A direct order. I can never defy one of those, and I didn’t want to anyway. His suit was well cut and, while he must have been in his forties at least, he had that still, calm air of authority that floored me and filled my dreams.
He stood, gesturing me up, and I followed him to the bar, where he bought me – without asking what I would like – a mineral water, plus a whisky for himself.
‘I don’t want to be accused of taking advantage of tipsiness,’ he told me, nudging the water glass down the polished bar top. ‘Now, let’s sort a few things out. You strike me as curious about certain aspects of human sexuality, am I right?’
I coughed into my glass, feeling as transparent as the crystal waters within.
‘Is it obvious?’
‘To me it is. Probably not to the world in general. How curious are you?’
‘Moderately.’
‘There’s nothing moderate about what I do … What’s your name?’
‘Cherry.’
‘Stuart.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Well, Cherry, I like to be master in my own bedroom, if you catch my drift. Does that interest you?’
I gulped. What should I say? I rather thought the fiery spreading blush on my face was saying it for me.
‘It might,’ I muttered.
‘Does it or doesn’t it? I don’t have time to waste.’
His stern tone caught me right between the thighs.
‘Yeah. I suppose it does,’ I admitted, a mite sulkily.
‘Good. Though I think we’ll need to discuss your tone, young lady.’
Oh my God, he was killing me. “Young lady”. I was positively pre-orgasmic, especially when he raised an eyebrow in a way that couldn’t say “you’re getting spanked” any louder or clearer.
‘Drink up,’ he ordered. ‘Are you here alone?’
‘No, with a friend.’
‘Good. You can tell her you’re going home with me, and that you’ll call her by eleven so that she knows you’re safe.’
‘I’ll … tell her that.’ I looked around the bar for her, finally locating her in a darkened alcove, snogg
ing some guy with a beard like a King of Leon. Sex on fire indeed.
I passed on the message, slipping it between her and the hairy one like a credit card of information. Her reply was a swallowed grunt.
‘I’ll be at home then,’ I reminded her brightly, feeling a broad hand descend on my shoulder. SM Stuart was not about to let me get away. I had been hooked like an unsuspecting fish, and now I was in the net I wouldn’t get out until I was being sizzled over the flames of his fire.
‘Where do you live?’ he asked, yanking me backwards, away from the bar.
‘Near South Parade Pier.’
‘Good. Not too far.’
It wasn’t until we were in the taxi that the insane foolishness of the idea hit home. Taking a strange man home for kinky sex – how on earth would that stack up on the risk assessment form? Not well at all, I realised with a sickening lurch of the stomach.