Because I was mesmerized with the scene, I don’t know how long Tony has been staring at me. I can’t make out his expression.
“Are they okay that we—that we were watching?” I whisper to him.
“Too late not to be,” he replies.
I blush. I’ve never ever witnessed anything like this. Once, I accidentally walked in on Alexia making out with her boyfriend on the sofa in the living room. They were too involved to notice me, but I had quickly turned around and headed back to my bedroom anyway.
But here, I wasn’t sure where to go except back up the stairs.
“Want to go home now?” Tony asks.
I pause and notice my pulse has quickened considerably. I meet his gaze.
“No.”
Taking me by the elbow again, he walks me past “Sir” and the woman on the ground. Tony pushes aside a black velvet curtain and we enter what I presume is “Cell Three.”
There are no windows in this room, no paneling or paint to cover the concrete walls. A single overhead lamp lights the center of the room and leaves the rest in darkness. I start to doubt my marbles when I see a cage in one corner of the room, a human sized cross, a wooden pillory, and a case on the far side displaying a variety of canes like the one used by “Sir,” floggers, paddles, and other striking implements. Beside the case is a tall lingerie chest. I’m not sure I want to know what’s inside it. At least this room has a mattress, which has got to be more comfortable than being shackled to the cold hard floor. I hug my textbook tighter.
Tony studies my reaction to everything in the room. “I can take you home anytime.”
I stare at a ring dangling from the ceiling. Curiosity wins the moment and I respond, “I don’t want to go home.”
Yet.
Tony takes off his jacket and hangs it on a hook on the wall. “I have simple rules: you ask permission when you want something, and you obey. Displease me, and I punish you. Simple.”
Sure. Simple.
God Almighty.
He walks over to a table with a pitcher of water with slices of lemon and strawberry in it. He pours two glasses. “What are your soft limits? And your hard limits?”
I take the glass of water he hands me. I have no idea what my limits are. I just had sex for the first time.
“I guess we’ll find out,” he murmurs. “What would you like your safety word to be?”
Not knowing what would make a good safety word, I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Tar Heel.”
He raises a brow.
“It’s North Carolina’s nickname: the Tar Heel State. Also the name of the athletic teams for UNC.”
“What is a Tar Heel?”
“There are different legends. One says that troops from North Carolina during the Civil War stuck to their ranks like they had tar on their heels.”
“Might turn out to be an appropriate safety word. Drink the water.”
I take a few sips and turn to set it aside.
“Finish it,” he orders.
“I’m not that thirsty—”
He frowns. “What did I say my rules are?”
I comb my memory. I’m usually not this forgetful, but my nerves are on overdrive.