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the length of it with his other. The gesture was sensual in the extreme. “Have you ever been blindfolded, Zoë?”
    “No, Sir,” she managed to reply, her eyes fixed on his thick, blunt fingers stroking the sash.
    “As our first exercise,” Dylan said as he moved to stand behind her, “we’re going to play a game you may remember from your childhood. It’s called Trust.” He tapped her interlaced hands lightly, adding, “Drop your arms to your sides for this exercise.”
    Zoë obeyed, relieved to lower her arms, which had been starting to ache.
    “In the game called Trust, one person stands behind the other”—as he spoke, he brought the sash around her head, securing it over her eyes and tying it behind her—“with his arms out. The one in front falls backward, trusting the other to catch her before she crashes to the floor. Are you familiar with the game, Zoë?”
    The blindfold achieved its purpose of plunging her into sudden darkness. She was off-balance, and her heart was thumping so loudly she was sure Dylan must hear it. “Yes, Sir,” she managed, her voice trembling slightly. “We played it at camp.” She didn’t add that she was never any good at it. Oh, she was fine being the catcher, but she had never mastered the ability to just let go and trust that someone, even Corrine, her very best friend in the world all through school, would actually be there to break her fall.
    She jumped a little as Dylan’s hands gripped her shoulders. “Relax,” he whispered. “Tension is a form of resistance.” Zoë let out a sigh of pleasure as his skilled fingers loosened muscles she hadn’t been aware she was tensing.
    After a while, his hands slid forward and down to cup her breasts. Her nipples jutted against his palms. He must feel her pounding heart. She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to let it out slowly.
    “The game,” he said softly, his mouth close to her ear, “contains an element of danger. You risk that the other person won’t catch you and you’ll fall. It can be a difficult game, but when the falling player trusts the catcher enough to let go completely, the experience for both is a moment of exhilaration that’s difficult to duplicate.”
    He let her breasts go, his hands gliding upward along her breastbone. She gasped as one hand curled lightly around her throat above the loose dog collar, as he had done the night before when he kissed her.
    “BDSM provides the same kind of exhilaration.” Dylan’s grip on her throat made her knees feel weak, as if she might crumple to the ground if he let her go. He placed his other hand on the small of her back, the touch warm and steadying, the combined effect at once confusing and thrilling. “When trust trumps the possibility of harm, the result is incredibly intimate and erotic. Those who have the courage and honesty to engage in a true power exchange share the most nurturing and intimate bond possible.”
    He kissed her neck and Zoë shivered, unable to stop herself from leaning into his touch. She had to bite back a cry of dismay when he stepped back, his hands falling away.
    “Can you do it, Zoë? Can you let go and fall back into my arms? I will not let you fall. I promise.”
    Zoë tried to picture herself falling back into Dylan’s arms. The tension he’d eased out of her shoulders a moment before recoiled in her muscles, even as she gave herself a direct order to follow through. You can do this. You can totally do this. Just let go. He’ll catch you. You know he will.
    She leaned back, waiting for gravity to aid her in her effort. She found herself grateful for the blindfold—it blotted everything out but the moment, giving her a focus she might not otherwise have. She could feel Dylan waiting patiently behind her. She imagined his strong arms spread, his large hands open on either side of her, waiting to wrap her into a safe, warm embrace as she fell back against him.
    Nothing happened. Her body had turned into stone.