Welcome to The Pleasure Club, where fantasy becomes reality.

She's tried therapy, self-defense classes, rearranged her entire life so she doesn't sleep at night, but nothing has alleviated her fear of the dark-of the things that go bump in the night.

Now she's turned to The Pleasure Club to recreate the night that ruined her life. To recreate it and fix it, change it so she comes out the victor. But things never go as they should, and her Pleasure Master is so much more than the faceless intruder she expected.

Enola Yeager pulled the covers up to her neck and checked the clock on her nightstand yet again. The red digital numbers read 10:55. Her palms cold and clammy, she wrung her hands together and prayed she had the strength to go through with this.

She needed it. Needed to get past this terror that gripped her whenever the house grew dark and quiet at night. Needed to reclaim her life so she didn't have to stay up all night. For two whole years, she'd turned her life upside down just to survive. Sleep during the day, work at night. Work in her home office, with the door locked, barred against an intruder.

The fear needed to end!

The clock read 10:58 now. Her heart hammered so hard her chest hurt, and she wanted to jump up and turn on the light. She hadn't been alone in the dark in those two years, and…

She swallowed, her mouth dry. He'd be here in two minutes. Two short minutes. Then she could turn all of this around and start over without fear.

A tear streamed down her cheek and into her hair. Her whole body shook, and cold sweat popped out on her forehead.

She pushed herself up against the headboard and edged her feet toward the side of the bed so she could be prepared to jump up.

The Pleasure Guardians swore the man knew the rules, knew exactly what she wanted from tonight. What if he was actually like the real one? What if-

Glass shattered downstairs.

Enola yelped and clamped her hand over her mouth. Her stomach turned. She couldn't do this. Couldn't do this. Couldn't- I have to do this! Need to finally be free of this terror.

He was a Pleasure Master. He wouldn't hurt her. He knew the rules she needed to play by tonight.

The old house creaked, the hardwood stairs moaning as he made his way toward her room.

Only the faintest glow filtered in the window from the streetlight outside her house. It was enough to see the bedroom door swing open and a huge, imposing black figure stand in the doorway.

She froze. Her mind screamed in terror, but her body locked up solid, motionless, on the bed. She couldn't scream, couldn't even tremble.

The dark figure moved toward the bed. Midnight jacket, pants, gloves, but most terrifying was the black facemask that covered his head and hid everything but eyes and mouth.

"No," she whispered, or thought she whispered. Her lips moved, but she wasn't sure any sound came out because the blood pounded in her ears too loud for her to hear anything.

The intruder stalked toward her, stealthy and slow, his steps silent on the carpet. She gripped the edge of the bedspread in her fists until her hands hurt. He crossed the room and stood over her at the edge of the bed.

As if in slow motion, his hands came up from his sides, formed claws and reached toward her. She stared at those black gloved hands. They were huge. They'd choke the breath out of her, bruise her flesh as they had before.

Only last time, she was asleep when the man entered her room. She didn't wake up until he was on top of her. Seeing it was worse, knowing what would happen was so much worse!

The leather of his gloves was surprisingly soft against her flesh as his fingers slowly curled around her neck.

His grip tightened a bit.

Her body trembled. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her fingers ached from fisting the blanket. She tried to find her voice, to scream. She'd screamed last time-screamed so hard her throat had not only been bruised from his hands but raw from her own voice. This time nothing came out. Not even a squeak.

Please, her mind cried. Please don't!

He moved even closer, placing one knee on the bed. She could see his eyes through the mask. They were light, though in the darkness she couldn't tell the color. He pressed her to the side, so she was prone once again, twisted at a weird angle.

His fingers tightened more around her neck, but still not inhibiting her stuttered, shuddering gasps of fear.

"Fight me, dammit," the man said, his tone angry.