Native American flute music drifted from the speakers from the four corners of the room. What felt like thousands of candles provided the only light yet left no dark shadows. She felt transported to another time and place. A goddess about to be worshipped, or perhaps a sacrifice to the god who dwelt here. Barefoot, wearing only panties and Greg’s shirt, she waited as he’d commanded. Two floor-to-ceiling two-by-fours, sanded smooth of splinters and varnished to a satin sheen, stood locked in place mere feet ahead. Works of art didn’t have frames as beautiful to surround them. Deerskin cuffs dangled from the struts in two places—one set for her ankles and the other for her wrists. Her nipples tightened, and juices trickled into her panties. He’d covered the pool table with the foam padding, set out bottles of water, and uncorked a bottle of cabernet. Assorted toys and equipment were spread out on a black velvet table runner covering one long credenza. On tiptoe, she surveyed the selection.
