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"I want to touch you," I blurt out.
"What did you forget?"
"Sir. I want to touch you, Sir."
He moves his face in front of mine and taunts, "Where? And use your manners, pet."
I swallow hard. It's felt like forever since Riggs gave me any attention. Since Apartment Thirteen, I've felt alone, craving him more and more. The longer he ignored me, the worse my obsession to have him touch me got. I admit, "On the lips. I want to kiss you, Sir."
He glances at my mouth, and I think he's going to let me, but then his features harden. "Permission not granted."
I push my hands against the ceiling, trying to somehow rid myself of the angst.
"Where else do you want to touch me?" he asks.
"Your cheek," I admit.
The fire in his eyes brightens. He answers, "Permission not granted."
For the hour ride into the city, he tortures me, never permitting me to touch him, moving me on his lap in different positions, making me kneel on the floor and lie flat on the seat across from him with my ass in the air, and other things. None of which I would have believed I would do only a few weeks ago.
By the time we get to the club, I'm angry, hot and bothered, and unsure if I love or hate Riggs.
The SUV pulls up to the curb and Riggs gets out. He reaches in for me and helps me out. He leans into my ear and asserts, "You obey me and only me, pet. Understand?"
"Who else would I—"
He puts his fingers over my lips. "Only me." He locks his blues on mine and releases his fingers, waiting for me to answer.
I nod. "Yes, Sir."
He smiles and guides me into the club, then past the bouncer. The hostess leads us through a hallway and to a private room. It's dark, with dim lights and one wall made entirely of glass.
On the left, men sit in chairs, drinking and studying the women. On the right are eleven women. I recognize them. They were at the club the night Riggs bid on me. They all went on stage before me.
Now, they kneel with their leashes attached to rings on the wall. Their outfits range from leather to lingerie. Some only wear panties, their breasts fully exposed. Others are bare, their nakedness glowing against the dim light.
It occurs to me that others might see Riggs and me do intimate things. I can't say the thought never crossed my mind, but now, it feels very real.
The need to flee hits me. I spin into Riggs, but he slides his hand on my cheek and leans into my ear, ordering, "Breathe, pet. Just do what I say. I want you coming home with me after this is over."
It's another piece of reality. For the last ten days, all I've thought about is making sure I do whatever I have to in order to go home with Riggs. Even when he wasn't speaking to me, I still wanted to be his. I've never had a wavering thought about staying with him.
He points to the last remaining spot and orders, "Kneel."
I obey, and he attaches the leash to the wall. Then he crouches in front of me, lifts my chin, and studies my face, saying nothing.
My butterflies go crazy in a mix of nervous apprehension. Riggs demands, "Return to your position."
I bow my head, and his feet disappear.
Too many songs pass, with women on each side of me slowly disappearing until I'm the only one still chained to the wall.
More time passes. My body aches, but I continue holding my position, wondering why Riggs hasn't come to get me.
A man's shoes appear in front of me. He barks, "Look at me!"
I almost lift my head but hesitate. It's not Riggs. I fret about what to do, but all I hear in my head is Riggs saying, "You obey me and only me, pet."
