CHAPTER TWO
“Excuse me, sir,” I say to the taxi driver, tapping him on the back of his shoulder. “Where exactly are we?”
I glance out the window again and scan the horizon. All I can see are patches of beige wheat interspersed with some green. To say we’re deep in farmland would be putting it lightly.
I scrunch my eyebrows. “How can we not be there yet?” I ask him. “We’ve been driving forever.”
The driver shrugs and turns up the radio by a few notches.
Message received, I think to myself, as I cross my arms. I slide my wireless earbuds back in my ears and lean back against the seat.
I open the recruiter’s email, which links to a profile for Mr. X and click on it. I begin re-reading the details I’ve already memorized: “Mr. X, 44 years old. CEO of Stockchurn Farms and Stockchurn Financial. Enjoys hiking, chess, poker, fishing, and hunting.”
Well, at least we have hiking in common, I think to myself as I scroll down to the part that really gets my heart racing.
Sexual preferences, I read, my breath hitching.
Even though I’ve read this at least a million times, I still get butterflies every time I look through it.
I start at the top: Dominant or submissive: dominant (98%).
There’s a list of kinks and I scan through them again, noting that all of the ones he selected were the same ones I selected.
The butterflies in my stomach intensify as I imagine this mysterious man pinning me down and having his way with me.
At the end, I notice one kink that I hadn’t paid much attention to before. Is that new? I think to myself. Domestic discipline, it says. It’s been checked as a hard yes by Mr. X. My heart quickens again.
That’s something I dabbled in with my ex-husband—some light spanking and such over the years—but never anything serious. Will I like that? I ask myself. I don’t know. All I know is that it makes me nervous.
“Here we are, miss,” the driver says, snapping me out of my daydream.
“What?” I ask, jerking my head up.
He opens the door for me, and as I step outside, it takes a second for me to adjust to the bright light.
Once I do, I notice we’re inside a gated fence. But surprisingly, everything looks modern and normal. It’s as if we’ve stepped into the 21st century in the middle of the 18th, because outside the fence, there’s just farmland and wilderness.
But as I stare around me, I see paved roads, a small pharmacy, green lawns. If anything, it’s quite idyllic. I can smell a barbecue off in the distance, and as a gust of wind hits me, I get a whiff of fresh honeysuckle.
“Anything else, ma’am?” the driver asks.
I look over and see that he’s placed my bags beside me.
“Thank you,” I say, slipping him a $10 bill. The driver smiles and turns back to the car.
I start to reach down to pick up my bags when a voice stops me in my tracks.