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streaming down. The floor is tiled, with throw rugs spread across; shades of red and oranges everywhere again. There’s a bed in the room; a comfortable looking king-size bed – made with pristine white sheets, and a white throw on top. I pause, look around and take it in. 
    Doug watches me, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “Not what you expected?” he asks me.
    “No,” I confess. “I thought it’d be more like the House of Pain.”
    Doug laughs. “The House of Pain stage? Come on, Sara, John is creating a world of make-believe; his stage needs to be dramatic. Me, I’m just looking to get laid.” He winks at me when he says that, wiggles his eyebrows at me.
    I burst out laughing. He’s deliberately easing my tension, making me laugh and causing me to relax. I very much like Doug at this moment.
    Doug moves towards me and I stop laughing. There’s electricity in the air. I remember how strong his hands felt on my body; how good it felt to be kissed by him. I take a half-step towards him. We are standing, facing each other, in the centre of the room.
    Doug reaches out, runs a finger under the strap of my sundress. It’s a simple gesture, but his touch inflames me. I look into his eyes. There’s desire in them.
    “Can you take off your dress?”
    I nod. For the moment, he’s keeping this interaction as close to vanilla as possible. If I ignore the St. Andrews Cross in the corner, this might almost be a guy I met at a club. I focus on that thought as a way to still my nerves. I unbutton the couple of buttons that holds the dress in place, slide out of it, letting the dress pool at my feet.
    His eyes are on my body, and now, his hands are too. He’s pushing me towards the bed, and I sink into it, Doug sliding next to me. He leans against the headboard, pulls me on his lap, and unerringly finds that spot on my neck again; that spot that is oh-so-connected to my pussy. I moan.
    His pace is maddeningly slow; he hasn’t touched my breasts yet, and I want him to, so badly. I shift again, try to thrust my breasts outward; shamelessly hoping he’ll touch me.
    “Are you trying to tell me something, Sara?” His voice is slightly amused.
    “Please,” I mumble, colouring. “Touch me…”
    “Touch you where?”
    Damn it, do I have to spell it out? “Touch my nipples, please,” I beg. I am shameless. But his mouth on my neck has set my blood roaring, and I need to feel his hands and his mouth on my nipples.
    “In that case, Sara,” his voice chides. “Try holding still. The more you wiggle, the longer you’ll have to wait for me to touch them, ok?”
    Ouch. That’s it; the iron fist in a velvet glove. I hold still, whimpering. I need him to touch my nipples. They’ve grown erect under my bra, and are aching for stimulation. 
    Just like that, I realize, he’s in charge. He doesn’t need to tie me up or whip me. I’ve held still because he’s asked me to. It’s a little disconcerting, honestly.
    I’m quickly distracted from that thought though because now, his mouth is tracing a hot path down my middle. My pussy throbs in need. Is he going to kiss me there too? Is he going to slide off my panties?
    I want desperately to thrust my hips towards him, but I do as he told me instead. I hold still.
    “Nice,” he says approvingly, noticing my stillness. His voice is warm, and his approval sends tingles running through me. “Such good behaviour deserves a reward, don’t you think?”
    “Absolutely,” I say at once, then bite my tongue. Keep the sass under control, Sara, I warn myself. But Doug doesn’t seem perturbed at the sass. His lips twitch. His hands move towards my bra, unclasps it and slides it off my shoulders.
    “Even more gorgeous close up,” he says again, though this time, his eyes are on my breasts. “I’m pretty sure every guy in the audience Saturday night wanted to do this to you, Sara.” He runs his fingers over my nipples, teasing them even further, till they stand out, erect.