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time you had sex?”
    “What?” I snap. “What business is that of...? Don’t you think I’m humiliated enough lying here in my birthday suit? Now you add personal questions.”
    “Humiliation? Nothing humiliating’s going on here. And humiliation isn’t always a bad thing. It has a lot to do with how we, as a society perceive things, more than it does anything else. I’m not humiliating you, Amelia. I simply want a beautiful woman, naked and ready for me, and I’m asking her to share something about herself.”
    “Like an everyday date? Only this is no date; I’m tied up.”
    “You stipulated in your contract that no harm should come to you, so I altered my arrangements accordingly.”
    He sounds so damned reasonable, even logical, that I want to slap him and kiss him.
    “So because I won’t let you hurt me, you have to restrain me?”
    “Yes I do. Now, I own you for a while longer yet.” He taps his timepiece again: a reminder of our contractual terms. “Please answer the question.”
    “Fine, whatever,” I say, my jaw clenching. “Sixteen, and two months ago.” I don’t feel like offering more details.
    “Come, come now. Something so potentially pleasurable, yet you discuss it like one might discuss dessert.”
    The way he almost smiles warms my core, even as he annoys the hell out of me.
    “It’s not something I like to share with strangers. If you’re specific, I’ll try to be too.”
    “Specific? Okay.” He leans forward, and I feel his breath on my arm. “Describe your first orgasm to me...in detail.”
    Really? I blurt out, “I was fifteen in my bedroom, alone, watching some French flick late at night.” I shrug. “First time I ever touched myself...it ending with a small shiver, a spreading warmth over my skin. It was special at the time.”
    He smiles ever so slightly and leans back, threading his fingers behind his head. “And who was the first boy to give you an orgasm...in detail, Amelia, please.”
    The dreaded truth of it is that none of my boyfriends had given me an orgasm. Will he think me a frigid fool and laugh at me?
    I can’t be sure.
    And why should it matter what he thinks of me? I’d never told anyone before, not even Greg.
    To hell with it.
    “No one. Yet.” I avert my eyes.
    He gasps. “No one?”
    Clearly surprised, even disgusted, I can’t bear to see his reaction, though why I should fear judgment from someone who needs to tie women up to get his kicks is anyone’s guess.
    I flinch when he touches my arm with a sweeping stroke, his cool fingertips moving from shoulder to wrist. My eyes spring open and panic gushes to my chest. I want to kick him away, but I can’t move.
    “Don’t hurt me,” I squeal.
    A frown crunches his stunning features before his glare travels over my body again and back to my face.
    “Hurt you? What for? For sharing your secrets?” Innocence shines from his eyes.
    “Are you going to hurt me?”
    “I made sure I wouldn’t hurt you by tying you up.”
    What?
    “You have strange way of seeing things, Bryce.”
    Wearing a wicked grin, he explains, “Because restrained, you can’t misbehave. Only bad girls need to be punished.”
    “Ah,” I say, as if he makes perfect sense. Then I paraphrase him. “A simple no would have been cool.”
    “Touché.” He grins. “So if you were unrestrained right now, would you be a bad girl, Amelia? Would you need to be punished?”
    Suddenly, I’m grateful for restraints as the truth of him sinks in. “Nope, not a bit. I’m a good girl all the way.”
    He places one palm on my cheek. “Good, because I’m going to leave for a short time again. Do I need to gag you, or will you be the quiet little mouse you were before?”
    It might be the fear, but Disney pops into my head and more idiocy leaves my mouth.
    “Oh, you can call me Minnie if you like, I’m that mousy.”
    His eyes widen; he covers his mouth and turns around.
    But his shoulders move up and down, as though he were