His statement was a little too straightforward for comfort. Surely, the manager didn’t read -- nah. “I left my purse in the car, so no money.”

“Not to worry. You’re the owner’s guest tonight.” After a minute, the bartender set a steaming mug in front of her. “There’s a two-drink limit, so I made this one plain coffee.”

“But I’ve only had one drink.”

He grinned at her. “You haven’t been here before. You may well need more alcohol after a bit.”

Now why did that sound so ominous? She sipped the drink instead of inhaling it, and this time the warmth filling her was from hot coffee and not potent alcohol. She set an elbow on the bar, sighing as the cold released its last grip. When she saw Sir again, she’d have to thank him for the drinks.

So, he was the owner of this place, not the manager. No wonder everyone jumped at his requests. Then again, she hadn’t known he was the owner, and she’d let him strip her naked and that wasn’t like her at all. Somehow he’d been in control from the moment he walked into the dressing room. Master Z, the bartender had called him; that fit all too well. She stiffened. Bondage club… Did that mean he was into tying people up?

The thought made her squirm. How could she ever face him again without turning red? She sighed, realizing she probably wouldn’t see him again anyway. After all, he was way out of her class. Too good-looking. Too self-assured. With that touch of silver in his hair and laugh lines around those smoky gray eyes, he was definitely a man, nothing like the boyish types that seemed to be everywhere. And he had those lean, rippling muscles…um-hmmm.

But what really attracted her was his air of sheer competence, like whatever he did, he’d do better than anyone else. She sighed, shook her head. Duh, Jessica. A guy’s nice to you, and there you go, getting all enthused.

But to her slender mother’s disgust, she’d never had the trim, perky body that men liked, and Master Z would know that since he’d seen her in all her naked glory. Considering his appearance, he could have any woman in this place. Hell, any place. Yeah, she would just avoid him and not make an even bigger fool of herself.

Turning on the bar stool, she checked out the room. A bondage club. Now this presented her with an adventure she’d never imagined. Nothing like this existed in the tiny town where she’d grown up. And in Tampa, she’d never ventured to try anything so exotic. Shoot, her idea of adventurous was volunteering at the animal shelter.

She grinned. While here, she might as well widen her knowledge base. Aunt Eunice would be delighted, and her mother would be horrified.

But nothing thrilled her more than learning something new. Where to start?

The people dancing appeared to be having fun, although she’d never been at ease on a dance floor, at least not sober. Give her a business or social occasion, and she felt right at home. Make it a man-woman interaction, and she tensed up like a businessman being audited.

As she watched, her eyes widened. Some of the gyrating out there would have the participants arrested anywhere else. One young man with a serious hard-on whirled the woman into his arms and then pressed so close that only the fabric between them prevented insertion.

She took another sip of her drink and realized the dancers were just too provocative for comfort. Like that one couple. The man moved his woman where he wanted her. He touched her when he wanted, even put her hands on him…there.

With an effort, Jessica dragged her gaze away, tried to watch the other couples on the floor. And focused on a big man in skintight rubber jeans that bulged with a thick erection. He pulled his bikini-clad woman to him, tangled his hands in her hair and tipped her head back to take her lips. He kissed her slowly. Thoroughly.

Jessica blinked, realized she was pressing her thighs together. Whoa, time to stop watching the live action. Here she’d thought she could call herself fairly experienced. Sure, she was small-town raised, but she’d lived in Tampa long enough to have had several lovers. Not that she was all that good at the sex stuff. Really, making love was rather overrated, at least for her.

She grimaced, remembering the last time and how she just couldn’t stop thinking about everything and anything. Did he think she was fat? Would he see how her stomach pouched out? Should she move her hips faster? Would he like his balls touched or not? Sex was just too stressful.

After finishing her coffee, she glanced back at the dance floor. Heck, that woman out there looked like she was getting more from one kiss than Jessica had ever gotten from the whole insert-dick-move-around shebang. And now, the man had his hand on the woman’s bared breast, was actually toying with her nipple. When his fingers tightened in what looked like a painful pinch, the woman’s knees sagged.

Damn, but just watching was getting Jessica overheated. Her own nipples burned. Furtively, she glanced down. No bra. Her nipples poked out like someone had glued pencil erasers to her chest. Turning back to the bar, she crossed her arms over the traitorous flesh and willed them to go down.

The bartender looked at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes. He lifted his thick eyebrows at her cup.

She shook her head. No more alcohol, and she was definitely warm enough. Time to go walkabout and cool off.

Sliding from the bar stool, she headed away from the dance floor toward the rear of the room. People crowded the tables and couches; the murmur of conversation increased as she moved away from the music. The place looked almost like a normal bar if she ignored what people wore…and the hands-on stuff. She edged past a table where a woman knelt at her guy’s feet. He stroked her hair like a pet cat.

Jessica frowned. The owner had called her pet. She did not -- really did not -- want to think about what he’d meant by that. Especially since thinking about him made her think of that couple on the dance floor. What would it be like if it were Sir touching her, holding her against his… Oh, girl, do not think that way.

Halfway down the room, she neared one of the places on the wall that was lit with brighter sconces. Now she could see what it was. She blinked in horror. There was a naked woman strapped to a wooden X on the wall. A live woman, not a statue. Jessica’s feet didn’t want to move even though she knew she was staring.

Okay, okay. This was really like a strip bar; naked women doing stuff. But the woman was tied there, her legs open, breasts free. Everyone could see her.

She instinctively started to go to the woman’s aid, then stopped and scrutinized the people watching. No one appeared concerned. A man in shiny black latex jeans and sleeveless shirt stood within the roped-off area busy with some small metal things in his hands.

Jessica made herself study the woman on the cross thing. Eyes focused on the man in latex, the brunette wasn’t hurting; her squirming movements seemed provocative.

Had that woman wanted to be tied and naked? Biting her lip, Jessica tried to imagine what kind of person would surrender such power to someone else, even so far as being tied up. Not someone like herself, that was for sure. She’d fought her way up the business ladder, could hold her own in social circles, was an assertive, independent woman.

So why was she finding this so fascinating?

Why did this place feel like her dreams come to life, only more erotic than anything she’d ever imagined? Her face flushed as she remembered Sir saying, Many women fantasize about having a man take charge in the bedroom. Surely he hadn’t been able to tell that she was one of them?

She looked at the woman again. What would that be like? Heat swirled through her at the thought of being there herself, wrists lashed… No, that was totally wrong. Keep moving.

She threaded through the spectators, past the roped-off area. Most of the members were in couples or groups, and Jessica felt conspicuously alone.

And underdressed, even if she wore more than a lot of the women. But her full breasts jutted out against the tight shirt, bouncing with her movements. This wasn’t the sixties, for heaven’s sake, and she never went without a bra. Not in public. Conservative accountants didn’t wear stuff like this. Or go without panties either. The silky feeling of the skirt sliding against her bottom, the caress of cool air against her private areas was disconcerting, especially in this sex-charged room.

People brushed past, leaving perfume, cologne, and musk in their wake. A couple went by, the man leading the woman with a leash strung to a collar around her neck, and the scent of sex permeated the air around them.

Look at that. The way the man had the leash wrapped around his fist, the way the woman followed… Jessica touched her neck. Her core actually burned as shockingly wanton thoughts filled her head: a man’s hands buckling a collar on her, touching her. A man -- Sir -- doing anything he wanted to her.

Across the room at the bar, Zachary smiled, enjoying the wide-eyed innocent. When she touched her neck, he hardened, knowing exactly what was in her mind. Her emotions were so strong, he could almost see as well as feel them.

“Lost your little sub, Z?” The bartender set a glass of Glenlivet down.

“Not lost. Released to explore.”

She reminded him of a kitten freed from the kennel, faring forth on a new adventure, ears forward, tail held high. She was definitely a brave little ball of fluff. He had watched her stop in front of the St. Andrew’s cross, felt the shock radiate from her.