The drive took less than twenty minutes, but Amara lost all sense of time inside the windowless van. Her wrists were bound in front of her with soft leather cuffs, a blindfold of thick black satin over her eyes. The only thing she wore was a man’s silk shirt, Asher’s, unbuttoned and hanging open so that every turn pressed the fabric against her sensitive n*****s. Between her thighs she was still swollen and slick from the night before, a constant reminder that she no longer belonged to herself.
When the engine cut off, the blindfold was tugged free.
She stood on a gravel courtyard lit by torches. A cliff dropped away behind her to a black sea that hissed against rocks far below. Ahead rose the villa: pale stone, arched windows glowing amber, bougainvillea bleeding purple across the walls
