on?"
"No." I shake my head immediately, but I’m not sure if it's true.
I don't know what turns me on; I was never this passionate with Liam. I always thought that my passion would increase with time. After I knew what sex was like, I'd understand what I like in bed and what I don't like.
But with this man, I have felt what real passion is. It's a tornado, coming out of nowhere and taking you by surprise without leaving you with a chance to get away. Even now, when I'm scared of him, I still want to feel his lips on mine again.
"There are rules in this club, and they are strict," he continues, pulling away from me and taking a seat on the bed. "All people must be over twenty-one because we have a bar here, and I don't want to get kids drunk. Before sending the invitation, we check everything about the person to make sure that the information provided by the claimant is real. There is no rape in this hotel, and no accidental deaths, even during BDSM games, because of how much we know about each person who comes here. They want privacy, and I give it to them, but they also know that they shouldn't cross the line."
I rise up slowly, taking a seat next to him, and his gaze drops lower to my body.
And then I realize that my panties are off, and my bra is lowered to my waist, while the shirt is fully open, so I'm totally on display for him.
He looks away immediately as if he's ashamed that he could ever touch me, as if he forbids himself to even look at me now.
I cover my body with the shirt, even though I’m still bottomless, I hold it over myself.
For some reason, I feel guilty that I didn't tell him I was a virgin. Maybe if I’d told him the truth, he would understand.
No, of course, he wouldn't. He would throw me out of his club, and I would never experience what I'd just felt again.
I really hoped that sex would be just as impressive with other men. I don't want to think that this man had given me the best orgasm of my life.
"How old are you?" he asks, looking into my eyes again.
"Eighteen," I confess, stroking my wet cheeks with one hand and holding the shirt with the other. "I turned eighteen today."
"Fuck." He lowers down, placing his elbows on his knees and taking his head in his palms, scrubbing his hair. "I can't believe I almost slept with a child."
