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are comfortable, aren't you? More comfortable than you would be in the trunk?
    Because as large as it is, I don't think you'd want to ride around in it, now would you?" He arched an eyebrow, pointedly stared at her so she wouldn't mistake his meaning.
    She shook her head, her antagonism gradually softening until only the familiar glint of apprehension remained.
    "Excellent. We're off to a good start, you and me."
    She screamed behind the tape in a sudden burst of recalcitrance, struggling against her bonds, almost falling off the back seat before he reached back, caught her around the biceps of her closest arm, and easily lifted her back onto the seat. He gave her a censuring look, like the irritated parent of an ill-mannered child, before he slapped her again—this time, a tad harder than the first time. "I will not tolerate rebellion, Kate. Please don't do that again."
    She glared, tears welling, probably more from shock than pain, in silent censure, an expression with which he was well-acquainted, one that excited him more than her bondage.
    He should have worried about taking someone affiliated with DMT , if only in a part-time consulting role. He should have worried about risking discovery, however remote the possibility.
    He should have felt guilty about his impulsiveness, a paradoxically well-planned act of spontaneity, a snack he intended to enjoy, slaking his hunger for a few weeks before the main course.
    He wasn't worried, however, nor remorseful. They would never catch him and technically, he wasn't cheating or veering too far from his mission.
    He would think of his mother the entire time instructing Kate in the meaning of total Domination and submission.

    * * * *
Though it was always there in the background running like an efficient, invisible computer program, Nick hadn't consciously addressed the Dominant side of his nature in a long time. Not since college back in Syracuse, when his tutor-turned-girlfriend Marilyn Constantine helped him discover his true nature.
    He tried not to think about it now, but shut in an office with Slany for the last couple of hours made it extremely difficult to focus on anything except his sexual urges and satisfying them.

    22
    Terms of Surrender
    Barring these seeming impossibilities, Nick immersed himself in his past indulgences with Mari, how she'd shown him the ropes and taken him to the edge.
    Mari had enjoyed being told what to do and how to do it, preferred to be sexually mastered, even got off on some bondage and light S&M. But outside the bedroom, she was a lot like Slany—independent, strong-willed, and wanting to call her own shots.
    Even entering into casual relationships, the ones that didn't involve D/s, Nick took his duties to please seriously. And since he'd graduated and Mari had dropped out of touch, casual—
    or, as Mari had dubbed it, “vanilla sex”—was the only sex in which he'd engaged.
    He and Mari had parted company amicably enough during his junior year. Ostensibly, she had gotten a great job offer and was going off to pursue her art career in New York. Nick suspected it was more that she'd found a more experienced Dom capable of fulfilling her kinky needs and tastes.
    Damn, he hadn't thought about Marilyn in years. He had buried those parts of his life beneath a shitload of ambition and hard work on his way to successive Ad Man of the Year titles and becoming one of the youngest executives in advertising history at thirty-three three years ago to be nominated to the Advertising Hall of Fame.
    And all these achievements went out the window in the face of his current towering lust.
    Beyond his career aspirations and several short-lived romantic liaisons, he hadn't had time to remember the lessons Mari had taught him, much less entertain the physical intensity and psychological intricacies of D/s.
    Had he come across a woman who seemed remotely open, however, he might have tried to introduce the topic, but so far, he hadn't sensed any allied