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said. “Do not hide your breasts. They are beautiful.”
    She hadn’t even realized that she’d crossed them. He was right. She felt exposed without a bra, but she obeyed. The idea of going into the Black Room like that—loose and vulnerable—plucked at all her insecurities. Her anxiety and discomfort were just about to overtake the relief he’d given her in his room, when he wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her to him in a crushing kiss.
    His lips were soft, but his kiss was demanding. He forced her lips apart and probed her tongue with his own with a steady, insistent pressure. And the longer it went on, the more the heat between them grew into a burning, pulsing point, until it was strong enough to melt away all of Stella’s anxieties.
    Too quickly, Sheikh Bashir pulled away, leaving Stella slightly stunned, and before she could ask what had just happened, he’d opened the door.
    “After you, Stella,” Sheikh Bashir said, his dark eyes glittering.
    Stella looked ahead. There was nothing but darkness and the unknown. She had the feeling she’d never be quite sure of what might happen next around Sheikh Bashir. But then she thought about that kiss.
    And once more, she made the leap.
     

 
     
     
    C HAPTER 5
     
     
    Stella heard the sounds first.
    The entrance to the Black Room was cloaked, in a way—there was a sort of foyer, draped in black velvet, which opened to a narrow hall that twisted and turned, so that by the time you emerged into the Black Room proper, you weren’t quite sure where you were in relation to the exit. And so that you couldn’t see what was going on before you got there.
    So she heard the sounds first. Like hard leather smacking against soft skin, in a regular rhythm, always followed by a little groan. Someone was being flogged, and someone was enjoying it.
    Stella tried to hide her discomfort. She knew it was consensual, but she didn’t think she’d ever quite understand the idea of pain as pleasure. Intellectually, it made sense that it could provide some relief through catharsis, but…well, maybe it wasn’t supposed to be an intellectual pursuit.
    “Hmmm,” the Sheikh murmured, and Stella looked up to find he was watching her.
    That’s right , she thought. This is an evaluation .
    As if she needed to be more nervous.
    They turned the final corner of the narrow entrance hall, and there it was at the far end of the low-ceilinged room: a huge St. Andrew’s Cross, with a woman tied to it, red marks all over her body. There was a man in black leather holding a flogger, and whispering in her ear intently.
    The Sheikh said, “Does this bother you?”
    Stella felt his intense gaze upon her once again. Somehow it seemed incredibly foolish to lie.
    “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe. I don’t know a lot of things, I guess. I told you this isn’t really my thing.”
    The Sheikh raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Great , Stella thought. Did I blow it already? And why do I care if I did?
    She was almost entirely wrapped up in her own thoughts again by the time the Sheikh had led her to a small booth in the back. The room was arranged for a broad range of tastes, with several tables, booths, and couches set up along the walls, and various play areas in the middle. Besides the St. Andrew’s Cross, there were other specialized pieces of furniture, most of which Stella wasn’t familiar with, and a few stage areas.
    The Sheikh said, “But do you see anything that interests you, Stella?”
    Stella was too curious to be irritated at the amusement in his voice. She found herself imagining all sorts of the things, things she normally wouldn’t have the temerity to even fantasize about—they were just too ludicrous. That bench, over there, for example…
    “What is that ?” Stella said, pointing in disbelief. It was a sort of table, with stirrups— those could only be for one thing—and there were various restraints and chains and pulleys and all sorts of