"You should ask for her number," Nate said later that evening, gesturing to the very pretty bartender at Speakeasy, the bustling midtown establishment where he and Ethan had knocked back a few beers and talked shop. Ethan was high up at Victoria Hotels, and had peppered Nate with some questions about how to tackle the image issues his company faced. The classy hotel was no longer cutting it on the gold-plated ambiance and needed to go younger, hipper, cooler, Ethan admitted. Nate offered his advice where he could, glad that the two were back in touch. They'd been work friends at The Luxe, but hadn't talked much when they were both candidates for the top job. That had been a tense few weeks, both men vying for one spot. When Nate had landed the coveted position after an exhaustive internal and external search, Ethan took him out to toast, but it had been a strained night, and the man had remained in a bit of a funk for the months that followed. Nate was glad that they'd both moved on now, and could chat again about work and women.

His friend peered at the woman behind the bar, pointing to a redhead with a round belly. He cocked his head to the side, looking at Nate as if he had grown horns. "The pregnant one? Pretty sure that belly means she's taken."

Nate laughed and shook his head. "Not Julia. The hot brunette who's been giving you the eye. Julia told me her name is Danya. She's been taking on more hours, since Julia's cutting back a bit in a few more months," he said.

"You think I should just go right up to her and ask for her number?"

"Just talk to her. That's what I'd do."

Ethan scoffed and pushed a hand through his blond hair. "I'm sure a beautiful bartender at a classy establishment in Manhattan doesn't get hit on very much at all."

"You never know if someone is game unless you try. I need to take off, so give it a shot," Nate said, and when Ethan shrugged, rose and walked over to Danya, he wanted to pump his fist. She shot him a wide smile, and they seemed to fall into conversation easily.

"Need another?"

Nate turned to Julia, shaking his head. "Nah. Closing time for me. I've got a laptop calling my name for the next few hours," he said, then slapped down some bills to pay for the drinks, leaving a sizable tip for her. He figured she deserved an extra twenty percent on top of everything else for managing a bar with a belly that big.

She scooped up the cash, and blew him a kiss. "Thanks for coming by. Don't stay up too late working. I'll tell Clay you said hi."

"And let him know I'll follow up soon about Brent and his clubs. I've got a trip to Vegas on the calendar, so I'll meet him then."

"Absolutely."

As she moved to a new customer, his phone buzzed, and a kernel of excitement tore through him like a comet flaring across the night. When Casey's name popped up in his inbox, his dick twitched, hardening instantly. Damn organ; her name already elicited a Pavlovian response in him. His dick saluted anytime she was near.

He tapped open the email, re-reading the note he'd sent her a few hours ago.

from: commandonate@gmail.com to: learnsnewtricksgirl@gmail.com date: June 6, 6:57 PM subject: Tomorrow's Lesson At some point tomorrow I will stop by your office. I will have a gift for you. I will expect you to not be wearing any panties. Do not disobey me.

from: learnsnewtricksgirl@gmail.com to: commandonate@gmail.com date: June 6, 9:03 PM subject: Practicing Now Removed. Ready. Waiting.

Those three words alone made him groan. But what was most intoxicating about her response was the attachment. She'd sent him a photo of her red lace panties on top of her desk.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

New York City, afternoon . . .

Thank God it was June.

Summer was an easier time to go commando than the cold months.

Thank God she was buried in deskwork today too, with the majority of her meetings of the phone variety. Casey liked to wear short skirts and heels, or short skirts and boots. Today she'd opted for a tight, knee-length skirt, since she didn't need to perform any accidental Marilyn Monroe shows. She'd never dressed panty-free at work before, and she felt like she had a naughty little secret when she popped into the conference room to visit with the product team for a meeting. No one knew, of course, but the knowledge that she was bare had kept her thoughts on Nate all day long. Being naked down there also meant she was turned on all day. She was an electrical line, exposed and crackling, waiting to spark.

She'd even wandered past reception a few times, peering down the elevator banks for him. Each time, she struck out, and cursed under her breath.

The minutes ticked by, and she was sorely tempted to break out one of her products, to lock her door and spend a few minutes with The Wild One, since that magical device did the trick in mere minutes; sometimes in seconds. But she resisted. Even if no one would know, she didn't want to be the CEO of a sex toy company who actually did get herself off at her desk. Better to be a woman in control at the office.

Now it was past three, and that man needed to show up soon because she was getting pissed. She was turned on and she was frustrated, and that was not a pleasant combination. She didn't like games or being toyed with. Leaving her door open, she picked up her phone and returned a few calls.

Midway through a conversation with a retail partner, he appeared.

Wearing a dark gray suit, a navy tie, and his jacket slung over his shoulder, held with one finger, he leaned against the doorway. Her throat went dry. He was so damn sexy. He didn't even break a grin, just gazed at her with that same intense stare she'd seen in the hotel room. "I'll call you back," she said into the phone and hung up.

"Hi," she whispered, her voice sounding crackly and dry.

He nodded, then stepped inside, turned to the door and pushed it shut. He walked over to her, and when he reached her desk he set down a black box with a red bow on it.

"For later. But first, I need to know if you did as instructed."

She nodded, her eyes wide, her cheeks flush with heat.

He shook his head, and raised his finger to tsk her. "I need to know, Casey. That means," he said, stopping to take his time, as if he were tasting each letter like a meal, "show me."

Oh God. Her heartbeat sped up, and heat thrummed in her body.

He gestured with his fingers, signaling for her to move back. She pushed back in her chair, inched up her skirt, and opened her legs. She was so damn glad the only windows in her office looked out over the New York skyline, not the rest of the company.

His eyes narrowed, and he emitted a barely audible moan of appreciation. He walked around her desk, bent down, and cupped her chin in his hand. "Such a beautiful, bare pussy," he said as he looked her in the eyes, then brought his lips to her ear. "I bet you want my mouth on you right now."

"I do," she said, her voice feathery.

"Wait," he said. "Wait for later. Wait for me."

Then he dropped his mouth to her lips and devoured her. He claimed her mouth, kissing her so passionately it was as if kissing was making love, kissing was fucking, kissing was sex with their lips. Heat pooled between her legs, where she ached. When he let go of her mouth, her vision was still fuzzy, and she was floating above the earth on a cloud of lust. It took a second to register what he was doing. He was reaching his hand between her legs, sliding one finger through her wetness, then bringing it to his mouth to lick it off.

"That'll get me through the next five hours of meetings about our expansion into New Zealand. At eight o'clock, I will be at your apartment. Don't open the box until I arrive. Wear something unbearably sexy that you think will drive me crazy. Because it will. And have a drink ready for me when I walk in the door. Whiskey will do."

Shivers raced across her skin, lighting her up from his commands. No one had ever talked to her like this. He was so direct, so controlling, and so fucking sexy with his orders. She'd never expected to enjoy this kind of play, but as he walked out the door, she wanted to slam it shut and take care of herself, to slide her fingers across her wetness, and bring herself to release.

But she still had a modicum of self-control.

She would wait.

She would wait five hours. She would wait until he could take care of her intense, overwhelming need to come.

He hadn't told her specifically what to wear, but she was savvy enough to know what qualified as unbearably sexy. She donned a tight leather skirt that hit her mid-thigh, right at the top of her black stockings. A bit of lace from the stockings peeked out. He was a legs man, so she chose strappy heels.

Up top? A cherry-red bra.

That was all. She didn't wear a shirt. She smiled to herself as she appraised the outfit in the mirror. The lack of a shirt was her homage to her own need for control. She had chosen this ensemble because she wanted to open the door with only a red lace bra on top. It was her way of being true to herself. She hoped Khashi, her neighbor across the hall, wouldn't happen to return from work then. A sexy plastic surgeon, he kept odd hours between his job, and the ladies he entertained.

At 8 p.m. precisely the buzzer rang. Electricity sparked in her bloodstream as she buzzed him in. She didn't know what was in store for her tonight, but she couldn't wait to find out what he'd planned.

As she walked to the door, she fluffed out her hair and glanced around her apartment. He'd been here many times. He knew the kitchen with its exposed red brick walls, he'd lounged on her soft teal couch, and he'd seen the reprints of artwork on her walls. It was a warm and homey loft in the West Village. One window was open and the June breeze blew inside, along with the faint sound of traffic rattling through the Village on a New York night.

But never had she opened the door to him like this. Her fingers shook as she unlocked the chain and turned the knob to the right. The heavy door creaked, the soundtrack to her own nervous system and to her wildly beating heart.

Her breath caught in her chest. He stood in the hallway wearing charcoal slacks, a crisp white shirt, and the navy tie. Her fingers itched to unknot that tie. He was rolling up the cuffs on one of the sleeves. A businessman at the end of the workday-that's what she would've named this photograph of him that she took in her mind's eye.

"Did you open the box?"

She shook her head. He entered her apartment and she let the door fall shut behind them with a click.

He strolled casually to her kitchen, leaned against the counter, and tapped the wood.

She understood. The game was on. They were playing their parts. Joining him in the kitchen, she grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured him a glass, doing her best to keep her hands steady. She watched his every move as he knocked back the amber liquid. She imagined the burn in his throat. He set the glass down. It was nearly empty.

She stood near him, keenly aware that it was his move next.

This was a chess game, and she barely knew how to play. She swallowed dryly. Waiting. Uncertain.

She wanted a burn in her throat too. That would be better than all these nerves. She grabbed his glass and finished it.

"Do you want to open the box now?"

She nodded, grateful to have been given his direction. "Yes. I do."

He tipped his forehead to the L-shaped couch in the living room.

She nodded briefly, and walked over to the couch. She sank down into the soft material, stretching her legs out in front of her on the lounge section, crossing them at the ankles. He joined her in the living room, choosing to sit on an ottoman, his knees spread, his hands resting on his thighs. "Open it now, Casey."

Leaning forward, she reached for the black box and untied the bow, letting it fall to the floor. Gingerly, with nervous fingers, she lifted the top, shimmying it off. In seconds, she'd know what he'd planned, and a ribbon of excitement unfurled inside her from the possibilities. She wanted to say something, but words escaped her at that moment. She wasn't sure how to vocalize all these unsteady feelings thrumming through her body.

Or if he would even respond.

Nate had always been easy to talk to. He'd always been chatty. But the man was wearing steely silence like a new coat. All his moves were measured, chosen carefully, designed to keep her guessing as to what he had in store for the evening.

She put the top of the box on the table, and the guessing game ended when she dipped her hands inside the box and withdrew a long, silky scrap of fabric-a blindfold. Next, she reached for a soft object, retrieving a feather tickler from his collection of goodies. Finally, there was a small riding crop, as if it had been made in miniature. Perhaps, so it didn't seem so scary. She glanced up at him. His eyes seemed dark brown tonight. Gone was that warm golden color, replaced with a heat, a sensuality and blazing desire for her.

She trembled. "What do you want to use first?"

He didn't answer her question. Instead, he issued an instruction. "Lie back. Close your eyes."

She did as told, scooting into the couch. She hadn't even turned on music, so she was keenly aware of every sound. Of the low hum from the refrigerator, of the far-off din of traffic, of the stirrings of a breeze. But there were no words from him. The silence vibrated between them as she waited, the world dark behind her eyelids.

His fingers found their way to the top of her stockings. Gently, he rolled them down, one by one, removing them, along with her shoes. "Don't get me wrong. These are unbearably sexy, but I need your bare skin."

Her world went pitch black. He had pressed the silk blindfold over her eyes. "This is about you. About all the things you can feel if you let go. With this on, all you can do is feel," he said, low and husky, near her ear. Oh God, she was feeling everything. She was feeling the tight coil of desire deep inside her, and the fervent hope that he'd take her to the far edge of pleasure. That's what she was feeling.

She drew a quick breath at the soft fluttery touch from a feather running along the inside of her calves. The feather brushed across her knee. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. Her skin felt electric as the feather travelled across her body, visiting her belly, teasing her breasts, trailing along her sides. When the sensations stopped briefly she wanted to ask what happened, until she felt the feather once more.

He was tracing the shell of her ear, and she gasped.

Warmth spread inside her body. She had no idea that being touched on her ear would be such a turn on. She had no notion either that she'd arch her back, seeking closeness, willing him to touch more, when he ran the feather down her arm, inside her elbow and across her wrist. "Your whole body is a playground," he instructed. "For now, until you learn to thoroughly give up control, it will be my playground. Isn't that right, Casey?"

She nodded and moaned her agreement in a voice she didn't even recognize as her own.

"Then hike up your skirt for me," he told her.

Instantly, she responded to his request. She reached for the hem, pulling it up. Her skirt was now bunched at her waist. He stopped, and hissed in his breath. His audible reaction to her body drove her arousal. They were a feedback loop of desire. She'd move; he'd admire. He'd say a dirty word; she'd heat up. They fed each other with this fevered kind of lust. She pictured him drinking her in, memorizing the way she looked half-undressed on her couch.

Then, she was alone again as she heard him rustling through the box. She knew what was in the box: three things. She was wearing one of them. The other one he had already used. That left only the one she feared. She tensed, waiting for soft to change to hard. For tenderness to turn to a sting.

She emitted a small cry at the first smack. He had flicked the crop once against the flesh of her outer thigh. He shifted to the other, flicking her there. She let out a tiny yelp. Reflexively, she closed her legs. She wasn't sure if she liked the crop. She parted her lips to speak, but then his fingertip pressed softly against her mouth. "Shhh," he said. "I can tell you don't like it."

In a second, he was trailing the crop down her chest, underneath her bra, and along her rib cage.

Then it was gone.

He must have lifted it in the air again, and she waited nervously for him to swat her. But instead, she felt something hard against the wet panel of her panties. He was using the riding crop against her clit, like a toy, turning something she hadn't liked into something she enjoyed immensely now. He rubbed one end across her throbbing bundle of nerves, stroking her, sending the temperature inside of her through the roof. She sought more friction, more contact, lifting her hips closer. When he stopped, she heard a whooshing sound in the air, then a smack against the hardwood floors. He'd tossed it away.

Next was the weight of his body on hers, his soft voice in her ear, him whispering, "I never ever want to do something to you that you don't like. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"You should only feel pleasure with me. You should never feel anything less than desire," he said, and he was Nate now, the man she trusted inside and out.

The next thing she knew the blindfold was falling loose, dropping to her nose, giving her sight again. There he was, raised on his arms above her, and smelling like sex.

Tonight. God, she hoped he'd take her tonight. Reaching behind her head, he untied the blindfold all the way, then brought it to her wrists, wrapping it around them in a circle, and binding them together in a tight knot.

"I'm going to undress you now."

He laced his hands around her back, unhooked her bra, and freed her breasts. Then he unsnapped her skirt, tugged it down her hips, to her knees, and over her ankles, laying it neatly on the couch.

His eyes roamed her body, drinking her in from head to toe.

"The panties must go," he said, a clear command, now back into character.

She held up her bound wrists as if to say you're going to need to be the one to take them off.

In one swift move, his hands were on her hips, practically tearing them off, like a hungry, greedy man eager for the prize.

He stood and stepped away from her. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to watch you spread your legs for me. Do it nice and slow. Like a tease. Make me so fucking hard, harder than I already am, from the way you open your legs."

She breathed in deeply, letting the air spread all this electric fire to the far corners of her body. She was tingling everywhere, burning up across every square inch of skin. That burn narrowed between her legs, where it became an exquisite ache to be filled. Slowly, intending to torture him, she raised one knee, watching him as he dropped his hand to his crotch, stroking himself through his pants. She took her sweet time letting that knee fall to the side of the couch. He groaned, a rough and hungry sound. She lifted the other knee inch by inch, spreading for him.

Now it was his turn to strip and she never took her eyes away from him, not as he yanked off the tie, undid his buttons, stripped off his shirt, or as he skimmed down his pants.