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open, but at least she wasn’t on display for all of Las Vegas to scrutinize. They sat at perpendicular angles to one another, she on the seat that lined the back of the car, he in the lengthier one stretching along the side.
    Inside, soft music played as Tristan reached for a bottle of chilled champagne, smoothly pouring it into two fluted glasses as the limo glided past the Bellagio’s famous dancing fountains, the glow of their lights barely visible through the tinted windows. He passed one glass to her just as they turned out onto the Strip. “To a memorable evening,” he said, toasting.
    Adrianna didn’t want to respond, didn’t want to do the obligatory glass click.
    But she knew a submissive girl would. And what small misstep might cause Tristan to decide she wasn’t being submissive enough ? So despite that it almost pained her to do so, she clinked glasses with him and took a sip, not surprised to find the champagne was top of the line. Like her, Tristan had become rich.
    “You like?” he asked.
    It felt like a loaded question. “The champagne is good,” she replied.
    He grinned, clearly understanding her precise answer. The champagne is good, but I won’t pretend to like anything else here.
    “Is your pussy wet right now, Adrianna?”
    The question came out of the blue, and her first thought was—could the driver hear? Music played, and Tristan spoke in a normal tone of voice, but the deep timbre of it tended to carry.
    “Yes,” she said. She could have lied, but one thing Adrianna was not was a liar. She was frank and honest to a fault—it was simply her nature.
    “Throbbing?”
    Damn it. “Yes, Tristan. Happy now?”
    He gave a light, confident nod. “Getting there.”
    In actuality, her pussy more than throbbed now—riding in a car in these panties made the pleasure knobs vibrate against her and she wondered if she could actually come that way. And if so, could she hide it? From Tristan? From the driver?
    The shame of it was, under different circumstances, Adrianna would have loved nothing more than to wear the naughty undies for a lover, to feel so utterly, deeply pummeled with stimulation, even to let a stranger watch her pleasure. But being forced to submit to Tristan tonight changed all that, sent her into rebellion mode. It was the first time in her life she’d hated being aroused, and as the car pulled to a halt at a stoplight, the knob at her ass pressing tight and hard against the sensitive fissure there, she struggled not to gasp with pleasure even as she resented having to hold it in.
    Tristan’s Armani-covered knee bumped hers when the car took off again and—for God’s sake—even that sent a new blast of need darting up her thigh.
    Why isn’t he touching me? He knows I’m aroused. He purposely made it that way. So why the hell isn’t he…doing something? Caressing me. Kissing me. Anything. Oh God. Not used to holding back, Adrianna realized in a sudden rush of clarity that she’d never been so frustrated in her life.
    But did this mean she wanted him to touch her now? Was she giving in to her desires inside?
    Only…no. She wasn’t—couldn’t. She was glad he hadn’t commenced touching her. What sucked was that she had momentarily thought she wanted him to. Since she, in fact, wanted nothing from him but to get through his night.
    Keep telling yourself that. You want nothing from him but to get through this night and to know your company is safe.
    Feel nothing, feel nothing. Feel nothing at all.
    No matter how bad your cunt throbs or your breasts ache. Don’t feel it. Block it out. You can be stronger than your own arousal.
    * * * * *
    Tristan’s skin prickled with a lusty, masculine conceit as he followed Adrianna to their table at the steakhouse inside the huge pyramid-shaped Luxor Hotel and Casino. They’d had to walk through the casino part to reach it, and he’d enjoyed the way men looked at Adrianna tonight, enjoyed knowing he had something they