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there.
    Immediately soothing her with his voice and a gentle stroke on her arm, Eric whispered, “We don’t make copies for any reason and the lighting makes it pretty hard for anybody to tape it, and there’s no cell service in this room. The blindfold will heighten the sensation, though, and provide anonymity.”
    “Why me?” She whispered back, having puzzled out that the MC would have likely turned her down because he’d recognized how much she had imbibed.
    “If you enjoy this , maybe you and I can see where it leads.”
    Amy liked the sound of it. Eric looked cold and dominant, but he’d already accommodated her boundaries and was suggesting things to her. Not telling her. Not suggesting a one off. Not like—she shut it down and nodded. A soft piece of fabric slipped over her face and settled across her eyes as the lights came up again, the elastic resting above and behind her ears to snug it into place. She took a deep breath and began to sink into that space she’d constructed for herself at an early age. Safe, separate and far away.
    Vaguely feeling Eric stretch first one arm, then the other out to her sides to be secured in a firm but non constrictive way, she didn’t bother to test the restraints. She’d been at the club often enough to know that utmost care was taken on this stage, the breach of the rules about excessive alcohol consumption notwithstanding. Knowing people were watching would normally have caused her some anxiety, but the blindfold gave the impression of being alone with someone who understood what she needed. Eric certainly knew this gig. When her ankles were restrained in a similar manner, maybe shoulder width apart, her arousal spiked, already awakened by that kiss in the other club. She sighed and drifted, refusing to think about Dean Chambray watching. Refusing to acknowledge it was his attention making her wet.
    A disembodied voice described her position, like a starfish, and the alcohol fueled her libido. Maybe being naked wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all… A press of a number of sharp yet painless tiny objects at her left wrist took her focus, pulling her from her musings. Barely audible squeaking sounds accompanied the dragging, pricking sensations as the object worked past the heel of her hand and over her forearm, up her bicep, slowing to make the curve up to her shoulder. Blowing a breath past her lips, she tensed for the next movement, pulled out of her drifting state.
    “Shh. Relax and feel.” Eric’s voice centred her and she sagged again, loose and compliant. The little wheel continued its torturous journey, traversing the length of her collar bone, pausing at the pulse in the hollow of her throat. Her blood began to thrum in response. Down the other arm and back, the sensation trickled over her rib cage. Not a tickle, just firm enough to be sensuous. She moaned as her belly received the attention next, little circles, then figure eights. Able to visualize the path on her skin, entirely in the moment, she arched slightly into the contact and it instantly ceased, returning only when she relaxed and received. Training her.
    Amy’s eyes fluttered opened behind the blindfold. Eric’s voice was immediately at her ear. “Tell me.”
    “You’re training me.”
    “Of course. That’s what I do. Give in to it, Amy. It’s just for now.”
    Not forever. Okay. She could do this. She nodded.
    The sensitizing of her legs was indescribable. Even the arches of her feet cried out for more, more of something beyond her ken, but more. As the wheel creaked inexorably up to her breasts, the little teeth snagging the fabric of her bra, the alarm bells rang again and she tensed. Eric retreated, down over her belly to circle her navel, a sweet spot , and she thought everyone could hear her verbal response as it echoed in her ears. Over her hipbone to flirt inside one thigh, the tender flesh quivering, the wheel glancing off her labia, pressing …