He didn't resist. He gave himself to her eyes.
"Sweet," she said. She took the handcuffs from her roll-on bag and closed them on his wrists. "Stand up." She unbuckled his belt and slid his pants and shorts down to his ankles. "How sweet." She reached into the luggage and held up the riding whip.
"You remembered everything," he said helplessly.
"Have you?" She swished the whip, smiling. She didn't have to hit him.
"Please . . ." He sank to his knees, desperate to please her, to be close to her. She took off her blouse and approached with the whip in the air.
"Much better," she said, shrugging her shoulders forward and back. "Don't touch, Oliver. Just look." She leaned over him. "You'd like me to take off my bra, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," he said. "Mistress." His throat was dry.
"I love how you want me," she said. "Can I trust you to—control yourself?"
"Yes, Mistress." She removed her bra slowly, watching him with pleasure. He swallowed.
"You are the sweetest love," she said, laughing. She stripped the rest of the way and guided him to the bed where he devoted himself to her until she was wet and happy, incoherent, thankful . . . From a distance, he heard her say, "Now you."