Free Intimate Exposure by Portia Da Costa Page A

in the car. With the bottle.
    Red stared at her steadily, his curious eyes assessing behind his spectacles. She could almost feel him monitoring her every thought and reaction. It was obvious he was a uniquely empathic man and that he understood before she did what she wanted and needed. He was the one who’d suggested she take some “me” time for a long soak in the bath.
    “Don’t worry, Vicki,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he took the two long paces that brought him to her side. Looking down on her, he stared into her eyes, his own warm and startlingly kind. “There’s no pressure on you… Just relax. Let’s see what happens.” His large hand cupped her cheek, the gesture so tender that she couldn’t help but sway into it.
    “We’re on holiday. We don’t have to do anything we don’t want to, do we?”
    “I suppose not.” The tremble in her own voice was quite alarming.
    What is he doing to me? How can this be happening? Only a few days ago I hated the sight of him, and now, oh God, now, everything’s changing.
    Had she made a huge mistake? Agreeing to a no-strings weekend to explore her secret sexual urges had seemed great in theory, but what would happen if she suddenly started to want strings? And a bond that was nothing to do with BDSM games?
    Don’t be a fool, Vick. All he wants is couple of exciting erotic days, then it’ll be “So long, it’s been fun, good luck with your life.”
    Stiffening, she drew away from him and his broad brow puckered, as if for once, he was wondering if he’d misread her.

    “How about that tea, then?” she prompted, flashing him a smile to defuse the moment, then nodding towards the tray as she pulled forward a second Lloyd Loom chair and set it adjacent to the small table.
    Red tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Of course,” he said, his voice vague, unsettling. He seemed to be watching her closely as she flopped down into the woven chair.
    Stalemate. Red’s hands were quick and deft as he prepared her a perfect cup of tea without even asking how she took it. His wary composure troubled her and she suppressed a sigh.
    Not playing elaborate sex games with Red Webster was as tricky and potentially perilous as playing them was.
    But a few moments later, as she sipped one of the most delicious cups of tea she’d ever tasted, Vicki’s disquiet faded. The large widescreen television, which had previously been concealed in a rather magnificent inlaid cabinet with a stylized sunburst design, was showing the most distracting video.
    It was a scene that could have come straight out of one of her favorite fantasies.
    Seen from above, a young woman was standing in the center of a circle of chairs. Interested observers lounged at their ease, appraising her as if she was the prize exhibit in a sophisticated slave market. She was naked, save for a tiny tightly laced corset that barely covered anything but cinched in her waist to an almost impossible smallness. A black leather collar circled her throat and she was teetering on a pair of impossibly high black patent leather high heels, her feet tilted at a precarious angle.
    The expression on the woman’s face was hard to fathom. Her eyes were very bright, anxious but excited. She kept glancing around, then suddenly and very studiously staring down at the toes of her absurd shoes.
    It’s difficult, isn’t it? Being a good submissive.
    Vicki’s sympathy reached out to the woman on the screen. Would she herself be able to maintain the correct decorum? That’d always been in her mind as she’d read O and other such material. The idea of being under a man’s control, and punished by him, thrilled her, but she was a strong-minded person too.
    Stealing a quick glance at Red, she caught her breath. He was watching her, not the screen. Was he wondering if she could ever be an ideal slave? Would he be disappointed when it turned out she was just too stubborn? She wanted what she wanted, and