3. Knocked Up and Punished - Penelope Bloom

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Table of Contents Epilogue - Jayce Epilogue - Miley Prologue Epilogue Prologue Epilogue Join my Facebook Group!

KNOCKED UP AND PUNISHED

PENELOPE BLOOM

CONTENTS

1. Miley 2. Jayce 3. Miley 4. Jayce 5. Miley 6. Jayce 7. Miley 8. Jayce 9. Miley 10. Jayce 11. Miley 12. Jayce 13. Miley 14. Miley 15. Epilogue - Jayce 16. Epilogue - Miley 17. Sneak Peak: Knocked Up by the Master 18. Lysa 19. Leo 20. Lysa 21. Leo 22. Sneak Peak - Knocked Up by the Dom 23. Kylie 24. Damian 25. Kylie 26. Damian 27. Bonus Content - Single Dad Next Door Prologue 28. Reid 29. Sandra 30. Reid 31. Sandra 32. Reid 33. Sandra 34. Reid 35. Sandra 36. Reid

37. Sandra 38. Reid 39. Sandra 40. Reid 41. Sandra 42. Reid 43. Sandra 44. Reid 45. Sandra 46. Reid 47. Sandra 48. Reid 49. Sandra Epilogue 50. Bonus Content - The Bodyguard Prologue 51. Makayla 52. Jesse 53. Makayla 54. Jesse 55. Makayla 56. Jesse 57. Makayla 58. Jesse 59. Makayla 60. Jesse 61. Makayla 62. Jesse 63. Makayla 64. Jesse 65. Makayla 66. Jesse 67. Makayla 68. Jesse 69. Makayla 70. Jesse 71. Jesse 72. Makayla 73. Epilogue 74. Join my Mailing List 75. Join my Facebook Group! Also By Penelope Bloom

1

MILEY

A

m I really going to do this? My heart is thumping, my hands are clammy, and I can’t seem to catch my breath, but I’m here. I told myself if I just drove here, maybe the conviction would melt away. Maybe I’d realize how ridiculous I’m being and just go home-back to waiting for the next handsome tragedy to come walking into my life. When I close my eyes I can still hear the sound of his shouting last night. I can feel the hot sting of pain on my cheek and the slow afterburn of shame that followed. His words still linger in my mind like poison. Fucking cry. That’s all you’re good at. My hands clench and my eyes sting, but I hold back the tears. I push them back with the force of my anger alone. I won’t cry over him. I don’t care how much pain he caused me or that my eye is still dark and bruised from when he hit me. He doesn’t get any more of my tears. I told myself I would stay away after Cade. He called himself a Dom and he called me his submissive. I trusted him to show me the kind of relationship I’ve craved in the deepest corners of my mind. Instead, he took advantage of me and abused me. So I’m swearing off dominant men. But after one look at my overdrawn bank account, I can’t give up my job at the club. It pays triple what I could get anywhere else. Besides, my brother, Kyle, will be there to keep an eye on me, and if Cade has the nerve to show his face at the club again, I’ll just stay near Kyle until he’s gone. I let out a slow, shuddering breath. I can’t think about Cade. I won’t. It only makes me feel stupid and embarrassed. Ashamed, even, that after all this time I still can’t seem to pick the right guy.

I approach the front doors of the building, which is planted between an Italian restaurant and a abandoned movie theater. Two bouncers stand in front of the door in dark suits. “Is Kyle here tonight?” I ask one of the men, whose name I still haven’t learned. “Yeah,” says the taller of the two. “He’s working the floor tonight.” “Thanks,” I say, slipping inside the door they open for me. The interior of the club has an old speakeasy kind of atmosphere. A huge bar dominates the main room, and several staircases and curtained doorways extend beyond the main entryway. The men and women in the club are dressed in sleek and elegantly classy clothes that make my own outfit feel too simple and bland, but it’s the best I could put together with my budget. Some people wear masquerade style masks, but others make no effort to hide their faces. The club even smells expensive--like fancy liquor and cologne. Music thumps through the air that can only be described as erotic. The beat is driving and moves through everyone in the room, from the way the women move their hips as they cross the room to the way couples gyrate on the dance floor. I feel so out of place here, but something draws me to this world. It’s like an invisible string that I can’t break free from--the farther I move from it the tighter the pull gets until I end up here again. I tuck some hair behind my ear and start walking through the crowded club, unable to stop from brushing shoulders with people as I go. I find Kyle leaning against a wall by the bar. He’s wearing a tight black shirt and has a bored look on his face. He smiles when he spots me, but his expression falls when he notices my black eye. He pushes off the wall and rushes toward me, concern written all over his face. “Where is he?” he asks. “Stop,” I say softly. “I appreciate it. But I don’t want you to go trying to kick some client’s ass. We both need our jobs.” “You think I care more about my job than my little sister?” His eyes are hard and piercing, already scanning the crowd for Cade. “Kyle,” I say, putting my hand on his arm. “I just need you to keep him away from me if he comes back. Okay? Please let me try to fix the rest. Maybe I can convince the owner to ban him or something. But I need to do it myself,” I add more quietly. He watches me for a long time before letting out a long breath and nodding, jaw clenched tight. “But if he tries to lay a hand on you, I’m going to break his fucking arm off.” “Fine,” I say with a small smile. “Do you know anything about the owner?” I

ask. “You haven’t met him?” “You have?” I ask, a little surprised. “I’ve only been allowed to meet the bouncers and the bartender since I started. I’m not even supposed to go into any of the rooms beyond the lobby yet.” Kyle purses his lips thoughtfully. “Probably for the best. It gets... uh… kind of intense in some of the rooms. I don’t know if I like the idea of my little sister going into those places.” I plant a hand on my hip and glare at him. “Really, Kyle? You’re fine with me getting a job at a BDSM club and even dating one of the clients, but you don’t like the idea of me going into those places?” “Hey, I never said I liked this, but at least you’re just bartending in the lobby. I can keep the creeps at bay when you’re out here. You start going into the scene rooms and the exhibition areas and you’d be on your own.” “Is that where the owner is? In one of those rooms?” “His office is way in the fucking back. And…” Kyle sighs, shifting on his feet and leaning in closer. “Just be careful, okay? I get a vibe from that guy. I don’t know if it’s good or bad, but just be careful.” I nod, resisting my inner-teenager’s urge for a dramatic eye-roll. I know Kyle is just trying to protect me, so I can’t be too annoyed with him. He has been my shield for as long as I can remember. Back when our dad’s abuse changed from emotional to physical, Kyle was there to be my protector. I leave the bar area for the first time since I started working here and head in the direction Kyle said--toward the back, where dark red curtains are all that stands between me and the mysterious back of the club. I push through the curtain into a large room set up like a private theater, with sleek, half-backed couches positioned all around the walls in a semi-circle. A raised section of the room serves as a stage. There is a line of men waiting off to one side of the stage and a woman standing in the center of the stage, her head hidden behind a lace hood. Besides the hood, she’s completely naked and tied to a tall post by several leather straps. She probably couldn’t move a muscle if she tried. The way she’s positioned has her legs spread and her ass tilted up in the air, giving the masked man standing behind her access to slide his fingers inside her. The sounds of her moans fill the room, drowning out the low music. After a few moments the man backs away and another man approaches from the awaiting line. I take a half-step back, suddenly feeling in way over my head. This is insane. Those people are just waiting in line to have their turn with her like it’s some kind of buffet. I keep backing away from the scene in front of me until I bump

into the wall and suck in a startled breath. I’ve never thought of myself as a prude, I mean, I’ve always felt drawn to the lifestyle, but this is… overwhelming. I feel extremely uncomfortable, a little disgusted, and a whole lot curious. Like crane my neck to look at a train wreck kind of curious.. This curiosity feels dark and lust-filled and has me imagining what it would be like to stand on that stage with lace covering my head, waiting in total anonymity while strangers objectified me and used me. I shiver. Maybe in another life. I turn to leave but stop short when I come face to face with a masked man. He’s tall. God is he tall. I have to crane my neck to look up at him. The parts of his face I can see are strong and angular: a jaw dusted with stubble, defined chin, and eyes as gray as stormclouds watch me from within the mask. My eyes wander down his neck to the broad shoulders beneath his suit. Nothing good. There’s nothing good that can come from a man like this. I’ve made that mistake enough times in my life, and maybe for once I can actually learn my lesson. Just leave. Walk away before you get tangled up with another asshole. Before you get hurt. “Excuse me,” I mutter quickly. Even as I speak, I can feel the traitorous flame deep inside me flickering to life, daring me to see what this masked man has to offer. That’s a dangerous, stupid thought, though. I came here to find the owner and talk to him about Cade, not to get myself entangled in another disaster waiting to happen. I sidestep and try to move past him, but he blocks my path. “I never said you could leave, princess,” he says in a deep, rich voice. Wrong night to test my patience, asshole. “Yeah?” I say. “It’s good I don’t need your permiss--” My words are cut short when he actually sticks his arm out, blocking me from passing. “You sure about that?” he asks. “You sure you can get out of here without begging?” I swallow hard. Fear curdles in my stomach, but I don’t want him to see how he’s affecting me. “What happens if I scream? Won’t those bouncers come drag you out of here?” He watches me without fear. “We could find out.” He steps closer until his hard body presses against mine, until I can smell his cologne. So close I’m practically enveloped in his big, strong body. “Go ahead,” he whispers. He plants his hand on the wall above me and leans down until his lips are beside my ear. “Scream for me. I’m sure it’ll just be the first of many.” I clench my teeth, breathe out a frustrated but determined breath, and then

stomp down on his foot as hard as I can. He grunts in pain and flinches back with a curse of annoyance. I shove the curtain aside and head for the exit. The owner will have to wait. Maybe forever. This was a mistake. Coming back here was a mistake. I don’t care how good the money is. I don’t care how much my soul seems to cry out for the kind of intimacy I imagine can only be found in a dominant-submissive relationship. I need to close this chapter of my life and leave it where it belongs. The past. The sound of my heels stomping across the floor draws a few looks, but no real serious attention. No one even looks close enough to see the tears ruining my mascara. I guess it’s all just hitting me full force tonight--how far I’ve let things get out of my control. How completely lost I am. I’m storming toward the exit when a firm hand grips my arm, stopping me in my tracks. I see Kyle rushing toward us from my peripheral vision, ready to clock whoever this asshole is. The masked man sees him coming too. Instead of bracing himself for the punch, he lifts his mask, which stops Kyle’s attack as surely as if he had run into an invisible wall. “Mr Carlyle…” Kyle mutters. “Ah, sorry, sir. That’s just my sister, and--” “And she’s perfectly safe with me. You can go back to your post. And you,” he says, turning those stormcloud eyes, intensity radiating from him like heat, on me. “You’re coming with me.” His voice is flat and hard, leaving no room for argument, no room for protest. To my surprise, even Kyle steps back slightly, apparently ready to let me leave with this man. “There’s a place we can talk more privately.” I think about stomping on his foot again for the way he talked to me in the other room, but whether it’s a combination of being caught off guard by how disarmingly gorgeous he is or something I can’t comprehend yet, I feel compelled to follow. I decide to bottle up all the snarky, sassy things I want to say right now and play nice. I need to be calm, maybe I can convince this man to ban Cade and then I might just be able to stay working here. “I didn’t get your name,” I say as politely as I can. “Jayce,” he says, taking my arm and leading me back the way I came. He clutches me as we walk, it’s like he’s afraid I might fly away. Like he doesn’t ever plan to let me go. Guilty pleasure swirls in my chest from his touch. Jayce is a total stranger to me, but there’s something comforting in the possessive way he’s holding me. I’ve been with possessive men before, but the way he holds me feels protective instead of restrictive. It makes me want to cling

to this moment until he’s erased the pain of my past. The way he holds me makes me feel like a coveted prize. Before now, I’ve only ever been held as if I were a thing--just a prisoner at the mercy of my captors, waiting to be used for their every whim and without any care for my wellbeing. Just a few words and a few moments with Jayce and I’m already comparing him to past boyfriends. This is exactly why I get into so much trouble. I’m so desperate to be loved and needed that I cling to the first sign of attention any guy gives me, and apparently I attract jerks like flies on shit. I barely notice where he’s taking me until we’re inside a room lit entirely by blue light. Some kind of fog or smoke rises slowly from the metal grating beneath our feet. A padded table with straps and cuffs sits in the center of the room, and huge blocks of ice are positioned by the walls. I frown in confusion, trying to piece together what the purpose of this room is and failing. “It’s freezing in here, why…?” “Sorry,” he says. “It’s busy tonight and this is the only open room right now.” “You don’t have an office or something?” I ask. The corner of his mouth twitches up a fraction. “It’s being remodeled.” I narrow my eyes at him before wandering slowly through the room, trying to compose myself. I find a vent blowing warm air near the large window that takes up an entire wall of the room. I can see a few couples lounging in booths on the other side. They aren’t paying us any particular attention, but I’m sure with the vibrant blue light in here, they could see us clearly enough, except for what little privacy the fog might give. “I feel like an animal inside a zoo here,” I say. “Or a piece of art on display,” he suggests. “Something beautiful to be admired and desired, to be lusted after. He folds his arms and regards me. I feel naked beneath those eyes, as if he’s stripping me not just of my clothes but my emotional armor, seeing down to the very core of my being. His gaze settles on my black eye. A change flickers across his face. My brother has always been protective of me, but the look on Jayce’s face seems like he’s ready to kill someone. “Who did this?” He moves closer, putting his fingertips to my cheek in such a delicate, concerned way I find myself taken off guard. “That’s what I was actually here to talk to you about,” I say. “He’s a member of the club. Cade Sims. I wanted to see if you would--” “He’s done.” His words cut through mine like a knife, silencing any doubt or fear I might have that Jayce wouldn’t do anything about Cade. “He’ll never step foot in my club again.” He rubs his thumb across my lips, sending chills down

my neck and making my breath catch. “He’ll never touch you again.” “I should go,” I say quickly. I try to push away, but he doesn’t budge. “Why are you always trying to fly away, little bird?” he asks with a wicked grin. I point to the bruise and give him a dry, unamused look. “Take a wild guess.” “Let me show you,” he says softly, still not letting me move. “You’re hard on the inside. I can see it.” His palm moves to my chest where he presses his fingertips, eyes never leaving mine. “You’ve been hurt. Scarred. But I can help you heal.” “You don’t even know me,” I snap with more anger than I intend. “Do you want it to stay that way? I’ll know if you’re lying,” he adds. I believe him. I don’t know why or how. But it really does feel like he’s looking straight through me--as if I’m laid bare before him. No secrets. “I don’t know,” I say. It’s the truth, or as close to the truth as I can manage to get, even in my own head. “You’re scared.” There’s something soothing in his voice. It’s deep. Rich. And the vibrations settle into me like massaging fingers, easing some of the tension from my muscles. “You’re afraid to trust again.” His hands are moving now, exploring me. I’m conscious of how we’re standing in front of a window where dozens of people can watch us, but somehow I can’t move that realization from the back of my mind to the front. Jayce is taking up all the space. “Let me show you how a real man treats a woman. Let me show you what it feels like to be coveted. To be claimed. To be owned.” His words intoxicate me. He reaches into the very essence of me, pulling out my fears and holding them up to the light, eradicating them with the heat of his breath alone. Every syllable erodes my conviction to fight, my will to struggle. “This is crazy,” I breathe. “Crazy would be letting you go,” he says, lips brushing my neck. “I knew I needed to taste you when I saw you. I want to know what it feels like to call you mine. To dominate you.” “Take me,” I say, shocked by how quickly he was able to batter down my defenses, but maybe I shouldn’t be. My heart feels like a gaping wound after yesterday, and Jayce is offering me a distraction, maybe even a soothing balm to take away some of the pain. “Just this once. Just for tonight. Take me away from it all.” His body is against mine, lips crashing against my mouth. His weight carries me backwards until I bump against the window, pressed tightly against it and pinned by him. My existence blurs into a tangle of warm lips, strong hands, and

the hard pressure of his erection against my stomach. For a few blissful moments, I let go. I stop thinking about Cade. I don’t think about all the others before him. I forget my dad and his abuse. It all fades until there’s only Jayce and his touch, only the places where our bodies collide. “Jayce,” I say, “People will see us.” “Let them see. I’ll show them how you belong to me. How sweet your submission is and how jealous they should be that it’s mine.” I close my eyes, breathing out the tension and last threads of resistance I feel. I want it. It may only be temporary, and it may not mean anything to him beyond a meaningless hookup, but I want what he’s promising, even if it’s just a taste. “Take your dress off for me, princess. Nice and slow.” I bite my lip, opening my eyes slowly until I can see him standing there in the blue light and surrounded by the smoke lifting lazily up and swirling around his broad form. Desire is written on every inch of his face, and I can’t help drinking it in. He wants me. He wants to see me naked and he wants to take me. It’s only when I reach down to the hem of my dress and feel the slight tinge of pain from the other places Cade hit me that my self-consciousness takes over. I remember the bruises. I remember what it looked like when I stripped down before my shower this morning and looked in the mirror. No permanent damage. No cuts. No broken bones. Just purple reminders of what a stupid little girl I was for trusting Cade, for thinking I could let him be my dom. My hands fall to my side and a shiver runs through me, forcing up a well of emotion that makes my eyes prick with the threat of tears. I expect Jayce to be angry, to scold me or yell at me for not obeying, but instead he moves slowly toward me as if I’m a scared animal that might scurry away at any sudden movement. He tilts my chin up until I have no choice but to look into his eyes. His gaze devours me again and I feel that same sense of being stripped bare again. I know what the other men I’ve been with would do. They would get defensive at the sight of my bruises and demand to see what was done to me. They’d rage and make a show of protective violence, trying to prove how different they were, all while still planning to fuck me and use me just the same. I wait for the inevitable, for him to ask to see what I’m hiding and then to somehow make this about him until I feel like I’m the one who messed up. But he doesn’t speak. He carefully puts his arms around me, then kneels slightly to sweep my legs out from under me and carry me to the table in the center of the room. He sets me down like I’m the most fragile piece of glass. Any words I could say are trapped uselessly in my throat. I can only watch this powerful man move deliberately to the big window, where he presses a

button that brings down a thick black curtain covering the entire window. He lifts the hem of my dress until it’s just below the line of my panties, where he sees the first bruise. His brow furrows with anger, but he still says nothing. He reaches beneath the table and opens a drawer. When he stands back up, he’s holding a small bottle, which he clicks open and squeezes into his palm. He massages the ointment into my leg. I gasp at the first touch because it’s warmer than I expected, and the heat seems to seep beneath my skin until it’s inside the muscle itself, but it’s soothing, though I think right now I wouldn’t care if he was rubbing mud on my legs with those big, strong hands. “Lift up, princess,” he says. Making his intentions clear. There’s a commanding tone to his voice, but it’s gentle. I press my feet down and arch my back, lifting my butt from the table, which allows him to pull my dress up and off, exposing me to his gaze and allowing him to see the biggest bruise from where Cade kicked me when I fought back. I can’t meet Jayce’s eyes. I look away, bringing a hand up to shield my eyes. The shame flows through me too strongly to see his reaction, to watch as he realizes what a weak woman I am to let something like this happen. He takes my wrist and pulls my hand down by my side again, moving it away from my face. With his other hand, he tilts my face toward him again, locking eyes with me. “This wasn’t your fault. None of this was ever your fault.” Chills spread through my body like ripples in a pond until they settle behind my eyes, where tears well up. My lips twitch uncontrollably as the emotion tries to flow out of me. It wasn’t my fault. It’s such a simple idea, so obvious, but I needed to hear it, God I needed to hear it. “I always pick the worst guys,” I say in a voice thick with emotion. He brushes away a tear with his thumb, grinning down at me like he’s known me his whole life. “Not always.” I force a little smile. “Somehow I don’t think this counts. Whatever this is.” “This?” he asks, pouring more lotion into his hand and rubbing it into the bruise on my side. “This is the first time I’ve ever found a woman I would consider taking as a submissive.” “You can’t be serious?” I ask. “You own a BDSM club… you must’ve had dozens of submissives before.” “Never,” he says. His hands work a slow, soothing rhythm at my side, never pressing too hard, as if he’s perfectly in tune with my body and my needs. “I’m a very particular man, and I have very particular tastes. I guess the right little bird never came fluttering into my window with a broken wing before. Until tonight.” I look up at him, trying to decide if he’s telling me the truth or if he’s just trying to string me along with some kind of pickup line. “Well, I hate to

disappoint you,” I say sourly. “But I apparently have terrible taste in men. And I’m starting to like you. So chances are you’re an asshole.” He chuckles. “Don’t you see the difference? You didn’t choose me, princess. I chose you.” I bite back a smile and give him a side-eyed glance. “Are you always this smooth?” “I’ll always be exactly what you need,” he says. “Gentle. Strong. Rough. Whatever you need.” “Always?” I ask. “Until you’ve had your fun with me tonight and we go our separate ways, you mean?” I hate that I’m unable to just enjoy this, to let this be an experience and leave my baggage at the door, but every time I think I can forget, it comes washing back into the present, poisoning my thoughts. “And if tonight doesn’t satisfy my needs with you?” he asks. “What do you think will happen then?” I half-smile. “What are you trying to say?” “I’m not trying to say anything,” he says, smoothly unhooking my bra and pulling it away with a cocky smirk. I itch to cover myself, but something in his movements and his eyes tells me I’m not supposed to. So I hold my hands still against my self-conscious impulse, letting my breasts feel the cold, open air until my nipples harden into points. He takes his time admiring my breasts, not touching them, just looking with those breathtaking eyes of his. “What I am saying is that I don’t see why I would ever let you go. You’re too special. The perfect catch.” A hint of mischief trickles through me at his words, like we’re playing some kind of complex game of words that is a precursor to foreplay--or maybe it is the foreplay. “Who says you caught me?” I ask. He’s so quick I can’t even react before he’s fastening one of the restraints on the table around my wrist. “Hey!” I say in surprise, reaching for the restraint, but he takes my other hand, pinning it while he straps me down. “Sorry,” he says with no hint of remorse in his tone. “I don’t want you to get skittish and fly away on me.” “Am I your prisoner now?” I ask. The question makes heat flow between my legs in the dirtiest way imaginable. I would normally think the idea of being held captive, against my will, terrifying or wrong, but I don’t. In such a short time I already find myself wanting to trust Jayce, so much that to do anything else is like swimming against the current. Everything about him makes trusting him feel right, like he’s the man I’ve been trying and failing to find.

“I guess that’s a matter of interpretation,” he says, reaching for his belt and pulling it free in a smooth motion. “Interpretation of what?” I ask, unable to take my eyes from the bulge in his pants as he strips his jacket and reaches for the top buttons of his shirt. “Of what it means to be a prisoner, because no, I don’t plan to let you leave. But you are going to love every moment of your captivity with me.” His expression changes just slightly and he leans down until his face is close to mine. “Whoever did this to you,” he says, softly touching the skin above the bruise at my side. “They were a fucking animal. They don’t deserve to have a submissive or call themselves a dom. I’m going to show you a real experience-the kind you deserve. So let me make this absolutely clear, princess. Only two words have power from this moment onward. Say ‘yellow,’ and I’ll know you’re nearing your limits. Say ‘red,’ and everything stops. No questions. No guilt. I need to know that you understand me.” “I understand,” I whisper. My heart is thudding against my ribcage and my throat feels so tight I can barely breathe. Being in here with Jayce feels as if I’m walking along when the ground suddenly opens up beneath me and swallows me into a rush of pure darkness, where I’m falling away from the world so fast I can’t stop--but right now I’m not sure I want it to stop. He waits for a time, eyes roaming my body like he doesn’t have the slightest bit of shame over enjoying the sight of me, and wow, I’ve never felt as sexy as I do under his gaze, bruises, imperfections, and all. He looks at me like I’m a goddess laid out on display for him, like there couldn’t be a more perfectly crafted body in all of the world and he’s just barely containing his hunger to take me. When he finally moves, it’s to begin stripping his tie and undoing his shirt methodically. When he pulls the fabric away, I suck in air at the sight of him. Every muscle is carved into him, like there’s not an ounce of fat on his body. He’s made entirely of hard lines and smooth, tan skin. He tosses his shirt to the floor and moves to his pants next. His every movement seems calculated, even the way his eyes flick up to meet mine teasingly just before he reveals even more of his exquisite body. He flicks open the button of his pants and lets them fall until he’s standing before me in nothing but his tight-fitting boxer briefs, which are doing a poor job of hiding the size of his huge cock. My eyes trace its length with more than a little trepidation. I’ve never had something that big inside me, and I’m not sure it’ll fit, but the thought of trying already has me wet and throbbing. He hooks a thumb tauntingly in his waistband and waits with a knowing look on his face. He yanks them down in one motion, and his cock springs free. I let

my eyes wander the entire package, from his length, to the sharp “V” shaped cuts of his abs, all the way up every inch of hard muscle until I find his face and gray eyes. I expect him to climb on top of me, but instead, he strides back toward the window where he pressed the button to lower the blinds and lets his finger hover there. He turns his head to me, waiting. I realize he is giving me a chance to safe word him, and when a moment turns into several, the faintest hint of a grin touches his lips. He presses the button, retracting the curtains again. There are at least six couples and one large group of five or so people standing and sitting just outside the glass. My heart immediately pounds harder, blood rushing to my cheeks. But the embarrassment doesn’t come without a white-hot thrill that feels like molten lava just beneath my skin, setting me on fire with both need and desire. All my worries, doubts, and fears from my past are dulled until they don’t seem as important, and for the first time in a long time, I feel free. I feel like myself, just stripped of all the extra baggage and weight I carry around with me every day. Jayce stops at a small box spewing smoke before he comes back. He plucks out a handful of ice cubes and brings them to a small rollaway table beside the table where I’m strapped in tight. He sets the ice down and brushes his hands off before reaching for the restraints near my ankles. He ties them tight and gives a good hard tug until they are so snug I can barely wiggle my legs. For the first time, I feel truly trapped. Before, I could at least entertain the idea that with some creative work, I could use my toes to free my hands, but now? I’m at his mercy. My fate lies in my trust of him--my trust that he won’t give me a reason to want to escape, and that he’ll listen when I used the safe words. Unlike Cade… “Jayce” I say. “No,” he says. “You will call me Sir until told otherwise, do you understand?” “Yes.” His eyebrow raises in a mixture of amusement and scorn. “Naughty little princess.” “Sir,” I say quickly. “Too late.” His lips curl into a smirk. “It’s time I teach you how pain and pleasure are really just two sides of the same coin.” He picks up an ice-cube between his thumb and forefinger. I watch the way his warmth immediately makes the ice start to melt down his arm and how the water traces a path across his skin, where it drips from his elbow into the blue

mist curling up from the floor. I’m reminded that we have an audience when I notice movement on the other side of the glass--another couple realizing a show has begun and deciding to stop to watch. I can’t say why being watched sends such a jolt of excitement and dirty pleasure through me, but I feel more more sexually alive than I ever have in my life right now. I feel objectified and owned, but with none of the negative context I’ve come to expect those words to carry. It feels tender and scorching hot at the same time. Everything I ever imagined being a submissive could be made real. He brings the ice cube just above my erect nipple, waiting with patience as a drop of cold water forms and drips down to my areola. I flinch, momentarily shocked by the cold water but my skin quickly warms it. I think he’s going to put the ice to my skin, but he seems to be in no rush. He’s watching my face instead, studying me. “Pain is often misinterpreted,” he says. “Some do enjoy true agony, but for most, pain is only a tool. Like any tool, it can have horrible results when used wrong.” His eyes trail down to the bruise at my side, sending a fresh wave of shame through me. He notices, and turns my cheek when I try to look away so I’m still facing him eye-to-eye. “I won’t ever pretend to know how that must have hurt, princess. Never. I won’t pretend I understand the physical or emotional pain of being betrayed by someone you trust. But I will promise you this. I will never take your trust for granted. I will cherish it. I’ll treat it like the precious gift it is, and a day will never pass that you don’t thank God you gave it to me. I swear it.” “And what if I don’t trust you enough to believe that?” I ask. “Sir,” he growls. “Don’t forget where you are.” “Sir,” I add, though not without a defiant bite to my voice. “Then it’s up to me to change your mind, kiss by kiss and inch by inch.” He pops the ice cube in his mouth and leans down to kiss me. It’s like no kiss I’ve ever experienced--like being embraced by some ice king on a distant planet or taken to a cold, dark cave by a barbarian who just came in from a blizzard. It’s all my childhood fantasies wrapped into a single, startling sensation. His tongue flicks across my lips, already cold and biting from the cube of ice, and his lips leave chilly memories of his touch everywhere they press against me. The movement of our tongues sends the ice cube from his mouth to mine, where it chills my mouth until the numbness makes the comparative warmth of his mouth a new shock all over again. When the cube eventually melts down between the passion of our mouths, he pulls back, dragging his hand along my jawline as he does. “Pain doesn’t have to be unpleasant. Served up with pleasure, it can have the

same effect without any of the discomfort. Or,” he says, picking up a another cube and pressing it gently against my nipple. “It can be uncomfortable.” I squirm against the cold after only a few seconds. The mild discomfort starts to transition to a dull, biting kind of pain. I take a deep breath, which only pushes my breast harder against the cube and drives the spear of cold farther into me. Just when I’m about to ask him for mercy, he pulls the ice away and sinks his head down to the spot, where his warm lips feel like fire after the cold of the ice. I gasp, arching my back and bucking against my restraints. He runs his hot tongue along the edge of my nipple and then sucks the hardened nub into his mouth before lifting his head to smirk at me. “But the discomfort only makes the relief that much sweeter. Doesn’t it, princess?” “Yes,” I say breathlessly. “Sir,” I add. He chuckles. “That’s good. You’re learning.” He caresses my cheek, holding his hand there as he leans down to kiss me on the lips just as tenderly. The way he’s able to shift from fiery passion to smoldering tenderness is a shock to my system--and not a bad one. It might be easy to get used to his tender touches or even his reckless, passionate touch, but not when I don’t know what to expect. It keeps my nerves alive and ready for everything as if they are truly drinking in the world for the first time. He picks up a fresh ice cube and takes it between his front teeth. I think he’s going to kiss me again, but he moves by my feet and starts to-Oh God. He climbs on the table and grips my panties in both hands, yanking so the fabric splits down the middle and splays open, lying uselessly beneath me and dangling over the edges of the chair. He lowers his head dragging the ice cube along my inner thigh in a way that makes me jump, but only as much as I can while pinned down. I’ve never been as wet as I am now, never felt more blinding need to be filled and fucked. He’s not going to give me the relief I want, yet. I don’t know how I know, except that he seems so supernaturally in tune with my body and my needs that I think he must know exactly how bad I want him inside me right now--how bad I want to cum for him. And I think he’s enjoying dragging it out. He gently sets the ice down just above my clit where it starts to melt against the warmth of my skin, cold rivulets of water trickle down the creases of my inner thighs. “Pain isn’t just about enhancing pleasure,” he says. I squirm, but I’m careful not to move so much that the ice falls from me. Though he didn’t say so, I suspect Jayce won’t be pleased if I let the ice fall. So

even as the cold starts to feel more like a numb, burning sensation, I stay still, looking into his eyes--using them as an anchor to push past the discomfort. “It’s also about establishing lines of trust. Learn to trust that I know your limits better than you do, and only then can you truly let go. Only then can you truly submit.” I close my eyes, biting my lip against the mounting discomfort. He brings his mouth down over the ice, giving me just the barest tease of warmth before he draws a trail from my mound to my clit with the tip of his tongue. He attacks my pussy with his mouth like he’s been dying to taste me for his entire life. I struggle to spread my thighs more for him, but can only do so much with the restraints. I don’t even notice the people watching us anymore beyond the vague awareness in the back of my mind that we’re putting on a show and the dirty undertone that it adds to situation. His touch is fire one second and ice the next, with the heat of his tongue lapping at me only to be replaced by the icy sting of the cube. When the first ice cube melts down to nothing, he lifts his head and I can see the glimmer of my juices on his mouth. The sight of it is so hot I wouldn’t be able to stop from tackling him to the ground and taking that cock of his myself if I wasn’t tied down. He picks up another ice cube and gives me a look that makes me nervous, like he’s excited about something dirty he’s going to do, and if what he has already done wasn’t dirty and exciting enough for him, I can only begin to imagine what he’s planning.

2

JAYCE

M

y princess is laid out for me like a treasure. Curling hair as silky and black as raven’s feathers, but with the most stunning sky-blue eyes I’ve ever seen. She’s beautiful, but not just because of her curves or the shape of her face. There’s a beauty in what lies behind her eyes--the set of her mouth and the way she carries herself. She’s wounded. I knew it from the moment I saw her. My little bird with the broken wing… To see something so perfect and pure that has been broken and abused makes my blood boil. It makes me want to hurt. To kill. But more than that, it wakes an unstoppable need in my chest to take her into my care and protect her from any more harm, to give her a chance to heal so the world can see how fucking sublime she is. She’s my perfect stranger. My princess. Whether she realizes it or not, I have no plans to let those long legs walk out of my life. So I’m going to start by giving her a night she’ll never forget. I take the ice cube and hold it up to her. I let the anticipation build. Used properly, anticipation and suspense work just as well as pain and discomfort. They are all tools, and crafting the perfect sexual experience is much like building a fine piece of art--something extraordinary can be made with the most simple tools, or even no tools at all, but mastery of every tool can lead to something so exquisite it could have never been previously imagined. I wait until the flicker of her eyes from the cube to her mound tells me she has connected the dots and knows what I’m about to do. Using the edge of the cube, I take my time drawing a line from her bellybutton to her entrance, where I apply just enough pressure to ease the cube inside her. They are small cubes, roughly the size of a bottlecap, and I know her heat will make short work of them, so I don’t stop yet.

She’s watching me with fascination, eyebrows pulled together and mouth open. I can already see the way the ice is melting and running out of her pussy in a thin line of water. I can hardly wait to lick it up, but I want her to have the full experience, so I don’t stop yet. I tease her with each cube, tracing wandering paths across her body and sometimes following with my mouth to give her the contrasting sensation she needs, but one by one, I get five cubes of ice inside her pussy. I can’t deny myself anymore, so using the flat of my tongue, I lick up her thigh where the water has run from her pussy all the way up to her clit, loving every fucking second of it. She cries out, body rocking against the restraints and eyes squeezed shut. By now, the cold is likely getting intense, especially for someone who isn’t used to this. Thankfully, the cure she needs is one I’ve been dying to give her since I first laid eyes on her. I yank beneath the table to give her leg restraints enough slack to let me bend her knees until I have her where I want her. “You’re not going to take them out first?” she asks, looking down with sudden panic. “And spoil the fun?” I don’t give her time to dwell on it as I ease the tip of my cock into her, planting both hands on either side of her head so I can hold myself up and watch the expression on her face. “You feel it, don’t you?” I ask as I work just the first few inches of my cock inside her warmth. I stop when I feel the cold of the ice, not wanting to push it deep inside her, only to shock her system with the contrast of the heat of my cock and cold of the ice. “The way the cold makes your body tingle all over? How it makes your pussy tighter for me until your walls are practically choking my cock?” “I feel it,” she says, eyes closed and head tilted back. “Too much of a good thing can make you numb, but just the right amount…” I say, stretching her with another inch of my cock and pushing the remnants of the ice deeper inside her. I let out a grunt of enjoyment as the melting ice makes her walls feel shockingly cold around me. I know it will only be moments before the ice has completely melted, and I’m going to make her cum as she feels heat return to her core. “And you’ll cum like you never have before. Give yourself to me for tonight, princess. Surrender your body. Surrender everything.” “Yes,” she says, breathing heavily. “Yes, Sir.” “Good fucking girl,” I growl. The last of the ice drips between our bodies, and I hold nothing back. I thrust into her, bending to suck her erect nipples, giving her even more of the warmth I know her body is craving.

“God,” she cries. “Jayce…” I never find out what she was going to say, because her pussy is like a hot glove gripping me now, and with a subtle adjustment of my hips, I hit her exactly where I know she needs it. The plan was to pull out, to see how gorgeous she looks with my cum covering her tits and stomach, but for the first time with a woman, I lose control. I lose every last shred of restraint. I might be the dominant, but in the moment she’s the one dominating my body. I relentlessly plow into her supple body, until the sounds of my pelvis slapping against hers drowns out my every thought. She cries out in a single, long, unending syllable of bliss. I clench my teeth as my orgasm rocks me to my fucking core. My cock pulses for what seems like ages, filling her with cum as each wave of pleasure rips through me. When I finally pull out, she’s still shaking from her own release. I could overload her senses, push her even deeper into her pleasure, but I don’t. I ease myself down from the bench, feeling lightheaded. “Lie still, princess,” I say softly when she tries to lift her head to see what I’m doing. “I’m just removing the restraints. I need to make sure you don’t have any friction burns, and I’m going to use an ointment that should help with any unseen irritation.” I move to the curtains and press the button, giving us privacy again. Her aftercare isn’t something for the eyes of anyone else. This is our moment. She lowers her head with the slightest hesitation, but seems to understand. I put more lotion in my hands once I’ve unbound her. I take my time inspecting her inch by inch. I’m not just making sure she is unharmed after our experience, I’m trying to commit every line and curve to memory. “You’re a masterpiece,” I say as I rub some of the circulation back into her wrist. She lowers her eyes, but says nothing. “You act ashamed when you’re complemented. Why?” I ask. Her eyes dart to mine but she looks away again. “I’m not sure.” I grip her wrist a just a little tighter. “You won’t lie to me.” It’s not a question. Not a threat. It’s just a statement. It’s a reminder for her own sake--that she knows she can’t hide anything from me. I don’t care if she sees me as a stranger or a one night stand. I refuse to let her hide from me. She sighs, rolling her head to the side and staring toward the far wall. “It makes me feel stupid, maybe. Naive. Because so many men work their way into my life with shallow compliments. I used to believe them, like them, even. But now it just feels like a trap, I guess. Like I’d be stupid to latch onto it and let it mean anything.” I nod. Stepping back into my briefs and pants as I talk. “The heart is a fragile

thing. People talk as if the heart can grow tough and resistant to the world, but I’ve never thought it worked that way. I think we put up walls. We close ourselves off because we want to protect our hearts like our lives depend on it. Maybe they do…” I hand her her dress, which she takes and slides over her head as she sits up. “If our hearts don’t get tough, what does?” she asks. “This,” I say, touching a gentle finger above where the bruise on her side is and then below her eye. “This,” I add, pointing to her forehead. “I think your heart is worth protecting, princess. And I don’t want to see your beautiful body have to take another scratch in its defense.” “What are you saying?” “Let me be your shield. Let me be your Dom. I can take care of you.” She laughs, shaking her head while watching the ground. “We just met,” she says, but her tone doesn’t convince me she’s truly objecting. “And?” I ask. She glares at me, but somehow it’s more adorable than frightening. “And I’d be crazy if--” “You let me put ice cubes in your pussy and give you the best sexual experience of your life?” She closes her mouth, giving me a glare that is actually a little frightening. “If I told myself this was more than just a hook up. I mean, God,” she says, putting her palm to her forehead and leaning her head back with a sigh. “I just had unprotected sex with a complete stranger. What was I thinking?” “You mean that’s not a normal Friday for you?” I ask. “Actually, this is a normal Friday for me. I wake up finding myself in the middle of a relationship I’d do anything to get out of and realize I’m a complete mess and keep making the same mistakes over and over again. See this is what I mean, I make bad decisions when it comes to men. This,” she says, pointing to the room as her lips twitch from holding back tears. “This was just my most recent mistake. But I’m not sticking around to see the horrible ending this time. I may be a slow learner, but even I can see this end coming from a mile away. I’m sorry,” she says, picking up her shoes and storming out the door. She slams it behind her, leaving me standing in the middle of the room. I could go after her. I could convince her to stop and talk to me more--convince her I’m different, that being with me wouldn’t be the same. That’s not what she needs right now, though. She needs time. I may not have the patience to wait long, but I can give her tonight to figure things out. Tomorrow, she’s mine again.

3

MILEY

I

blow out a long, frustrated sigh as I stand over the stove top. I’ve got eggs scrambling, bacon cooking, and biscuits cooking in the oven. If that wasn’t enough, I have some turkey sausage in the microwave and a chocolate muffin on standby if I make it that far. When Kyle steps out of his bedroom in our shared apartment, he raises an eyebrow. “Damn, sis. How much do you think I’m going to eat?” “This isn’t for you,” I say shortly. He pauses, rubbing the mess that is his hair. He narrows his eyes, tilting his head and moving closer until I feel like he’s going to see exactly what I’m thinking. “The fuck happened last night, anyway? Bates had to cover your shift when you never came back. You didn’t get caught up with some creeps in the back, did you?” “No,” I say, swallowing hard. I’ve never been a good liar, especially not when it comes to my brother. “Was it Jayce?” he asks. I can see him tensing. As much as I love Kyle for how he protected me when dad was at his worst, I hate that I can see some of dad in him. Kyle may find a more honorable way to channel his anger, but the same rage boils inside him that always boiled inside dad. The difference is dad took it out on his kids. “It didn’t mean anything,” I say, letting out the breath I was holding. “It was dumb. I told him we shouldn’t see each other again. So you don’t need to--” “That fucking creep,” growls Kyle. “Does he know you’re barely twentythree? How old is he? Thirty? More? You’re like a fucking kid to him.” “Kyle…” I say. “I told you. I told him. It was a one time deal. Just forget it.” Kyle shakes his head, like it’s already forgotten. “Yeah, well that’s for the best. Apparently he’s into some dark shit. Like some really fucked up criminal

kind of shit.” “What?” I ask. “He didn’t seem like the type.” “You two did a lot of getting to know each other last night?” Kyle asks in a tone that rubs me the wrong way. “Maybe we did,” I say defiantly. “Well, I guess he failed to mention the human trafficking scandal from a few years ago. Everybody talks about it. They say he was selling young girls to members of his club in some kind of black market auctions.” “How do I know you’re not just making this up to keep me away from him? That you’re not just trying to decide who I do and don’t date?” “You don’t, Miley,” he says, voice full of frustration. “But maybe if you thought about it for two seconds, you’d realize I’m the only person in your life who has ever actually tried to protect you.” I know he doesn’t mean for them to, but his words bite straight through me. My chin quivers with the threat of emotion. I push it down. I’m not going to be so weak. I can be strong. I can be tough. It’s like Jayce said, I can put my walls up. “Say I believe you,” I say after a moment. “Even if I was still planning on seeing him again--which I’m not--what am I going to do, just ask him if he’s ever participated in human trafficking?” “Maybe ask around at work tonight. You might be surprised what you hear. Anyway, I’m going for a run. Don’t eat all that yourself, you’ll have a heart attack.” “If I ever decide to go back,” I say dryly as he laces up his shoes and throws on a hat before heading outside. I snatch up a piece of bacon and bite into it angrily. I feel like a spoiled brat for thinking it, but I wish Kyle would butt out of this one. I’ve needed him and appreciated his help my whole life, but just once I wish he’d let me deal with my own mess. I already decided to stay away from Jayce, even if I had the hottest dreams of my life starring him last night. I grab a biscuit, not caring that it’s so hot it burns and take a bite out of it that’s so big my cheek puffs out like a squirrel stashing nuts for winter. “Stupid men,” I say through a thick mouthful of food. More like stupid me, though. I already made an appointment to get tested for STDs this morning, because I was reckless enough to let him inside me without a condom. It was so easy to justify in the moment. My brain felt like it was floating on a cloud of white light, like the real world was miles and miles away. I told myself the chances of getting pregnant or catching something were so minimal, that I’d regret it if I stopped him and made him find a condom. Now

that sunlight is pouring through the windows? I feel like the world’s biggest idiot. He could’ve gotten me pregnant, for all I know. And if what Kyle said about him is true, there’s no way I could let a guy like that into my life, let alone my baby’s. My baby. Excitement mingles with a strong, strong dose of anxiety, making me feel so nauseous I can barely swallow down the huge bite of biscuit I took. I made my choice, however reckless it was. But if by some cruel twist of fate, I am carrying his baby? I owe it to myself and my potential unborn child to go back to the club and ask questions. My decision to continue working at the club or not just became an easy one. I need to know if there is any truth to what Kyle said about Jayce.

4

JAYCE

T

he music of the club pounds through the air, ringing in my ears and vibrating in my chest, but I hardly notice. Ever since last night, my mind has been laser focused on one thing and one thing alone. My princess. Miley. I probably should be embarrassed that I had to dig that up in the club’s employee records, but fuck it. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and I wanted to know her name. I’ve spent my whole life searching for the right woman. For years, it felt like something was wrong with me. Every relationship seemed shallow and pointless. Sex felt like a stiff exercise, an obligation, even. Then I happened to learn about my older brother Leo’s interest in BDSM. I wondered if maybe that was the missing piece, if maybe the reason I never seemed content with my relationships was because they weren’t the right kind. So I dove in. It felt right for the first time, like the world resonated with me. The only problem was I quickly developed a sense for what I wanted in a submissive. The bigger problem was as much as I knew there was something specific I was waiting for, I couldn’t put it into words. It was just a knowing that nothing and no one was living up to my desires. It became a dull ache in my chest, a longing that never seemed to go away or subside. I tried a few relationships after I stepped into the world of BDSM, but nothing was ever right. Then I saw Miley last night. It was like the fucking room stood still, like everything stopped mattering in that moment except making her mine-completely and totally. I knew there wasn’t anything to stop me from taking her, from showing her the power of what we could have together. I just wish I had the self-control to use a condom. I’ve always told myself I never wanted kids. My mom got sick shortly after she had me and passed away. I know it’s stupid, but I’ve always blamed myself, like bringing me into this world is what killed

her, or at the very least what weakened her enough that she couldn’t fight. If I got Miley knocked up, I’d be scared to death something would happen to her. As much as I might want to become a father, I wouldn’t ever risk the woman I love for such a selfish reason. I couldn’t survive having everything I want snatched away because of me. Letting her leave was the hardest thing I’ve done in a long time, but it was the right move. I could see the pain of Miley’s past etched in her eyes. I saw how she’s put her trust in the wrong men and had that trust betrayed, how she’s been abused, taken advantage of, and forgotten. She needs to understand that she’s free. I can’t snare her with force. The only way is to let her realize for herself how badly she wants to be mine, to be owned by me. So I have to wait. And now the wait is almost over, because she’ll be coming in for her shift in a couple hours. But I don’t plan to let her get much work done. The club is busier than usual tonight, but I spot Miley’s brother, Kyle, as he comes through the front. He’s tall and built like he might have been a football player in high school or college. He notices me and changes directions, heading straight for me. “Jayce--ah, Mr. Carlyle,” he says, correcting himself but not sounding sorry for the disrespectful slip. “I wanted to talk to you.” I size Kyle up, taking in the set of his eyes and his posture, doing my best to measure what kind of man he is. I can see that he probably looks after his sister, but there’s something else I sense about him--something I’m not sure I like. “About?” I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation. Let him see that I don’t like him. I’ll get a better sense of what kind of man he is than if I fake a smile and shake his hand. “My sister.” I raise an eyebrow. “Go on.” “She’s already in a relationship. His name is Cade.” “Not anymore. She broke things off with him. She told me as much last night.” Kyle nods his head, laughing humorlessly. “Yeah, I bet she did,” he leans close like he’s letting me in on a secret. “Look. I love my little sister, but she’s trouble. She likes to watch guys fight over her. She’ll say whatever she has to, and then her real boyfriend will show up one day with a baseball bat when you’re not expecting it.” Kyle mimics swinging a bat at my legs. I want to believe he’s lying. I want to believe it down to my fucking core, but a hairline fracture of doubt splits my certainty that I’ve found the perfect woman. I know I won’t act on his words. She deserves more than that, way fucking more. Whatever he says. But I can feel the slight doubt wriggling its way deep into my

mind where it will be nearly impossible to pull free. “Fuck off,” I growl. “You think you’re protecting her by talking shit about her? You should be fucking ashamed.” An emotion I can’t place flickers across Kyle’s face, but it’s gone in an instant. “I’m looking out for her. I don’t want to see her get into any more trouble. Or get any more innocent guys hurt,” he adds before turning to walk over to the bar. I wait with white-knuckled impatience for Miley to show up for her shift, but when twenty minutes have passed and she still hasn’t shown up, my instincts tell me something’s wrong. I pull out my phone as I push my way to the exit and jog to the parking lot. I call the general manager who runs the accounts and payroll for the club and tell him I need Miley’s address to send over a package that showed up at the club. He reads it off without question. I hang up the phone before jumping into my car. I may come barging into her place and make a total idiot out of myself, but she’s either missing work because something wrong, or she’s avoiding me. Either way, I’m going to find out.

5

MILEY

“Y

ou need to leave,” I say for what feels like the twentieth time. I’m standing in the kitchen next to the drawer full of knives and Cade is on the other side of the counter. His hair is disheveled and his eyes look a little bloodshot, but the worst part is the smell. I was only with him a few months, but I quickly learned to associate the smell of booze with danger, and right now it’s wafting to me even from several feet away. I still can’t believe I thought he was handsome when we first met. But I guess I should know how even the worst men can put on a clean shirt, comb their hair, and flash a charming smile for a few hours--just long enough to lure me in. “I’m not going to fucking leave without you,” he says. “Yes, you are.” My voice is as slow and controlled as I can manage. It feels like I’m trying to talk down a wild animal and even the slightest provocation could be deadly. But I’m not letting him intimidate me into going with him. He’s going to find out what’s in the goddamn drawer behind me if he tries anything. “Miley. I know I fucked up,” he says. He looks at me with a pathetic attempt at puppy-dog eyes, but to me it just looks grotesque, like some kind of monster putting on a mask--nothing in the expression is quite right, almost like it’s practiced and forced. “If you give me another chance I can be better to you.” “Another chance?” I ask, voice breaking. The emotion that wells up so suddenly isn’t for Cade. Fuck him. It’s for all the time I’ve wasted with men like him. All the unlucky circumstances and poor decisions up until this point. Maybe it took the worst one of them all to finally wake me up and make me realize I need to change. “Another chance to kick the shit out of me? To beat me? To abuse me?” “Careful,” he says, dropping the mask of false sorrow so that the cruelty I came to know from him is front-and-center. “I’m trying to do the right thing

here, but if you’re going to be a fucking bitch, well, I know how to get you in line.” I open the drawer behind me and yank a knife free, pointing it toward him. “I swear to God. If you come anywhere near me, I’ll do everything in my power to kill you. I swear it,” I promise. Amusement lights his eyes. “Everything in your power? You mean jack shit?” He takes a few slow steps around the counter, coming toward me. I sidestep, trying to use the counter to keep him as far away from me as possible as we both circle it. We change directions, and the amusement on his face turns to frustration. “You think this is a goddamn game?” He lunges forward, clearing half the counter and putting himself within grabbing distance of me and the knife. I take a wild swing, missing his hand by inches so that the knife clinks off the countertop and sends a nasty vibration through my hand. I’m two steps toward the door to the hallway outside when someone knocks so hard on the door it sounds like thunder. “Miley!” calls a deep voice from outside. “Are you in there? Miley!” “Help!” I shout, but it’s all I have time to do before Cade catches me from behind, pinning my arms to my side. With a loud crash, the door swings open, breaking off its hinges a split second later. I’ve never been as relieved to see someone in my life as I am to see Jayce push his way inside with those gray eyes somehow seeming as hot as fire. He assesses the situation in a fraction of a second, faster than Cade’s drunken mind can apparently keep up with, and takes one long step toward me before throwing a lightning-fast punch directly into Cade’s nose. His grip on me goes slack, letting me rush away from him and go to the wall. I turn quickly, holding my knife up in case Cade tries to come for me again. But he’s already on the ground, lifting his head dizzily and holding his bloody nose. Jayce towers over him, legs planted wide and fists clenched at his side--clearly sending the message that if Cade decides to get up again, he’ll regret it. “You’re Cade?” he asks in a voice that sends a chill through me. “Fuck you, asshole.” Cade’s voice is thick with what sounds like a broken nose and a mouthful of blood. Jayce kneels beside Cade, showing no sign of fear at all. Though I guess a man like Jayce has nothing to fear from Cade. It doesn’t take much strength to abuse a woman, especially one who makes the mistake of entrusting her submission to the wrong person. I see that more clearly now that the two men are side by side. Cade looks weak, pathetic, and frail. Jayce is thick with power and

confidence, making Cade look like a small boy by comparison. “I saw what you did to her,” Jayce says. His voice is calm and frighteningly quiet. He hasn’t said a single threatening word yet, but the promise of violence is so clear in his tone that I have to fight my instincts to squeeze my eyes shut. “I saw the bruises,” he continues. “The first I saw was here,” he says, mercilessly planting a punch to Cade’s eye. Cade’s head snaps back and bounces off the floor. He groans, pulling his hands up to cover his face. A confusing mixture of sympathy and disgust fills me. Cade is as defenseless against Jayce as I was against him, and as much as I’ve prayed for this moment, to see him get what he deserves and more… it doesn’t feel like I thought it would. I think to how it felt to be hit like that and know I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. All I really wish is that Cade and men like him would never hurt anyone else. So how can I stand here and feel good about watching him get beat senseless? “Jayce…” I say. “It’s enough, it’s--” “The second was here,” says Jayce, who pulls back his leg and kicks Cade hard in the ribs. Cade folds in on himself, squirming and groaning. I feel like I’m going to be sick. “Jayce!” I shout, dropping the knife and running to pull back on him, to stop this before he ends up killing Cade. Jayce turns on me suddenly, and for a moment it’s like he’s not even there--I only see wild rage in his eyes. But in a few moments, he seems to wrestle back some control, features softening as he looks me over, putting his hands to my cheeks, my shoulders, my sides--searching me for any sign of injury. “I’m okay, Jayce. He only grabbed me.” “You’re sure?” he asks. “I’m sure. Thanks to you,” I say. Jayce turns to look at Cade again, and I see some of the inhuman anger start to creep back into his features. I take him by the cheeks and turn his face to mine, standing on my tiptoes I kiss him. It’s the first thing I can think of to stop him from exacting more revenge on Cade, but even as the passion of the moment threatens to sweep me away, I know I’ve made a mistake. I can practically feel Cade’s eyes burning into us. When I pull back from the kiss, Cade has already shuffled toward the door, face bloody and hands clutching at his side. “I’m not done,” he says before stepping over the broken door and into the hallway. “I could kill him,” Jayce says lightly. I look at him in disbelief until I realize he’s joking.

He flashes a half-smile back at me. “Sorry. Too soon?” “Yes,” I say with a small laugh. “How did you know I was in trouble?” “You didn’t show up for work. I was waiting all day for you to come, then…” He looks slightly uncomfortable for the first time since we’ve met. Jayce clears his throat before he frowns at me, clearly searching for the right way to ask a difficult question. “You and Cade,” he says finally. “Had you really ended things before last night? Before what we did?” “Yes…” I say slowly, not understanding why he would ask me something like that. “I told you I did.” He nods, but there’s a strange look on his face. “Wait,” I say. “Did you talk to Kyle?” I’ve made a habit of keeping the identity of my boyfriends a secret from Kyle in the past, because he has a bad habit of making up stories to sabotage my relationships. Now, seeing the way Jayce is looking at me and the fact that he questioned what I told him last night has me wondering if Kyle is back to his old crap. “I did.” “Wow,” I say slowly. “What he said about you was probably a lie, too.” I’m talking more to myself at this point. “What?” asks Jayce. “He said you were charged with human trafficking a few years ago. He was obviously hoping it would spook me into staying away.” “Did it?” I tilt my head, considering. “Maybe a little,” I admit. “But I was going to ask around at work tonight. And then…” “ “And then,” he prompts “What did Kyle tell you?” I ask, changing the direction of our conversation. “It’s not important. I would’ve only really believed it if I heard it from you.” “That’s a lot of trust to put in a stranger,” I say with a small smile. “You didn’t feel like a stranger when I was fucking that tight little pussy of yours.” I look away guiltily. “You know that’s not what I mean.” He steps closer, putting his hand on my arm. I hate how the simplest touch from him seems to blast away all my well-laid plans to stay away. “Whatever you need, I’ll give it. Just ask.” I shake my head, looking down at our feet, wishing I had a magical crystal ball that tells me the right answers. Whether or not I should trust this man when every single time I’ve ever trusted a man, it’s led to me getting hurt--Kyle included. “How do I know it’ll be different?” I ask. I think I might have to explain more, but I can see from the look on Jayce’s

face that he understands. “Because you feel what I feel,” he says softly. “You do. I can see it in your eyes, princess.” I look away, feeling like meeting his eyes for more than a few seconds is dangerous. Looking into those stormcloud gray eyes is like wading out into a riptide. Where every second I stare into them is another step deeper and deeper, until I can feel the tug of the current at my waist, threatening to pull me so deep I’ll be swept away. Right now, that scares me more than anything. “Maybe I feel something. But I’ve trusted my feelings before, and look where that got me,” I say, motioning to the few drops of blood on the carpet where Cade was lying. “One date,” he says. “Give me just one date. You pick the place, the time, everything. If you still feel uneasy after it’s over, then you gave it a shot and you won’t look back and ask yourself if you made a mistake passing this up.” “Passing this up?” I ask with a grin. “Passing you up, you mean?” He shrugs. “Sounded better my way.” I laugh, then shake my head and sigh. “Please don’t make me regret this.” “Not a chance, princess. Just tell me when, and you’re going to have the night of your life.” I can’t help smiling a little, because the idea that pops into my head is too perfect to pass up.

6

JAYCE

W

hen Miley insisted on driving separately to meet at the place she picked, I wasn’t sure what to think. It was only yesterday that I punched out her sleazy ex, but it already feels like I’ve been waiting weeks to see her again. As much as I’m dying to get her back into the club, or better yet--my personal play room, I know that’s not what she needs. Not quite yet, at least. She needs to see that this isn’t another mistake, and I’ll be damned if I don’t prove it to her. I look up at the place. Galaxy Golf. It’s a huge, ten story driving range that looms above a green expanse of astro-turf, but there are electronic targets scattered across the range. I looked the place up before we came, and apparently it makes some kind of game out of it. You get more points for hitting the center of the target or for hitting targets farther away, and you get the most points for hitting the back wall. I have to admit, it sounds kind of fun, even if I’m absolutely shit at golf. When I finally see Miley walking toward the front of the building, she’s flanked by a woman wearing black fishnet stockings, some kind of black coat with metal rings, and enough makeup that she looks like she’s about to walk on stage to perform at a rock concert. I feel my eyebrows creeping upwards. She brought a friend? Fucking seriously? My annoyance is forgotten for a moment as I take in Miley. She’s wearing tight, dark wash jeans that make her legs go on for days and a short leather jacket over a dark blue corset that pushes her perfect breasts up and shows just the slightest amount of skin at her waist. She’s the perfect vision of subdued and sex kitten. Damn. She’s lucky she brought a friend, or I might lose my conviction to keep this date PG. With annoyance, I wonder if that’s why she decided to bring a friend in the first place--to keep me honest.

As much as I wish I had her to myself, I have to give her credit for her cleverness. “You must be Jayce,” her friend says. “I’m Darla.” Her voice is a surprisingly deep, monotone, and her sleepy eyes never seem to blink. “I see,” I say, looking to Miley. “I didn’t realize you were bringing a friend. I could’ve invited one of my own.” “Yeah,” Darla quips. “Maybe you could have set me up with them.” She rolls her eyes and walks inside with this strange, stiff posture and slow but forced grace. I turn to Miley once we have a moment of privacy. “What are you playing at?” I can tell she’s working hard to keep her nerve, but she stares right back at me. “I brought her because I don’t trust myself. She’ll keep me from doing anything stupid. And…” Miley says with mild reluctance. “Darla loves this place.” I look toward her friend with more than a hint of skepticism. “Seriously?” “What?” Miley asks with a mischievous glint in her eye. “She doesn’t look like a golfer to you?” I chuckle. “Where exactly did you two meet?” “I’ve known her since Pre-K. We were both always getting bullied, so it was one of those unlikely allies kind of things.” Miley says it so offhandedly, but I can tell her childhood isn’t just a memory to her. It’s a scar she carries with her every day. An irrational anger rises up in me at the fact that I’m only now finding her, that I wasn’t there to shield her when she needed it most. But I know all I can do is be good to her now and give her the life she deserves, if she’ll let me. “Any of these bullies still around?” I ask. “I could pay them back, with interest, of course.” Miley eyes me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, because I know the thing with Cade…” She chews her bottom lip for a second, searching for the right words. “I needed you last night. But having a guy in my life to punch everyone who wrongs me in the face isn’t what I need, not in the long run.” “I could always punch them in the neck,” I suggest. She plants a fist on her hip and gives me glare, but she can’t keep from grinning a little. “I didn’t take you for the type to have much of a sense of humor.” “Well, the first time we met, I was… distracted. And the second didn’t exactly seem like the place for humor.” “Distracted?” she asks.

“I had more important things occupying my mind,” I say, letting my eyes rove over her body for emphasis. Her cheeks flush the most beautiful shade of red. I smirk, which makes her take a sudden interest in her shoes. “Sorry. It still doesn’t feel like that was me.. I hardly recognize the me that did something so… reckless.” “The real question isn’t if you recognize her. It’s if you liked her.” Miley raises her eyebrow thoughtfully. “Better than the usual me,” she says softly. “The usual me seems to only find ways to wind up the victim.” “Don’t do that,” I say firmly. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You say you needed me last night? Fuck, Cade needed me. If I hadn’t shown up I think you would’ve gutted him in the middle of your living room.” She laughs, but the humor quickly drains from her face as she realizes I’m right. “I really do appreciate what you did. I don’t know if I properly thanked you. And I’m sorry for how I’ve been. I guess we just met at a weird point in my life.” “You’re apologizing?” I ask in disbelief. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m over here jumping through hoops to keep you from running off. The only thing you need to apologize for is being so goddamn irresistible that I’m willing to make a fool out of myself for you.” “You making a fool out of yourself… Now that’s something I’d like to see,” she says with the first real, full smile I’ve seen from her. “Ask and you shall recieve, princess,” I say. “Come on.” We go inside, where Darla is waiting by the front doors with her arms crossed. Judging by the look on her face, she ran out of patience about a millisecond after she stepped inside. “Great,” she says dryly. “You’re ready.” I look to Miley, who gives me a warning look not to antagonize her friend, so I hold my tongue as we get checked in and brought to one of the bays on the top floor, where a digital screen displays the rules and our scores. A few of what I guess are the basic golf clubs are stored at every bay. We also have a table with seating and menus. “Nice place,” I say, looking out over the view of the driving range below. Huge nets stretch at least two hundred or three hundred feet in the air all around the range, protecting the freeway in the distance from rogue golf balls. The sound of clubs cracking into balls rings out all around, and a constant spray of white balls flies out from below and beside us. “Miley says you’re a golfer,” I say to Darla, trying to ease some of the awkward hostility that seems to radiate from the woman. She rolls her eyes at me before walking to the touch screen panel beside the clubs. She taps her long black fingernails on the screen a few times, grabs a club,

and then waves it over a sensor that sends a ball rolling onto a small patch of green near the edge of the driving bay. She gives me a look that I don’t think is supposed to be comical--a smug glare is what I would call it--then takes a monstrous swing at the ball. Her club buzzes over the top of the ball and sends it bouncing twice before it rolls into the net at the edge of the platform. “Fuck!” she shouts, causing a mom with her young daughter in the bay beside us to cover her daughter’s ears and shoot a nasty look our way. I lurch forward, failing to hold back a laugh as Darla tosses her club down and stomps over to take a seat at the table. “Shoulder injury,” she says flatly. “My swing hasn’t been the same since last January.” “I see,” I say, but I still can’t keep the amusement from my voice or my face. Miley seems like she’s able to hold her own composure until she looks at me, which causes her to almost burst out laughing. “Your turn,” she says shakily, barely holding in a laugh. I grab the biggest club I can and look down the range toward the back wall, where I imagine it won’t be that hard to hit the thing. After all, I’m holding a big ass metal stick… how hard can it be? I wind up, swing as hard as I can, and hear a disappointingly quiet sound as I barely catch the edge of the ball and send it careening so far to the right that it hits the net at the edge of the range. I sigh, laughing a little at myself. “Guess there’s a reason people practice this,” I say, handing the club to Miley, who takes it and moves to line up her shot. She sets up in a way that makes me think she might actually know what she’s doing. She pulls back the club and even my untrained eye can tell she’s about to hit a great shot. Sure enough, the sound rings out, putting my own dinky shot to shame. I watch the ball sail until it dings against the farthest target. The screen above the clubs shows that she earned twelve points. I give her a round of applause. “So this is why you wanted to come here?” “I like the atmosphere,” she says. “Right.” “If you two are done eye-fucking,” Darla sighs. “I’d appreciate some peace and quiet so I can concentrate.” “Darla!” Miley gasps. The corner of Darla’s mouth actually twitches up at Miley’s outrage. “You’re right. It’s pointless to broadcast the obvious.” Darla sets up to take her next shot while I give Miley a long, you seriously brought her, kind of look. Miley at least has the decency to look like she regrets

it now, if only just a little. Despite Darla’s constant drone of depressing, melodramatic one-liners, the night is one of the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Somewhere along the way, I forget I’m supposed to be proving my worth to Miley and I just enjoy spending time with her. But when Darla rolls her eyes at us for the hundredth time and says she’s going to the bar to get drinks, Miley and I are alone for the first time since we got here. I let out a long breath once Darla goes inside. “You feel that?” I ask. “Feel what?” asks Miley. “It’s hard to say. Like a dark cloud just parted… like the sun is shining for the first--” “Stop it!” laughs Miley, who swats at my arm. “Darla is really sweet once you get to know her.” “You’ll have to pardon me if I find that hard to believe.” Miley smiles, picking at a loose chip of paint on the table. “I guess it’s hard to go through what she and I went through together and not feel connected somehow, no matter how different we are. Some days I’d just excuse myself from class to go to the bathroom to be alone, and more often than not, Darla was already there. She laughs distantly. “We spent so much time talking about how much people suck in those bathrooms.” “Why did they tease you?” I ask, genuinely not understanding. From where I’m sitting, I see a beautiful woman. When she lets her guard down, her personality shines through so clearly it’s like a beacon, and I can’t wrap my head around what there would be not to like. Her finger digs more forcefully at the chip of paint and her head tilts with the effort, lips pursing. “It depended on the year. When I was really little, it was my glasses--” she pauses at my confused look. “Contacts,” she says, pointing to her eyes. “Then it was how bad I was at sports.” I nod, seeing something of a pattern. She got contacts because she was teased for her glasses. She practiced golf--and maybe other sports--because she was teased for not being any good. “Then things really got ugly when the rumor started.” “The rumor?” I ask. “I dated a guy in seventh grade named Jake, if you could even call it dating. He asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend, I said yes because I was stupid and lonely. He got his parents to take us to the movies and drop us off. I thought he was going to try to kiss me or hold my hand, but maybe he was too nervous, because we just watched the movie and that was it. It felt weird and awkward, so I broke things off with him the next day at school. That afternoon, I started

noticing people acting weird around me. Girls were giving me dirty looks. Guys were leering at me and laughing. It was mortifying. “It wasn’t until Darla told me about the rumor going around that I knew why. She said Jake was telling everyone I gave him a blowjob during the movie and that I let him finger me. It didn’t matter what really happened. All that mattered was the stupid lie he told because he wanted to save face.” I clench my teeth when I imagine her younger self dealing with all that bullshit. “Let me guess, I’m not allowed to find this Jake asshole and punch him in the face?” She smiles. “I’d rather you didn’t.” “How did someone who went through so much hell end up so sweet?” “Who says I’m sweet?” she asks with a devious little smirk. I laugh. “Okay then, Miss Wild Thing. Tell me the worst thing you’ve ever done.” She leans forward, lowering her eyebrows dramatically. “Ninth grade. I was riding the bus on the way home from school and tossed my gum out the window without thinking. A second later, I heard a scream. I guess it went out my window and got sucked right back in a window near the back. It landed in Jenny Fisher’s hair.” “Oh shit,” I say, laughing. “Yeah. And she went raging around the bus, screaming and threatening to get the principal involved if someone didn’t fess up, but no one talked. I guess no one saw anything. And I didn’t say a word. And,” she adds with a satisfied little smile. “I laughed my whole way home once I got off the bus, too. How’s that for sweet?” I grin. “That’s it? That’s your worst story?” “What? You’ve got a better one?” she asks. I tilt my head, mind immediately touching on some of the darker moments in my life--moments I don’t care to bring to light right now. I haven’t always been a good man, and I have the stories to prove it. There will be a time to share those stories with Miley, but our first real date isn’t the right place, so I think back to when I was younger. “Maybe,” I say after dredging up an old memory. “I was a small kid back in middle school, and some of the other guys used to pick on me.” “Seriously?” asks Miley. “It’s kind of hard to picture you having ever been small.” I chuckle. “Seriously. My older brother Leo was always big, though. So I knew most kids wouldn’t take it too far when it came to bullying me. They all knew if any of it ever got back to my brother, he’d beat the shit out of them. But

one day I got tired of it, of knowing my brother was the only thing standing between me and the other kids. “So I made a plan. There was this hill the kids would ride their bikes down on the way home from school. It was a pretty steep road, but naturally, they liked to go as fast as they could. One afternoon, I hid on the side of the road in a bush with a bucket of loose gravel and rocks. I waited until I saw the kids who were always giving me shit at the top of the hill and gaining speed.” I pause, feeling a dark sort of guilt and ugliness rise up inside. I chose this story on a whim, only remembering it as the time I got those kids back--but in the telling of it, I’m realizing I was wrong for thinking some of the truly fucked up things I’ve done didn’t reach back even to my childhood. My face twists a little as a finish the story. “I threw the bucket of gravel out. I still remember the way their eyes bulged at me just before they hit the rocks. I could see so much in so few seconds: fear, regret, anger… Then all hell broke loose. The four of them went skidding and flipping down the hill. It must’ve been another ten feet to the bottom, and by the time they all got there, they were bloody and bruised, limping to their feet like they had just survived a bomb blast.” I laugh softly, but there’s no humor in it. “They didn’t even try to come after me. They just hobbled off, dragging their mangled bikes behind them. It was the last time anyone messed with me. The most fucked up part is I couldn’t make myself feel bad for them. I just kept thinking to all the times they had tried to mess with me and what they would’ve done if they weren’t afraid of my brother, and no matter how I looked at it, it felt like they got what they deserved.” I can imagine how it all must sound to Miley. She sees me now and probably can’t imagine me back then, lanky and small, always trailing in my brother’s shadow. If you looked at he and I side by side now, you’d never guess we were so different when we were kids. I caught up to him, but we took completely different paths to where we are today. Instead of looking disgusted or appalled like I expect, Miley reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. The gesture surprises me--shocks me, even. I look down at her small hand on mine and know with more certainty than I felt before: she’s the one. She’s not just the perfect submissive for me, she’s the perfect woman. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “You know the most messed up part?” she asks. “Somehow you have to feel like the bad guy when you stand up to the bullies. It doesn’t really make sense, does it?” I shake my head. “I think it’s guilt. Guilt that there was probably another way to solve the problem without stooping to their level.”

“Maybe. But should a dog feel guilty if it’s backed into a corner and bites when it feels like it’s run out of options?” I grin. “You’re really something, you know that?” Her cheeks turn bright red and she looks away. A smile plays at her lips, but it seems like her shyness is winning the battle, because she smooths her features. “I don’t know about that.” “I do,” I say, taking her hand this time. “And I need to know this isn’t the only date you’re going to let me take you on.” “Hey,” she says with mock anger. “The deal was that I get a whole date to decide.” I lean across the table inching closer to her. “I had something planned for the end of our date, but it’s not going to work with her,” I say, nodding toward Darla, who sits inside the building and is throwing back a glass of something brown. “Then I guess it’ll have to wait until date number two,” says Miley. I lick my lips. “You’re a goddamn tease, do you know that?” She aims her big, innocent baby blues eyes up at mine in the most irresistible way. “It’d only be teasing if you weren’t going to get what you wanted.” “Then I get to pick the next date,” I say. She swallows, eyes still trained on mine as she regards me. “Deal.”

7

MILEY

“Y

ou’ve got to talk to me sometime,” Kyle says. He’s yanking the laces on his shoes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t snap. “I was trying to protect you. That’s all.” I cross my arms. It’s not like I’ve been deliberately not talking to him, but after my date with Jayce last night, I came straight home and went to bed. “Protect me?” I ask. “You lied to him and me.” “I know.”. He at least has the sense to look guilty, which wins him a few points. But just a few. “Look, it’s just not the life I want for you. Hooking up with some BDSM club owner? What brother would want that for his sister.” “Did you you ever stop to think maybe what I want for myself is more important than what you want?” He grimaces. “Of course it is. But look at your last few boyfriends. An alcoholic, a drug-addict, a guy who was secretly married, and a lowlife who bea-” “I get it,” I snap. “But this time feels different. I don’t expect that to sound convincing or for you to believe me, but I can tell you this much. Every time you try to push us apart, some irrational, stubborn part of me is only going to want to get closer to him. So like it or not, you’re going to just have to let this play out and see where it goes.” “What if where it goes is you getting hurt again?” he asks. “I can’t just sit by while that happens.” “I can take care of myself, Kyle,” I say more softly. He doesn’t deserve my anger, not after everything he’s done for me, so I push down all the negativity I might be feeling and make myself think back to all the times I’ve needed him and he’s been there. “You’ve bailed me out of so many shitty situations, and I’m so thankful I have a big brother looking out for me. But you can’t protect me

forever. You’ve got to let me start figuring things out for myself, or I never will.” He lowers his head, resting his elbows on his knees as he sits on the couch, one shoe still untied. It’s a long time before he looks back up and speaks. “I’ll stay out of it as much as I can, but I swear to God. If he hurts you, I’ll fucking kill him.” “Kyle…” I say. “Fine, I’ll just break his legs or something. Is that better?” I laugh. “I guess that’s fair.” Kyle grins. “Damn right it is.” He laces up his shoe and gets up to give me a quick hug. “You’ll tell me if you need my help, right?” “Yes,” I say. “Now get out of here. I’ve got plans today and I need to get ready. He looks like he wants to say something--to ask what they are, but he impresses me when he ends up just nodding and leaving with a quick wave over his shoulder.

I T ’ S JUST A FEW MINUTES BEFORE J AYCE IS SUPPOSED TO PICK ME UP FOR OUR date tonight when my phone buzzes. I grab it off the counter and see I have a text from a number I don’t recognize. I click to read it. This isn’t over. -Cade. I set the phone down quickly on the counter. I blocked his number after we broke things off, so he either had to get a new phone or text me from someone else’s to get that message through. For some reason, the extra effort makes it that much more ominous than if he had just drunk texted me. It makes me think he’s completely sober, and still fuming over what happened when he tried to attack me in my apartment. I make a quick call to block the new number, delete the text, and do my best to put it from my mind. As chilling as the threat was, I try to tell myself it’s just his bruised ego talking. He probably wants to feel like he got the last word in and will now slink away like the snake he is. I feel my stomach cramp in the oddest way, almost like I’m on my period even though it’s not due for another week. I know it can’t possibly be symptoms of a pregnancy yet, but my mind immediately goes to that night with Jayce. I got tested afterwards, but I’m still waiting on the results. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I don’t even know if my reckless night is going to lead to a baby. I try to imagine Jayce’s reaction if I am pregnant. There would be no doubt as to who the father is because Cade and I hadn’t had sex in weeks before the

break-up. He was content with beating me and forcing himself in my mouth to “shut” me up anytime I cried out. My bruises have faded to the point that I can cover them with makeup now, but I still feel the slight soreness every time I move. It’s a shameful reminder of how bad I let things get, and it’s also a wake up call about how careful I need to be with Jayce. I can’t just let him charm me into complacency. I won’t sit by and let things get out of hand again. Not that I can really imagine Jayce being like the men who came before him. I feel like I got a glimpse inside that head of his last night at Galaxy Golf. I never would’ve thought a man like him could’ve had a childhood even remotely like mine, but he did, and he’s more like me than I could have ever guessed. We’ve both suffered at the hands of others. We’ve both had our faces pressed to the ground and been told to give up, to quit. The difference is he overcame it. In so many ways, I still feel like there’s a knee in my back, that constant force of oppression telling me I’m not good enough and I don’t matter--saying I deserve all the things that have happened to me. Knowing Jayce has been there and made it through what I have draws me to him more powerfully than any sexual attraction ever could--even if that part of my attraction to him is distractingly strong. I’d never admit as much to him, but submitting to Jayce was the most sublime, sensual experience of my life. Hardly an hour has gone by that I don’t think back to a few nights ago and the way he claimed me in that cold, blue room while people watched. A knock at the door startles me from my thoughts. I do a quick check of my hair in the hallway mirror and make sure my clothes and makeup still look okay before opening the door. Jayce waits for me in a dark suit that manages to make his already broad shoulders look even more masculine. His hair is combed back in a way that somehow looks messy but neat and clean. It only takes one look in his eyes to know that his surprise date isn’t going to be to a golf range. “Evening,” he says with a smoldering grin. God. It’s like I can forget how much of a presence he has in the time we’re apart. A few minutes or a few hours and I start convincing myself he’s not actually as consuming as I remember him being. I tell myself next time I’ll be more composed around him, or that I’ll have more self-control. But whether he’s letting his guard down and telling me about his past or commanding me to obey his every sexual desire, Jayce has a hold on me. I can’t put my finger on why, but I feel it as surely as if there was a collar around my neck and a leash clutched firmly in his hand. Every moment I spend with him brings me closer to him--takes the slack out of the leash another few inches until I’m drawn so close I can feel the heat that practically burns from the surface of

his skin. Inch by inch, he’s making me his, and every hour that goes by chips away at my desire to stop him. “Hi,” I say, my voice feeling thick and awkward. He smoothly takes my arm and leads me into the hall, where he closes my door and waits for me to lock it. “I see they fixed it,” he says, nodding to the door he smashed down when he burst into stop Cade. “Yeah,” I say. “Thank you, by the way. I would’ve gotten it handled if you hadn’t sent over that repair guy.” “You break it, you buy it,” he says with a casual wave of his hand. “Besides, I liked having an excuse to do something nice for you. I think most women would’ve already dropped about two thousand hints for me to buy them something ridiculously expensive. You hardly seem to care.“ “We never had much,” I say as we wait for the elevator. “Growing up, I mean. My dad worked a factory job trying to make enough to support us on his own, but he probably spent half of it on booze, so… our Christmas tree and our pantry were always pretty barren.” The elevator dings. Jayce guides me inside by the small of my back. Something in his touch is so reassuring. It’s protective--possessive, even--but it doesn’t make me feel claustrophobic like my brother’s over-protectiveness. It makes me feel safe and secure. Happy. “I’d think that would make you even more interested in money,” he says. “I guess it could’ve. But if I had learned to rely on money for happiness, I would’ve had a really hard time ever being happy. So maybe I just forced myself to stop thinking about it.” “Have you been happy?” he asks. The tone of his voice is so gentle that his question touches me in a way I wouldn’t think just a few words could. I feel my throat get tight and tears sting at my eyes, but I master my emotions with a brief struggle and force out the words. “Sometimes. Maybe.” It’s the truth. I could’ve said yes. I could’ve lied to him, but there was so much compassion in the way he asked, that I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him. “That’s going to change,” he says firmly. “When you’re mine.” His words send a trickle of heat through my body that pools in my stomach and makes my breath feel short. “You mean as a submissive?” I ask. “I mean mine,” he says. I wait for him to elaborate, but he apparently thinks he’s made his point and stands quietly until the elevator reaches the ground floor.

J AYCE PARKS HIS CAR OUTSIDE HIS CLUB , LOOKING OVER TO ME IN A VERY serious--very sexy--way. “You had your turn taking me on the date you wanted. I played along nicely, didn’t I?” “Yes…” I say slowly, not liking where this is going. “Now it’s your turn to play nicely for me. Though I hope you’ll end up doing more than just playing,” he adds with a hint of a smirk. “I want you to be my submissive for the night. Not just in private. Not in some dark room where no one can see you. I want to show you off.” I swallow. “In there?” I ask. He nods. “And I want you to wear these while I do,” he says, his smirk widening as he lifts a pair of black panties from within the center console. I frown at them, even though the idea of wearing the panties he wants me to wear already has heat building between my legs. “Why those?” I ask. He waggles a finger at me. “No more questions, princess. If you’re going to learn how to truly please me as a submissive, it’s time you start learning how to properly behave. So you will put these panties on, and you’ll let me watch.” “What?” I ask. His expression darkens. It only takes a look to make it perfectly clear to me that I’m not supposed to be asking questions or trying to get any kind of explanation. I’m just supposed to obey. There’s a freedom in the realization, a kind of reckless abandon in what he’s promising, and despite all my reservations, doubts, and fears from the past, I know I want to say yes. I watch him with a defiant look as I shimmy out of my panties, careful to keep my dress from riding up and giving him too good of a view as I do. To my surprise, he holds out his hands like he expects me to hand him the panties. I do as he wants, which makes another rush of excited heat flood my body. God. He’s so confident. There’s not a hint of shame or embarrassment over wanting to take my used panties, and while the kinky request might creep me out coming from anyone else, the unapologetic confidence Jayce has makes it far from creepy. Somehow he makes it sexy, even. I take the black panties and slide into them, noticing that Jayce doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s watching my every move. “Perfect,” he says once I’ve got them on. “Now we can begin.” He gets out of the car, opens my door, and helps me up. “There are a few rules you will need to follow, or you’ll find out why you’re wearing those panties.” I frown in confusion, but he continues on, ignoring my unasked question. “First, you will not make eye contact with another man so long as we are in

the club. Second, you will not speak unless spoken to. Third, you will obey me without question, no matter what my request. Lastly, you give me the respect I deserve as your Dom and refer to me as Sir. Do you have any questions?” Only a few thousand. “No. Sir,” I say, nearly forgetting to call him Sir already. The club bustles with activity, as usual, but for the first time I feel like one of the sexy women I watch slink around with handsome men, watching from my side of the bar longingly at something I could never have. It feels good to be possessed by Jayce. He makes it painfully clear to anyone who looks our way that I’m his by holding his hand in the center of my back and subtly guiding me as he moves, making sure I stay perfectly in step with him. I scan the crowd for Cade because his threatening text is still fresh in my mind. I don’t know if I ever really got to know the real Cade during the unfortunate time I spent dating him, but I do know that men like him don’t just walk away. Especially, not after what happened with Jayce in my apartment. Still, standing beside Jayce, I know I’m safe. At least from other men. I guess the jury is still out on whether I’m safe from him. I have to do a very un-ladylike step as I try to discreetly spread my legs a little to adjust the panties Jayce has me wearing. They feel slightly odd near the front, like the material is thicker or they are heavier than usual, but my subtle move seems to relieve the discomfort. It seems like Jayce knows every single person in the club. I lose track of how many people he introduces me to, and each time he specifically explains that I’m his submissive. I can’t say why, but no matter how many couples he tells I’m his submissive, I feel proud every time. Maybe it’s just the simple fact that Jayce is jaw-droppingly gorgeous, and I’d have to be out of my mind not to be proud to have him walking around practically bragging about having me. As far as I can tell, I obey all of Jayce’s rules, until a man and two women stop us just as Jayce seems to be leading us to one of the back areas of the club. “Jayce Carlyle in the flesh!” says the man in a booming voice. I carefully avoid looking up to see his face. Even though Jayce doesn’t seem to be looking my way as he greets the trio, I feel like he’ll know if I break his rule somehow. All I can see is that the man is barrel-chested and almost bursts out of the expensive suit he wears. The women at his side are full of thick, beautiful curves, but just to be on the cautious side, I don’t look up and meet their eyes, either. “Barry,” says Jayce in a neutral tone that tells me he isn’t a particularly big fan of this man. “It’s good to see you and your new…” “These two are just run-of-the-mill submissives,” explains Barry, who gives

both women a generous squeeze on their asses as if punctuating his point. “No slaves for me this season. Too complicated. Too many rules and too much commitment. Am I right?” “I wouldn’t know,” Jayce says dryly. Barry’s feet shift, and though I’m staring down at his shoes, I can tell he’s facing me now. “And who is this lovely minx at your side?” “This is Miley, my submissive.” “Ahhh, is she now? Does she speak?” he asks with a falsely playful tone. “Not to you,” Jayce says. His tone has gone from neutral to cold. Barry snaps his fingers, which draws my eyes instinctively up--where I accidentally look straight into his eyes. He has thick eyebrows and mediterranean features, but there’s something cocky and dirty in his expression I don’t like at all. I look immediately back to the ground, but I see Jayce reach a hand into his pocket and I nearly gasp out loud when my pussy starts to vibrate. My eyes go wide and I move my hands half-way toward my crotch to suppress the vibrations before I realize how crazy I would look. I’m forced to keep my hands at my side and close my eyes, slowly piecing together what’s going on. The panties… He made me wear some kind of panties with a remote-controlled vibrator, and he must have the remote in his pocket. So my punishment is to have to endure the maddeningly good sensation in public--just a few inches away from people.. I put a hand to my mouth as carefully as I can, acting like I’m coughing to disguise the hitching of breath that drew their eyes. I see Jayce grinning when no one else is looking, and I tell myself I need to find a way to pay him back for this particular cruel creativity if I ever get the chance. “Are you alright, dear?” asks Barry, who steps forward and starts to reach for me. Jayce steps between us, knocking Barry’s hand away so quickly I barely see it happen. “You’ll keep your eyes and your hands off my submissive if you want to remain welcome in my club. Am I making myself clear?” Barry stutters out an apology, laughing awkwardly as he does. “Of course, of course, Mr. Carlyle. I was only trying to help, I do hope you’ll find it in your heart to…” he says, trailing off when Jayce leads me away from the man before he’s even finished apologizing. It’s only once we start walking that Jayce finally turns off the vibrations. He leads me into one of the back rooms, pausing to look at me before we move in. “Each time you break one of my rules, I’ll leave it on longer. And don’t think I

won’t make you cum in public, princess, because I’m just waiting for you to give me an excuse.” I frown. “He wasn’t supposed to even look at me, but you’re okay with me cumming in front of strangers?” Jayce pulls a small black object out of his pants and presses the button, setting the vibrations off. I clutch the hem of my dress from the intensity of the vibrations, which seem even more powerful than the first time. The sensation takes the breath from my lungs, and Jayce moves me until my back is against the door frame and his body is inches from mine. “I’m answering you only because I choose to, princess. But you will pay the consequences for questioning me each and every time you dare to.” I nod my head and close my eyes. My body is already shaking from the tremors of pleasure running through me like tendrils of flame. It’s not just the vibrations. It’s the exposure, the strangeness of being in plain sight of anyone who cared enough to look. All the elements blend together into a wonderful mix of euphoria tinged with the fear that I will start moaning and making a scene by having an orgasm in the middle of the crowded club for seemingly no reason. “I can’t tolerate a man like him touching you or even thinking of you. But with a certain level of anonymity and detachment, I would enjoy taking you in public.” I want to tell him how confusing that is and how little sense it makes, but if I’m being honest with myself I can understand to a certain degree. There is a strong vibe of creepiness coming from Barry. So I understand how him looking at me sexually or trying to touch me would seem more personal and intimdate, even if it was only one-sided. But being taken by Jayce in front of others, like that first night in the room with the glass window… that felt different. It was just something thrilling and exciting in the background.He clicks the button, stopping the vibrations, but not immediately stepping away from me. “The intensity will keep going up,” he says. “So if you think you’ll be able to keep avoiding a scene when you misbehave, you may want to reconsider.” He takes me by the small of my back again, finally leading me through the doorway into one of the areas set off from the main lobby. I still haven’t been inside any of these areas except the room with the stage I saw that first night Jayce took me, and the blue room. I’m completely shocked when I realize we’re in a restaurant. I thought I had smelled food a couple of times before when I was behind the bar, but I always thought I imagined it because the smell was so faint. The idea that an entire kitchen and wait staff works here and I had no idea is more than a little surprising. Booths and tables are arranged much like they would be at a dinner

show, except the show on the stage is seven bare-chested men and one completely naked woman. I stop, looking toward the scene in a mixture of horror and fascination. She’s bound by ropes that suspend her from the ceiling and blindfolded. The skin of her breasts and ass is pink, and my guess it’s from the paddles some of the men are holding. “Jayce!” I whisper in alarm. “Is she okay?” “I’m going to forgive the fact that you spoke out of turn, because your concern here is reasonable. But yes, she’s probably having the most sensually enlightening moment of her life right now. She volunteered for this, after all. In fact, the waitlist to be featured like this is so long she likely had to wait several weeks for her turn.” “She wanted this?” I ask incredulously. “This lifestyle has many, many things to offer for many different appetites, princess.” “Does that kind of thing turn you on?” I ask, feeling a little nervous for the answer. I’m not about to judge him for his sexual fantasies, but at the same time, I’m desperately hoping he wouldn’t ever want me to do something like that, because I know I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want him to be okay with sharing me with that many men, either--or any men, for that matter. “Personally? No,” he says. “I’ve never been particularly drawn to the extremes of BDSM. It has never been about extremes for me. Think of it like this: everyone has a line. For some, the line is drawn before their clothes even come off. For others, the line is sex with a stranger,, or with ten strangers. The most important thing is to find your line and bring yourself to the absolute edge of it. You’ll never feel greater pleasure than when you’re straddling the line between too much and not enough. Go over the line, and your discomfort will taint your pleasure. Stay too far away from it and you’re cheating the experience.” “Where’s your line?” I ask. “That’s the thing,” he says with a grin. “One of the reasons I know you’re meant to be my submissive is that I feel something I’ve never felt before when I’m with you. I feel like my line is irrelevant now. My line is wherever yours is. Your limit is my own, and nothing will bring me greater pleasure than to help you find that edge again and again, because it will continually move as we explore.I want to be there with you as it does so we can find it together.” I laugh a little awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. “I’ve only known you a few days,” I say. “You’re talking like we’re going to be together forever.” Even as I say them, my words sound harsh and colder than I intended. I know it’s a defense mechanism--a wall I’m putting up because I’m still afraid

he’s going to hurt me if I let him in too close. I hate myself for it. Jayce has been nothing but good to me, and he’s the first guy who is actually making an effort to get to know the real me, yet I can’t seem to stop subconsciously pushing him away. Somehow, Jayce manages to take my words in stride. He doesn’t even seem annoyed when he answers. “What would be the point of dating you if I didn’t plan on forever?” I open my mouth to respond, but close it again before I say something stupid. He puts both hands to my cheeks, rubbing my lips with his thumb in a longing sort of way that makes me tingle all over. “I know you have been through a lot, and I won’t even try to pretend I can understand what it was like. But I can promise you this much. Let me, and I’ll take care of you. I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated. I’ll care about you more than you ever imagined someone could. I swear it.” For some reason, tears well up in my eyes, but I manage to blink them away quickly, hopefully before he sees. There’s so much I want to say to him right now, but all I can manage is a quiet “thank you.” He kisses my forehead. “Come on,” he says gently, but still manages to infuse the words with enough command that I might as well be pulled by a leash as he walks. “And no more free passes,” he says with a grin. “Break the rules again and you’ll pay.” “Yes, sir.” I expect him to take us to an empty booth, but instead, he has us sit with a couple who might be in their mid sixties near the back. I nearly give Jayce a confused look, but worry he might consider that questioning him--so I keep my eyes down as we sit. I can’t say why, but every time I have to force myself to obey his rules and conform to the image he expects for his submissive, I feel a rush of satisfaction. Just knowing I’m pleasing him and being what he wants makes me feel more desirable than I’ve ever felt in my life, and as sad as it is, I can’t seem to get enough of his small looks of approval when I follow his rules. I hardly want to think of my father at a time like this, but his way was to ask for perfection. When he got it, there wasn’t so much as a sniff of approval, and when we fell short of what he wanted, there was hell to pay. So this world Jayce is letting me play a part in feels right. The rules are clear, the punishments are swift and so far, enticing in a dirty way. They stretch the limits of my comfort, but not so far as to make me fearful, especially when every time I do what I’m supposed to, I can tell it’s making Jayce happy. “Mr. Carlyle,” the man says. I can tell he probably broke a lot of hearts when he was younger, and his companion is no different. I realize I was looking at his

face and quickly avert my eyes to the woman at his side, hoping Jayce didn’t notice my slip of concentration. Her lips are curved in a catlike grin while she watches us, gorgeous blue eyes appraising and hard. “I wanted to introduce you to my submissive,” Jayce says. “And I thought she might be interested to meet the club’s most experienced dominant and submissive.” “You mean oldest?” asks the man with a grin. “I’m Dennis,” he says to me. “And this is Catrina.” Jayce chuckles. “Old or experienced. Call it what you will, I was hoping you could explain the history of the club to her. I know you were around long before I ever purchased it and I think she could learn a great deal from you.” Dennis makes a pleased sound that strikes a note of nervousness in me. If I know one thing about experienced men, it’s that history seems to be an inexhaustible point on which they can talk about for ages. I’m thoroughly confused now, as I can’t see any reason Jayce would want me to have a history lesson on the club, but Dennis begins in earnest, starting with when the building was constructed and how he was actually there at the construction site. It’s only a few seconds before Jayce’s hand slides across my thigh under the table. Between trying not to make eye contact with the man who is telling me a story and trying not to look suspicious as Jayce lifts my dress, I feel more than a little tense. He starts to rub against my panties, sending chills through me and making my already wet pussy throb. Dennis doesn’t seem to notice, though it’s hard to tell when all I can look at are his wildly gesturing hands. But when I sneak a glance up at Catrina, she’s watching with me a great deal of interest and an even wider grin than before, unless I’m imagining it. Jayce’s hand slips inside my panties, sliding through my wet folds effortlessly. I squirm, trying not to close my eyes or moan as he starts to alternate between circling my clit and plunging his fingers inside me. I lean my elbow on the table and put a hand to my mouth, trying to cover the sound of what are now little gasps that I can’t seem to control. Somewhere through the haze of pleasure, I realize Jayce brought us to this particular table precisely so he could get Dennis rambling while he finger-fucked me just a few feet away from two strangers. Bastard. But as dirty as it is, being pleasured like this without either of them knowing is absolutely thrilling. I press my thighs together, trying to control the shaking that wants to rip through my

body, but the pressure only buries Jayce’s fingers deeper inside me. I sneak a look to the side, wondering how obvious what he’s doing is from the movement of his arm, but I’m impressed to see he’s somehow keeping it completely still. Only his wrist, hand, and fingers are moving, all of which are below the table. “...And wouldn’t you believe it?” asks Dennis, who looks to Catrina as he pauses for dramatic effect. “They knew where the plans were the whole time!” he announces, banging his hand on the table as he breaks into a bout of laughter. A moan slips out of my mouth, and I’m thankful for the timing, because I force it to turn into a series of gasping, very strange laughs. Catrina covers her mouth, eyes lit with amusement as she watches me. She knows what’s going on. I can feel it. My cheeks burn so hot I think I might actually be giving off my own light source. Jayce is relentless though, and he keeps working magic with his fingers, not caring how much more obvious it’s becoming by the second that something is going on. I try to look anywhere but at the people who must surely be starting to suspect something, and make the mistake of looking toward the stage. The woman is riding one man while another crouches behind her to fuck her in the ass, and she has her mouth around a third man’s cock while she works two more still with her hands. It’s so perverted and completely wrong, but at this particular moment, I’m not exactly thinking with my conservative side, and it’s just enough to push me over the edge. My hand comes down hard enough on the table to make Dennis and Catarina’s drink glasses rattle. I look up, even as the orgasm is spearing through me and making my eyes want to shut. “That was incredible,” I breathe with far too much enthusiasm than the boring story warranted. “I can’t believe…” I say, sucking in air. “This place has so much history.” Dennis, who somehow appears completely oblivious, nods enthusiastically. “If more young folks like you showed an interest in the history around here, I think the world would be a much better place.” “It’s true,” Catarina agrees with a knowing smile. “He says it all the time.” Jayce slides his hand out of my panties and to my sheer disbelief, brings his fingers up to his mouth where he licks them clean. Oh my God. I watch him, biting my lip and completely oblivious to how Dennis and Catarina must be looking at us. “Can I be excused for a moment? I need to use the ladies room,” I say. The real reason is I feel so flushed and strange being this wet in public, I want to

make sure I’m not getting anything on my dress. That, and I need a mental breather from Jayce before he pulls any more crazy stunts. Jayce narrows his eyes at me, clearly disappointed. “I have to pee,” I whisper, hoping that’s enough of an excuse for him not to use the vibrator on me again. My panties buzz just for a split second, making me falter as I’m walking away from the table. I turn to look back at Jayce when the vibration stops almost immediately. He winks at me and then grins. I give him a playful glare before heading toward a waiter and asking where the restrooms are. I walk into a small hall off to the side of the main room just as someone bumps into me, nearly knocking me back. I start to apologize, my words fall short when I see who I knocked into. “Cade?” I ask. I take a step back, sucking in a breath to yell for Jayce, but Cade pulls me into a darkened corner of the hallway and pins me to the wall, pressing his hand to my mouth so I can’t scream. “Scream and I’ll make you regret it,” he says, bulging his eyes at me until I nod my head. He pulls his hand away and I suck in a breath to scream, but he slams his hand back against my mouth, bashing my head into the wall as he does. I wince as the impact gives me an immediate headache. “God, it’s easy to forget what a fucking bitch you are,” he says. “But I’ll pretend none of this happened. All you have to do is come back to me, baby. You think he’s a dom? Fuck him. I can be the best dom you’ve ever had in your life.” I try to pull his hands away and kick at him, but he uses his knees to pin my legs against the wall and slaps away my hands with his free hand effortlessly. “Go ahead and cry to your new boyfriend. Tell him I hurt you. That’s all you were ever good at. Fucking crying. And when he doesn’t do shit about it, you can come back to me when you realize you need a real man.” He shoves me to the side, knocking me down to my knees, where I stay for a few seconds, gasping for breath and wiping the feel of his hand from my face. I want to scream, but all the conditioning from my past rises up in me. The same conditioning that made me weak and kept me from doing anything when guys would treat me like shit. That weakness kept me coming back like a silly, stupid little girl until it got so bad they practically broke me before it got through my blindness. I shouldn’t be surprised that my instinct is to stay quiet and bottle it up, though. My dad started training me there was no use fighting back or telling anyone from a young age. I can still remember how I told a family friend about what my dad had been doing to us after one of his bad spells. Instead of telling

the cops, they told my dad I had been telling stories, and I swear he nearly killed me that night. I slowly get to my feet, just before a woman comes around the corner and gives me a concerned look, but doesn’t stop before entering the bathroom. I wait a few seconds for my head to stop spinning and step inside after her. I check the damage in the mirror, which isn’t as bad as I thought, and make my way back to Jayce, who is talking with Dennis about some kind of business deal they apparently were in on together a few years ago. I give him a tight smile that I hope looks genuine as I sit, keeping my eyes down. Jayce stops mid-sentence. “I’m sorry,” he says, holding a hand up to Dennis and Catarina. “Would you excuse us?” “Of course,” says Dennis. Jayce leads me away from the room with the stage into a quieter room, where slow jazz plays and men and women lounge on leather couches, some kissing or fondling, but most just cuddling. Purple light bathes everything, from the people to the glasses of wine and champagne set out for members on several tables throughout the room. Jayce keeps walking me through the room without saying a word until he takes me to one of a dozen booths set into the wall. He pulls the curtain closed, which offers us complete privacy. For a moment, we’re in total darkness, until he lights a match and ignites the candle at the center of the table. I want to ask what’s going on, but I know he’ll tell me when he’s ready, so I keep my mouth closed and wait. “I need you to tell me what happened,” he says stonily. I reel back, taken off guard. “What happened?” I ask stupidly. He leans forward until his gorgeous face is lit in flickering orange light. “You left. You came back. Something happened in between.” I open my mouth wordlessly, trying and failing to think of how I can explain why I didn’t say anything to him when I came back. “I need to know,” he growls. “Something happened to my princess, and I want to fucking know what it was so I know whose ass to kick.” I shake my head, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Maybe I didn’t tell you because I don’t just want somebody kicking anyone’s ass who treats me wrong.” “So someone did something to you?” he asks, bull headedly ignoring the point I’m trying to make. I clutch my temples, letting my head fall. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, okay? I just don’t ever seem to do the right thing when guys are involved. I always let them hurt me and make me feel like shit. It’s only after it’s over that I

realize what I should’ve done,” I say, blurting out more than I intended. “Maybe my instincts are just crap.” Jayce is clearly trying to control his anger, so his words come out clipped and forced. “I can’t help if I don’t know what happened.” “Cade was here,” I say, looking up. “Okay? He…” my lips curl with disgust when I think about how I let him do that to me and just walk away--how I wasn’t even going to say anything. “He was here,” is all I can manage. Jayce’s nostrils flare and his hands clench into fists. “That shouldn’t be possible. I had all the security personally shown his picture and told not to let him in under any circumstances.” “Apparently it was.”

8

JAYCE

I

look across the candle-lit table to Miley, who looks so fucking perfect with the soft orange light illuminating her features. The idea of that fucking scumbag so much as talking to her has my blood boiling. I’m ready to go rampage through the club, shaking down my bouncers and staff until I find which incompetent idiot was responsible for letting him into the club. One thing’s for sure though, if I thought I was going overboard in my preparations to keep him out of here before, I’m about to set a new fucking bar. “Wait here,” I say, starting to slide out of the booth to stand. Miley’s arm snaps across the table, gripping my wrist. “Please,” she says in the smallest, most fragile voice. “Please don’t go.” I sit back down, fighting every instinct in my body that has me ready to rip Cade’s head off. “I might still be able to catch him.” “And then what?” she asks. “Then I’ll teach him what happens when he comes near you,” I say. “Like last time? You could’ve killed him in my apartment, and he still came back. Jayce… Kyle has been acting like an enforcer for me my whole life. Once a guy mistreats me, he shows up and kicks his ass. You know how much that has helped me avoid getting treated like shit from the next guy that comes along? None.” “So I’m just supposed to sit by while this ex keeps showing up and harassing you? Fuck that.” “No,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose and hesitating a long time before she speaks again. “My dad never treated me right… not even close. And every time I tried to fight back it only got worse. So I learned a long time ago the best way to make it stop is just… play dead.” I shake my head. “No,” he says. “I refuse to accept that. You don’t deserve to

have to cower when this fucker comes around. You deserve to be free of that shit, and so help me God, if he makes the mistake of showing his face when I’m around, he’s done.” “It’s not about whether you accept it or not,” she snaps. “It’s about what I want.” My lips twitch at the sound of her raising her voice to me. “Be careful how you talk to me,” I warn. “Or what?” she asks defiantly. “Are you going to hit me too? Slap me around? Show your true colors?” I grit my teeth. “Don’t,” I say. “Don’t what? Don’t make you mad, because then I’ll see what kind of man you really are?” “No,” I say, forcing myself to calm down. “Don’t push me away when you need me most.” She makes an annoyed sound and gets up like she’s about to leave. I get out of my side of the booth and cut her off, forcing her back into the booth. She struggles against me briefly, swinging her hands wildly and trying to free herself, but I pull her in tight, forcing her to accept my embrace as I hug her to my chest. “Don’t push me away,” I whisper, stroking her back as her hands slowly wrap around my back and she digs her fingers into me, shaking with sobs. “Let me look out for you, princess. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll protect you.”

A FTER I’ VE DROPPED M ILEY BACK OFF AT HER APARTMENT FOR THE NIGHT , I decide to do a little research. I know she wanted me to let it be, but I also know I won’t be able to sleep as long as this fucker is out there, just looking for his chance to harass her again. Finding his address isn’t hard, because all members of the club have to submit payment information, including their billing address. He lives about five blocks from Miley, which is about a thousand blocks too close for my liking. I park outside his place, straighten my jacket, and walk into the lobby of the apartment complex. It’s a nice place, and probably costs almost twenty grand a month, if my guess is any good. His apartment is on the second floor, last one at the end of the hall. I knock a few times and wait. I want nothing more than to deck him again, maybe harder this time so he doesn’t get back up, but that’s not what I came here for. When the door swings open, Cade is squinting at me through bleary, drunken eyes. His hair is a mess and his tie is halfway undone and his shirt is untucked.

From the looks of it, he came straight home to drown himself in some booze after he fucked with Miley at the club. “Mind if I come in?” I ask stonily. He makes a dismissive sound and tries to slam the door, but I plant a firm palm on the door, holding it open, even as he struggles to force it closed. He eventually realizes it’s useless and sighs dramatically. “The fuck do you want from me? Wanna know how she liked it in the sack? Or maybe--” “It would be smart if you stopped there,” I say through clenched teeth. “I told myself I wasn’t going to fuck you up tonight, but I only have so much patience, asshole.” Cade considers me, probably replaying the moment that left him with the swollen nose and dark bruise he still wears on his face. “What?” he asks petulantly. “I’m giving you one last warning. If it was up to me, your warning would be the beating I want to give you, but you’re getting a warning instead.” He raises his eyebrows. “That’s supposed to scare me?” “No, dumbass,” I say. “It’s supposed to make it painfully obvious that you need to fuck off.” I lean forward so I’m close enough to smell the stink of his breath. “If I hear about you harassing Miley again, I’ll come back, and it’s not going to be for a warning. Understand me?” He licks his lips, taking me in from head to toe, as if he’s trying to decide if he really should take my threat seriously. “Whatever, man. She’s not worth my time anyway.” He slams the door on me. I let out a long breath. Fuck. Not hitting him might have been the single greatest act of love in the history of mankind, because if I wasn’t sure I was falling for Miley, I would’ve killed that asshole. But every time I think about her my pulse races and I can’t get my mind off the next time I’ll see her and the things I can’t wait to do to her. I already know exactly what I’m doing to her tomorrow night, though, whether she does or not. I’m taking her to a party at my house, but she’s not going to see much of the party. I’ll be too excited to show her the surprise I have waiting upstairs.

9

MILEY

“W

ow,” I say. Jayce pulls his car to a stop at the top of a relatively steep hill, where a sprawling mansion sits. The huge, circular driveway is choked with luxury cars and glamorous couples who look filthy rich even from a distance. Every woman glimmers with ridiculously huge diamond jewelry and designer dresses. The men are distinguished, young, rugged, handsome, and just about every combination of attractive I could imagine. It makes me realize just how unbelievably hot Jayce is though, because even these men can’t compete with him. I wait in my seat as he walks around to the passenger side and gets the door for me. When he takes my hand and helps me out, I feel like a princess being escorted to a ball by a ruggedly handsome prince. “Do you like it?” he asks. He tosses his keys to a valet who hops in and goes to move the car out of the main driveway. “The party?” I ask. “The house,” he says. “Oh. Yes. It’s breathtaking.” He nods. “It’s one of my favorite properties, though my little cabin in the woods still blows it out of the water.” I can’t help bulging my eyes a little at him. “This is your house? I know your club is nice, but I didn’t think--” He chuckles. “I’ve been fortunate. Some good investments, some wild risks… You’d be surprised how fast it can add up. You know the strange thing?” he asks. “You spend all this time thinking it’ll feel a certain way, like if you only had enough money, then you could really be happy. But all the money I made only made me feel lonelier.” He shakes his head, laughing a little at himself.

“Pretty pathetic, I guess. I throw these crazy parties just so I don’t have to come home to a huge, empty reminder of how far I’ve come but how little it means.” “I can’t imagine you being lonely,” I say carefully. “I mean, a guy like you doesn’t exactly fly under the radar, especially not to women. There’s probably not a woman in the entire city who wouldn’t kill to have a night with you.” I hate what I’m doing, but I can’t stop myself. Even though I believe what I’m saying, some insecure part of me is wanting him to tell me otherwise. I want to know he’s not a playboy who is fast and loose with relationships, that I’m not just the next target in a long line of conquests for him. “Even if that were true,” he says as we walk together toward the main entrance. “If someone tried to give you ten thousand spoons and all you needed was a knife, you’d still have a problem.” I stop dead in my tracks, looking at him in disbelief. “Did you just use a quote from an Alanis Morissette song un-ironically?” “No,” he says, failing to hold back a smirk. “I think it was ironic.” I clap a hand to my forehead, bursting with laughter. “Oh my God. Please tell me you didn’t just set me up for that on purpose.” “I wouldn’t lie to you,” he says. I shake my head in disbelief. “Are you sure you don’t have kids from a previous relationship? Because that was dangerously close to a dad joke.” He grins, but it’s half-hearted. “No. I’m not interested in having kids.” “I see,” I say, clearing my throat. A thick silence hangs between us as we walk inside and are bombarded with loud music and the sight of hundreds of people dancing, laughing, talking, and drinking. My stomach decides to send another nervous cramp my way right at that moment, as if to remind me that I could possibly be carrying his baby. I would’ve thought with everything he has said to me that the idea of a baby would actually excite him. A silly part of me was even starting to fantasize about what it would be like if I really was carrying his child. How it would force me to overcome my fear that I’m destined to pick the wrong guy, because a baby would take the choice out of my hands--like the cosmos putting a big neon arrow over his head for me. Now my fantasy seems more like a nightmare. At best he’d want nothing to do with it. At worst, there’s the possibility that he might try to talk me into an abortion, which I would never agree to. Even if I’m not pregnant, that single statement feels like it cuts through me to my foundation: He doesn’t want kids. If I really decide he’s the right guy, it would mean I could never have the family I’ve always wanted. I’m about to ask him more when a tall, strikingly handsome man and a beautiful woman approach us at the door. The man holds a glass of amber liquor

casually as he approaches, and the woman at his side wears an eye-catching necklace with a loop, almost like a collar. “Jayce!” says the man warmly. “Thank God you finally cut off that man-bun. I like this better,” he says, reaching for Jayce’s hair, but Jayce slaps his hand away with a grin. “Miley,” says Jayce. “This is my brother, Leo, and hiswife, Lysa.” “It’s nice to meet you I say,” reaching to shake their hands. Now that he says it, I can see the family resemblance in Leo. I can also picture this mountain of a man intimidating Jayce’s would-be bullies when they were younger. “Be careful with this family,” says Lysa, who shakes my hand and flashes me an open, friendly smile. “They’ll suck you in and never let go.” Leo pulls her closer, as if to confirm her statement. She grins up at him. The way she looks at him makes my heart melt. I’ve seen so many couples who act like strangers, enemies, or maybe the worst--like business partners. The way they look at each other erases any possibility of that. I feel a deep longing to have that kind of bond with someone, too. I’m not kidding myself, though. Right now, I have a deep longing to have that kind of bond with a very particular someone--a someone who makes terrible dad jokes, has a soft side, and shows a command over my body like nothing I ever could’ve imagined. Someone who doesn’t want kids. “Is that such a bad thing?” Jayce asks. His fingers splay across my back and he pulls me just a little closer. “Maybe if it’s you doing the pulling,” Leo says with a grin. Jayce tenses. “Don’t make me show off to my girlfriend by kicking your ass.” “Like the last time you tried? I think I remember that ending with me holding you in a headlock.” Jayce grins. “You were still trying to woo Lysa. I just didn’t want to embarrass you. I could’ve flipped you at least three times.” “Oh?” Leo laughs, stripping off his jacket and tossingit on a nearby chair. Jayce takes his own off and sets his jacket aside. I frown in confusion as the two men squat into athletic poses, hands out wide like they are about to wrestle. Lysa nods for me to come with her toward the bar. I follow her, glancing back over my shoulder as Jayce and Leo collide and start grunting, taking turns trying to flip each other to the ground while a handful of people gather to watch and cheer them on. “It’s part of the package,” Lysa shrugs. “Unfortunately, if you want to land yourself a guy like one of the Carlyles, you have to deal with occasional bouts of

over-the-top masculine displays.” There’s a loud cheer as Jayce manages to pin Leo on his back and starts trying to get some kind of grip on Leo’s arm. “You sure this is normal?” I ask, unable to stop watching the spectacle. “These two wrestled like monkeys the first time Leo brought me to a party, too. I think it’s just how they bond. Maybe in their minds it’s like a macho handshake.” Jayce pulls his arm back like he’s about to punch Leo while he sits on his stomach, but Leo twists at the last second, using his hips to throw Jayce to the ground and climb on top of him. I flinch back. “Oh my God. They’re going to kill each other.” “They’ll be fine. Look. I saw the way Jayce was watching you. He’s serious about you, you know. Guys can’t fake that look.” “You were probably just imagining it,” I say. “We’ve only known each other a couple days.” Lysa’s smile broadens. “You’d be surprised what kind of feelings can form in a couple days.” “Was it like that with you and Leo?” Lysa makes an amused face. “Something like that, yeah.” The small crowd groans in disappointment, drawing my eyes back to the fight. Jayce and Leo are dusting each other off and laughing about something as they walk toward us. “Who won?” Lysa asks. Both men point to themselves at the same time, drawing a laugh from Lysa and I. “Well, as good as it is to see you,” Jayce says to Leo, “I want to give Miley the grand tour of the upstairs.” Leo and Lysa exchange a knowing look that makes me equal parts nervous and excited. I blush, waving goodbye to them sheepishly before Jayce drags me away. “Do you seriously just brawl with him every time you guys run into each other?” I ask. Jayce scoffs. “No. Maybe half of the time at most. We’re not barbarians,” he adds with no hint of self-awareness. I smile to myself, clinging a little tighter to his arm. The side of Jayce I met that first night in the club was all sexuality. Every movement, action, and word seemed to resonate with my pulse, driving me closer and closer to some kind of uncontrollable frenzy. I had trouble picturing anything else from him. I couldn’t imagine what breakfast would’ve been like--I mean, was he going to just pounce

across the table and screw me whenever the need rose up? Would we be able to talk about our day? Watch a show together in the evening? I didn’t know, but I thought I did. Now I’ve seen there’s more to him. Yes, the sexual energy is never far below the surface, but ever since he told me about his childhood it feels like I have this kind of connection that goes deeper than the night we shared. He understands my past because he lived his own version of it. Maybe I never realized how important that was because I was always dating the bully, not the bullied. Even though I doubt anyone would be dumb enough to try to bully Jayce now, he still remembers what it was like, and that makes him different. He leads me through the busy room until we reach a staircase that winds up to an extremely high second story. The balcony overlooking the downstairs area is far less crowded, and by the time he takes me to a hallway near the back, we’re already alone except for the thump of music and fading sound of laughter. Every step we take into the hallway makes the party grow quieter and quieter, until the near-silence is almost eerie. “I thought you were going to give me a tour,” I say when we stop outside a large set of doors at the end of the hallway. “This looks like a bedroom.” Even though I might sound cross with him, the truth is my heart is pounding out of control. I’ve thought about that night he took me in the club so many times now, about how sweet it felt to surrender to him. Only now, I can’t help thinking back to what he said about not wanting kids. If I knew I could never have kids, would I still be happy? I don’t have time to think about it, because Jayce answers my question about the tour by inserting a key into one of the doors and then swinging it open. My eyebrows climb my forehead as I take in what looks like a private BDSM club in his house. There’s a sleek, modern lounge area decorated in a way that feels warm and sensual--from the deep red fabrics to the polished wood of the full bar. The room is circular with doors in every direction. “I thought some day I might desire a private place to enjoy my submissive, if I ever found her.” I look at him from the corner of my eyes. “Have you?” I ask. “I have,” he says. “But she’s taking her sweet time realizing it.” I look down. “I feel something, Jayce. I really do. I just have so many doubts still. Like all this fear is clogging my head until I can’t think straight.” “Then don’t think,” he says. “Come here. I want to show you a place where you can let your mind rest--well, sort of,” he adds with a mischievous grin that makes me nervous.

He takes me through the small lobby to the nearest door and pulls it open. My breath catches when we step into a completely different atmosphere. Soft silk cloth dangles from the ceiling, lit by warm yellow light. We pass through a short hallway as the silk brushes against our skin, trailing behind us. The hallway leads into a bedroom where a four-poster bed dominates the space. Lit candles sit on every surface, adding a warmth to the room and a comforting, pulsing glow of light. “Wow,” I say. “So… you just always have candles burning in here, or were you planning this?” I ask. I can’t tell if it’s the lighting, or if Jayce actually blushes at that, but once he closes the door and turns around, I can see the change has already started to come over him. The subtle sense of humor he has come to show me in our time outside the club has somehow left his features until all that’s left is the dom I met that first night in his club. “You said I could choose our date tonight, princess,” he says, walking toward me with no particular rush, but the look in his eyes makes his intentions painfully clear. Doubts bubble up in my mind. I want what he’s offering, but I want a family, too. And as much as I know it would just be one more night together, I’m still afraid everything so far has just been me falling into the same old traps I always do where are concerned. Jayce doesn’t give me time to deliberate or think. He surprises me by actually shoving me backwards onto the bed, where it feels like I sink into a cloud. Once I’ve landed, he sets to stripping out of his jacket, tie, and shirt. I watch with fascination, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of his buttons being undone and the way his tanned skin glows in the candlelight. “You’ve been naughty, princess. I’ve been keeping track of every time you displeased me, and tonight, you pay the price.” His words make me feel surprisingly ashamed. I’ve displeased him? Oddly enough, the fact that I’m about to be punished for displeasing him seems less upsetting to me than the possibility that I haven’t been making him happy. “You feel guilty,” he observes, tilting my chin up and studying my face. “Don’t. You may think being my submissive is only about sex.” As if to contradict his own words, he reaches down--almost unthinkingly--and starts tenderly removing my clothes. “It’s not. The sex may be the best you’ve ever had, but it’s not the point.” “What is?” I ask. “Sir,” he growls, the sudden change in his face making me suck in surprised breath.

“Sir,” I add. “The point,” he continues as if there had been no interruption. “Is that what we will create together goes beyond any traditional relationship can hope to. Together, we’ll explore the edge of our limits. We’ll push the boundaries until we’ve discovered exactly who we are and what it means for us to be together. There will be no secrets. No lies. When I’m your Dom and you’re my submissive, we will be more closely bound than you can imagine.” My skin tingles, and it’s not just from the way his fingers brush against it as he pulls my panties down and unclasps my bra until I’m completely naked for him. “No shame,” he says. “No doubts. No regrets. Just two bodies and two minds joining together in the most pure expression of love possible. Trust.” I swallow hard. I’m distracted from the perfect future he promises by two glaring problems. I still don’t know if I’m pregnant, and even if I’m not, he won’t want to give me kids. Everything he says sounds amazing, yet I don’t know if it would be enough to give up my dream of a family. Guilt swirls in my stomach as I nod anyway, too drunk on the moment to spoil everything right now. I convince myself I’ll find some way to come to terms with it when I’ve had time to think, that it’s just the effect he has on me making it so hard to puzzle out how this could work or lead to a happy future for me. “Get on your knees for me, princess.” His words bounce around in my head without meaning for a few seconds. I’m too distracted by my wandering thoughts and my fears to react. “I won’t ask twice,” he says suddenly. The sound of his voice snaps through the fog in my brain. My body moves to obey him now without question. I turn over, climbing to my hands and knees, presenting my ass to him like a prize waiting to be claimed. A strange, creeping sense of calm comes over me. I can’t explain it, but when I’m surrendering to him, it feels like life loosens its grip on me so I can breathe again and my problems seem distant. “Let go,” he says, running a finger down my spine as he stands beside me on the bed. “Your inhibitions are only getting in the way. Trust your submission to me again for tonight, princess. Be mine. My submissive, my property. Let me use you…” I close my eyes. All I can manage is a soft sound between a moan and a quick breath, but it seems to be enough for him. “But first, it’s time for your punishment.” He reaches under the bed and comes up with a leather paddle. I can’t keep

my eyes from it as he brings it up and gradually drags it down my back and ass before brushing the already wet lips of my pussy with its edge. I shiver. Goosebumps rise up across my body in the wake of its touch, and my ass is already tingling with the expectation of contact “You’ve made me wait too long for this, princess…” He brings the paddle down on my bare ass, making me lurch forward and gasp. It stings almost like a swarm of bees got me for a few moments, he doesn’t wait for the pain to fully subside before he brings it down again on the other side of my ass this time. “You knew I wouldn’t approve of your friend coming on our date, but you brought her anyway.” I sink down to my forearms, eyes squeezed shut against the sting of the paddle. “But,” he says, leaning closer to my ass until his breath brushes the tender skin where he paddled me. He plants a soothing kiss on the spot, melting the pain down until it blends together into something strange and wonderful. “I enjoyed the date very much. More than I thought I would.” He kisses the other side, until I’m left with only a swirling excitement that gathers between my legs, making my need for his even more intimate attention that much greater. “You’ve also been very disrespectful,” he says, standing back up and moving to gather one of the candles by the bed. He brings it closer to me, holding it near his face so the flickering light casts his features in an orange glow. “And you must be punished until you learn to show me the proper respect. To address me as Sir. To heed my commands without question.” “Turn over and lie on your back,” he says, setting the candle on the nightstand. I do as he says quickly, not wanting to disappoint him again. He nods. It’s a small gesture, but when he makes the subtle shift from Jayce to my dom, I’m dragged into a world where the only thing that matters is pleasing him. The only pleasure or satisfaction comes from making my dom happy, in surrendering completely and trusting his guidance to be the truth. So even his slight nod is enough to send a surge of excitement and pleasure through me as I position myself on my back, lying flat while he takes his time appreciating the sight of my body. “Gorgeous,” he says. He runs a finger down from my breast to my pussy, lifting his touch just before he reaches my clit in a way that can’t be accidental. I can sense that he wants to drag this out, and I can’t say I’m upset by the realization. “I couldn’t have made you any more perfect myself. Every line,” he says, palming my breast and squeezing firmly. “Every curve.” He grips the inside of my thigh, urging my legs open for him. “Even the way you smell,” he says, bending to kiss my mound as he breathes in deeply. “Sublime.”

I take in a shuddering breath, my back arching involuntarily as if my body is offering itself up to him. “You were made for me, princess,” he says. He pulls a pair of handcuffs from under the bed and dangles them for me to see. “Cell by cell and inch by inch, you were built to be mine.” He pulls my arms over my head and clamps one cuff around my wrist, threads the other through the headboard, and then clamps my other wrist. Thankfully, the cuffs have a black fuzzy material around the metal, so even when he secures them tightly, they aren’t uncomfortable. “Now that I’m sure you’re not going anywhere…” He picks up the candle again, lifting it above my stomach and lets a drop of wax fall just above my navel. I flinch from the sudden heat, but much like drips of cold water, the intensity is momentary before it gives way to only the subtle reminder of heat. A tight circle forms as the wax cools and solidifies on my skin . “And I was made to claim you,” he says, finishing his earlier thought and meeting my eyes with so much intensity I can’t seem to look away, even as I can sense the next drop of wax pooling at the end of the candle. It patters down just below my breasts, shocking me again with a temporary burst of heat followed by a warm tightness. The next drop falls on my nipple, and the heat is so intense on the sensitive skin there that I gasp. It’s unpleasant for a second, maybe two, then an unfamiliar sensation spreads through me. Maybe this is what he was talking about--the intimacy of exploring the edge of my desires with him and trusting him to be my guide. It’s almost as if I’ve split away part of my mind in this moment. The part that normally steps in when things go outside my comfort zone and puts it to a stop. Right now I can almost feel Jayce’s presence within me, like he’s taking the control and the responsibility of that job from me. Instead of the fear I would normally expect the realization to bring, it only makes my pussy throb with need and my chest fill with the most wonderful warmth. I’m his right now. Completely and totally his. I only have to please him. I lose track of time as drop by drop of scorching wax covers my skin. I grow used to the sensation of heat and the gradual fade to warmth and the tight sensation of a growing coating of wax covers my body. When he starts to let drops of wax fall on my mound and my inner thighs, the heat feels so much more intense, but I don’t stop him. I let the heat come and I embrace the warmth. The last drop lands so dangerously close to my clit that I finally get ready to say something, maybe even one of the safe words. It’s as if he really does have some way of knowing my thoughts because sets the candle down on the bedside and looks back to my body, which is covered in drops of wax from my breasts to my

pussy. “Now the best part,” he says. “It’s time to clean you up.” I bite my lip, watching as he slips out of his pants and briefs before climbing on top of me. I raise my eyebrows when he bends to use his mouth to gently work the wax away with his lips and tongue. “Is that safe to put in your mouth?” I ask. He looks up at me with a sly expression before chewing and swallowing. “Safe and delicious. It’s edible, princess.” “Oh.” I lean back, grinning in excited anticipation of the process ahead of him. Every drop of wax that dropped down on me is now a point of contact where his lips and tongue scour my body bit by bit. I feel him move off me to grab something else from under the bed. When I bend my neck to look up, I see him holding two jars. One is full of chocolate syrup and the other is full of whipped cream. I laugh in surprise. “What else is under the bed?” He smirks, dipping a spoon in the syrup and raising it so it drizzles back into the jar. “I made sure the room was equipped with everything I’d need before we arrived. And what can I say, I have a sweet tooth. What about you?” he asks, lifting the spoon again. “Please, sir,” I say hungrily. I expect him to bring the spoon to my mouth, but instead he straddles me so that his erect cock is only inches from my lips. “I was thinking something sweeter, but I won’t complain,” I say. He picks up the jar of syrup and drizzles it over the head of his cock until the excess drips down my chest, running in warm path between my breasts. “I hope you came hungry tonight, princess.”

10

JAYCE

I

let my eyes close as she wraps her hot mouth around my cock, licking up the syrup like a good little submissive. She doesn’t show any sign of wanting to stop, even when the syrup is all gone. I let her continue to suck me off, occasionally adding more syrup to my cock when I think she’s done a good enough job to deserve the sweet reward, but my own appetite eventually gets the better of me. I want to see Miley moaning and begging me for more. I want her so fucking horny that her juices are leaking from that tight little pussy and she can’t keep her moans quiet. I dip the spoon in the syrup and pull away, loving the pouty look she gives when I take my cock from her. I drizzle syrup across her tits and her stomach, all the way down to the creases where her legs meet her pussy. Once I’m done, I add a dollop of whipped cream to her nipples and mound for no other reason than the fact that I love the taste. And I know the cold contrast will add another layer to her experience. She writhes in the most sexy fucking way imaginable, constantly biting her full bottom lip and letting it pop back out all pink and flushed. I dip my thumb in the chocolate and smear it across her lips before sucking them into my mouth and licking her clean. I kiss my way from her jaw down to her neck and her tits, licking and kissing up every last drop of syrup and cream, taking my time as I do, knowing she’s loving every last second of it. By the time I reach her lower stomach, she’s gasping and squirming against me, hips rising off the bed in her desperation to have my attention on her pussy. My cock throbs just thinking how wet she must already be for me and how good it would feel to bury myself inside her again. Not yet, though. Soon, but not yet. I run my tongue down her mound, paying special attention to the syrup that

found its way into the crease between her pussy and inner thigh, letting my tongue move so close to her folds that she must be ready to lose her mind. “Please, sir,” she gasps. “I need it.” I look up from between her legs, enjoying the view of her body still glistening from the work I’ve done cleaning her up and her hands cuffed to the headboard above her head. “Tell me what you need, princess. Beg me for it.” “I need your mouth. Your cock. Your fingers. Whatever you’ll give me. But I need to cum so bad it hurts.” “Since you forgot to call me Sir,” I say tauntingly. “It’s going to keep hurting a little longer.” I scoop out some whipped cream and smear it on her toes, which I take into my mouth and suck clean one by one. She closes her eyes and presses her head back into the pillows, lips parting beautifully for me. I let my eyes wander to her slick pussy, which looks so undeniably ready for my cock that I know I’ve reached the limits of my patience. I need to have her, to take her, to own every fucking inch of her tight little hole. I grab a condom from beside the bed and slip it on, noticing an odd expression on Miley’s face as I do. Maybe she was hoping I’d take her unprotected again, but I can’t take the chance. That was a mistake. A reckless mistake. I can’t afford to get Miley pregnant and risk her health because of my selfish desire to have a child. Maybe that’s over-the-top, but the guilt I feel over my mother’s death sticks with me every day of my life. Along with it comes the fear that I could do the same thing to the woman I love. No fucking way. No kids. No pregnancy. No risk to my princess. I don’t care how good her having my baby might sound. It’s just not a risk I can take. So she can give me that pouty look all she wants, but I’m wearing a rubber. Her disappointment is forgotten when I grip the base of my cock and give it to her in one powerful thrust. She takes in a quick burst of air through her nose and her eyes shoot open. I know she’ll feel a slight pain from being entered so suddenly, a stretching sensation maybe, but it will pass. When it does, the pleasure will seem that much more intense by contrast. “You like that, princess?” I ask. “Mhmm,” she moans. I bend my neck to suck her nipple into my mouth, biting slightly before I pull away. It should sting for a moment--long enough to remind her to fucking call me Sir. “Sir,” she says like a good girl. I grin, pulling her legs up higher so I can get even deeper inside her. She digs her heels into my ass, pulling me in with each thrust, begging me for every inch

of cock I’ll give her and more. “Jayce,” she gasps. I want to draw this out, to make her wait for more, to make her beg until her throat is hoarse, but I can’t stop myself. I drive myself into her again and again, drawing out the most delicious moans from her with every thrust of my hips. When I feel her walls tighten around me and her body tenses, my own orgasm comes roaring from me. I keep fucking her until I’ve emptied every last drop of my cum inside the condom and she’s lying breathless and still. Once I’ve thrown away the condom and slipped my pants back on, I move back to Miley, who is waiting so beautifully for me on the bed with her hands still cuffed. I unlock them and check her wrists for any sign of bruising or chafing. There’s a slight indent from where the cuffs pressed into the base of her palms, so I apply lotion and rub the area until I see some of the color return to her skin. “I like how you look after me when we’ve finished, sir,” she says. I favor her with a smile to let her know she did well remembering to pay me the proper respect. For once. But I actually enjoy that she’s still prone to moments of defiance. My idea of the perfect submissive has always been one who wants to please me above all else, but who also has a mischievous side and tempts my wrath from time to time. As with everything else, Miley fits the mold of what I want perfectly in that regard. “Of course,” I say, moving my attention now to all the places I dripped wax across her body. Her skin is slightly pink in some areas. It would pass in a few minutes without my help, but I take the excuse to apply more lotion to my hands and rub it into her soft skin, spending more time than I need to on her breasts. “What we do together is about control, above all else. I don’t expect that I will ever do anything to cause you true harm, but it’s important for me to make sure there were no accidents. No rashes, no bruises, no cuts. I have to be sure you’re as perfect as you were the moment you submitted to me.” “Well, I like it,” she says, smiling up at me. “It feels nice. I never really had this kind of gentleness in my life. My dad was always hard on us. So hard,” she says, looking distantly toward a group of candles by the wall. “Nothing ever made him happy. He demanded so much and I think for a long time I tried to make him happy. I wanted to be his good little girl because I was silly enough to think that was the problem. He wasn’t abusive because he was just an asshole to me back then, it was because I wasn’t ever good enough. But when I would do exactly what he wanted, he always seemed to change the rules at the last minute. That was the thing. I could never win. I could never make him happy. Eventually, I figured out the truth, but it was only after so many wasted years.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, cupping her cheek and kissing her forehead. “You know you’ve pleased me very much tonight though, don’t you?” “Yes, Sir,” she says, smiling shyly at me. Her expression fades into dejection as she looks down. “I must sound so creepy right now. Like I’m using you as some kind of substitute for my dad that I could never please, but--” “No,” I say. “It’s not creepy or strange. It’s normal. Everybody has unresolved issues from their past, and if they say they don’t, they’re either lying or oblivious. Hell, I think that’s most of the point in being an adult. You’re trying to find a way to move beyond the demons in your past, whatever way that is. Some people ignore them, some embrace them, and some overcome them. This is an outlet for you, Miley. It’s cathartic because it helps you heal. Never be ashamed of that. Do you understand me? That’s a command,” I add with a little mock seriousness. She flashes me a crooked smile, nodding her head but wiping at her eyes. “I mean it,” I say, cupping her face and lifting her chin so she’s looking at me. I wipe a tear from the corner of her eye and kiss her tenderly, longingly. “This is what you need it to be. There’s never any reason to be ashamed of that.” “What is it for you?” she asks. I chuckle, letting my hands fall and taking my turn studying the ground. She’s perceptive, I’ll give her that, but right now I wish she wasn’t. I can’t exactly tell her to embrace her past and how good a thing it is while also hiding my own from her. So I suck up my reluctance and start talking. “For me? I think there are two parts to it. On one hand, it lets the little, skinny kid from my past take control. There were times when I looked at my life and how everything was happening around me and I’d just think how I had no power over any of it. Things could go to complete shit, and it wouldn’t matter how hard I wanted or tried, it’d happen anyway. So maybe part of it is right there. This world is a place where I can take that control back. And if I can take control here, it helps me feel like there’s a little more sense to the rest of it, I guess.” She nods. “That makes sense. And what is the other part?” “The other part is that I thought one day I’d find a submissive who needed something very specific from her dom. Not just sex. Not just cold domination. Not even just passion. I wanted a submissive who was nearly broken and at the edge of her ability to resist. Someone beautifully flawed--just barely holding on when it seemed like everything was out of her control and the world didn’t care how much she wanted or tried. I wanted to find that woman and show her there is control. There is order. There is a place where she can let go and trust in someone else to be her guide. I wanted to find you,” I say.

More tears well in her eyes and she leans her head down onto my shoulder, wrapping her small arms around my back. “You’re the one I’ve been looking for all this time,” I whisper. “My perfect submissive. My perfect woman. The woman I love,” I say. My own words send a cold shock through me. I hadn’t planned to say so much, to reveal everything like I just did. But now that the words have come out of me, I feel the expectation hanging between us like electricity. Will she say it too? Can she? She’s crying harder now. Fuck, I think. My stomach is sinking and feels cold. She doesn’t feel the same way. As much as I’ve read into her thoughts and behavior, I’ve been wrong. I was so sure everything between us was mutual, and now I’ve laid it out on the table and she’s flinching, unwilling to commit to what I’ve offered her. “I’m so sorry,” she says suddenly, pulling away and getting off the bed to find her clothes, which she hastily slips back into. “I can’t be what you need me to be. I want it. I really do. But it wouldn’t last forever. It couldn’t.” I’m too stunned to speak. I can only watch as she moves to the door and takes one last, longing look back at me. In that moment I can see she’s about to say something, and I lean forward, waiting for the words because my own won’t seem to come. Her expression changes and she looks back toward the door, stepping halfway out to the hallway. “I’m sorry,” she says again before closing the door. The door closing snaps me out of my surprise. I jump up from the bed and chase after her, not even taking the time to put my shirt back on. I see just a glimpse of her heel disappearing out of view at the end of the hallway and run to catch up with her. She’s moving down the stairs as fast as she can, making me nervous as hell that she’s going to trip and fall down in her hurry to get away from me. Fuck. The thought makes my stomach turn. Somehow, some way I turned into the thing I wanted to protect her from, the kind of thing that made her want to run. I catch up with her at the bottom of the stairs, drawing a fair amount of attention from my lack of a shirt, but it’s not the craziest thing people have seen at one of my parties, so their attention is only momentary. “Miley,” I say once I’m just behind her and able to grab her arm. She tries to pull away from me and I instinctively grip harder, not wanting her to get away before I can find out what’s wrong. “Let go!” she cries, pulling again. “Miley, just let me--” I say, reaching for her other arm.

She brings her hand up and slaps me hard enough that the sound rises above the music, making anyone who wasn’t already watching the spectacle stop what they’re doing to look now. My hand falls away from her arm and she hurries outside, pulling out her phone--probably to call someone to come pick her up. “At least let me give you a ride home,” I say, even as my cheek stings from the slap. She gives me a look over her shoulder that I can’t entirely make sense of. I see sorrow and regret in her features, maybe fear. She closes the front door behind her, leaving me to feel that special kind of alone you can only feel in such a crowded place. “You okay?” Leo asks squattingdown beside me at the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t even realize I had sunk down to sit with my back against the bannister. I look over at him, ignoring the curious faces turned our way. “Should I be?” I ask. He chuckles, then sits down cross-legged in front of me, which is an odd sight to see from such a big man. It has been a long fucking time since Leo had to look out for me, but I can see him slipping back into the role effortlessly. He’s my big brother, and in so many ways he was always a shield for me. I thought I’d outgrown the need for that side of him, but Miley walking away makes it feel like someone just ripped a handful of my heart away. “Depends,” he says. “Did you fuck up?” “That’s what I’m asking myself,” I say distantly. “Ah,” he says knowingly. “A mystery mistake?” I nod. “Damn,” he says. “Those are fucking tough. But hey, it can only be so many things, right?” “Uh,” I say doubtfully. “She’s a woman, Leo. I’m pretty sure it can basically be any of the things.” He grins. “I mean if you break it down by category of fuck ups. There’s really just a few broad categories when it comes to relationships. Think about it. You’ve got things you did, and things you didn’t do that she wanted you to. Oh, and things you said or things you didn’t say,” he adds, sounding a little less confident that this is as simple as he was making it sound. “And I guess there’s things she has come to realize you’ll never do--or things she realizes you’ll never stop doing. I’m not really helping, am I?” I grin. “Not really.” He makes a sour face, nodding. “Hey,” he says more seriously. “Just give her a couple days. I know you probably want to go kick her door down or some

other heroically stupid kind of thing right now, but maybe she just needs a few days to appreciate how much happier she was when she was with you.” “A couple days? Fuck, man. I was going to go over once she had time to get a ride home.” Leo raises his eyebrows at me like a scornful parent. “So she runs away from you at the party, won’t even ride home with you, and you think she’s going to be happy to see you knocking at her door in an hour?” “Dammit,” I growl, spearing a hand through my hair. “Then I’ll wait till tomorrow.” “Jayce. I’m saying this because you’re my brother and I’m trying to look out for you. You’ve got to let her breathe for a couple days. Give it some time. You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.” “Yeah? Does your heart feel pretty fond for dad?” I ask. Leo glares at me. “Did I say abandon her and never come back?” I sigh. “So you’re suggesting I just wait?” “At least a few days. Give her some time to cool off.” “I’ll give her until tomorrow afternoon,” I say stonily. Leo laughs. “Yeah. That’s probably about how long I’d be able to wait, too.” He claps me on the shoulder and stands. “You lovebirds will figure it out. Don’t worry.”

11

MILEY

I

watch out the window as hills roll by. Kyle and I have driven this route enough for me to know in about an hour, the hills will give way to the forested mountains that have been the site of countless camping trips. We used to come out here to the wilderness all the time up until a few years ago. I guess our lives got too busy or we drifted apart, but one way or another we stopped coming. Until I came home from Jayce’s party last night and asked Kyle to call out of work for a week so we could get away. It was definitely impulsive of me and immature on more levels than one, but I can’t face him. I know in my heart that I want a family. I want to have little kids running around my ankles. I want to cuddle babies, cry when I watch my kids get on the bus for their first day of school, and I want to be there crying like a baby when they graduate high school. Jayce felt like the perfect guy in every single way, except that he doesn’t want to give me the family I need. It’s a non-negotiable. I know that, but I also know if given a chance, he’d end up making me want to try things with him anyway. It might be fine for a few months or maybe even a few years, but eventually I’d know I had given the keys of my heart to a man who didn’t want to go to the same place I do. “So,” Kyle says from the driver’s seat of the truck. “Are you planning on telling me the real reason we’re doing this on such short notice? Or am I supposed to keep believing you just really missed camping all of the sudden?” I sigh. There was a time not too long ago that I wouldn’t have ever hid anything from Kyle, back when we were still living with dad. I can’t put my finger on what changed exactly, but at some point it felt like he had to turn into our dad to help us escape, almost like the brother I knew permanently sacrificed part of himself for me. Now when I look at him, I see moments and glimpses of

our dad behind his eyes, and it wakes up all the old instincts to stay quiet and not open up. I owe him more than sulky silence though, so I decide to suck it up and start talking. “I needed to get away for a few days so Jayce couldn’t talk me into getting back together with him,” I say. Kyle half-turns, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize you two broke up.” It irks me that I hear a slight hint of relief or excitement in his tone, but I shouldn’t be surprised. In all honesty, I think Kyle would like it best if I went the rest of my life single. Maybe I shouldn’t blame him though, considering my track record. I’ve probably been an overprotective brother’s worst nightmare, but it was never intentional. It feels dumb to think it now, but when I look back on all my relationship troubles, it always started with me thinking this guy would be the one who was really good to me--the one who was different. Surprise, surprise. That’s exactly how I felt when I met Jayce. But he was good to me. Just not good for me. “I’m not sure if Jayce realizes either,” I say. Kyle chuckles. “What, you’re just ghosting him?” “He’s obnoxiously persuasive,” I say, but my justification sounds thin, even to my own ears. “If I tried to tell him flat-out, he’d just talk me out of it. That’s mostly why I want to get away. With a week to clear my head and get him off my mind, I will be able to stand my ground when we come back. I’ll tell him it’s not going to work and we’ll both be able to move on.” “I could tell him for you, you know.” “I know I’m not exactly handling this like a mature adult right now, but I’m not ready to revert all the way back to middle school level. I just need time to make sure my head is clear before I talk to him again.” “Well, here I was thinking you wanted to spend time with your big brother.” “I do. I could’ve just come up here by myself, couldn’t I?” “Yeah, except you’ve never be able to put up your tent or start a fire without my help. I feel so used,” he says with a grin. I glare at him. “I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to put up my own tent.” “Yeah? I guess we’ll find out.”

T WO W EEKS L ATER I wait for what seems like ages while the pregnancy test indicator gradually fades into view. I didn’t feel ready to come back after a week like I had originally planned, so it turned into two. I let my phone die so I wouldn’t be

tempted to take any of Jayce’s calls or texts, which started pouring in the day after we left. I only just plugged it in an hour ago when Kyle and I got back, exhausted and thankful for air conditioners and solid walls after so many days outside. My period should have come a week into our camping trip, but all the pads and tampons I brought along are still unopened in my camping bag. This is the first pregnancy test I’ve ever used, and I stupidly imagined it would be a special moment. I never thought I’d be hunched over on the toilet, hands shaking because I’m so scared of what it will mean if that faint blue color forms into a plus sign. Even if it’s a negative, I’m not usually late on my period, so I’ll be worried it was just a false negative since I’m taking the test on the early side. My stomach sinks when what was starting to look like a minus sign sprouts a little bit of blue that begins to stretch upwards and downwards. Positive. I drop the test on the ground, but the positive sign keeps growing darker and more clear, as if it needed to make the message any easier to see. I’m pregnant. I cup my face in my hands, breathing out long, shuddering breath after long, shuddering breath. I have to tell him. I don’t know how in hell I’m going to do it, but he needs to know it’s his. Whether he wants to be part of this babies life or not, he needs to know, and that terrifies me to my core. All my life I’ve been searching for a man who will accept me and treat me well, and I think in a large part it’s because my dad never accepted me. So I’ve felt desperate to find a man who would. Now the only man who ever seemed to accept me is going to learn that something he doesn’t want is growing inside me. The worst part is I know I won’t be able to tell him right away. I just ran off from him for two weeks without so much as a text to let him know where I was going, and he has no idea that in my mind we had broken up. I run my fingers through my hair and hang my head. Leave it to me to take the perfect guy and make this big of a mess, to be this stupid and impulsive. Somehow I’m going to have to find the courage to tell him the truth. I just hope I can do it before things go too far again, before I let him suck me back into his dark, beautiful world.

12

JAYCE

I

knock on the door to Miley’s apartment. I checked with her landlord last week and she didn’t move out, so I’ve just been hoping like hell she’ll come back, because she hasn’t returned my calls or my texts. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve yelled at Leo for suggesting I give her time. If I had just come to her fucking apartment that night like I was planning, I bet I could’ve caught her before she left. Now I’ve spent the last two weeks like some kind of stalker. I’ve been coming by her apartment every day, sometimes more than once, knocking and waiting for her to open the door so I can have a chance to figure out why she’s blowing me off. If I was a better man, I’d say I wasn’t pissed. The truth is I’m angry with her. Regardless of what she’s been through or dealing with, she should’ve known she could trust me enough to talk with me about it. Blowing me off like this was bullshit, and I’m not going to promise myself I’ll go easy on her for it. The door swings open and all my anger disappears the moment I see her face. Her hair’s a mess and she looks flustered, but I’ve wanted to see her so badly now for what feels like so long, she looks more beautiful than she ever has. I step forward, wrapping her in a tight hug. “You’re okay,” I say. “I was worried about you.” She stands stiffly, letting me hug her for a few seconds before her arms slide around my back and then tighten. When I pull back I can see the conflict in her face--the pain. All the anger I felt about her leaving without notice feels impossible to call back up. Whatever she’s dealing with, it’s real, and it’s powerful. “Help me understand,” I say. “I can’t help if I don’t know.” The change in her face is so sudden I can almost believe it’s real. She smiles, blowing out a quick breath and straightening her hair with her hands. “Sorry,”

she says. “I was just taking a nap. I must look terrifying.” “Never,” I say. She smiles with a touch of sadness, then chews her lip. “Look. I owe you an explanation. A big one. Running off like that without talking to you about it wasn’t right. It wasn’t even close to right. I needed to clear my head a little bit, and I could’ve at least told you that much.” “You could’ve,” I agree. “But if you’re not ready to talk about it, I can wait. For a little while,” I add. She smiles with relief. “I will talk to you about it. I promise. I just need a little more time.” “Yes, you will,” I say. I want to be gentle for her. To give her the time she needs… but I she made me wait too fucking long. Two weeks without my princess. Two weeks without so much as a taste of her. There will be time for healing, soft words, and talk. Later, though. “And you’ve disappointed me. You will be at my house tonight by seven. You’ll be wearing a white dress with white cotton panties and no bra. I’ll text you the code to let yourself in, and when I come home, I expect to find you waiting for me. You remember the room I took you in during the party? You’ll use the door beside that and wait for me on your hands and knees. You’ll wait as long as it takes for me to come, because you need to understand what it was like not knowing. Am I clear?” Her eyes are wide and her lips are parted. All the dirty parts of her mind are screaming in delight at how completely I’m planning to take control of her. I can practically see it in her face. She licks her lips though, hesitating. “Don’t make me ask twice,” I warn. She nods quickly. “Y-yes. But I don’t have any white dresses.” “The clothing and jewelry I expect you to wear will be delivered within the next few hours,” I say. As much as I want to stay longer and enjoy her presence, now that I know she’s back I can think only of the discipline she needs. She needs to be brought back in line, and she needs to be reminded how good it feels to give me the reins, even if it’s just for a night. “Yes, sir,” she says softly. I grin as I turn and leave, closing the door behind me. I can’t say how I know, but I can tell she wasn’t expecting our interaction to go that way. All for the better, though. She needs to learn that she’s my submissive, and nothing will ever feel so right to her as obedience. She’ll also learn the more she fights my control, the tighter her leash will become, and the more she obeys, the more freedom she will have.

W HEN I FINALLY ARRIVE HOME THAT NIGHT , IT ’ S FIFTEEN MINUTES AFTER SEVEN . I could barely think straight all day from knowing that Miley would be putting on the outfit I sent her, slipping into the pair of panties I commanded her to wear. The thought of her arriving at my place and walking through the empty house to wait for me how I told her to and exactly where I told her to… fuck, just imagining it has my cock so hard it hurts. I received a notification when she arrived at my house and let herself in with the keypad. Exactly one minute early like a good girl. Beneath the excitement, I feel a creeping kind of guilt. When I first saw Miley, I knew she was damaged. I told myself the only thing I’d ever care about if I had her was to help her become whole again, to heal her and give her the kind of relationship she deserves. When I saw her earlier today, it was like the cracks I had begun to see smooth over in her life had reopened, and even though part of me thought the best way to help her heal might be to sit down, have a normal night, and let her talk… I convinced myself it would be better for her to submit to me. It wasn’t an entirely selfish idea, but I can’t lie to myself and say my own lust after having her away for two weeks didn’t play into the decision. I do think the answers she needs to find inside herself may only come while she’s under my complete control and has surrendered to me. If she’s able to completely let go of her inhibitions, she will be forced to face the truths she has been hiding from, whatever they are. I know that much is true, and yet I still can’t shake the guilt that having her come here for me wasn’t entirely selfless. My guilty conscience fades into background noise when I open the double doors to my private rooms, where each door leads to a different theme. I walk through the area I think of as the lobby, passing the bar and the private table until I reach the door to the dark room. Of course, it’s not dark when I open the door, because I wanted to make sure I had a chance to appreciate my princess presenting herself to me, and fuck am I glad I left the lights on. The dress I bought for her is a lacey white thing that flares out at the hem just slightly, and like I had hoped, when she’s bent over for me, it rides up enough that I can see a hint of her pussy covered by the white cotton panties I wanted her to wear. She stirs when the door opens, but like a good little submissive, she doesn’t turn around or say a word. She waits while I walk toward her, not even moving when I kneel to get the most spectacular view of the wet spot already staining her panties. The doubts I had about my choice to have her come here for me melt away. She wants this.

She wants it so badly that kneeling here for me for fifteen minutes has her wet enough to soak her panties. “Tell me, princess,” I say, walking toward the door and turning off the lights. She gasps in surprise, because the room was designed to be completely and totally black without the lights on. She wouldn’t even see her hands in front of her face right now. “Tell me what you were imagining I would do to you that has you so wet,” I say. “I knew you were going to be upset with me, and that you would punish me,” she says. My cock stirs at her admission. “And that’s all?” I ask. “You knew I would punish you, and that brought you pleasure?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because I know I deserve it.” She pauses, and I hear her throat click as she swallows, hesitating. “It makes me feel good to know that I can make you happy. Like this,” she says, and I can’t see it, but I can practically picture her hanging her head, as if what she’s doing is something to be ashamed of. “It feels good to know you’re going to take control, because when I have control, all I can do is mess things up. Sir,” she adds. “Listen to me very carefully,” I say. “I don’t take control of your life. I take a part of you that you bring to this room, and I demand submission for that moment in time. When you’re here with me and you call me Sir, I demand everything. After a while, you will begin to leave our experiences together feelingmore trust in yourself than you ever felt before. It won’t be me that is guiding your life and making your decisions. It will be you. “You’ll learn that you are the master of your own mind because you did what so few can truly do. You surrendered. You didn’t give up or quit. You surrendered. You had the power and the control in your hands and you willingly gave it to me, even if it was only a few hours, you felt what it was like to be without power. Once you’ve felt that, you’ll never look at your own power the same again, you’ll understand how much control you truly have and how much you can do with it. That’s the gift our time together will give to you, princess.” “There’s something I need to tell you, sir,” she says quietly. “Not now,” I growl. “You’re mine, princess. You came into my house. You walked into my private rooms. You’re wearing the clothes, jewelry, and underwear just like I ordered you to. You’re even kneeling down for me like I asked. You’ve never belonged to anyone like you belong to me right now, and you never will belong to anyone else. So long as these lights are off, I own you,

body and soul, so whatever it is you think I need to know can wait, because I have been waiting too long to hear you begging for my cock.” There’s a small sound, almost as if she starts to speak but thinks better of it. “Good,” I say when it’s clear she has given up trying to speak. I see nothing at all, only pure darkness so thick it feels as though it’s actually inside my head, and it’s fucking thrilling. “You’ll notice your other senses begin to compensate when one is taken away. Sounds become more clear. More crisp,” I say, tugging the knot loose on my tie and letting it slip to the floor. I add my shirt to the growing pile, followed shortly by the rest of my clothes until I’m completely naked. I take practiced steps to the far wall, six strides and I’m within reach of the large feather on my right. I can’t see it, but I know it’s an incredibly soft, black feather on the end of a leather handle. I pluck it from the wall, then retrace my steps to stand exactly where I was before. I breathe in deeply, already feeling as though my nose is more responsive than usual, because I can even smell the scent of her soft skin beneath her perfume. “You’ll notice even the slightest touch,” I say, extending my arm out until I feel the warmth of her skin beneath the back of her dress. I splay my hand, letting it slide up her bare back, where I slip the shoulder straps off. “Feels magnified.” I gently work her free of the dress, not rushing because I’m savoring the anticipation. Every second I draw this out will only make the reward that much greater for both of us. “You’ll feel as though time slows down, because your body is used to writing memories down with your eyes. We see our memories. Right now, your brain is being forced to create a new kind of experience, and that change makes it feel slower to you, more drawn out. Every second drags in the most exquisite way.” I pull her dress down to her hips, dragging just the tip of a feather along her spine as I do in a way I know will make her feel chills across her entire body. “Your skin will respond to every single touch by sending blood rushing to the spot, activating nerves and synapses in your brain until even the slightest point of contact will be crystal clear to you.” I yank the dress down to her knees, working each leg free until I’ve tossed it aside and have her in nothing but her panties and heels. I can’t see a damn thing, but the memory of her bending over for me is so clear I can still picture how breathtaking she looks right now. I do the next best thing, and use my free hand to explore her nearly naked body. I pay special attention to her soaked panties. The way her juices slick the cotton material makes my dick feel like it’s so hard it could fucking explode. But I can only wait so long before I strip her panties too, tossing them into

the darkness along with her shoes. I grip her ass with my hand, letting my thumb graze her slick folds. She feels so unbelievably good that it’s all I can do not to slide my fingers inside her now and lick up her sweet juices. Not yet. “Time is a tool as effective as pain if used correctly,” I say, drawing the edge of the feather from the top of her ass down to her clit. I want to prime her body for my touch until she’ll nearly be ready to cum the first time I put my fingers inside her. “The longer you have to wait for what you want, the more responsive your body will be. The more desperate you’ll be for my cock stuffing that tight pussy.” She lets out the sexiest breath that’s halfway between a moan and a sigh. I grin into the darkness, still torturing her with the faintest touch of the feather. “Now it’s time for your real punishment,” I say. Without giving her time to brace herself or mentally prepare, I slap her firmly on the ass. She gasps, probably jolting forward from the shock of the sudden impact. I slap her again on the other cheek, not stopping until I’ve spanked her three times on each cheek and I know her ass will be stinging. Normally, I only want the pain to last a few seconds, but this time, I wanted my princess to feel the sting so she knows how much she disappointed me when she left these last two weeks. I want her to know there’s a price for misbehaving. Though I can only stomach the thought of so much, and I need to be sure she’s doing okay with the pain, because she’s not saying a word. “Do you need lotion to soothe it?” I ask. “No, sir,” she says quickly. I smile with pleasure. She’s so willing to accept her punishment and it’s turning her on--I can hear it in the strained sound of her voice. “Good. Now I want you to do something for me.” “Anything, sir.” “Surprise me,” I say with a wicked grin. It’s a few seconds before I hear the sound of her movement in the dark, and a few more seconds before I feel her hands fumbling for me. She touches my knees first, then her hands gradually work their way up my thighs, where she grips the base of my cock with one hand and immediately plunges her hot, wet mouth down on my cock. My head rolls back. So fucking ready to suck my cock. I absolutely love it. She works my entire length, not just sucking the head but running her tongue and lips down to the base of my cock and even surprising me when she starts giving special attention to my balls. “Goddamn,” I growl.

I can hear every sound, from the soft, barely audible moans vibrating through my cock to the occasional sucking sound when she pulls her lips away from me. I know she must look so sexy with her lips wrapped around my length that I’m tempted to turn on the lights, but I have enough self-control to suppress the impulse. It’s not long before I’m struggling to keep from filling her mouth with my cum--not that I’m opposed to the idea, of course. I just don’t want it to stop yet. I’m not even close to being through with her. I clench my fists, trying to distract my mind from the sensation of her mouth on me until I can force my impending orgasm back down. I’d stop her, but from the sound of it, she’s enjoying herself as much as I am. I last another minute before I finally grip a handful of her hair at the back of her head and pull her off at the last second. I close my eyes, trying not to imagine how her lips and my cock are probably glistening wet right now, or how I bet her pussy is probably so wet she’s dripping for me. I barely manage, but I hold back the orgasm and then breathe out a sigh of relief. “I think I might forgive you,” I say. She makes a small, but satisfied sound, knowing better than to speak now. She’s in my good graces, and she likely knows that means she’s finally going to get what she wants.

13

MILEY

M

y lips are sore from stretching to fit his cock in my mouth and my jaw is cramping, but I barely feel it. When he turned the lights off, it was permission to be someone else for a few hours.To pretend I’m not pregnant and that he isn’t likely to toss me aside when he finds out, or that I’m not doing something disgraceful by letting him use me like this one last time, even though I fear he wouldn’t if he knew the truth. I’m on my knees still with no idea where he is, exactly, but he’s still gripping my hair so that my head is tilted back. I’m completely as his mercy. By now, I couldn’t even find the door in this absolute darkness if I tried, and there’s no way I’d be able to free myself from the iron grip he has on my hair. Instead of frightening me, the lack of control is making my skin buzz with a constant hum of excitement. Combined with the way he made me feel when he dragged that feather across my skin, it really does feel like my sense of touch has transcended what should be possible. I feel everything, down to the the way each tiny hair on my arm reacts to the soft breeze from the air conditioner. Most of all, my pussy throbs with a kind of need I’ve never felt, not even the times I was with Jayce before. Having him in my mouth only made it worse, until I would willingly do anything just to have him inside me, filling me in that perfect way he does, until it seems like I couldn’t possibly take any more of him and he couldn’t possibly have any more to give, but he does. He’ll shift his hips and my legs and another inch will drive into me. I want it so badly. “Please, sir,” I say quietly. To speak louder than a whisper in this darkness feels unnecessary, as if the lack of sight is a constant reminder of how loud every sound actually is if you only listen. “Please what?” he asks. He wants me to beg. I pointlessly close my eyes, as if to hide from my own

guilt. I don’t feel guilt for my desperation, but I for my weakness, that I’ve come this far without telling him the single most important thing I came here to tell him. After all, what am I even doing if I don’t think there’s a future for us? Using him. I shake my head as I wrestle with my own thoughts. No. I’m not just using him. I’m trying to explore the possibility that this could work, that maybe if he had more time with me he’d see I could be a woman he’d want to raise a family with. Or maybe I’m hoping when he learns I’m pregnant, he’ll embrace the idea and want to raise the baby with me. He might even want more. As much as I try, it all sounds thin, and my attempts to assuage my guilt are fruitless. Despite the almost mind-numbing want I feel to have him down to my core, I stand up awkwardly. I try to walk toward the wall where I hope I can find a light. I have to tell him or get away. I have to do something, but I can’t just keep going like nothing is wrong. “What are you doing?” he asks sharply. “I need to go,” I say. Somehow he finds me immediately in the dark, gripping my arm tightly. “You’re not going anywhere.” “Let me go,” I say, tugging away. I expect him to let me go free, but instead I feel the weight of his body push into me. We both fall backwards, and for a split second, I’m terrified of the impact I’ll feel with the ground. Instead, we crash into the soft comforter of the large bed I was kneeling in front of when I came into the room. My legs are bent over the edge of the bed and Jayce’s body is pressed to mine, keeping me in place. “I’m not going to let you go again, princess.” The safe words are on the tip of my tongue. Yellow. Red. One word and I’m almost certain he would let me go. Yet, I can’t bring myself to say them. Instead, I just uselessly struggle against him, pushing at his strong body with no effect. “You don’t want me to let you go,” he whispers into my ear, sucking my neck between his lips and running his tongue to my earlobe, where he bites hard enough to send a small tinge of pain through me. “I don’t know why you think you need to run. I’ll care later, but right now, all I know is there’s only one way I’m not going to make you cum all over my cock--and that’s if you say the safe word.” There it is. He couldn’t make it any more clear, but I still can’t bring myself to say the words. Deep down I know it’s because he’s right. I feel guilty. I feel wrong. But I want this too badly to summon that last bit of willpower to tell him to stop. In my frustration--more with myself than him--I lash out, pushing and

swatting at him. One of my wild movements in the dark catches his face. He pauses for a fraction of a second as if stunned that I’d be so bold. He grips my hips and heaves me farther onto the bed so my head lands on the pillows. I feel the bed sink as he climbs on after me with an almost frantic pace and flips me over so my stomach is pressed down into the comforter. With one rough motion, he yanks my legs open and lowers his body over me. He thrusts his cock inside me without hesitation. I gasp, trying to reach back to press on his hips and slow him down, but he takes both my wrists in one hand and pins them down over my head and against the pillows, using his other hand to hold himself up as he starts working his cock into me with a pace that has my hands clenching around the pillows. I’m powerless. Utterly out of control and completely at his mercy. I know I should feel something like fear or panic or maybe even anger, but I feel none of it. I’m overcome by a single, earth-shatteringly powerful emotion: need. It’s as if every time I struggled in vein to resist a man and failed flashes before my eyes-all the times I was hurt and made to feel silly and stupid and ashamed. With Jayce, it’s different. I struggled and fought, but with every movement of his body and thrust of his cock into me, pleasure floods my body, washing me over with what feels like pure, white ecstasy. He didn’t wrestle control from me to hurt me like all the others before him. He took it from me to show me how wonderful I could feel if I let him own me. Thrust by thrust, I feel the force bleed out of him until he’s not fucking me like a disobedient submissive, but he’s working himself into me with the passionate pace of a lover. His slides both hands up my wrists and threads his fingers through mine while his lips fall to my ear. “I love you, Miley,” he whispers. “Don’t ever forget that.” My heart clenches, skin tingling all over even as my body jolts forward with each thrust of his hips. “I love you too,” I say in a surprised voice. I’m surprised because I mean it. I didn’t realize it until this precise moment, not completely. But now that the words have left my lips, I can feel how true they are. I love him. I love the way he came into my life and stood between me and all the things that would hurt me. I love how selflessly he protects me. I love the way I feel when he looks at me, when he touches me, and when he commands me to give myself to him. I love being with him. I open my eyes wide, and even though I can’t see anything but the darkness, it feels like I’m seeing it all clearly for the first time. Maybe the first time ever. The feelings mingle within me, swirling together with the pleasure, the sense of confinement, of surrender, and of being in his absolute control until it feels

like it’s building toward a crescendo that will leave me trembling and gasping for breath. I squeeze his hands so hard I know it has to hurt, but he only holds on tighter, driving his length into me, rocking his hips until every last movement is pure euphoria. I gasp out his name, not caring anymore if he’ll punish me for calling him something other than Sir while he’s taking me as my dom. I arch my ass up into him, begging for more of his cock even as my walls tighten around him. At the last second, he slides out of me and guides his cock up the crease of my ass until he tenses, releasing hot cum on my back. I figured he put a condom on in the dark at some point, and the fact that he pulled out hits me like a brutal reminder of the space that still stands between us. I can love him all I want and he can be the most perfect man in the world for me, but there’s nothing except a miracle that could bridge one of the most important gaps between us. I want kids. He doesn’t. I’m pregnant, and he has no idea. I let my head sink into the comforter, fighting back tears of confusion and frustration. Just tell him. Get it over with. Tell him the truth and stop being a coward. “Jayce…” I say. He sighs, rolling over and laying beside me on the bed. “What is it, princess?” He punctuates his question with a tender kiss on my shoulder. The simple gesture holds so much love my heart practically bursts, even as it feels like it’s about to break from telling him the truth. “I’m pregnant,” I say. It feels like forever before he finally speaks. “You’re sure?” he asks finally. There’s no hint of emotion in his voice--only a calm, measured tone that betrays nothing. “I’m pretty sure, yes,” I say. “But even if I wasn’t… I wanted to tell you since the party and I just didn’t have the courage. I’ve always wanted kids.” He claps his hands twice, making me jump with surprise and then squint my eyes against the sudden flood of light. “Wait a second,” I say, shielding my eyes with my hand. “Your BDSM dark room had a freaking clap light?” But I forget the ridiculousness of it in a moment when I see the look on his face. It’s not what I expected. He’s not angry, but he’s not happy. There’s an almost sad curl to his lips and angle of his eyebrows that takes me by surprise. “Jayce?” I ask. “Can you please say something?” “I’m sorry I did that to you,” he says. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

I roll to my side so I can properly give him a full-dose of what the hell did you just say? The cum on my back gets on his comforter as I do, but that’s the least of my worries right now. “You’re sorry?” I ask. He closes his eyes, breathing out a long, slow breath. He’s wrestling with something internally, clearly searching for the right way to say what he’s feeling. “My mom died a few months after she had me. There was some complication with the pregnancy, so they had to perform a C-section. A few weeks later--I don’t know exactly when because Leo only talked about it once, and even then he was sparse on details--some kind of infection set in from the surgery. She barely had enough to get by without our dad in the picture, so she didn’t think she could afford to get treated for it I guess. But it cost her her life.” “I’m so sorry, Jayce,” I say. My stomach twists as I start to piece together how that must have shaped him and changed his views on having children even before he tells me the rest. It starts to make sense, but only little by little, like pieces of a puzzle sliding together. “I know it wasn’t my choice. I know that,” he says again more quietly, as if to himself. “But I’ve never been able to shake the sense of guilt, like it was my fault somehow. So any time I ever thought about what it’d be like to find the woman I love, I’ve always told myself I’d never get her pregnant. The risk is too great. It feels like such a selfish thing… wanting kids and forcing the woman I love to take that risk for me.” “Wait,” I say, heart pounding. “So you do want kids?” “God, yes,” he says, lips flickering into a smile for an instant. “Yeah, I just always thought I’d end up adopting. Maybe. But yeah, as much as I know adoption is right and there are kids who need it, part of me still wanted this,” he says, pressing a hand to my stomach so gently it makes my skin tingle. “I wanted to know the woman I’d spend the rest of my life with was carrying my child, that I’d marked her so permanently nothing on the Earth could ever fucking change it. She’d be mine, and so would her baby. But I could never make that decision knowingly. When I took you in the club that first night, I wasn’t even thinking. I was so damn hungry to have you right then and there it was like my brain just shut off.” “I’m not going to get an abortion,” I say firmly. He hasn’t asked me, but it seems like he’s dancing around the topic. On one hand, he says he wants this, but on the other he still seems to think the risk is too much. “I can’t do that.” “I’d never ask you to,” he says. “Then why do you look so grim?” I ask, barely holding back tears. It feels like he’s moments away from telling me he can’t bear to be around it, or that this isn’t a commitment he really wants.

He touches my cheek softly, staring into my eyes. “Sorry,” he says. A grin splits his face. “I was just saying a silent prayer that it’d be a boy.” I put my hands to my face, smiling and laughing even though some confused part of me still feels like crying. “Seriously?” I ask, burying my face in his chest. “I thought you were going to break up with me and you were just trying to bargain with God for it to be a boy?” “Break up with you?” he asks, kissing the top of my head. “So we are dating, then?” I sigh, glaring up at him, but I can’t even glare without smiling right now. The relief hasn’t hit me completely, and I know it’s going to come in waves. Even when I can tell the good news hasn’t sunken in completely yet, I already feel so relieved and happy that I could jump up and down with excitement--if I wouldn’t be mortified to do that while completely naked in front of Jayce, that is. “We had better be,” I say, biting my lip. “As long as you promise Darla never comes on a date with us again,” he says. I laugh. “She wasn’t that bad. Come on.” “It was like having the grim reaper along, or maybe just our own personal black rain cloud.” “You had better stop teasing her. I’ll call her and tell her what you’re saying. I swear I will.” “Not when I’m done with you. You’ll be too exhausted to even dial her number.” I raise an eyebrow. He rolls me over, pinning me down and planting his strong arms on either side of my head. “You thought you could just tell me you’re pregnant and get away with getting fucked once? Princess,” he says, voice growing slow and raspy. “I can cum inside that beautiful little pussy of yours again, and I’m not going to be satisfied until I do.”

“I THINK THAT ’ S THE LAST BOX ,” I SAY TO D ARLA , WHO IS SWEATING PROFUSELY -probably because she opted to wear a thick, black ankle-length dress and long sleeves when she knew she was coming to help me move. “Remind me again why Mr. Perfect couldn’t help with this? Or your stupid brother?” I give her a wry smile. “Because it was only like four boxes and I didn’t want

to make Jayce miss work for that. And Kyle’s upstate until the weekend visiting his new girlfriend’s family.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “Jayce works?” I sigh. “Yes, Darla. He… I don’t know. He buys things, I guess. But he makes more money when he sells them later, or something like that.” She grins. “You don’t even know what he does.” “He does business,” I snap. She has a way of getting under my skin so quickly sometimes, but I’m always struggling not to smile even as I’m yelling back and forth with her. “He probably invests. You know, business kinda stuff.” “Right,” she says dryly. “What you’re saying is you’ve been too busy humping him like a rabbit to know what he does.” “I have not--” I start, except I guess for a guy I haven’t known that long, we have had a lot of sex. But it’s not like we don’t talk, too. I already know him better than anyone I dated for months and months. I’m carrying his baby, too, if that counts for anything. “Just forget it. I don’t need to know the details of his job. I know he’s good to me and he takes care of me. That’s enough.” Darla makes a gagging sound and rolls her eyes. “So is your friend, who took off work to come help you move four fucking boxes because you’re Miss Pregnant Princess who can’t lift a feather.” She gives me the faintest hint of a smirk to take the bite out of her words before she walks the box out into the hallway. I shake my head, smiling after her. It has been two weeks since I told Jayce I’m pregnant, and I think the freedom of having the truth out is finally starting to set in. He’s already having me move in with him. We’re together practically every single day, and instead of getting sick of him, it’s like I keep getting more desperate to see him by the hour. And right when I am starting to think things have taken a turn for the better, I look up to the doorway and see Cade. His arms are crossed and his eyes are boring into me. He looks sober, too, which for some reason scares me more than if he were drunk. “Going somewhere?” he asks. My old instincts scream for me to cower, to back into a corner of the room and just let him do what he’s going to do--whether it’s hit me or yell at me or call me names. Then when it’s all over, I can just try to bury it along with the rest of the bad memories. But for the first time in my life, something else stirs in me. I don’t know where it comes from, but I feel a strong sense of Hell no that comes roaring up. Hell no he’s not going to abuse me again. Hell no I’m not going to just let him get away with this.

Hell. No. I discreetly pull my phone from my pocket, turning my back to him like I’m shooting off a text, but instead I dial 911. I put the phone on speaker in hopes that it’ll pick up our voices, but mute the speaker on my end so Cade won’t hear. “What do you want, Cade?” I ask, trying to sound bored. “I want you. That’s what I’ve always wanted,” he says. I act like I’m setting my phone down carelessly, but I make sure the receiver is aimed outward where it will have a better chance of picking up our voices. “I broke up with you,” I say firmly. For once my voice doesn’t shake. I don’t feel like a cowering child beneath the huge shadow of my father. “It’s over. It has been over, Cade. You need to leave.” He steps inside my apartment, eyes never leaving my face. “Leave? It sounds like I need to slap you around a little, maybe. You never were very good at listening until I fucked up that pretty face of yours with a bruise or two.” I take a step back from him, trying not to move too far from the phone as I struggle to think of a way to say my address without tipping him off that an emergency operator is listening in. “That would be a bad idea, considering Jayce is just in the other room taking a nap.” I wait, hoping Cade will check the room and take the bait so I can quickly speak to the operator. My stomach turns to ice when Cade pulls out a switchblade and clicks it open. “Good. Then I don’t even have to wait to fuck him up, too. I’d tell you not to go anywhere, but I already know you’re too fucking scared and weak to run away. Why don’t you just wait here and cry while I go carve up your boyfriend?” He stalks off toward the bedroom. I lean down and whisper my address into the phone as quickly as I can. “Please, I’m alone. Send help as soon as you can. I’m going to run outside but he’ll come for me.” I grab my phone and head toward the door just as Cade swears and comes stomping back out after me. I’m already in the hallway and about to go down the stairs when he bursts out of the apartment and yells for me. “Get the fuck back here, bitch!” Not this time, asshole. I tear down the stairs, nearly knocking Darla over as she is heading back up and mopping her brow with her sleeve. She raises her eyebrows. “Oh you can run like a lunatic but you can’t carry a--” She spots Cade coming for me, and I glance over my shoulder just in time to see her actually body check him to the side when he tries to push past her. She’s

probably a hundred pounds lighter than Cade, but he was moving fast enough that the shove makes him lose his balance and tumble down a few steps, dropping his knife before he gets his feet again. “Help,” I say quickly to a guy in his twenties who’s coming in the main entrance of the apartment complex on his phone. He looks up and fails to take the situation in before I’ve already blown past him and Cade has shoved him to the side. I swing the door open and run to the right, but instead of going anywhere, I tuck myself between the door and the building, holding onto the handle so the only way Cade will see me is if he turns around and presses his head to the wall once he’s outside. I hear his heavy footsteps come thumping out of the building and then falter a few steps after he has started in the direction he thinks I went. He’s probably wondering how I could already be out of his view. The streets are always crowded though, and he must figure I’m hiding in the crowd, because I hear him push forward again. As much as I want to stay hiding, I know the chances of anything happening to him are slim to none if he’s not still after me when the police show up. It goes against every instinct I have, but I step out from behind the door and yell after him. “Hey, asshole!” I shout. To my amusement, Cade turns around immediately, as if his identity as an asshole is so internalized that he reflexively answers to the name. Some people in the crowd seem to notice, but no one actually does anything. Everyone is too busy trying to get to work or to class or wherever they’re going, and now it probably looks like I’m the one who was antagonizing him. I start running from him as fast as I can while having to shove through the packed street. I can’t do it as fast as Cade though, who has the strength to physically shove everyone out of his way much more easily than me. A glance over my shoulder tells me he’s almost caught up with me, but Darla is also rushing out of the apartment now, too, heading toward him. Cade’s hand grips my shoulder from behind and yanks me backwards. “You should’ve stayed hidden, bitch.” “Hey,” says a guy in an indignant voice, as if he’s offended to hear Cade talk to me that way. But the guy doesn’t even stop walking, like his angry glare and word were enough to assuage his guilt over doing nothing. “The police are coming,” I say to Cade as he drags me toward an alley between the apartment building and the highrise beside it. “They’ll be here any second.” “Right,” says Cade. “You never called the cops before. Why would you

now?” The sound of sirens makes him stop mid-step. He tilts his head, as if trying to make sure he’s not hearing things. “You’re hearing what you think you are,” I say triumphantly. “That’s the sound of you being fucked.” “I’ll just come back for you another time,” says Cade, who shoves off me and starts trying to run. Darla shows up behind him at just the right moment, pushing against his chest and trying to slow him down. “Not so fast,” she grunts through gritted teeth as she tries to hold him from moving. I run up behind him and pull on the back of his shirt. He becomes more desperate, swinging at Darla and I in his haste to try to get away. People nearby finally start to notice something is wrong, and an athletic guy about Cade’s height even steps in and pins Cade’s arms to his side. “The fuck you doing, man?” asks the guy. Two officers come jogging toward us, which causes almost everyone on the street to stop now and watch the spectacle as red and blue lights wash over everything. “You the one who called?” asks one of the officers, who glances toward my apartment building. “Yes,” I breathe. The next few minutes play out like I’m watching from far away. I see them cuff Cade and the way he struggles and tries to headbutt the officers like some wild animal. I see them throw him in the back of their cruiser and drive off as an ambulance arrives for me. I try to tell them I’m fine, but the EMTs still insist on sitting me down and checking Darla and I over for injuries. “Any pain here?” asks the woman examining me while I sit on the back of the ambulance. “None,” I say distantly. Beside me, Darla is blushing furiously as a male EMT with dyed black hair, tattoos, and about fifty black wristbands is looking her over. I can’t stop thinking about how I actually did it. The old me would’ve become a victim to whatever Cade was planning. If I made it through, my brother or Jayce probably would’ve ended up taking their anger out on him in an attempt to protect me, but like always, the damage would’ve already been done. I would’ve had the same, lingering self-loathing that always comes after the abuse. The oddest part is that even though Jayce wasn’t here, I know he’s the one who saved me. I’m the one who finally stood up for myself, but Jayce was the

one who helped empower me. Strangely enough, it was surrendering to him that taught me how strong I really could be. I’ve been surrendering by instinct my whole life, and it was only when I learned to do it on purpose that I saw how to stand up.

J AYCE All Miley’s things are in my house now, and they barely take up a quarter of a room. I lean against the wall and look at the boxes and sparse bits of furniture that she has spent a lifetime accumulating. My little princess… I can’t fucking wait to start spoiling you. She deserves so much more, and I’ll make sure she has it. She’s in the kitchen now sipping on a hot chocolate. She tried to turn down the drink, but I thought she could use something comforting. Thinking of what she went through earlier today still makes me want to punch a hole through the wall. That, and I want to lock her up in my house where I can swallow her up in my arms, keeping her safe from all the shit out there. But then I guess I don’t need to. When she told me how she handled herself, I was so proud of her I could barely hold it in. I think back to the broken little bird I saw when she came to tell me about Cade that first night I met her. I knew she was strong and beautiful beneath the broken woman I saw, but I don’t know if I ever even imagined she could pull off something so incredible. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she spent her whole life carrying the scars of her past, but she’s better than that. She overcame it all. “Sorry,” she says, sliding up beside me and threading her arm around mine to nuzzle against me. “I know it’s a mess right now, but I’ll get it all sorted out soon.” “No,” I say. “You’ll relax and enjoy yourself, because you don’t need to be doing all that work.” I put my hand on her still-flat stomach and grin. “We don’t want to go shaking things up for our little boy and scaring him off.” She laughs. “You had better stop assuming it’s a boy. I don’t want you to find out it’s a girl and be disappointed.” “I won’t be. I’d love her just as much. Besides, it would mean we could keep trying for more.” She raises an eyebrow and turns to look at me sharply. “You’d be willing to have more? But I thought…” “I know,” I say. “What you did today though… You stopped letting your past

control your present and I want to do the same. Besides, if I had known you were such a tough son of a bitch, I wouldn’t have been worried about you making it through a pregnancy in good health.” She gives me a crooked smile. “What, so you thought I was a weak son of a bitch?” I chuckle. “No. I thought you were delicate.” I kiss her forehead. “You may be able to fight your own battles, but it doesn’t mean you can’t be pampered and spoiled from time to time--or all the time, if you let me.” She bites her lip and cuddles herself back into my arm. “I wouldn’t complain about a little pampering.” “Good,” I say abruptly. I lower my voice, which is a not-so-subtle way to remind her this request is coming from her dom. “Then go upstairs to the dark room. Get on your knees like before. You can leave your clothes on.” “Clothes on, sir?” she asks with a playful pout. “Are you sure?” I grip her cheeks with one hand, letting the faintest shadow of my amusement show through. “You wouldn’t question your dom, would you?” “No, sir,” she says. “Then go.” She hurries upstairs, glancing back at me with an excited smile before she disappears up the stairs. I had planned to wait a few more days, especially when I heard what happened today. But I can’t wait any longer. When it comes to my princess, I have the patience of a child.

14

MILEY

I

wait in total darkness on my hands and knees. The larger, circular room outside was so dark when I came in, I couldn’t even see when I opened the door. So I did my best to crawl forward from memory, trying to get as close to the foot of the bed as I could. I’m wearing jeans today, which I hope won’t be too hard for him to get off in the dark, but I’m sure he’ll find a way. I have to admit I was hoping to see inside one of the other rooms next time he took me, but being taken in total darkness by him was such a thrill that I can hardly complain. It’s nearly five minutes before I hear the door open softly behind me. “You may be wondering why we’re using this room again before you’ve even seen the others,” he says. “But it’s because I have a surprise for you.” I raise my eyebrows, trying to imagine what kind of devious, kinky thing he could be hiding in the dark. I almost scream when his hand gently comes down on my ass. “Ah,” he says. “There you are. Now I need you to obey me exactly. Do you understand?” “Yes, sir,” I say. “Good. Crawl forward with one hand out-stretched until you feel the bed.” I do what he says a little awkwardly, almost losing my balance several times, but then I feel the comforter of the bed. “Now,” he says, “put your hand beneath the bed and feel around. Carefully.” I do as he says, sliding my hand along the soft carpet until I feel something cold and metallic. I frown in the dark, running my fingers over it and picking it up. “A ring?” I ask, heart already pounding. I clap my hands twice, jumping to my feet as I look at what’s in my hands. “Hey!” says Jayce. He’s grinning wide and chuckling. “You’re not supposed

to clap on the lights yet.” “So punish me,” I say through a broad smile. “Is this what I think it is?” He comes closer, taking my wrists and kneeling. “Probably, unless you’re thinking it’s the prize out of a cereal box.” “That’d be some prize,” I say, eyes already watering. “Will you marry me?” he asks. “Oh, let me think about that for a minute…” I say sarcastically. I lunge at him, wrapping my arms around him and crying into his neck. “Yes. This is crazy, but yes.” “Crazy would’ve been waiting another minute to ask you, princess. Now let me see how this looks on you,” he says, gently pushing me back so he can slide the ring on my finger. I sigh down at it in disbelief. It’s obviously ridiculously expensive, but it’s not so big that I look like a trophy wife or a gold-digger. It’s exactly what I would’ve picked if price was no object. I just can’t believe he already asked me. “What if you don’t like the way I snore?” I ask. “Or how I can’t seem to brush my teeth without getting water spots all over the mirror?” He shrugs. “I’m a heavy sleeper, and I have a maid.” I give him a stern look. “A sexy maid?” “Hmm,” says Jayce, who makes a show of stroking his chin in thought. “I guess when he wears this one particular outfit, he does look pretty muscular.” “Oh my God,” I say, slapping his arm. “You seriously have a male maid?” “Yeah, his name is Jayce.” “Okay, now I know you’re lying. There’s no way you keep this whole place clean on your own.” “When I’m staying here, I do,” he says. “Cleaning is my stress relief. I enjoy it.” “Wow,” I say. “Are you sure someone didn’t make you on an assembly line somewhere?” “Hm,” he says, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. “That’s a good question. Why don’t you give me a full body exam to look for a barcode.”

15

EPILOGUE - JAYCE

Three years later

T

he entire house smells like Thanksgiving. As a self-proclaimed disaster in the kitchen, I let Miley, Leo, and Lysa cook up the feast while I was left on baby wrangling duty. Leo’s kids are content playing with the train set we have set up in the playroom, but Amelia is on some kind of mission where the only objective is to see how many ways she can almost off herself just before I save her. I lost count of how many times we narrowly avoided losing her today between the fact that she learned how to pull the child safety plugs out of the outlets and the unfortunate combination she has of loving heights and having no sense of balance. “Daddy chase me!” she says happily as she weaves through the house and shows no signs of tiring despite what seems like the marathon of a chase she has led me on. She has only really been talking for a few months now, but in the last few weeks it seems like she’s learning a handful of new words a day and even stringing them together into sentences. I haven’t gotten tired of hearing my little girl call me daddy yet. I think of how badly I thought I wanted her to be a boy and it seems unreal. I still want a boy, but I wouldn’t trade Amelia for the world. She’s my little girl, and if I had a boy like I thought I wanted first, we wouldn’t have her. I snatch her up and roll her into my arms, blowing raspberries on her belly until she giggles. “Hey,” I say, kneeling down and setting her back on her feet.

“Go tickle mommy’s toes.” “Yeah,” whispers Amelia, who waddles off toward the kitchen. I only have to wait a few seconds before I hear Miley scream with laughter, followed shortly by Amelia’s giggles. It’s only a half hour later when we’ve all sat down for dinner and have the kids at their own smaller table in the playroom so they can wander around and eat at their leisure--because when it comes to Amelia, there’s no tying that little lady down in a high chair. She’s a roaming eater and there’s hell to pay if we try to take that freedom away from her. Leo and Lysa sit across from Miley and I, while Lysa’s mom, Rachel sits at the head of the table. Miley’s brother Kyle and his girlfriend are on the other end of the table as well. As usual, Lysa’s mom is glaring at Leo and I, but more of her glares go Leo’s way. I’ve gotten to know her through the few times a year we all meet up for holidays now, and despite having some overwhelmingly offputting qualities, like her tendency toward name calling, glaring, crude jokes, and aggressive finger poking, she’s actually pretty nice to have around. “We going to eat?” asks Rachel, “Or are we just going to eye-fuck the food all damn night?” I cover my mouth, snorting out a laugh as Lysa gives her mom a look of disbelief. Leo doesn’t even look phased, which is a testament to how used to her he has become. Miley gives me a subtle bulge of her eyes before she reaches to plate herself some food with a barely hidden grin. Kyle nudges his girlfriend, who smirks up at him. After dinner, we put on Aladdin for the kids, who surprise us by actually sitting down quietly to watch. Rachel literally fell asleep at the dinner table, where Lysa was nice enough to prop a pillow under her forehead while she sleeps off the bottle of wine she drank mostly by herself. I spend the entirety of the movie with Miley in my arms, running my fingers through her hair and across her back. I look between her and Amelia and think of how I never thought I’d deserve a life as good as this. “I love you, princess,” I whisper to her. She looks up at me with those big, gorgeous eyes that only seem to get more beautiful every day. “I love you too. Sir,” she adds with a flirtatious wiggle of her eyebrows. Fuck. I glance at the clock. Just a few minutes and we’ll be kicking everyone out so we can get Amelia to bed. Just a few minutes before I can take her upstairs, but I don’t think I can even wait that long…

16

EPILOGUE - MILEY

J

ayce announces to everyone that we’ll be right back because we need to go clean up the kitchen before it starts to smell. It’s an odd excuse, given that we already cleaned up most of the food, but everyone is too drowsy to seem to notice or care. If Darla had been able to come, I’m sure she would’ve had some sarcastic comment right about now, but she’s still too obsessed with Matt, the dark haired EMT she met the night I got Cade arrested. She hasn’t made much time to hang out with me since they got together, but I can’t be too upset because she actually seems happy for once. Jayce half-drags me through the kitchen, where he shakes a pot in the sink around for a few seconds and then takes me outside on the darkened patio by the pool. “What are you doing?” I laugh. “Shh,” he says. We move outside and he doesn’t waste any time pinning me to the wall of the house, just out of view from the windows. “What I’m doing,” he whispers, “is fucking my dirty wife, who doesn’t know better than to tempt me.” I close my eyes and lean my head back because I know how he loves to kiss my exposed neck. Just like I expect, the warmth of his mouth finds my neck and takes my breath away. “God,” I gasp. “You always know exactly what I need.” “Quiet,” he growls. “I don’t want to have to fuck you in front of my brother, or yours.” I bite my lip to stay silent, but the idea that he needs to fuck me so badly even after he has had me so many times makes my heart flutter. “Then hurry up,” I whisper in his ear teasingly.

He grunts, lifting me by my legs and pinning me harder to the wall. He pushes my dress up and pulls his pants down within seconds. In his hurry to have me, he just yanks my panties to the side and guides his cock in. I was worried I hadn’t had enough time to get wet for him, but as usual, I’m already soaked after only a few words and a few moments of contact. I squeeze my eyes shut, not even needing the extra layer of excitement BDSM brings, and apparently he doesn’t either. Over the last couple years, I’ve found that sometimes we both seem to enjoy just normal, vanilla sex--though it always feels miles beyond just sex with Jayce. Whether he’s binding me and punishing me or just holding me as he uses my body, there’s a tender, possessive quality to his touch that only gets more addicting with time. He treats me like his most prized possession, like the thing in the world he would do anything and everything to protect and keep. When I’m being held by him like this, even when he’s driving his length into me again and again, drawing my orgasm closer with every thrust, my world feels right. I can feel his love for me in the way his fingers thread through my hair and he never seems to stop caressing and touching me, exploring my body like it’s the first time he’s ever felt me. I’m his. He said it when we first met, and he has never stopped making me feel it. “Oh God,” I whisper. “I’m going to cum.” “I fucking love you,” he breathes into my ear. He tenses, filling me with his hot cum. My own climax comes as soon as I feel the kick of his cock inside me, making my walls tense and pulse, my whole body filling with a warm, fuzzy heat. I slump back as he pulls himself out and slides back into his pants. All I have to do is shift my panties and shimmy my hips to fix my clothes. “There’s something I want to tell you,” I say, barely able to hold in my excitement. “I was going to try to wait until I was more sure, but I think I know. It feels the same as it did last time…” Recognition sparks across his features. He frowns and smiles at the same time, lips parting into a confused smile. “We’re pregnant again. My period was due a few days ago and the tests are coming up positive already. I’ve already taken four.” Jayce picks me up like a sack of potatoes, throws me over his shoulder, and runs inside. I try to tell him to stop being a maniac and put me down, but he doesn’t hear me because he’s already shouting the news to everyone. “We’re pregnant!” he yells as we come around the corner into the living room. Everyone looks up at us, but Rachel is the first to speak. “I think you’ve got to give it more time than a few seconds to happen, hotshot.” She winks

knowingly. My cheeks flush red to think that Rachel knew what we were out there doing. “No,” says Jayce, who’s clearly too excited to get her joke. “She already took four tests. All positive!” “I guess we’re telling everyone,” I say a little sarcastically. I’m not irritated though. I’ve never been much for keeping secrets like this--except when I thought Jayce was going to hate me for being pregnant, at least. I definitely didn’t keep it a secret when I got word that Cade was going to be behind bars for at least fifteen years because two other women came forward about the way he abused them. “Could you put me down now?” I ask. Jayce seems to realize he’s still hoisting me on his shoulder and eases me to the ground. “Baby?” asks Amelia. “Yes, sweetie!” I say scooping her up and hugging her tightly. “You’re going to have a little sister or brother.” “Brother,” says Jayce. “Definitely a brother. Or mommy’s not done getting pregnant.”

17

SNEAK PEAK: KNOCKED UP BY THE MASTER

T

hanks so much for reading! I’ve included a sneak peak of Knocked Up by the Master, my Amazon top #12 bestselling novel. This is the story of how Leo and Lysa meet, so I hope you’ll check it out!

I did something reckless. Something crazy… For one night I gave my submission to a stranger. I let him dominate me. Claim me. Own me. But that night rocked my world in more ways than one… I’m pregnant. Now he’s back and won’t stop until I’m calling him Master.

18

LYSA

I

watch my mom lay peacefully in the hotel bed like I have so many nights before. She’s strong. She always has been. I know if I didn’t come visit her as much as I do, she wouldn’t hold it against me, but she’s all I have left. We lost my dad when I was so young I can only remember his face from the pictures mom kept. No cousins. No surviving grandparents. Just us So even when it’s not easy, I visit every day. Even on the days when seeing her hurts because it reminds me she doesn’t have long left, or the days when work was tough and I have so much classwork I just want to go home. I still come. She stopped chemo when the cancer came back three months ago, so the doctors told us it was only a matter of time now before the cancer shuts her organs down. Weeks, months--they couldn’t say. All we know is it won’t be long. Her eyes flutter open. They’re walnut brown, just like mine. She raises an eyebrow when she sees me. “Enjoying the show, perv?” she asks in her usual cranky tone. I try to hold back a smile. Encouraging her only makes it worse. She’s sixtytwo years old, but most of the time, she seems more like a surly and highly mischievous child trapped in the body of an adult. “I just got here,” I say. It’s a bit of a lie, considering I’ve been waiting for her to get up for nearly half an hour, but I don’t need to give her more ammunition. “Besides, I was enjoying the view out the window. It’s not like I was just staring at you,” I add. “And I see you just got here without my coffee. No sympathy for a poor, old, decrepit woman?” I pull the coffee from behind my back with a half-cocked grin. It’s not piping hot, but my mom always lets it cool for a while before she drinks it anyway.

“You’re not old and decrepit,” I say, setting the coffee beside her bed. “You’re a fighter. You always have been. And you’re going to beat this.” She waves me off, letting her guard down for a split second. I see the real sadness in her eyes slip through the cracks, but she covers it just as soon as it comes. I know her sorrow isn’t for herself though. She’s sorry I’m seeing her this way. I just wish she would get it through her stubborn head that she’s my mommy, damn it. Dad’s not here to take care of her, and I’m not going to leave her to go through all this on her own. “And you’ve always been too worried about everyone else,” she says with her voice full of scorn. “You’re young and beautiful, Lysa. You should be out breaking hearts and taking names, not stuck in a stuffy room with a cranky old coot.” “You’re hot? You should’ve said something,” I say, getting up to turn the air down for her. She sighs. “You’re too nice. I always tell you. Someone is going to come along and take advantage of that kindness. Then I’m going to have to go and get out of this bed to stab that someone because they hurt my baby. I’m far too old to go around murdering foolish men, Lysa.” I grin. “You’re still young enough to go murdering, mom.” I get up to look for her prescriptions. As if she didn’t have enough problems on her plate, my mom has Crohn's disease, and she has a bad habit of forgetting her pills if I don’t remind her. She gives me the first real smile since she’s woken up. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said to me all week.” “I won’t be sweet if the housekeepers threw away your pills again,” I say, after I’ve checked all the possible places for her prescriptions. “Did you move them?” I ask. She throws her hands up in innocence. “Do I look like I’ve been up and ‘attem? Moving things around, adjusting the feng shui and all that nonsense? Maybe a little nude yoga by the window...” I take in her graying hair and the way it’s tangled up into something a bird might mistake for a home. “It was the housekeepers. I told them last time that--” I sigh in frustration, cutting myself off short. “You know what? I’ll be back. I’m going to go straighten this out.” She gives me a half-hearted clap. “That’s the spirit. Go ream someone out for me.” I make my way to the lobby downstairs, still in slight awe of how nice the Beaumont Hotel is. My mom only wanted to pay for some roach hotel so she “wasn’t squandering my inheritance.” I may have gone a little overboard when I

bullied her into staying here instead. Either way, the thought of her sitting alone in some cheap motel to live out the last of her days was too much. Waiting tables hasn’t left me with a ton of extra cash, but I’m not about to let my mom live out what could be her final days in a miserable, poorly lit hotel where she has to listen to people fighting and screwing all day. I feel totally out of place here. I’m just wearing a worn out old summer dress I threw on after work to replace my sauce-stained work jeans and shirt. Compared to the sleek dresses, business-formal, and fashion chic outfits that seems to be dress code for all the other women, I look like a slob. Thankfully, the housekeepers have me pissed enough to ignore it for now. For all they know, those pills could be for some life-or-death illness. A man with a ridiculous, pencil-thin mustache waits behind the customer service desk in the lobby. “Excuse me,” I say, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “This is the second time my mom’s prescriptions have gone missing from her room. I need you to check with housekeeping to see if any of them were stolen or thrown away.” He regards me coolly, raising one well-groomed eyebrow as he looks down at me. “Do you propose I order a search of all the trash cans in the entire hotel, or perhaps a pat-down of the housekeepers for contraband, Miss…?” “Lysa Ross. And I don’t really care how you do it, but I need those prescriptions before noon.” He folds his hands and purses his lips. “Of course you do. Your mother-she’s quite elderly, then? Did it occur to you that she might have misplaced them herself?” “My mother is bedridden right now,” I say. “So no, it didn’t--” “Is there a problem?” asks a deep voice behind me. My anger boils over at the interruption. I spin, finger raised and eyebrows drawn. I’m about to lay into whoever has the nerve to interrupt when my jaw drops open soundlessly. The man looking down at me has green, smoldering eyes that drink me in. It’s all I see at first--those pools of emerald burning into me with so much intensity I could melt into a puddle right here in the lobby. He’s gorgeous. No, I’ve seen gorgeous men before. Whatever this man is defies traditional vocabulary. All my brain can do is take him in piece by piece, as if the entire package is too much mouth-watering man to comprehend all at once. Stubble shades his strong jaw, giving him a gruff, almost rugged look despite the expensive suit he wears so well. The first button of his white shirt is undone enough to show a hint his muscular chest, giving me enough of a glimpse to know his body is probably full of hard-cut lines and sculpted flesh.

“You’re going to come with me,” he says firmly, eyes locked on me. I expect the little man with the mustache to protest having me pulled away, but he nods instead. “Of course, Mr. Carlyle.” “Come,” he says again. When I don’t move immediately to follow him. He actually grabs me by the arm and starts tugging me along. “Hey!” I say. He rounds on me so quickly I take a step back. Those eyes. God. It’s like looking into a furnace full of jade flames, like he wants to put his hands on me right now. Or his mouth. My body betrays me and I take a step toward him, eyes locked on his. I think I catch the glimmer of a satisfied smirk twitch across his mouth, but it’s gone so quickly I can’t be sure. “Where are we going?” I ask. “My office,” he says gruffly. “I’m sorry, but exactly who are you?” “In charge,” he says almost flippantly as he continues to pull me away from the lobby. “Of what?” He stops mid-stride to glare down at me. “That’s quite a mouth you have.” His hand comes up to touch my face, thumb brushing my bottom lip. There’s no air in my lungs. No space for my chest to expand. It’s like the world closes in on me until my attention is laser focused on that single point of contact between the rough pad of his thumb and the soft skin of my lip. It’s all I can do not to grip his wrist and take his entire thumb in my mouth right now, to suck it while I look up into those arresting green pools of sexuality he calls eyes. And wow. There it is. The single most insane thought I’ve ever had. I’ve never, ever thought of doing something like that to a man, let alone a stranger. It’s like this man in the suit is the embodiment of sexuality, and even my normally tame, reserved personality is getting whipped into some sort of feral frenzy just being near him. He lets his hand drop from my face, showing that same hint of a grin. “You had better watch it,” he says. “Watch what?” I ask breathlessly. I realize a heartbeat too late his meaning was obvious, but my brain isn’t exactly functioning on all cylinders right now. “Your mouth. It could get you into trouble. Especially with me.” Wow. Why does the idea of getting into trouble with him make me throb with heat between my legs? And why is my mind filling with images of him standing over me while he takes off his belt? I really must not be sleeping enough. I’m apparently half out of my mind. In my circle of friends, I’m always the butt of jokes because I’m the last person on

Earth to do anything wild or risky, especially when men are concerned. Now here I am, letting my mind run wild with every dark fantasy in the book just because this guy is giving me a little attention? It doesn’t matter, though. No matter what’s going on in my head or what I’m reading into his body language, he’s probably just going to sit me down while he calls the housekeepers and asks about the pills. I’m getting ahead of myself. Way ahead of myself. And even if he really is planning something, I’d be way too chicken to take him up on the offer. He starts walking without waiting to see if I follow--expecting me to follow. The assumption irks me, but I know I don’t dare cross this man. I can’t say how I know not to test his limits, but there’s a certain level of authority that seems to radiate from him. I don’t think I want to find out what would happen if I displeased him, I know that much. He pulls me along behind him as he walks, just as surely as if he grasped me by the arm again, yet he’s not laying a finger on me now. There’s a chemistry between his movements and my body I can’t seem to overcome, an attraction. A magnetism. A few words. A few gestures. Less time than it takes to brush my teeth and this man already has my mind feeling like jelly and my body moving at his whim like a marionette. He opens the door to his office and motions for me to sit in front of an impressive desk. “Are you the manager?” I ask as I sit down and take in my surroundings. Large, expensive looking furniture. Gold baubles, leather-bound books, and countless items that look like they came from all over the world. I reach to touch a solid metal globe but his hand snaps out, gripping my wrist. “I own this building, and some others like it,” he says, still gripping my wrist, eyes boring into mine. “I own everything in it. Everything.” The way he says the last word makes me pause. There’s no doubt of his meaning, not with the way he’s looking at me--the proprietary way he’s gripping my wrist. “I really need to go. If my mom doesn’t get her medication--” “Stay right there.” He grabs the phone on his desk, punches in a number, and waits a few moments. “What are the prescriptions?” “Azulfidine and Asacol,” I say. He repeats the prescriptions into the phone. “Get them now and have them delivered to her room.” He hangs up the phone. “Now you have no excuses.” I shake my head, opening my mouth a few times but no words come out. I stand up, suddenly sure I need to leave, sure that staying another moment

will lead to something. I don’t know what, but I’ve lived my whole life turning the other way when a risk presents itself. All my hard-earned instincts are firing right now, practically demanding I leave. My back bumps into the wall before I manage to spit out a sentence. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Why--” He walks toward me with no sense of urgency, no rush, just pure, heartstopping confidence and purpose. “Because I want you. I saw you in the lobby and I knew I had to have you. I knew I couldn’t wait another fucking hour to taste you.” God. Who even talks like that? Who has the nerve or the confidence? Apparently, this guy. He’s close now. So close my nose is filled with the scent of him and my breasts are pressed between us. My hands twitch at my sides, instinctively wanting to reach out to touch him, but I hold them back. This is crazy. Things like this don’t happen in real life, and if they do, they definitely don’t happen to me. They never have. “Look. I’m--I just can’t. This isn’t--” He tilts my chin up with his thumb and kisses me so suddenly, I don’t even have time to resist. The warmth of his mouth and tongue swallow up my thoughts, drowning me in a world where things are simple. Where all that matters is what feels good and the here and now. A place where people I care about don’t die and my life isn’t full of dull monotony. I pull back, closing my eyes, I’m physically trembling from the force of the sensations rushing across my skin like a hot, prickling breeze. It’s too much. Way too much. Being in that world, that place where I could forget everything but his touch is like a drug, and it’s a drug I can’t let myself get addicted to. My mom needs me too much, even if she would never admit it, and I need to stay focused on being with her while she’s still here. “I need to go,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I open the door and rush outside, expecting to feel the iron grip of his hand on my shoulder at any moment. I take five steps, ten, fifteen. No hand comes on my shoulder, not even a raised voice. Something akin to disappointment surges through me but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I don’t remember when it happened, but I gave up hoping for more a long time ago. I make enough money to pay the rent for my crummy little apartment, I have a handful of hours every night to relax, and I occasionally go on a dates with guys that leave about as much of an impression on me as raindrops on a lake. That’s my life, and I’m okay with that. A man like him… It’s too much. I don’t do things like this. I don’t even know people like him. I’m passing through the lobby when unexpected tears prick at my eyes. I

frown, rubbing at them in annoyance. With every passing second, I feel a deeper and more real sense of loss, like I just ran away from a once in a lifetime opportunity. A scary opportunity. No, a terrifying opportunity, but one that ignited such a thrill and exhilaration in my chest I know I’ll never experience anything like it again. It’ll pass, I tell myself. A few hours or days and I’ll forget how it felt to be in his focus. I’ll realize I made the right choice to run. I step into the elevator, where a couple around my age smiles as they hold the door for me. “Thank you,” I mutter. I try not to look at them, but even from the corner of my eye I can see the way she clings to him and how protectively he holds her. I feel more alone now than I have in years. With one kiss, that man gave me my first real taste of what it is like to be connected to someone, even if it was just on a purely, lust-filled level. I felt the intensity of it and I ran like a coward. I close my eyes and run a hand through my hair, doing everything I can to put it from my mind and failing. I hear the couple beside me take in a sharp breath together, as if surprised. When I open my eyes, I see a hand squeeze between the doors at the last second, causing them to open again. It’s him. If I thought he looked determined before, this is a whole new level. He strides into the elevator, apparently oblivious of the couple beside me because he walks straight into me, like he’d walk through me if I didn’t back up. I’m pushed back by his body until he has me pinned against the wall, arms on either side of me, chest heaving and eyes heavy. “I can’t let you go,” he breathes. All the tangled emotions inside me are such a mess I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t want to think for once. I want to act, to do, to be reckless. Even my awareness of the couple beside us fades to something dim and faint, like a light in the distance through a foggy window. I know they are there, but I can’t seem to make that matter right now. Nothing matters except those hungry lips of his and those strong hands gripping my hair.

19

LEO

H

er desire is written on her face like a book. I read every line, drink in each word. Every syllable of her need thrums into me like a physical, primal need that pounds and throbs in my chest so heavily it’s driving me into a frenzy. I want her. I have to have her, to make her mine, to fucking claim every inch of that innocent body and dominate her will. I need her submission like I need to breathe, and I hope to God she wants it as badly as I do, because I don’t know if I can stop myself. Not now. Not even here in this cramped elevator. Not even with an audience. I don’t have the time or patience to tip-toe around it. I kiss her, taking her bottom lip between mine and relishing in her sweetness. My already-throbbing cock nearly bursts out of my pants when her hungry little tongue flicks across my lips. She wants this. It’s all the permission I need. I grip her wrists and raise them over her head, pinning them to the wall with one hand. I strip my tie with the other and hastily tighten it around her wrists. She watches me with those doe eyes like golden bursts of amber light. Her full, pouty lips are parted so I can see the hint of her pink tongue and imagine what it will feel like exploring my body. I run a hand through her brown curls, loving how thick and soft her hair is, perfect for gripping and keeping her exactly where I want her. I take a handful of hair and squeeze, just enough to let her know she’s not getting away. Not this time. The couple beside us has moved to the far corner of the elevator. The man looks horrified and maybe even annoyed, but his girl is watching us with unrestrained hunger. I pay them no more mind. I own the fucking building and a dozen more like

it in this city. If they don’t like what they see, they can get lost. “What about them?” she asks in a whisper so quiet I barely hear her. Her eyes shift over to the couple nervously. If she wants them gone, then they’re gone. I slam the open door button with the palm of my hand. The couple gets my message loud and clear when the doors open a moment later a few floors before the one they were waiting for. They hurry out, the man dragging his girlfriend behind him as she cranes her neck to watch us. “You’re all mine now,” I say when the doors close again, leaving us alone. “Someone else could come in,” she breathes. I run my hand up the length of her thigh until I find the elastic of her panties. I hook my thumb under it, watching her face. Her lips part and her breath hitches. When her big eyes flick up to mine it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. I had planned to slide the panties down, but I impulsively yank hard, finding satisfaction when she gasps in surprise. I toss the scrap of cotton to the ground and turn my attention back to her.

“T IME TO SEE HOW BADLY YOU WANT THIS ,” I RASP IN HER EAR BEFORE TAKING her earlobe between my teeth and gently tugging. She responds to my every touch in a way that drives me up the fucking wall. I can even see goosebumps rising along her neck. I slide my hand up the soft skin of her inner thigh until I’m just inches from her pussy, which is radiating heat like nothing I’ve ever felt. My heart pounds with anticipation, with the thought of driving my cock into the warmth of her core and how incredible she would feel clenched around my length. I find her heat with my fingers, moving slowly, I touch her teasingly, running my fingers from her clit to her opening. She’s already so slick I could slide inside her with ease. “My dirty little pet,” I say, smirking at her. “You ran from me but you want this so badly it hurts, doesn’t it?” She looks away, eyes downcast as if she’s ashamed. I turn her to face me with my free hand. “Tell me you want it.” Her eyes slowly rise to meet mine, where they linger several heartbeats before she speaks. “I want it.” Her voice trembles. I clench my jaw, keeping my hand still against her pussy until I have her mind where I want it. “Embrace it.” Her eyebrows draw down in confusion. “Embrace it?” she asks.

“Your need,” I say. “Your fucking hunger.” I press my hand against the center of her chest. “What you feel here. This. Embrace it. Let it out. Feed it.” Her eyes widen slightly as she looks down at my hand and then back up at me. “I don’t even know your name,” she says. “Leo. For now.” I smirk at the confusion in her features. When I’ve had time to properly train her, she’ll call me Sir. Then she’ll call me Master. I’ve had this darkness inside me for as long as I can remember. An all-consuming need to dominate body and mind. But until now, I’ve never found the right woman. They either give in too willingly or they play at it like it’s a game. It’s always been the same. But not with this one. I can’t say how I knew, but I did. One look at her in the lobby with that simple, unassuming dress doing its best and failing to hide the killer body beneath, and I wanted everything she had to give and more. I wanted to take it all right then and there. It was all I could do to contain myself until I had her in my office. “Turn around,” I say sternly. She swallows hard, but does as I say. I don’t have to hide the smile that spreads across my face when her back is to me. Such a natural. She obeys so willingly and I’m a complete stranger to her. I lift her dress to expose her gorgeous ass. I take a moment to admire it, then the look of embarrassment on her half-turned face. I bring my hand back to spank her. “This is for running,” I say. Just as I’m about to slap her ass, the door to the elevator opens. A woman and her daughter, who looks like she might be in college are standing there with wide eyes and gaping mouths. I grin, then slap Lysa’s ass hard enough to leave a temporary handprint, but not enough to leave a mark. No marks. Nothing permanent, not ever. Once she’s truly my pet, she’ll learn she can trust me absolutely. She can give herself over to me completely and let me take her to the edge of her limits until the line between too much and just enough is razor thin, and then I’ll rip orgasm after orgasm from her like machine-gun blasts. “Leo,” she gasps, cheeks burning red. Fucking hell. Even the way she gasps my name is sexy, like she places emphasis on every syllable, like she’s tasting the way it feels coming off her tongue. I shift my body between us and the spectators, covering her. They clearly don’t plan to join us in the elevator, but they appear unable to move, even as I slide two fingers inside Lysa’s pussy. “Fuck,” I groan. “You’re so tight. I knew you would be.”

Her walls clench tighter around me in response to my words. “You like when I talk dirty, don’t you, pet?” Another clench of her pussy answers my question for her. When I pull my fingers from her tightness she makes the sweetest sound of protest I’ve ever heard. I quickly replace them with my thumb, getting it nice and wet before dragging it down to the tight ring of her asshole. She jumps at my touch, struggling half-heartedly against me, but with my shoulder pressed to her back she’s pinned in place. “Leo,” she says again, this time in a tone of warning. “There are only two words with power right now,” I say into her ear, my lips brushing the delicate skin and causing her to shudder. “Say yellow, and I’ll know you’re reaching your limit. Say red, and everything stops, no questions asked. Understand?” “Yes,” she gasps as I plunge my fingers back into her pussy. I press my thumb against her asshole again, not penetrating just waiting for her muscles to relax naturally as I massage the sensitive flesh. I half expect her to safe word me, but she’s silent. “Dirty little pet. You want my thumb in your ass, don’t you?” “Yes,” she gasps when I start massaging her inner walls and push my thumb inside her tight ring. With more than a little dexterity, I extend my pinky finger to lay against her clit. Every motion of my fingers in her pussy and ass causes my pinky to move against her, and it’s only seconds before she’s writhing against me in the most stunning way. “That’s good,” I say. “Now show me how you’ll suck my cock.” I move my other hand up her neck until my index finger slides inside her mouth. She surprises me by jumping straight to the task with enthusiasm. She works her mouth up and down the length of my finger, warm tongue swirling sensual circles around me. If I wasn’t enjoying the way my touch was making her lose control so much, I’d turn her around and make her take me right here in this elevator. I already know nothing is going to be as sweet as bringing her pleasure. She can suck my cock when she’s so horny she’s begging for it, but not until then. I feel her nearing climax, but I’m not about to let her dampen her arousal by cumming. Not yet. I’m going to bring her to the edge and back until she’s ready to do anything I say to get the orgasm she so desperately needs. I bring my movements to a complete stop and put my free hand around her slender throat. I apply slight pressure, waiting for her response. She opens her eyes, her chest still heaving. “What are you doing?” she asks.

“You didn’t think you would get to cum that easily, did you?” She opens her mouth to speak but shuts it again, clearly baffled. “No,” I say. “You cum when I’m ready for you to cum. Maybe I’ll wait until we have an audience,” I suggest. She seems to realize for the first time the elevator has been sitting at the top floor of the hotel with the door open for some time now, just waiting to be called. “Or maybe,” I continue. “You’re not allowed to cum until I do?” She watches me for a long moment before her eyes travel down my chest to my pants, where my hard cock strains against my pants. “Untie my hands,” she says. I grin, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.” The determination in her eyes turns me on like I can’t believe as she turns around, sinks to her knees, and starts trying to unbuckle my belt with her teeth. I nearly laugh because her hands are tied, but she could easily bend her elbows and use her fingers, but she’s apparently too absorbed to realize. I watch her with amusement for a while before I help her with the buckle and button of my pants. I let her get the zipper with her teeth. She quickly pulls my briefs down by the elastic, freeing my cock. I enjoy the way her eyebrows raise when she takes in the size of it, and I especially enjoy the way she doesn’t waste any time putting her lips against me. I let my head fall back and my eyes close, enjoying the feeling of her hot mouth roaming my cock and the sensation of her slick tongue circling its head. “So fucking good,” I groan. The doors close behind us and she stops suddenly, moving her head to the side to look. I put my hands on both sides of her head, bringing her back to where her focus needs to be. “No stopping,” I say. “You want to cum, don’t you?” Her answer is nothing but a muffled vibration against my cock. “You don’t cum until I do, so get to work, pet.” Her pace increases. I feel my own mounting pleasure rising, building toward its peak, but I know I’m not ready to let her have what she wants. Not nearly ready. The elevator doors ding again, and this time it’s one of the housekeepers. She’s idly tapping at her phone with one hand and holding onto the cart of cleaning supplies with the others. When she sees us she actually drops her phone. “Mr. Carlyle?” All the interruptions are actually starting to irritate me, so I motion for Lysa to stand, pull up my pants quickly, and lift her into my arms. I walk past the housekeeper, who’s still gaping in shock, and take Lysa into the nearest semblance of privacy I can find: a small room with a courtesy washer and dryer.

Once inside, I sit Lysa on the washing machine so her hips are level with my stomach now. I kneel slightly, yank her forward, and plunge my face between her legs. Her body rocks back so quickly from surprise that her head bangs against the wall with a thump. I glance up from between her legs to see if she’s okay. She nods her head quickly, “Don’t stop. Please.” Don’t worry, pet. You’ll get what you want. And then some. I know she’s already near orgasm, so I’m careful to leave her sensitive clit alone for now. I drag my tongue around the often-forgotten skin of her inner thighs and just outside her pussy. She shudders at my every touch, squeezing her thighs tightly around my head and muffling the sound around me. Her wrists are still bound together, but she’s cheating my restraints by bringing her hands down and running them through my hair. “Naughty,” I say, standing. I take her wrists and raise them over her head again, then tie the long end of my necktie in a new knot around one of the supports for the shelving overhead. I kneel back down, picking up where I left off. I plunge my tongue inside her entrance, bending it upwards at the tip as I bring it back up, lapping at her hungrily as I grip two tight handfuls of her ass and lift her slightly so I can get an even better angle. “Oh God,” she gasps. “How are you--oh--fuck.” I swirl my tongue inside her and let out a low hum that vibrates through my lips. She spasms, body tensing. I pause. Every nerve in my body is crying out for me to bury my cock in her now. To have that tight pussy choking every inch of my length, but I can’t make myself stop, not yet. She tastes too good--too sweet. The way her body is squirming and shaking against me is nearly driving me over the edge without so much as her laying a finger on my cock. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never felt myself on the verge of cummning just from eating out a woman, but every inch closer I bring her to orgasm feels like it’s bringing on my own. I finally have to stop, pulling myself away with so much effort that I have to squeeze my eyes shut, if I see her glistening pussy I know I’d be unable to stop eating her out until we both came. I stand, ripping my shirt open. I shove the hem of her dress up over her tits and yank the cups of her bra down so I can fully enjoy every inch of her. I don’t even need to grip myself to find her entrance. The heat coming from her is like a beacon for my cock, and it only takes a slight movement of my hips to slide the first inch into her. She stretches wonderfully for me already, and we’re only just getting started.

“Oh God,” she gasps. My mind buzzes like electricity and my heart pounds. She feels so fucking good. The scent of her filling my nose, the way her skin feels so soft and innocent against my rough hands… Most of all, I love watching her unleash her pent up passion. Without even knowing her more than an hour, I can tell she’s the kind of woman who makes a habit of denying herself, whether it’s expensive treats, fun nights out, or even a good fuck when she needs it. She needs me as much as I need her, she just doesn’t realize it yet. I work myself in, adding an inch with every movement of my hips while I distract her from the way her pussy is being forced to stretch to accommodate me by kissing and sucking the hardened nubs of her nipples into my mouth. “Ah,” she says quickly, grabbing my arm when I try to push the last inch into her. “It’s too deep.” I glance to my side and realize there’s an ice machine for filling the buckets in the rooms. Careful not to slip out of her, I reach out and just barely manage to tap the dispenser. A couple cubes fall free. I toss one into my mouth as she watches me with growing interest. I position it between my lips and dip my head again, running the ice along the outer edge of her nipple. “Oh, oh…” she says. Once I can tell the cold is growing too intense, I move the cube to my hand and soothe away the sting of cold with the warmth of my tongue. While she’s distracted by the play of hot and cold, I ease my last inch inside of her. She sucks in a breath, but her face remains relaxed. “It’s in all the way?” she asks. “A perfect fit,” I say, and it is. I can feel the wall of her cervix against the head of my cock. I tease us both by remaining motionless. My cock still buried as deep as it can be inside her but giving her none of the friction her body so desperately craves. I want her to show me how badly she wants it, how fucking horny she is. Like a good girl, it’s only seconds before she starts to dig her heels into my back and work her hips against me. She rolls her hips, using her legs wrapped around me for leverage to help with the push and pull as she fucks herself on my cock. Once I’ve had a taste of her desperation, I grab a fresh ice cube and torture her neck, lips, ear lobes, nipples, and stomach, all while I drive my cock so hard and fast into her that it probably sounds like someone put a basketball in the dryer. I can’t hold it back anymore. I don’t want to hold it back. I want to cum, to

feel her cum, to see the way her face looks when she fully surrenders to pleasure. My eyes close and my body tenses, just as my orgasm is about to consume me, I feel her pussy clamp down on my cock as her own orgasm rocks through her. Her already tight pussy flexes even harder around my cock, doubling the sensation of each thrust and drawing my own orgasm out like an explosion. “Fuck!” I roar. “Oh God,” she gasps. My cock pulses as my hot cum fills her tight hole. I lean over her, arms planted on the washer and cock still throbbing inside her. I reach up to untie her hands, but still hope she doesn’t plan to go anywhere. “Thanks,” she says, moving away from me a few moments later and tugging her dress down. Her cheeks are flushed red and she can’t seem to meet my eye. “That was amazing,” she says before stepping toward the door. I step forward, gripping her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” I see all the wild abandon that was in her features a second ago is gone now, replaced by the self-conscious woman I led into my office. “I figured this was just something guys like you do. Have your fun and then move on. Right?” “You thought I was going to let you go?” She works her lips to the side in an adorably shy way and smiles, eyes downcast. “I thought maybe all those things you said were just… just words.” I tilt her face up to mine with the edge of my finger. “Never. I’ll never lie to you.” She watches me for a time before leaning into my chest. “I can’t believe I did this. I didn’t even make you use a condom.” She looks mildly horrified at that realization. “Would you have stopped long enough for me to go get one?” I ask with a cocky grin. She glares at me, then bites her lip. “I don’t know. But I really need to get back to help my mom. She’ll be wondering what took me so long.” “Of course,” I say. I lead her back to the elevator. There are two men in their twenties who look like trust-fund kids already in the elevator. Their clothes are in disarray and I’m immediately struck by the smell of alcohol when we enter the small space. “What floor are you?” I ask Lysa. “Thirty-two.”. I tap the button. Once the doors close, the men start to laugh quietly. They’re whispering something while looking toward us. I half-turn my head and catch one of them mouthing the word “slut” while they look at Lysa.

Every muscle in my body tenses. I think about my sweet, innocent little pet and how she would feel if she knew these men were laughing at her and I see red. Fucking blood red.

20

LYSA

T

he men behind us are snickering. My mind, which is already transitioning out of “oh my God that was so hot” to “what the hell were you thinking?” is racing with possibilities. What could they be laughing about? I try to casually run my hand down my thighs and the back of my dress without drawing notice. I would be mortified if I had his cum somewhere visible on my dress or my legs and didn’t realize. Leo takes one long stride until he’s standing directly in front of the men and dwarfing them with his tall, broad frame. “Something funny?” he asks in a voice like cold steel. An icy fist clutches my stomach. The mood in the cramped elevator is electric with the potential of violence, and I just want to be out. I want to be somewhere I can breathe. “Yeah,” says one of the guys. “Your hooker looks like she just went nine rounds with half the hotel.” My throat tightens. I bring my hands up to straighten my hair, which I now feel is a tangled mess. So much hot blood rushes to my cheeks that I think I might spontaneously combust. It’s like being in one of those nightmares where you realize you’re naked in the middle of class, except I can’t just wake up to escape this. Everything happens so fast my brain can barely process it. Leo is gripping the guy who just spoke by the shirt, pinning him to the wall with so much force that the man’s feet are several inches off the ground. The other guy starts yanking at Leo’s arms to free his friend, but Leo cracks him across the jaw with a punch and then aims one at the guy he has pinned. “Stop!” I cry out. Leo turns to look at me with wild fury in his eyes. I don’t even recognize

him. His grip tightens on the man he holds while the other one groans on the ground, nursing a swelling lip. “Let him go, it’s not worth it,” I say. Leo turns back to the man and pulls his fist back again. At the same time, the door dings for my floor. I take one more look at Leo and know I need to leave. I don’t know this man. He’s dangerous. Violent, even. I let the wrong parts of my body do the thinking and I made a mistake, but it’s not too late to fix it and get away. I press the close doors button before running out of the elevator. He’s so consumed by his rage he doesn’t even notice I’ve left in time to stop me. I run to my mom’s room, feeling strange without my panties and even stranger when I realize they are probably still lying torn on the floor of the elevator. I open the door as quietly as I can and step inside, breathing heavily. I was hoping my mom would be asleep, but she’s watching me with a halfcocked eyebrow. I notice with relief that her medicine has already been delivered and it looks like she took it as well. “What’d you do, get laid?” she asks. Her eyes narrowed as she grins. “That’s exactly what you did, isn’t it?” “Mom,” I say, holding up my hands. “This is not a conversation I’m going to have with you. I love you, but just no.” She grins knowingly. “Doesn’t really matter what you say, sweetie, the state of your hair says enough. You look like you just got mauled by a bear.” Heat burns my cheeks, but I try not to let it show. I remind myself that it’s better to have my mom around to embarrass the crap out of me than the alternative. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t a bear I ever want to run into again.” “No?” she asks. She smiles in a way that tells me she’s about to gross me out again, so I brace myself as much as I can. “If a man left me looking like that, I’d be trying everything I could to run into him again.” “Mom!” I say, unable to stop from grinning at least a little. My heart's still pounding from everything that just happened and I can still feel the dull ache in my pussy from how fully he filled me. Having this conversation with my mom makes the situation even more surreal. “What would daddy think if he heard you talking like that?” “Maybe your daddy was that man.” The way she wiggles her eyebrows at me makes me want to hurl and say “aww” at the same time. I sink down, letting my head rest against the wall. “Mom,” I say after a little time has passed. “Am I living a boring life?” I expect a quick, sarcastic remark, but instead she watches me for a while,

considering. “I don’t want this to come out wrong, sweetie,” she says finally in an uncharacteristically careful tone. “But let me tell you something, and I want you to remember this. It’s so easy to fall into a routine, Lysa. So goddamn easy. One morning you wake up a fresh young twenty something and you feel like you’ve got all the time in the world, like you’ll start getting to all those things you’ve wanted to do forever as soon as… And that’s how it happens. Your life slips away one “as soon as” at a time. As soon as I graduate. As soon as I have a real job. As soon as I have more money. “You wanna know the secret, sweetie? Opportunity has an expiration date. It won’t always be there waiting for that perfect time. Sometimes you’ve got to grab it at the worst time you can imagine. Sometimes it’ll seem like you can’t possibly do it but that’s exactly when it’s the most important thing in the world to do.” Her words wash over me in a way her wisdom often does. I feel them slip into my mind somewhere, but it’s like a filter stops them from reaching all the way through. I tell myself that I’ll take the time to digest them somewhere down the road when things are less crazy, and even though I realize I’m already turning her advice into an “as soon as”, I can't seem to stop myself. “That makes a lot of sense,” I say distantly. “Thank you, mom.” She grunts, letting her usual cranky demeanor take over once again. “Don’t thank me, because you’re just going to go on doing what you were going to do anyway. You’ll see how it is when you’re older. Nothing to do but watch the young ones make the same mistakes you did because they never listen.” “I’ll try mom, I really will,” I say, even though I know I’ve already sidelined her advice as something to digest later, it’s not a complete lie. “But I need to get going. I have a class tonight and I’m going to be late if I don’t leave soon.” “Not without giving me my goddamn hug and kiss, you’re not.” I lean in to squeeze her and give her a peck on the cheek. My mom may be a hardass, but she never lets me go for more than a few hours without a hug and kiss. It’s only when I’m on the bus back to campus that I fully start to comprehend everything that happened. I replay the way Leo walked up to me in the lobby with so much confidence it was practically dripping from him. The arrogant way he just knew I’d go along with whatever he was planning, and the almost frightening way he was able to command my mind and body with nothing but a few touches and whispered words. Being with him might have been a thrill like nothing I’ve ever experienced, but I’m sure jumping out of an airplane without a parachute would also be a thrill, all the way up until you hit the ground. There’s no room in my life for a

man like Leo. I can’t afford that kind of entanglement. I’ve got too much on my plate already between my mom, work, and school. There’s just no way. My stomach turns a little when I remember how I let him fuck me and cum inside me without a condom. Reality felt like a distant memory when I was with him, and the thought of safe-sex never even crossed my mind. It’s amazing what a flood of hormones and horniess can do to a normally functional brain. Now I’ll have to schedule an appointment with my doctor to get tested. With every passing moment, I’m more and more certain that what I did was a mistake, especially when I think back to the way he jumped all over those guys in the elevator. I caught a glimpse of something dark inside Leo, and I’ve got enough problems without inviting a man with demons like that into my life. Even if the sex was out of this world. My traitorous body shivers with a chill just at the memory of him. If I focus hard enough, I can still feel the places he kissed me like warm bursts of air tickling my skin. When I close my eyes I can remember how unbelievably good he smelled, like expensive cologne mixed with something more basic and masculine just beneath. The most worrisome part is that Leo apparently owns the hotel my mom is staying in… If he wants to find me it’ll be ridiculously easy. A little thrill of excitement pulses through me at the thought of Leo coming after me, of him not wanting to let me get away. I shake myself off that train of thought. It’s just my stupid hormones reacting to the best sex of my life. If I’m lucky, Leo Carlyle will never come looking for me, and as soon as I take a shower, I’ll be able to wash him out of my life for good. My mind wanders back to the fact that we didn’t use protection and another thought comes to the forefront. Pregnancy. But that possibility… It’s too much to consider, too much to even entertain the idea. I read an article about the dangers of the morning after pill once, and how if it fails to work, there can be terrible side effects for the baby. That’s a risk that I could never, in good conscious, take. For better or worse, if I’m pregnant, then I’m pregnant. After everything I’ve endured in my life, I have to believe the universe wouldn’t be cruel enough to play a joke like that on me.

21

LEO

M

usic blares from outside, mingling with laughter and the sound of splashing bodies in the pool. I let my head flop backwards on the couch and kick at the lights with my foot to dim them even more. I decided to throw this fucking party so I could stand some hope of getting my mind off the girl from the elevator. Lysa. My pet. It’s been a week and I’ve thought about her every-fucking-day. Every moment away from her has been like a physical pain. Every single atom in my body is chewing at me to go to her, to find her, to take her again and again. To claim her so thoroughly, not even God himself would question that she is completely mine. I crave her like my lungs crave their next breath. And yet I can’t have her. Being with her is the equivalent of walking through a sacred temple while covered in mud--ruining the pristine marble floors and anything in my path. The very thing that drew me to her--her innocence--was sullied by my every touch. Even though I couldn’t stop myself last week in the hotel, I know I have to stay away now. Those idiots in the elevator shook me out of my fantasy and straight back into reality. I can’t bring my darkness into her world. I can’t ruin her. So here I am. I thought a party would be the answer. I’d find a woman and forget Lysa… at least for a couple hours. It hasn’t worked. It’s like I’ve been poisoned. I can see the other women--their full lips and scantily clad bodies. I can even acknowledge that I would normally be interested, but it’s different now. I’m completely indifferent to them. There’s no physical reaction. No lust. No hunger. Only a numbness that seems to cover my whole body. Right now, only one thing stirs me--my pet. Even the briefest thought about her skidding across my consciousness is enough to heat my blood and make my cock thicken. It’s like a sickness. A disease. One taste of her and I’m addicted,

hopelessly and endlessly addicted. I grip two fistfulls of my hair and let my head fall between my knees with an infuriated groan. There’s a deep chuckle from the doorway. “You okay, man?” I look up to see my brother, Jayce. He’s trying to look amused, but my little brother has always had a soft heart, and I can see the genuine concern just below the surface. “I’m good, J,” I say, but I know my tone will give away the truth. I can never lie to him. “Women?” he asks, sitting down on the love seat across from me and pouring us both a drink from one of the bottles sitting on the coffee table. “One in particular,” I say. “She here?” he asks. “If she was, I wouldn’t be sitting alone in the dark.” He grins, handing me a glass full of whiskey. “To hoping you find her, then,” he says, holding his glass toward me. “To hoping I don’t,” I say grimly before clinking my glass with his and downing the contents.

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS SNEAK PEAK ! Y OU CAN FIND THE FULL BOOK ON Amazon for $0.99 or Free through KU!

22

SNEAK PEAK - KNOCKED UP BY THE DOM

I

’ve also included a sneak peak of Knocked Up by the Dom, my USA Today Bestselling and Amazon top #12 bestselling novel. There’s no particular reading order for the Knocked Up series of books, so enjoy them however you like!

My darkest secret? I let a stranger dominate me in the most intimate way possible. He gave me three things that night: His first name, the sweet taste of submission, and his baby. Now my Dom is back and this time he won’t stop until I’m his.

23

KYLIE

I

wait in line at the airport with a small bag that bulges at the seams. The woman in front of me gives it a curious glance, then does a double take when she sees I’m wearing a thin white dress with a bikini beneath. She makes an indelicate snort of disapproval through her nose and turns away. Let her huff and puff. I’m going on this freaking vacation because I’ve earned it.I’m not even going to stop at a hotel before I go to the beach when I get there, even if I have to march straight off the plane by foot to the nearest ocean. So yes, cranky lady, I am wearing my bathing suit at the airport. Get over it. For all my tough internal talk, her look still makes me feel a little selfconscious. I hug the bag a little tighter to my chest before unzipping a pocket on the side and pulling a crumpled post-card free. I look at it for probably the millionth time. It shows a scene of water so perfectly blue it’s hard to tell where the sky ends, a rocky outcropping that makes a small cove where the water is clear enough to show the yellow sand beneath. Blue skies and sandy beaches. That’s what I need. Anything to get me a breather from the day-to-day grind of waking up for work, sitting at my desk for nine hours while I try to cling to what’s left of my sanity, then feeling like my evening goes by in the blink of an eye. I push the picture back down, closing my eyes and biting my lip. Bermuda. It has taken me months and months to save the money for the plane ticket and the place I’m staying at, not to mention the strings I had to pull to actually get a week off. It’s all going to be worth it. Every second of it. Someone bumps me from behind, knocking me off balance so I nearly drop my bag. “Line’s moving,” says a man with a sweaty brow and beady black eyes. I clear my throat, shuffling forward to take my place in front of the attendant,

who asks to see my ticket. She’s a young girl, maybe in her mid twenties with a pixie haircut and upturned nose. She smacks her gum idly as she glances at my ticket, then the computer screen, and once more at my ticket. “Is everything okay?” I ask. She makes an attempt at looking regretful, but falls just short. “Looks like your flight was canceled. Next one is tomorrow afternoon, but that flight is overbooked, so you’d have to upgrade your to first-class. It’d be about eight hundred dollars for the upgrade.” Something deep inside me breaks. I feel it snap like an old, dry twig. A frigid cold spreads from the spot, numbing my stomach and then my whole chest. Eight hundred dollars. More than twice what I had to save for the ticket in the first place. Almost as much as it’s going to cost to stay for the entire week. “There has to be some other way,” I say, trying not to let the panic I feel reach my voice. My hand on the counter shakes violently so I pull it back, gripping my bag to keep it still. “Please,” I say. She licks her lips and looks at the computer again. I watch her fingers tap away and her mouth press together in concentration. “Well, there will be another flight in three days. I could have your ticket transferred to that flight for no cost.” “My vacation time is already arranged through work, I can’t change it now,” I say. “It has to be today. Tomorrow at the latest. I wouldn’t have time to--it just has to be by tomorrow.” Someone behind me makes an annoyed sound. I glance over my shoulder to see the guy with the beady eyes who bumped me. His arms are crossed and he’s tapping his foot dramatically. I ignore him, but the girl helping me glances at him and tenses a little. “Ma’am,” she says a little more curtly. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but there’s nothing else I can do. Do you want me to upgrade you to first-class for tomorrow or transfer your ticket?” “No,” I say. “I want a refund.” The words come out of me slowly and painfully. It’s not the end of the world, though. I can just wait a few more months until another opportunity to get time off comes. I’m sure I can get my deposit back from the hotel. The girl makes an obnoxiously placating face. “We unfortunately don’t offer refunds in this case.” “This case?” I say, feeling my temper start to falter. The man behind me clears his throat again. “Need a cough drop, asshole?” I snap, turning at him with a look on my face

that must be terrifying, because he flinches back. The girl’s eyes are wide now and her body is rigid. I know I’ll feel guilty for this later, but right now I just feel the crushing disappointment numbing me to everything, even the stupidity of taking my anger out on this poor girl. “You mean this case where you guys took my money weeks ago and now you’re telling me I can’t get what I paid for, but I also can’t get my money back? You mean that case?” “There’s nothing I can do,” says the girl robotically. I sigh, feeling all the anger drain out of me as suddenly as it came. “It’s fine. It’s not your fault,” I say. “I’ll figure something else out. Just put it on hold for now, okay?” She nods, shifting her eyes to motion for the next in line to come to the counter. I turn and walk away from the counter and find a bench to sit on. I curl my arms around the bag and hug it in my lap, resting my head on it like a big pillow and willing myself not to cry. There’s no point sitting here feeling sorry for myself. Yeah, I worked my ass off for this vacation. Yeah, none of this is fair. But I’m not the kind of girl who wallows in self-pity. I just can’t seem to make myself get up yet, not now. I decide to allow myself to wallow for just a few minutes. At least taking a week off work means I have time to mope in the airport for a little while. I don’t let a single tear come, though I could cry a million in frustration and disappointment. I’m not going to cry over this. It’s just a crushed dream I spent months looking forward to. It’s only-A deep voice draws my attention. “Canceled?” asks the man. My head pops up so I can see the speaker, but his back is to me. He wears a suit that looks expensive, but my eyes go straight past the material to the places where it hugs his fit body exceptionally well. Broad shoulders. Lean, athletic legs, and posture that says volumes about his confidence. His feet are wide, hands planted on the counter, and he leans in. I listen to the girl tell him the same thing she told me, except this guy already had first-class tickets, so she tells him she can transfer his tickets over for tomorrow, no problem. He sighs, turns away from the counter, and starts walking directly toward me. I’ve heard the cliche before, but I think my heart actually stops when I see him coming for me. He’s tall, with the most arrestingly blue eyes I’ve ever seen. A couple days’ worth of scruff lines his crisp jawline and full lips. His hair is effortlessly pushed away from his face in a way that somehow speaks of rugged

carelessness and yet polished at the same time. I’ve seen celebrities on the screen and magazines, but I’ve never seen a man so absolutely breathtaking in person before. Not even close. He looks around the crowded benches, slowing a little as he scans for a place to sit. His eyes fall on me and I realize I’m not breathing, except right now I don’t think I could even if I tried. The corner of his mouth pulls up so slightly I think I might be imagining it. Did he just smirk at me? I can’t do anything but watch as this miracle of a man strides straight to the seat beside me and sits, giving me a full breath of his expensive cologne and something masculine and clean just beneath the scent. He practically towers over me, even sitting. “Keep staring like you want to take a bite out of me and I might let you,” he says in a smooth voice with a deep, gravelly undertone. The sound alone has me pressing my legs together to suppress the growing warmth and wetness dampening my bikini. Of all the times in my life I had to be rebellious and wear a freaking bikini with a revealing cover-up to the airport, it had to be when Mr. Model decides to strike a conversation with me? And since when does the sight, or sound, for that matter, of a guy get me wet? “Excuse me?” I ask weakly. My body finally shivers a little, taking in the air I’ve been denying it for too long, giving me no choice but to awkwardly sit there, sucking in air like I just jogged a few laps while he watches me with a sparkle of amusement in those intense blue eyes. “The way you’re looking at me,” he says, reaching a hand out and placing a surprisingly gentle finger at my cheek and dragging it down to my jaw. The innocent touch explodes through me like it’s electric until I feel breathless all over again. “Flushed cheeks. Slightly dilated pupils. Shortness of breath,” he notes, taking a longer-than-necessary look at my rising and falling chest. “You’re aroused,” he says simply. I close my mouth, unable to look in his eyes. Of course I’m freaking aroused, asshole. Not that I’m going to admit that to him, not now. “I… I don’t…” I stammer, searching for any words that don’t betray how desperately I want him to put those strong hands back on me, whether that’s crazy or not. “Your flight was canceled too. I was behind you in line,” he explains. “So we both have twenty-four hours to kill.” I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He waits, watching me with those eyes, those analyzing, piercing eyes that I’m suddenly sure see straight through me. I can say whatever untruths I want, but this man knows. He knows how he’s

affecting me. As much as I hate to admit it, even the logical part of my brain is betraying me. After all, I do have the week off work, so it’s not like I have anywhere to be. Why pass this up--whatever this is. “There’s a conference room,” he says, guiding my eyes with his index finger to a hallway of closed doors. “Second one on the left. It’s unlocked.” Without another word, he stands, brushes the wrinkles from his pants, and heads toward the hallway. I watch after him, mouth hanging open. I look around, half-expecting to see grinning faces watching because I’m part of some cruel prank. I only see bored people waiting for flights with expressionless faces lit by phone screens. I stand, still holding my bag close to my chest. To my right, I can see the doors that lead out of the airport, back to my little red car with a dent on the fender that someone kindly left me in a parking lot while I was getting groceries. My car, that will take me back to my humdrum little hamster wheel life, where I’ll keep plugging in hour after hour so that maybe my year of work can buy me a few days of happiness. But that door is also safe. I know what happens if I walk through it. I’ll listen to the radio on the way home, maybe pick up a gallon of ice cream and some wine, and I’ll try to make the best of my week off from work, even if it’s not in Bermuda. To my left… That door scares the hell out of me. I hear the distant click as he pulls it closed behind him and I wonder how long he’ll wait for me. To a guy like him, casual sex probably is no big deal. He probably just wants to go through the motions, pass a little time, and then never see me again. Me though? I’ve never slept with a guy if I didn’t think there was a good chance our relationship was going somewhere, but I’ve been left dissatisfied every time. The sex has been uninspiring and the conversation equally bad. Between guys who can’t last more than a few minutes and the ones whose idea of foreplay is digging around my vagina with their fingers like they’re looking for spare change, I haven’t had a whole lot of motivation to get back into dating lately. The man waiting inside that conference room struck me as a profoundly different breed than any man I’ve ever been with before. The calmness and surety of his movements radiated confidence and experience. The way he read my body so clearly makes me think he’d know exactly how to satisfy me. I realize I’ve started walking toward the exit, hands squeezing even tighter around my bag. It’s so easy. Just one step after another and all the uncertainty and fear I feel about that door to the conference room gets farther and farther away. Every step takes me closer to the comfortable, if depressingly boring, life

I’m used to. I can go back to my old life and suffocate on comfort and routine just as easily as taking a few more steps. Or... The warm air rushes against my face when the automatic doors open, but I pause at the threshold. Somehow I know if I make that final step from the airport to outside, I’ll never turn back. It could become another disappointment to add to this ruined vacation. I put my hand on the glass beside the door before turning to take one last look toward the hallway where the man is waiting. A woman brushes past me irritably, trying to make her way outside. I watch her go. Like me, she’s probably on her way home to steal a few hours of idle entertainment before diving back into the rat race. I suck in a deep breath and turn back toward the hallway with the conference rooms. My heart beats violently and I can’t seem to catch my breath, but I keep moving, knowing I can’t stop or my resolve will crumble. I’m going to do this. Whatever this is, I’m going to do it. I’m standing outside the conference room door before I know it, hand hovering over the doorknob. I feel like my knees might give out, like every nerve in my body is screaming that this is crazy and I should turn and run as fast as I can. He could be a pervert, hell, he could even be a serial killer. But as nonsensical as it is, I can’t picture it from him. Looking like he does, I can’t see why he’d need to use any tricks to get what he wants from women. I laugh a little at myself as I stand outside the door, realizing I’m probably one of a hundred to fall into his seductive trap, but knowing doesn’t stop the pounding need to open that door. I turn the knob and step inside.

24

DAMIAN

T

he door creaks open so slowly I can practically taste how nervous she is, and there’s no sweeter fucking taste on the planet. I knew I had to have her as soon as I saw her. I have a lease with the airport to keep one of my personal planes here out of convenience, so it was a miracle I even happened to look toward the line of people waiting to check their bags and tickets. But there she was. Wearing a bikini and a cover-up in the middle of an airport. Her chestnut hair and big brown doe eyes captivated me almost as much as her barely covered curves. She practically has innocence and inexperience written all over her. Something about the way she could pass for a hot-as-hell preacher’s daughter combined with those unbelievable tits and perfectly tight ass has my cock so hard it hurts. One look and I know no man has given her the kind of orgasms she deserves--the kind of treatment she deserves. That’s about to change. She steps inside hesitantly with wide eyes that dart around the room, skimming over every detail but always bouncing back to me--to my face, my chest, my cock. Dirty girl. A predatory smirk pulls at my mouth. I can’t help feeling like I’ve just lured something pure and sweet into the darkness of my world, and maybe I have, but she’s going to love every second of it. She clears her throat. “I don’t even know your name,” she says with a nervous laugh that sounds like something between a squeak and a cough. “Damian.” She swallows visibly. “I’m Kylie.” She takes a couple steps toward me and extends her hand. A handshake? I would laugh if the gesture didn’t seem to perfectly fit the

awkward and innocent image I’m already forming of this woman, and something about the simpleness of it is turning me on even more. I reach to swallow her small hand up in mine, enjoying the smooth silkiness of her skin against my own rough touch. “Do you come here often?” she asks, pulling back from the handshake and tugging at her dress, which is deliciously see-through and gives me a clear view of the black bikini she wears beneath. “To this conference room?” I ask. Her cheeks flush red. “To the airport?” She laughs a little at herself, shaking her head and taking a half-step back toward the door. “I’m sorry. This is completely crazy. I don’t even know what I’m doing here, I should just--” I move toward her, not touching her exactly, but with such urgency that she has no choice but to move back until she’s against the wall and I’m in front of her, palms pressed to the wall on either side of her head. “Don’t leave,” I say. Her chest is heaving, but the way her eyes lock on mine and her lips flush with red tells me it’s not entirely from fear. She wants this, at least on some level, but she’s never done something like it before. She needs an excuse--she needs me to take the responsibility so she won’t feel guilty or ashamed. I kiss her then, so forcefully at first that her head bangs into the wall a little with a dull thump. She moans in surprise against my lips, but wastes no time slipping her sweet, hot little tongue between my lips. It’s not a hesitant kiss like most first kisses tend to be. It’s not soft or tender. It’s hungry. It’s lust, hunger, and the sense of urgency all transformed into a frenzy. Her hands are stiff at first, but when I press my palm to her thigh and climb until the top of my fingers graze her pussy through her bikini, which is already warm and soaked through from her arousal, she awakens, digging her fingers into my back and exploring me as quickly as she can. “I can’t,” she gasps between kisses, but her hands never stop. “This is crazy.” I push her back against the wall, gripping the base of her throat carefully--I know where to put pressure to give the illusion of danger without obstructing the airways in the slightest. A more experienced woman would want to feel the real danger of her air supply dwindling, but to her, I’m sure even the slightest implication will more than do the trick. Surprise and fear register in her expression, but when she sees me lift my fingers that are wet from her sweet juices to my mouth and lick them clean, a moan of pleasure escapes her lips. “You can’t?” I ask. “Well I can’t have you slipping away on me. Stay right there, Kitten,” I add, before turning to the computer set up on the conference desk and yanking a few cords free. She’s right where I left her when I come

back, and her obedience already has me near the edge of my limits. “Why is your dress still on?” I ask. She gulps again, fingers twitching toward the hem of her dress but no more than that. “Y-you want me to take it off?” she asks. Her eyes dart to the door and she closes her fingers tightly around the fabric of her dress, her whole body tense. “No one will disturb us,” I say, stepping close enough to smell her arousal. She smells so sweet and pure that I can barely wait to taste her pussy, which I know will be incredible. “Take off your dress,” I demand. She doesn’t move immediately, so I snap the cords between my fists, making a sound that sends her jumping. “Off. All of it.” I watch her closely. Her body language tells me everything I need to know. Clenched fists and slightly hunched posture both speak of apprehension, but there’s no denying the hardened nubs of her nipples, the flush in her cheeks, her dilated pupils, and the way she’s already wet as hell for me. She wants this as much as I do, and I’m not going to sacrifice the thrill for her by asking permission. Fuck that. With slow, shaking hands, she pulls her dress up over her head and drops it beside her feet. I take her in, sucking in a shuddering breath as my eyes feast on the swell of milky soft skin of her tits and the way I can see the patch of wetness even against the black fabric of her bikini bottom. It takes everything in me not to go to her now and tear her clothes free with my hands or teeth--whichever comes first. But I wait. Her eyes meet mine and for several long moments nothing happens. Her innocent brown eyes transfixed by my icy blues. Her chest rises rapidly, breasts rising and falling hypnotically. My own breathing coming ragged now with my insatiable need to have her--to have every last fucking inch of her all to myself. I’ve never needed to fuck a woman this badly, not even close. She bites her full bottom lip, holding it there with her teeth while she reaches to untie her top. She frees those perfect tits, and goddamn, putting them away in the first place was a crime. She smiles shyly but with a hint of pride at my obvious admiration. Each breast falls down with a satisfying weight, and it’s all I can take. I can’t wait another fucking second to put my hands on her. I rush forward, taking both her wrists and pressing them to the wall over her head. I quickly wrap the cord around them and then tie it off to an exposed pipe above her. She watches me carefully, but gives no resistance. Dirty little kitten. You want this so fucking bad, don’t you? I grip one of her breasts now that I have her where I want her, running my

thumb over the hardened nub of her nipple. Goosebumps rise across her chest and arms. “Very responsive to touch,” I note. “That’s good. But I’ll have to be careful not to make you cum too fast.” “What if I say no?” she whispers. The heat and sweetness of her breath brushes my face. I breathe it in, barely in control anymore. Nearly to the point that the only thing I can stand to do is turn her around and fuck her until she’s full of my cum and can’t think straight, until her knees are so weak I’ll have to carry her out of here like the conquest she’ll be. “If you say no?” I ask. “There’s only one way to find out.”

25

KYLIE

H

e looms over me, never taking his hands from my body or that smoldering gaze from my eyes. He’s all-consuming, all-powerful, and might as well be sexuality in the flesh as far as my body is concerned. His hands are like conduits that send my nerves into overdrive until even the slightest touch or sensation feels like it could bring me to my knees--but that won’t happen as long as I’m tied and at his mercy. God. What am I doing? The small voice of reason breaks through my lust for a fraction of a second, but there’s no way I’m stopping this now. I’m too far in. I’ve breathed the perfume of his attraction too deeply to stop now, maybe ever. I should feel exposed and embarrassed, but I don’t. I only feel the exhilaration of living outside the lines for what might be the first time in my life. I may have asked him what would happen if I said no, but I think a dirty part of me just wanted to hear him say it didn’t matter what I said. I wanted to know he wanted me so badly that he wasn’t going to let me walk out of here, no matter what. But that’s crazy. He’s just trying to keep me on edge to heighten the experience. That’s all. Then again, maybe this is real. Maybe he decided walking into this room was consent enough and I was his as soon as I did. His. The word sends a shiver of excitement down my spine that explodes into warmth between my legs, soaking my already wet bikini bottoms until I’m more wet than I’ve ever been in my life. I wait. I could tell him I want this. I could relieve the pressure and the unanswered question that hangs in the air, but to do that feels like it would be a crime. This is his world. I was lucky enough to stumble into it, and I’m not about

to squander the experience. His lips twist into an amused smile. “You want to play hard to get, Kitten?” he asks. I feel a rush when he uses the pet name again. The possessiveness of it lights a fire in my stomach that has my pussy throbbing. I want to be his. His kitten. His plaything. His anything. I don’t care if it’s crazy to want all that from a stranger. “I…” I breathe. It feels like all the air has left my lungs, like I can barely push out a word, let alone a sentence. “Are you sure you have the… right girl?” I ask. He watches me for a long moment before responding, lips curling into a slow, amused grin. He leans in close, lips so close to my ear I can feel the heat of his breath and the tickle of his skin against mine. “I’m sure about one thing. Your fucking hands are tied, and you’re not going anywhere until I’ve had my fun with you.” My knees go weak, and if it wasn’t for the cords holding me from above, I would collapse. This isn’t real. This can’t be real. “Why me?” Is all I can manage. “Because I knew I had to have you as soon as I saw you.” When he steps back I see he has complete control. His face is calm and he watches me with those gorgeous, startling eyes. “It’s just too bad I don’t have all the right tools at my disposal.” He takes a look around the room with real regret. “Tools?” I ask. He shrugs. “Paddles, hot wax, ice… maybe even a spanking bench would do nicely. Then there's always the Saint Andrew's cross, a personal favorite.” He’s watching me closely, studying my reaction to each word. I wonder how much he can really be learning, because even I don’t know how I feel about all that. “Don’t worry, Kitten. You’ll still cum so hard you’ll be screaming. We’ll probably have airport security in here before we’re done.” “I’ve never been loud,” I blurt, and I feel my cheeks burning red hot from embarrassment. “In bed, I mean… Not that I’ve been in bed often--well, it’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing.” My hands itch to cover my face even though I can’t move them, or better yet plug my stupid mouth from digging myself into a deeper of hole. Perfect. Just when he was convinced he wanted to sleep with me, I go and show him what a social klutz I am. But the sense of sexual hunger he practically drips only seems to grows stronger. “You’ve never been loud, have you? Then you’ve clearly never been treated right.”

His fingers slowly move to his buttons, which he carelessly pops open one by one to reveal the most perfectly sculpted torso I’ve ever laid eyes on. The heat between my legs becomes so intense that I shift a little uncomfortably from the ever growing wetness. When I look at the bulge in his slacks I can’t help thinking he could slide in so effortlessly right now, even with a cock that size. And God, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so empty in my life, so ready to be filled, so hungry for the friction of skin against mine. He flicks his belt buckle loose and undoes the button on his pants, letting my anticipation grow as I watch him step closer, taking in the line of hair running from his belly button and disappearing beneath his gray briefs that are just barely visible. When he finally pulls down his pants, there’s a dark spot at the tip of his impressive bulge from pre-cum. I lick my lips, unable to take my eyes from the shape of his cock struggling against the fabric of his briefs. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband and strips them down, letting his cock spring proudly free. The sight of it literally takes the breath from my lungs. It’s definitely the biggest I’ve ever seen, and I’m already imagining what it will feel like inside me. How could I not be? “Now,” he says, stepping up to me so his cock is pressed between us where it throbs, warm against my belly. He bends his neck to kiss my ear, tugging slightly with his lips. “You are not to speak or make a sound. Every time you moan or speak, I’ll make you wait another ten seconds to have your orgasm. Am I clear?” “Yes…” I say hesitantly. Rules? Why does the idea of rules have my skin tingling and my heart pounding with excitement. “Yes, Sir,” he corrects. “Yes, Sir,” I say. He groans with satisfaction, bending to kiss my neck and roughly grip my tits. “That’s fucking perfect.” My back arches against his touch and my eyes slam shut. Every little movement is an explosion, rocking me to my core and bringing the rush of the world’s most premature orgasm closer and closer. He surprises me by hooking his arms under my thighs and lifting me effortlessly onto his shoulders so my legs are spread in front of his face. I still wear my bikini bottoms, which is embarrassingly soaked by now, but he clearly doesn’t care. He runs the flat of his tongue slowly and languidly along my crease over the material, groaning with pleasure. “You taste so fucking sweet, Kitten. I knew you would.” I bite my lip hard and squeeze my hands tight around the cord holding my

wrists together. Everything about him screams masculinity. He likes the way I taste? Jesus… Why is that so insanely hot? Any thoughts of self-consciousness I might have had are quickly obliterated by the blinding need for more. More of him. More of his tongue. More of his filthy words. More everything. I grind my hips into him, wincing when a moan spills from my lips. He looks up at me, and the sight of his perfect face between my legs is one I’ll never forget. “Ten seconds, Kitten. Naughty, naughty.” With any other guy, I’d be relieved that they weren’t planning to hump me for ten seconds and then cum, only to roll off and fall asleep. But with Damian? The orgasm building inside me is like a flood ready to burst, and holding it back is almost torture. He has barely had his hands on me for more than a few minutes and I’m already so desperate to cum I could scream--but that would mean I’d have to wait another ten seconds. He yanks on the waistband of my bikini, sliding it free and lifting my legs high enough to pull them past his head before lowering me back down. I’m completely naked now, and more than a little aware of the fact that we’re in an unlocked conference room of a crowded airport. I can even hear what sounds like a young couple not far away complaining about their layover. His mouth against my bare pussy is too much. Another moan escapes me, and I can’t even clap my hand to my mouth to stifle the sound because the cords are still holding me hostage. He makes a muffled sound with his lips pressed to my clit, and the vibration bursts through me like liquid ecstasy. I cry out again, distantly noticing the conversation outside the door falls silent, but I’m too far gone to care now. Twenty more seconds. My heels dig into his back, thighs scissoring tightly around his head so that I’m afraid I might be choking him, but I can’t help it. It’s everything I can do not to scream, to yank my hands free of these cords so I can rake my fingers roughly through his hair. I start to hope he’ll misjudge and give me the orgasm my body is begging for, but just when I can feel myself about to push over the edge, he stops, lowering me back to the ground. He turns me around, giving me a firm slap on the ass that stings but sends a shockwave of arousal through me, and then grips my hips. “You didn’t think I was going to let you cum before I got to feel that tight little pussy, did you?” “No,” I gasp. “Ten seconds,” he growls. “And it’s no, Sir.”

“No, Sir.” “Ten more seconds.” I grit my teeth, knowing it’s unfair but also knowing there’s no point debating with him. His word is absolute, just like his power over me. I hold my breath as he lines up the head of his cock with my pussy. He presses into me, squeezing the first inch into me and stretching my walls to their limit. My cheek presses into the wall with the force of each thrust and his powerful hands grip me while he pulls me into him, using me like a fucktoy as he works inch after inch into me until I think there can’t possibly be any more. I finally feel the flat of his hips against my ass just as his cock presses so far into me I feel it pressing against my cervix. I gasp out another surprised moan, mentally chiding myself because I know he’s keeping count, and he’s going to enjoy dragging this out every second I give him an excuse to. “You’re so fucking tight, Kitten. I knew you would be.” I nearly respond to say something about how any woman would feel tight with a cock like his, but I’ve learned my lesson and I keep my lips pressed tightly together, still struggling to hold back the moans as he glides in and out of me. I’m so wet I can hear his every movement into me, but I know there’s no need to feel embarrassed because I can sense his own arousal mounting. His breath is heavier now and his hands are squeezing me even tighter, hard enough I’ll bruise. For some reason I love the thought of wearing his marks. He pounds into me so hard the sound of his hips against my ass must be audible even from the baggage claim. Just when I know one more thrust will drive me over the edge and rip the orgasm from me that is waiting to burst, he stops. “One… two… three,” he starts counting. I want to beg him for mercy, for the friction of his cock inside me, but I know speaking will only prolong his beautiful torture. I can’t help myself from pressing my ass into him, seeking more of his length. He chuckles. “Dirty little Kitten. You want to cum? Then you had better keep quiet this time.” I press my lips into the wall, hoping the pressure will be enough to keep me from crying out again, and I wait, struggling against his iron grip. He finally resumes his pace, pumping his cock into me with relentless rhythm, driving me into the wall with every thrust. I can try all I want, but there’s no stopping the sounds that come. I moan, I gasp, I curse, and I beg him for more. He stops keeping count, and I see the way his eyebrows draw down over those breathtaking eyes and I know he’s as lost in this as I am.

He pounds into me and tenses just as my orgasm finally breaks free, tightening the walls of my pussy around his pulsing cock, milking his length for every drop of his hot cum. My whole body convulses and shakes. If not for his hands on my hips and the cords around my wrists I would crumple to the ground in a puddle of satisfied bliss. “Fucking hell,” he says. “I’ve never--” The door swings open. A man wearing a security uniform stands at the door, eyes wide as he takes in the scene. Damian eases out of me shamelessly, and moves in front of my exposed body, blocking me from view of the security guard. “Back out and close the fucking door if you want to keep your job. And if you so much as think about laying your eyes on her, I’ll take more than your job.” A chill runs through me. The brutal way he talks to the man reminds me I know nothing about Damian, and yet here I stand with his cum running down my thighs. I should feel dirty and ashamed, but I don’t. I feel alive. I feel more alive than I’ve ever felt. To my surprise, the security guard closes the door, leaving us alone again. Damian reaches up to untie the cords and eases them off my wrists, taking great care to inspect where they left slight red marks on my skin from all the wiggling around I did. He makes a dissatisfied face. “Fuck. I don’t even have any ointment for your skin.” “It’s fine,” I say a little awkwardly as I bend to find my clothes. I pick up my bikini, feel how soaked it is, and drop it back to the ground. I unzip my suitcase and about thirty swimsuits nearly burst out from how tightly I packed them all in. Damian grins. I see he’s sliding his briefs back on and looking for his pants. “That’s all you packed? Swimsuits?” I blush. “I was supposed to be going on vacation. To Bermuda.” “You still will,” he says. I frown, but the finality of his tone erases any doubt that he might be joking with me or lying. “You’re serious?” Damian brushes my cheek with his finger. “You bet that pretty little ass of yours I’m serious.” He picks out a pink swimsuit and bends down, carefully lifting my ankle and sliding my foot through the opening. Once he pulls the bikini up to my hips, he takes his time circling me to make sure it’s on properly. I clear my throat. “I can dress myself, you know.” “I’ll have to teach you not to mouth off to me like that. But that’s a lesson for later. Maybe even tonight.”

I try not to show the excitement his words fill me with. I didn’t want to dwell on the idea, but somewhere deep down I knew this would be a one-off kind of thing. But he’s talking about tonight? And the way he carefully helps me get my clothes back on, finding every excuse he can to press his body to mine as he slips my top on--it’s starting to make me think dangerous thoughts. Stupid thoughts. Once he slides my cover-up on and does a final careful inspection, he finishes dressing himself. “Come with me. Stay close by my side, Kitten. Remember. You’re mine now. If you stray, there will be consequences.” I bow my head, part of me unsure how to process everything and the other part wanting to jump headlong into whatever Damian is planning for me. The idea of being his--submitting to him--it calls to me so strongly I’m almost ready to throw everything away for this man I hardly know. I follow him out into the hallway, back into the public eye. Every woman within a hundred feet of Damian perks up, glancing hopefully toward him like he’s setting off some kind of instinctual sex radar. I gather as many glares as he does admiring looks, but the way he holds his hand on the small of my back makes it clear to everyone we pass that I’m his. They don’t have to know I’ve only known him for thirty minutes… A thousand questions burn on the tip of my tongue, but something in the way Damian holds himself makes me stay silent for now. It’s not so much that I fear his anger. It’s that I trust him to tell me what I need to know when I need to know it. I should laugh at that. I’m putting more trust in a stranger than I would normally put in my best friend, but I can’t help what I feel. There’s a connection between us already, like something magnetic inside us snapped together the moment our eyes met. He takes me through a small door near one of the boarding tunnels, leading the way down a set of stairs that opens up to the runway. A warm breeze rustles my hair and the sound of airplane engines is suddenly overwhelming. “Are we allowed to be here?” I ask. He points to a small but luxurious airplane a few dozen yards off. “That one is mine. Come on.” “Why were you buying tickets to Bermuda if you have a personal plane?” I ask His confidence falters for a moment, and somehow he’s even sexier in his moment of vulnerability. “I guess you caught me. I wanted an excuse to talk to you.” “You don’t strike me as the type of guy who needs to make excuses.”

“Sometimes, no. But I wanted you so badly I didn’t want to take any chances.” I blush. “You keep saying that and I might start to believe you.” “You had better believe me,” he says, eyes igniting again with a hint of the fire I saw before. He kisses me, but it’s not like the furiously, hungry kiss from the conference room. His lips brush mine tenderly now, almost lovingly. I kiss him back, until my body feels like it might melt into a puddle right here on the runway. He pulls back with a cocky grin. “Easy. I’m all for exhibitionism, but if you keep looking at me like that I’ll have to fuck you right here, and I don’t think even I could get us out of a night in a cell for that one.” I look away, embarrassed. “Maybe we should get on your plane, then.” He takes me toward the plane, where his pilot is already opening up a door that folds out into a staircase. Damian helps me up carefully, as if he’s worried I might fall. Normally the kind of attention he’s showing me would probably insult me, but there’s something so sincere in his protectiveness that I can’t seem to get enough. The interior of the plane is more extravagant than I would’ve imagined. The carpet is plush and looks like it would feel amazing if I was barefoot. Polished wood paneling and even paintings adorn the walls. The main cabin is set up more like a living room than a commercial airliner, with a few comfortable looking single seats, a couch, a mini-bar, and even a fish tank lit from underneath to display an impressive collection of expensive looking fish. “Aren’t there weight limits on airplanes? Can you really have a fish tank and still fly?” “This model is designed to hold at least sixty passengers. Keeping it under fifteen lets me have some luxuries.” I laugh. “So you chose a fish tank?” He shrugs. “If I’m honest, I don’t even pay attention to it all. In my line of work, extravagance inspires confidence from my clients. I show them what they want to see. No more, no less.” “What exactly do you do?” I ask. “Sir,” says a pretty young flight attendant who hurries in from the front cabin. I take her in from head to toe and an immediate, stabbing jealousy spikes through me. Of course he’d have a beautiful flight attendant on his personal plane. He has probably slept with her, too. I push the thoughts away as soon as they come though. I didn’t even know Damian an hour ago. I have no business even feeling a hint of jealousy over what he might have done before that. All I have a right to

care about is how he acts going forward. “What is it?” he snaps. “Mr. Holland said to tell you there was a problem with the contract. He said you’d--” “Damn it,” growls Damian. He look to me regretfully, but seems to have already made up his mind over something. “Make sure she’s comfortable.” He leans in to kiss me again, but he’s distracted and the kiss is little more than a peck. “I’ll be as fast as I can. Wait here for me.” I watch him go, settling into the comfortable chair with a growing sense of unease. Being apart from Damian seems to break the spell. All the certainty I had that I wasn’t being insane by sleeping with him and getting on a private jet with him is going up in smoke. I dig my fingers into the armrests of the chair. “Would you like a drink?” asks the flight attendant. “Yes, please. Something strong,” I add. She smiles and moves off toward the bar. I look to the doorway when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. But instead of Damian’s imposing figure, it’s a slim woman with an amazing body. She flashes a smile to the flight attendant, who looks extremely uncomfortable. “I didn’t think he was expecting you,” she says cautiously. The woman glares. “Do you expect him to fill you in on every detail of his personal life? Scurry off, honey. I need to talk to her.” Her eyes shift to me and I can’t help squirming in my seat. The woman clicks over in her expensive heels and sits across from me. Her smile is predatory. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you. Damian did say he’d bring some fresh meat for us to play with tonight, but you’re not what I was expecting.” She looks down her pert little nose at me, like I just fell out of a dumpster. My stomach turns cold at her words. Fresh meat? “I’m sorry. Who are you?” I ask. She purrs an obnoxious imitation of a laugh. “I’m Faleena. Damian’s woman. His only real woman, despite whatever lies he filled your head with to get you this far.” I don’t want to believe her, but all the doubt already swirling around my mind makes it impossible not to cling to what she’s saying. “Why would he lie to me?” “Oh, to be so naive again,” she muses. “What a luxury.” Faleena leans forward like she’s about to let me in on a grand secret. “He told you what he had to so you’d come with him. He probably fucked you too, didn’t he? Made you feel special?”

I can’t meet her eyes. My fingers curl and uncurl on the hem of my dress. I feel like the dumbest woman in the world for falling into his trap, and right now I want nothing more than to leave, to never look back and pretend this was all a bad dream. She throws her head back and laughs. “Of course he did. Well I hope you enjoyed your one-on-one time with him. I don’t expect he’ll be very interested in you past tonight. Only a real woman can keep his attention for long.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “I wouldn’t blame you if you ran off. But if you’re going to leave, you may not want to wait long. He won’t let you go if he catches you.” I take my bag and push past her without a word, squeezing my eyes shut to hold back the tears of embarrassment. They come anyway. I knew it was too good to be true. I knew the perfect guy would never fall into my lap like that, but I still went along with it like an idiot. What did I get for putting myself out there for once? For letting go and living a little? I get to look like a silly, stupid little girl. I feel like an even bigger fool when I remember the way he came inside me. At the time, I was so lost to his will that I didn’t even consider the implications. I’m an idiot. I’m going to go home. Then I’m going to wait out the rest of my vacation time, and I’ll go back to work. I’ll move on and pretend none of this ever happened. It’ll be a bad memory, and if I’m lucky, I can eventually push it so far from my mind it disappears. Unless he got you pregnant. A nasty little voice says in my head. I scoff at the thought, shaking my head and wiping away the tears, already moving on from the self-pity stage and into the angry, resentful stage. What would be the chances of that? A guy like him probably had a vasectomy a long time ago so he could go around fucking whoever he wanted without protection like the animal he is. I should make an appointment to get tested. Lord only knows what kind of diseases the man could have. A distant part of me questions whether I should believe the word of that catty bitch of a woman, maybe I’m latching onto the idea of his betrayal too quickly. It’s almost an excuse that will let me go running back to my simple, predictable life. After all, it’s one stranger’s word over another. But what I was about to do was so far beyond my comfort zone, it only took the shadow of doubt to shatter my confidence. Running off that airplane was easier than walking into the conference room, and isn’t that what I’ve always done? The easy thing. I don’t know why it should surprise me that I’m doing what’s easy now. My thoughts leave an empty, painful pit in my stomach. On one hand, I believe the woman. Guys like him don’t just come along to sweep girls up into some life of romance and passion. He could have any woman in the world, so of

course she was telling the truth. Luring me onto that plane was just a game for him. I guess simply sleeping--no fucking, it was definitely fucking a woman isn’t enough of a challenge for someone like him, he has to add humiliation and degradation to the mix. Second by second, my confusion and doubt over running off the plane is solidifying into a single, overwhelming emotion. Anger. It’s getting easier and easier to explain to myself how Faleena’s words must have been true, and it’s getting easier to picture Damian as some kind of monster instead of the man I thought he was. I make it back inside the airport terminal, using a staircase like the one he led me down just a few minutes ago, but this time choosing a different entrance at random. Once I’m back upstairs, I look out the huge windows overlooking the runways and spot Damian striding back toward the private jet. He looks so big, even from up here. So imposing. So confident. I set my jaw. And so much like an asshole. Fuck you, Damian. I hope I never see you again.

26

DAMIAN

M

y cock is already throbbing with the need to take her again when I climb the stairs back onto my private plane. Maybe I will. I’ll just tell the staff to stay in the pilot’s cabin so we can have some privacy. I bet my little kitten has never been fucked at ten thousand feet. The grin on my face slips when I step into the cabin. “What the fuck is she doing here?” I ask Jenny, my flight attendant, whose mouth is working silently, unable to come up with a response. Faleena stands, smoothly pushing Jenny aside and answering for her. “I’m afraid I scared away your little plaything. I implied we were back together,” she practically purrs. “Where is Kylie?” I ask, ignoring Faleena and searching the cabin and then the pilot’s cockpit. “She left,” says Jenny in a voice barely above a whisper. “She left?” I roar. “She fucking left? You let her leave?” Jenny’s eyes well with tears, and despite my rage, I know I’m taking my anger out on the wrong person. I grit my teeth, pushing out the closest thing to an apology I can manage. “It’s okay. Go wait in the cockpit while I deal with this.” Faleena gives me an amused arch of her eyebrow. “Really? We’re going to resort to name calling already? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You always were just a brute in expensive suits.” “Fuck off. I need to go find her.” “She’s long gone,” Faleena says, stopping me at the door. “She left at least ten minutes ago. Judging by the way she stormed out of here crying like a baby, she’s probably already in her car on the way home. But you two exchanged information, of course?” It’s not a question. Faleena watches me with knowing

eyes. “You wouldn’t fuck someone without knowing more than their first name…” Her lips form a mocking pout. “Or would you?” I look out over the runway, knowing how slim my chances are of finding her now. “What the fuck did you tell her?” “Enough to make sure that cock of yours never goes near her again.” She steps toward me, swaying her hips purposefully and pulling her shoulders back to expose her cleavage. “Because I want it all to myself again.” The anger that rises inside me is so hot and unstable that I have to hold an open palm up to stop her from coming any closer. I’ve never laid my hands on a woman in a way that wasn’t meant to bring pleasure, but I swear to God, if Faleena takes another step toward me right now… I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself. “Get the fuck off my plane. Get the fuck out of my life. I never want to see your face again. Do you understand me? You’re dead to me.” I thought she already was dead to me when I broke things off a few months ago. Like all the relationships before, I didn’t let it go on for long. Every woman until Kylie has felt like an empty husk compared to her. Scratch the surface and there’s nothing of meaning inside, nothing for me to hold on to. Not Kylie though… It sounds crazy, but I just instinctively know that she’s meant to be mine. And now she’s God knows where because of this fucking bitch. Faleena’s confidence finally slips. Her eyebrows pull down in confusion. “You’d throw me away for that little girl? She can’t handle you, Damian. Not like I can. She’s not worth your time.” “Out,” I say quietly, already feeling the loss settling into my chest like something black and putrid knowing the feeling will fester. Not worth my time? I’ve never felt anything like I felt when I was with her. I knew I didn’t need dates. I didn’t need to know her favorite color or her zodiac sign or what her childhood was like. I felt the connection between us on such a pure, primal level that there was no question. She is the one, and now she might be gone forever. I know my chances are slim, but I’m not going to stop looking for her until I find her again. The thought of her out there right now thinking I used her is eating a fucking hole in my chest, and worse--the thought that I might never see her again is too much. I don’t care how long it takes. I’m going to find her.

T HANKS SO MUCH FOR READING THIS PREVIEW OF K NOCKED U P BY THE D OM ! You can find it on Amazon for $0.99 or free through Kindle Unlimited. Click

here to check it out!

27

BONUS CONTENT - SINGLE DAD NEXT DOOR

I

’ve included a free copy of my #10 Amazon bestselling novel, Single Dad Next Door. Hey! I recognize that model from somewhere… My grandfather left me his business with one insane condition: I need a wife and two kids. Too bad I’m a divorced single dad.

Cue my ex-wife’s best friend moving in next door. And then mix in a few bad decisions. What do you get? A complicated, sexy mess.

PROLOGUE

“N

o one can know,” she says, breaking the kiss just long enough to gasp out the words. “They can’t know the truth about us.” I find special pleasure in running my calloused, dirty hands across her smooth and flawless skin. Women like her are supposed to be off limits for guys like me. Her family is old money rich. Just imagining the look on their faces if they found out she was sleeping with a mechanic never fails to put a grin on my face. I kiss her while I guide her to the back of my truck. “In the truck, sweetheart.” She hops up, not taking her hungry eyes off me. I jump up beside her, sliding her back so I can lay her out like the prize she is in the bed of my truck. Long legs, long lashes, and an even longer list of reasons why I shouldn’t even be thinking of touching her. I strip her clothes unceremoniously, yanking her panties off in a single, hard jerk. She quivers, completely naked. She’s already wet for me. She has brown, curly hair that catches the moonlight through the open garage door. When I think about how much she must look down on me for being a lowly mechanic, I just want to give it to her that much harder, that much rougher. I want her to have to scream my name in this filthy garage and know it would enrage her parents. She should’ve known it would come to this when she moved in next door. She should’ve known she wouldn’t be able to stay away for long. I slide my calloused hand along her smooth leg, up the inside of her thigh. I trace the soft curves of her body with my eyes, from her full lips all the way down her slender neck and to the sweet swell of her breasts. She stretches out luxuriously, arching her back and biting her lip while squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“Open your eyes,” I growl. “I want you to see who you’re fucking.” She obeys. I grip her chin and kiss her hard--relentlessly. Whether she knows it or not, and even if her rich parents would never approve, Sandra Williams is mine. She may think she’s too good for me, but I know exactly how to keep her coming back for more. And if she thinks we’re going to keep the truth about us a secret forever, she’s wrong. There’s only going to be one secret between us. There’s only one thing that she can never find out, that no one can ever find out about. If she knew… Fuck. I kiss her even harder, using my fingers against her pussy to make her squirm against me and gasp. Just thinking about what would happen if she found out makes me want to take her like it’s the last time. Because hell, if she finds out about the terms of my grandfather’s will, this will be the last time.

28

REID TWO WEEKS EARLIER

I

clutch the letter from my grandfather in my fist. The paper is soft and wrinkled from years of being handled. I know every word in it by heart. Every single fucking syllable is burned into my brain like a cancer. But the last line is the worst. It’s the one that haunts me. It taunts me every morning when I look in the mirror. It’s the line of text that hangs over me like a fucking time bomb, waiting to explode and tear everything in my life to pieces. I leave my shop and property to Reid William Riggins under the condition that he is married with children by the time he is thirty-five years of age. There it is in plain black ink. Children and a wife. I have one child and no wife. So that puts me in a very shitty place--one child, one ex-wife, and no prospects of that changing anytime soon. My grandfather went and threw me the shittiest curveball he could with his will. I shouldn’t even be surprised. My younger brother practically exiled himself from the family after college, and my grandfather was obsessed with the idea of the Riggins family name carrying on to a new generation. I’m thirty-three years old now, which doesn’t leave me much more time to satisfy the conditions. Either I marry someone and knock them up this year, or I lose my shop. I lose my house. Everything. I shove the letter back in the drawer and slam it shut. Tyler sticks his head in the small office at the back of my shop. “‘Ey, Reid. You’ll want to see this.” I’m not in the mood for Tyler’s bullshit right now, but if I stay in this office any longer, I’ll just keep getting more pissed. I push out of my chair and cross the distance toward him in two long strides. The shop isn’t much, but it’s mine. For now. I’ve run the place since grandpa died six years ago. We have two bays for cars, one of which I built myself on the weekends. It took close to a year, but it’s good, solid work. Everything is to code and sturdy.

When I see my little guy kneeling to watch Garry work on an old Acura’s brake lines, the hot anger in me cools a little. Roman is the only good thing that came out of the two years I spent married to Tara. His brown hair is a tangled mess of brown and he has a thick streak of black on his cheek. I smirk, spitting on a rag then cupping his cheek to clean the grease from his cheek. He scrunches his face and tries to escape, but I manage to get the spot before he can slip away. “You learning about brakes, bud?” Roman is turning five next month, but he probably knows more about cars than most adults already. “Yep!” he says cheerily. I ruffle his hair and move to follow Tyler. As soon as Roman is out of my sight, the heat of my anger rises up again. I see what Tyler was calling me out of the office to see now. The shop sits directly in front of my house. The house next door has been abandoned for years, but there’s a moving truck parked outside in the shade of two big oaks. I tuck the rag in my jeans and cross my arms. I have to squint against the sun to see, but there are three guys from the moving company bringing box after box inside while a woman with long legs and short shorts follows them around, fussing over everything they move. I take a few steps closer, eyebrows drawing down in frustration and confusion when I realize I recognize her. “Is that fucking Sandra Williams?” I ask. Tyler spits between his teeth, nodding. “Sure is. Ain't she like, best friends with your ex?” There’s a bad taste in my mouth as I answer. “Yeah. That’s the one.” “So your wife’s best friend is going to live next door. What’re you gonna do?” “I’m gonna set this shit straight. Keep an eye on Roman. This won’t take long.” Tyler nods, walking back toward the shop. I realize I’m not wearing a shirt when I’ve already crossed half the distance to her house. Fuck it though, I’m too pissed to go back and put one on. Besides, the shirt I had on is covered in oil. I don’t bother thinking about what I’m going to say. The message is simple. She’s going to keep her fucking distance and I’m going to keep mine, or we’ll have a problem. The last thing I need is a reminder of Tara and the crap she pulled living next door, let alone some rich daddy’s girl like Sandra Williams. She looks up when I’m only a few steps away. “Reid…” she says slowly. Her tone says it all. It’s a placating tone, like she has been planning what she would say to try to calm me down. She knew exactly

who lived next door when she decided to move here. How could she not? She’s been best friends with Tara since long before I even met Tara. She’s also the one Tara moved in with after the divorce. Her old place was just a few miles away on the other end of town. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demand. She crosses her arms, eyes flashing with anger. I can’t help noticing how the motion pushes her full tits up. I never paid much attention to her before because I could write a book on the reasons she’s wrong for me, hell, I could write a few books. I don’t need books to tell me why I should keep my distance from Sandra. Two words are good enough. Off limits. Simple as that. “I’m moving into my house. Not that it’s any of your business.” “Like hell it isn’t,” I say. I half-turn, pointing to my house and shop that are less than fifty yards away. “Your business just came and took a huge shit all over my business.” The anger in her eyes falters briefly when they flick down to my bare chest and stomach. She sucks in a sharp breath and looks away and then back once more. “Can you put a shirt on or something?” “Sure. As soon as you pack your shit up and leave, I’ll put a shirt on. ‘Til then, I’ll walk around butt ass fucking naked if I want to.” “Look, Reid. I don’t want trouble. It was time for me to get my own place. Tara and...“ she winces, like she was about to say something she shouldn’t have. “Tara and what?” I ask. Stepping close and lowering my voice dangerously. “Forget it. It’s not my place to tell you.” Tara and...? I could give two shits about what she does or who she fucks. The only thing I care about is that she still gets Roman on the weekends. If she’s seeing somebody, I need to know he’s safe to be around my son. I clench my fists. She’s not going to pack up and move just because I told her to. I knew as much. The point is that she gets the message to stay out of my business. “Keep your fucking distance and we’ll get along fine.” She sighs, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t think that will be a problem, Reid. Can I get back to moving in now?” I scoff. “Yeah. You do that.” I storm back into the garage and have to tamp down the urge to break something. I won’t lose control while Roman is watching, though. If there’s one thing I can do for him, it’s teach him to be a better man than I am. I may fuck everything else up in my life, but I won’t fuck that up. Not a chance. My son deserves better. I think back to the defiant way Sandra talked to me. Even though I only want to be pissed at her, I can’t help also remembering how good she looks. Women

with a little fire always tempt me. Maybe it’s the challenge. I don’t pretend to understand it. All I know is I need to lose that thought, and fast. Tara and I are history. And the truth is I only stayed with her because of Roman. To say he was unplanned is putting it mildly. A condom must’ve broken and we didn’t realize. Once I knew she was pregnant, I sucked up my pride and did the right thing. I planned to stay with her and give him the family he deserves. I was willing to put up with her shit if it meant we could give him a good life, but she had other plans. Even so, making a move on her best friend would be dirty and low. Sandra’s not my type, anyway. I’m not interested. Sandra’s parents are old school blue bloods, and she probably gets the world handed to her on a golden spoon studded with diamonds. I don’t have time or energy to deal with a pampered woman who thinks the world should bend to her will. Fuck that, and fuck her.

29

SANDRA

I

’m still seething from my run-in with Reid. Reid freaking Riggins and his stupidly hot body. I can’t stop seeing the way he looked with the sunlight highlighting every single line of his chiseled torso. The way his dirty hands left smeared fingerprints down his chest and abs was distracting, to say the least. All I have to do to push that image from my head is to remind myself what an asshole he is. He was never exactly Mr. Social, even when he and Tara were dating and later married. He seems happiest tucked underneath a car, covered in grease and grime. I may have briefly had a crush on him when he moved here to live with his grandpa during high school. The rumor was that his mother passed away from complications giving birth to his little brother, and then later their father died from heart disease. We were sophomores and he was the new, mysterious senior with the sinfully hot body and a face like he just hopped out of a GQ magazine. My fascination with him faded pretty much as soon as I got to know him, though. Reid Riggins has, and always will be arrogant, selfish, and abrasive. He’s not my type in the slightest. To be honest, the fact that this house is next door to his was the only thing holding me back from buying it. The price was ridiculously good because it’s been on the market for so long and needs fixing up. I needed a new place and the price was right. Tara started dating Reid’s brother, a fact which I almost let slip to Reid earlier. She talked me into letting him stay with her every once in awhile, which pretty quickly turned into all day, every day. Needless to say, I wanted space. I may still be in the same small town I’ve always lived in, but it is time to for a fresh start. The bakery has been doing well lately, so I can afford the luxury of a little privacy and a bigger place for me and my cat, Charles.

I huff out a long, exhausted sigh and plop down on the couch, which is in the middle of the hallway right now. I hear a loud bang from outside and wince as the movers continue their apparent mission to ding, dent, or scratch every last thing I own before it comes inside the house. It may not be much, but I work hard for everything I own. Charles watches the chaos from the top of the refrigerator with a look of disinterest. I know better though, he’s loving this. I’ll be up all night from the sounds of Charles rampaging around his new domain. He just acts like an old grump by day. Just like he didn’t care when I spent a hundred dollars to buy him a six-foot-tall cat tower off Amazon. He used that tower one time. One time. And all he used it for was to pee on. At least that’s what he wanted me to think. A few weeks after I got it, I caught him in the middle of the night having the time of his life playing on it. Sometimes I wonder why I wanted a cat. Just like I wonder why I try so hard to be independent. If my parents had their way, I would sit back while they funnel an endless stream of money into my bank account. They were both trust fund kids. Their parents arranged their marriage, and they dutifully followed through with it. In their social circle, working for a living is something to be embarrassed about. When I made it clear that I didn’t want to take their handouts, they distanced themselves. A lot. We talk over the phone sometimes, but they have no idea what I’m really doing. I’ve spun a few convenient mistruths just to get them to keep their distance. If they knew the full truth, they would start having airplanes drop money on my house until I gave in and took some. At least they still have Vanessa to dote over. She’s the perfect daughter. She never minded being given all the money in the world for doing nothing. She’s currently engaged to Edmond Bartley, who was my father’s top pick for me. When it became clear I wasn’t going to agree to what was basically an arranged marriage, he did the only logical thing left to do, he set Edmond up with Vanessa. She spends her days lounging poolside, sipping drinks, attending social events, and planning her obscenely expensive wedding. Which I still haven’t been invited to. Then again, she has been planning the wedding for over a year already, so she may not even have an official date. Not for the first time, I try to push past the bitterness that rises in my chest when I think about my family. Most families would be proud if their daughter found the amount of success I have. Mine acts like I joined a three ring circus to fulfill a life-long dream of becoming a clown. Screw them though. I’ve made it this far without them, and I’ll keep going on whether they like it or not. All I need is my bakery. And Charles, I guess. Except there’s no point lying to myself. More than anything, I want a guy. I

may not need a guy. But it sure would be nice to have someone around who could make me feel safe and maybe even help shoulder some of the responsibility once in awhile. Even more than a guy, I want a baby. I’m turning thirty-one next month, and my biological clock is ticking like a time bomb. Every time I see babies at the store I feel like my heart is breaking. I can’t help running through the numbers. At thirty-one, I’ll almost be in my fifties by the time my child graduates high school. A few more years and I’ll be fifty before they even start high school. A couple dozen more and I’ll be pushing their stroller with my motorized old lady scooter. Yeah. I never said my biological clock was reasonable. It doesn’t help that my love life is a long list of trainwrecks, disasters, and catastrophes. I went through a few phases. Early on, there was the safe stage, where I dated guys I thought my parents would approve of. Then I moved on to the defiant stage, where I dated guys I knew my parents would hate. That lasted a while until at some point I realized I was only hurting myself. I have never gotten involved with someone that wasn’t in some way related to how I thought my parents would feel, as pathetic and sad as that is. The answer seems simple enough--date someone for me--but after so long, I don’t know what I even want in a guy. I’ve tried dating guys from town and using dating sites to meet guys from the city. I have nothing to show for it, except a few memories I would rather not revisit, ever. Like the time a guy told me he was into “golden showers” on our first date. I thought he was speaking literally, like shower faucets made out of gold. When I looked it up on my phone in the bathroom, I ended up having to escape through the window to avoid going back out there with Mr. Waterworks. The unifying flaw in all of my relationships is my parents’ money. When guys inevitably find out about my parents’ fortune, they start pushing me to take advantage of it. Whether they want me to beg them for a vacation, a gift, or for just plain old money. That, or they feel threatened by it and distance themselves. I blow out a long sigh. I can’t even complain to anyone about it. Who’s going to feel sympathy for me? Poor Sandra and her access to ridiculous amounts of money! How hard her life must be! Yeah, it’s not exactly going to bring people to tears, so I just bottle it up, keep my head down, and keep working hard enough to forget. I decide all my fussing at the movers isn’t actually saving my furniture anyway, so I head outside and get in my car. I’ll run down to the bakery and get a batch of dough proofing for our signature cheese crusted pretzel twists. I was going to do it in the morning, but if I do it now, I’ll have more time to decorate the pastries afterwards.

I start my beat up Camry, wincing. It has been making a sound like a chain smoker’s cough when I turn the key lately. Now every time I go to start it up I cross my fingers that it won’t be the time the old girl finally gives out on me.The engine huffs, wheezes, and grinds.The car starts to shake slightly and then there’s a loud bang. Smoke hisses out from under the hood. “Shit!” I yell, slamming my hands down on the steering wheel. I knew I should have brought it in sooner, but Reid is the only mechanic in our small town, and ever since he and Tara divorced, he treats me like the enemy. Even before his neighborly threat, I was dreading having to deal with him. I glance over toward his shop. I see him standing there, shirtless, rubbing some car part with a greasy red rag. He’s watching the smoke billow from my car. It’s too far to be sure, but I think he’s smirking. “Cocky bastard,” I mutter. I get out of the car and walk inside, vowing not to ask him to fix it. He thinks I need him. Well he can learn the same lesson my parents did. I don’t need anybody. Besides, I have a few hours to figure out how to fix this thing. I’ll just spend some time on YouTube looking up the problem.

F OUR HOURS , TWO CUPS OF COFFEE , AND TWENTY INCOMPREHENSIBLE VIDEOS later, I step outside. It’s past ten. The lights are off in Reid’s shop, but I can see a single light on in his house. I just have to hope it’s dark enough that he can’t see me out here. Worst case scenario, I’ll call for a tow truck and have it taken to the city to someone else. I bring the little toolkit outside with me that I got when I moved out on my own. I honestly don’t know a whole hell of a lot about tools beyond which one is the hammer and which one is the screwdriver, but how hard can it be? My hours of research taught me that it’s either a problem I have no chance of fixing, or it’s just a few loose screws. As soon as I actually open the hood and take a look, I realize I’m in over my head. My engine doesn’t look quite like the ones I saw in the videos, and there’s a plastic cover over half of it. I sigh, blowing a hair out of my face and using my phone as a flashlight. After about five minutes of poking around, I realize I have no chance in hell of doing this myself. I can’t even unscrew the bolts holding the plastic cover in place because none of my tools fit them. I slam the hood down in frustration and then jump away from the dark figure standing beside my car. I do a very embarrassing impression of a t-rex as I scream at the top of my lungs and my arms pull up by my sides.

It’s Reid. “What the hell?” I yell. He steps forward so I can see his obnoxiously handsome face. “I was just wondering how long it would take you to figure out you can’t fix that on your own. I heard it from my garage.” He moves to my hood and opens it without asking for permission. “Get your filthy hands off my hood.” He grins up at me, the look on his face making me feel like I just said the dirtiest thing in the world. My cheeks burn and I frown, folding my arms I watch as his muscles cord and flex while he pokes and prods at my engine with his strong hands. He flips something that pops and yanks the plastic cover out effortlessly. I catch myself imagining what hands like that would feel like on my body. I stop that line of thinking fast. Reid is a total asshole. I don’t care how good he looks or what those hands would feel like on me, because I’m never going to find out. He’s not my type and he’s the last thing I need complicating my life right now. Besides, if Tara ever found out, she would never forgive me. “Yeah. It’s fucked,” he says. “I’ll have the boys pull it over to the garage in the morning. Will be about a week before she’s running again.” “Reid, I don’t need or want your help.” “Tough shit,” he says. “You’re my neighbor now. If your car runs like shit it makes me look bad. I’m fixing it whether you like it or not.” “Like hell you are,” I say. He takes a step closer until I can smell the piney scent of him, like a forest in December. I involuntarily breathe it in more deeply. My heart pounds. “Yeah? How do you plan on stopping me?” I swallow, words failing. All I can see are the strong lines of him. His jaw, the hint of a perfectly muscular crease between his pecs showing above the low collar of his shirt. He’s so broad and strong he could pick me up like I was a child. He could do anything he wanted to me. He could… I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing that line of thought to stop. “I don’t need your handouts,” I say finally. He eyes me hard. “Right. The spoiled rich girl who doesn’t think she needs handouts.” My hand flashes out, catching him across the cheek. He barely flinches, but the sound echoes through the night. My palm stings and our eyes are locked. I almost apologize. Almost. But the anger of his assumption swallows up my sympathy. “You don’t know anything about me, Reid Riggins.” I turn to walk inside and pause, speaking over my shoulder. “And you had better not dare touch

my car.” I hear a humorless laugh from behind me and the crunch of his feet as he walks back to his house. Asshole.

30

REID

I

pull up to Sandra’s old place, which is apparently being rented by Tara now. What a joke. Leave it to Tara to keep finding new ways to fuck with my life. Now her spoiled rich best friend is living next door to me and already making me lose sleep. When I saw her engine fuck up, I knew she was going to be too proud to ask me. I just knew it. Sure enough, I saw her sneaking out to try to fix it herself at night. It galled me for some reason. Of course the daddy’s girl who has everything handed to her would think fixing a car would be easy. She probably went online and read some how-to guide and thought she could figure it out. She probably thinks she can do what I do for a living if she feels like it. As I expected, she’s clueless. Well, I still jimmied the lock on her car this morning, put it in neutral, and pushed it to my shop. She can bitch and moan all she likes, but it’s like I said. Her car trouble makes me look bad. It’s a small town and people talk. I don’t need my reputation getting shot because of her stubbornness. Fuck that. I’ll just have to swipe the keys at some point, but I doubt a rich girl like her will see it coming. Shouldn’t be a problem. Roman hums from his carseat in the back of my truck, kicking his feet. I smirk up at him through the rear-view. He looks like me in every way. He has my dark hair, my eyes. I’m glad I don’t have to see any reminders of Tara when I look at him. “Can mommy take me to the shop today?” says Roman. I feel a swell of pride, but I swore a long time ago I wouldn’t ever try to pit him against his mom. No matter how much I may despise her for what she did to us, every child needs a mom. I had to grow up without one, and I don’t want my son to have to go through that too. “Hey,” I say, turning to look at him as I pull up to a stop sign. “Mommy doesn’t like the shop, remember? It makes her so

happy to see you. Talking about the shop will just make her sad.” Roman looks down, fiddling with his little fingers. “But I’ll be bored. She makes me watch cartoons all day.” I turn back to the road so he doesn’t see my scowl. Seems like I’m going to have to talk to her about that. Again. You wouldn’t think it would be too much to ask of a mother who only sees her son on the weekends to want to plan something fun to do with her child. “Just be nice to her. Your mom loves you,” is all I can manage. I pull up to Sandra’s place, which I guess is now Tara’s. Once I’ve pulled Roman from his car seat and grabbed all his essentials from the truck, I knock impatiently on the door. I have to knock twice more before Tara finally swings the door open. As usual, she looks like she spent half the day getting ready. Her hair is bleached and dry, but straightened and combed until every strand is in place. Her tan face is coated in enough makeup to mostly hide the fine lines years of reckless tanning have brought to the surface. I know I thought she was beautiful once. Now, I just see a shell of a woman. She spends so long making sure she looks good because no one would stick around if they knew what she was really like. Vapid. Controlling. Manipulative. And unfaithful. The last makes me clench my fists until my nails dig into my palms. Not because of what she did to me, but because she was willing to do that to Roman. She was willing to destroy our family. “Go on, Bud,” I say to Roman, giving him a gentle push toward the house. My eyes flick past Tara to the man’s boots sitting neatly in the foyer. The sight of them gives me a pang of familiarity that I can’t immediately place. They must belong to whoever this new boyfriend is, but why do they look so familiar? Once Roman is inside, I plant a hand on the doorframe, leaning in and lowering my voice. “Cartoons again? We talked about this shit.” “No. You talked about it,” she says. “I’ve got shit to do, Reid. I can’t just--” “Lower your voice,” I growl. The last thing Roman needs is to overhear how little his mom really cares about him. I’m still holding out hope that she’ll get her act together soon, for Roman’s sake. She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “I can’t just hold his hand all day. So I sit him in front of the TV for a few hours. What’s the big deal?” “You have him two days a week. Weekends only. Make some fucking time for your son.” She shakes her head and smirks nastily. “You don’t like the way I’m treating him? Talk to a judge about it. I hear they really love to give full-custody rights to mothers.” I shove his bag of toys and snacks at her. “Don’t let him talk you into giving

him the Goldfish until he’s had his veggies.” She never has anything healthy in her fridge or pantry for him, so I have to make sure it comes with him. “See you on Sunday,” I say, turning to leave. “Fuck you too,” she shouts after me. I sit in the truck and turn the key, letting the sound of the engine calm me. Cars and machinery have always helped me cool down. Something about the way a well-oiled machine just works has always brought peace to me. I think about the pistons moving in unison, the controlled explosions moving through air-tight chambers keeping everything in motion. I know every part of this truck like I built it myself. Hell, I did build half of it myself. I’ve owned her since I was fourteen. She was a ruster, but I spent every day after school trolling the salvage yards and going door to door to raid old abandoned cars in wheat fields for parts. Working on the car was my escape. I shake my head at the memory. Those were the good years. Back when my little brother Mark wasn’t a jackass. Back when grandpa was still around. When dad was still healthy. I look toward Tara’s place, fighting the urge to go and yank Roman out of there. I hate leaving him with her, but I know it’s best for him. Even if she’s a shitty mom. Even if she doesn’t appreciate him like she should. She’s his mom. That’s fucking important. I rev the engine and peel out of her driveway, heading back home. When I pull up, I see Sandra outside her new place with a ladder that barely reaches halfway up her house. She’s on her tip toes on the highest step trying to knock debris out of her gutters. I sigh, making a good effort of not noticing how good her ass looks in the daisy dukes she’s wearing, or how long and smooth her legs are. It’s a good effort, but ultimately a failure. My grandpa taught me to always use the right tool for the job. Seeing anything else rubs me the wrong way. So as much as I wish she would just pack her shit up and leave, I grudgingly grab a full length ladder from the garage and walk it over to her. “Here,” I say, taking in an eyeful of her ass as she stands above me on the ladder, straining to reach. She flinches at the sound of my voice and loses her balance, teetering on the edge of falling. I step forward quickly and steady her by grabbing the only thing I can reach. Her ass. A long, drawn-out second passes while I have her perfectly round ass in both of my large hands. Then she slaps my hands away and gets down the ladder, face a mask of rage.

“What the hell are you doing?” I bite down the words that threaten to come out. Just getting started. No. I’m not just getting started. “Giving you the right tool for the job,” I growl, tapping the ladder I dropped in the grass with my toe. She looks at the ladder for a long moment. I can see the temptation to accept my offer in her features. Then her mouth hardens into a thin line and she crosses her arms. “I don’t need your big, stupid ladder. This one is big enough.” I can’t help grinning. “Trust me. Once you use my big ladder you’ll never be satisfied with a small one again.” She frowns as the double-meaning sinks in. Her cheeks flush red and she covers her mouth, clearing her throat and pretending not to catch my implication. I smirk. Fuck. Why is my cock stiffening? Yeah, she’s hot enough. Fuckable, even. But she’s not my type. I have no time for some rich daddy’s girl. No patience. Despite all that I find myself wanting to tease her, to draw this out. Sandra motions towards her driveway. “I thought I told you not to touch my car.” “Yeah, you did.” “Then why is my car in your stupid garage right now? Did it just magically teleport over there?” I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “Because I’m not going to let you drive that thing around town. You’re my neighbor now, like it or not. I need to know you’re safe.” I frown a little, surprised by my own choice of words. “That the car is safe,” I add quickly. “If it dies somewhere people can see, it’ll make me look bad.” Sandra gives me an odd, searching look. “Right. You want to make sure my car is safe.” “Exactly,” I say. “Exactly what I fucking said. Now use the ladder. Just start slow. It may seem too big at first, but I know you can handle it.” I don’t wait for her to respond before I turn and walk away without looking back. I head back inside and let Tyler and Garry work on Sandra’s Camry while I snag a beer from the fridge. I spend a little too long looking out the window, watching as Sandra struggles to unfold the full-sized ladder I brought and prop it against the house. She looks toward my place several times, but from this distance I can’t tell if she’s glaring or grinning. A vague, hazy idea starts to form in my mind as I watch her long legs climb up the ladder. A dangerous idea. A stupid idea. But I’ve never let stupid stop me before. Fuck. Am I really considering this? My grandfather’s will never said anything about love. All I need is the paper

saying I’m married. Then there’s the part about kids. Plural. Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to find anyone to agree to that deal. I wouldn’t mind having another kid, but I would mind having another woman in my life. As far as I’m concerned, committing to a woman is a mistake I made once and never plan to make again. Things are easier without the strings. I’ve got Roman and my shop. For now. Still. I can’t help wondering if I could pull it off. Get a woman who hates my guts to marry me and have my baby. And I only have a few months before I’d be out of time. It’s not my proudest moment, but if it comes down to it, I’d do anything to protect the life I’ve built for Roman. And I don’t even know what I’d do with myself if I lost the shop. I could come clean once I had everything in my name and squared away. I’d take the kid, let her go her own way. I sigh, running a hand through my hair, eyeing her again. I imagine what those long legs would feel like wrapped around me and groan. I’m just making this worse. I drain the last of my beer and head out to the shop. Maybe I can hit some shit with a wrench to get my mind right, because there’s no way I’m seriously considering doing something so fucked up.

31

SANDRA

I

stand outside my bakery, staring at the letter that I found taped to the front door. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, and the birds chirping peacefully seem at odds with the disaster I’m holding in my hands. Town Ordinance Dear Small Business Owner, Your building was constructed on a provisionally reserved city block (See attached form 231B). This location is scheduled to be converted into parking lot. Construction will begin in two month’s time. Appraisals value the property at $112,337. A check for this amount will be paid to you. This amount is subject to federal taxes. If you wish to retain the property, please make a payment of $11,831 to the City of Oldeen. This amount will be used to procure a neighboring site as an alternate construction location. Thank you for your cooperation, Gerald Gordana, Mayor I shake my head in disbelief after reading it again. I have no recollection of signing any kind of contract or being notified that this was a possibility. A thick layer of numbness blankets everything. Somewhere, just beneath the surface, I feel the despair, anger, and outrage that are struggling to break through. Except all I can do is stare blankly at the page, reading and re-reading it until my hands tremble. I still remember how good it felt the day I signed the papers and made the bakery mine. It took weeks to get everything set up inside and get it all the way I wanted. I worked with Ed in his wood shop to design the letters hanging over the entrance. I even picked out the cute, loopy cursive font. Sandra’s Sweets. I spent forever browsing Craigslist to find the tables and chairs for a reasonable price. I

bartered with a retired baker for my oven and dough mixer. Every last part of the building and its contents are the result of hours and hours of hard work, and they let me know it’s going to be taken away with a letter. A hundred and twelve thousand dollars for my bakery? That’s not even half of what I paid. The price makes me want to throw up. I’m still making payments on the three hundred thousand dollar mortgage, and most of that money hasn’t even started working toward the principal. If they take my business and give me that check, I’ll be losing all the years I’ve spent chipping away at the interest payments. I’ll be losing everything. There’s no place I could buy for that amount of money to restart my business either. I should know after all the time I spent finding this one for the price I did. All the years of saving carefully and working two jobs to save up for this. It feels like every moment of my life built up to getting this bakery and making my dream a reality. I was finally starting to let myself believe it was real, that it would last. Maybe I could have started actually focusing on finding a man to complete the picture. On making a baby. Now this. I turn and start walking back toward home, feeling numb. Jennifer and Lauren will be wondering why I haven’t shown up, but they’ve run a shift on their own before. I can’t stand to go inside right now knowing that it’s all going to be taken away. Stolen. And it’s going to be perfectly legal. For the first time since my car wouldn’t start two days ago, I’m glad I don’t have it. I need the long walk back home to clear my head. The most maddening part is how easy it would be to fix this. I know exactly what my sister would do. She’d shoot a text to my parents asking for some money. She’d probably round up a hundred or two hundred thousand dollars. My father would make a call and the money would be in her account within hours. She’d pay the fee and maybe treat herself to a nice vacation for the inconvenience. As much as I’ve worked to distance myself from my parents, I still know they would give me the money if I asked. But asking them would invalidate everything I’ve done. Right now, I can look in the mirror every morning and know I’m looking at a woman who made her own way. A strong, independent woman who didn’t need handouts to get where she is. A woman who I can be proud of. If I go crawling to my parents for help now, all that ends. Maybe that’s vain of me. But for better or worse, I’ve built my identity around my independence. If I give in now, who will I be? Besides, I may have also told them a little white--okay, grayish--lie. I told them I was engaged to a wealthy businessman, but it was just to get them off my back. I regretted it after I said it, but when they stopped trying to set me up after

they found out, it suddenly didn’t seem so bad. Except the part where they said they wanted to come visit and meet him “sometime.” Knowing them, sometime means never, but now I have that looming over my head too. Wonderful. When I finally reach my house close to forty minutes later, I see Reid working on a car in front of the shop. He’s shirtless, of course, and his broad back is glistening with sweat. The way his dark hair falls in front of his face as he leans forward and the smears of grease on his powerful arms and chest just pisses me off. Why should such an asshole look so good? He looks like he shooting an ad for Chippendale’s, for God’s sake. He’s so sexy it’s almost ridiculous. I tear my gaze away from him and the way those blue jeans hug his tight ass, increasing my pace in hopes that he won’t notice me. “Damn, sweetheart. That was the shortest workday I’ve ever seen,” shouts Reid. I stop dead in my tracks, jaw clenched and sucking in quick breaths through my nose. “Fuck you, asshole,” I shout back. I’m about to step inside when I hear something metallic slam down. When I look up, I see Reid stalking toward me, eyes ablaze. He rakes a hand through his thick black hair and pushes it out of his face, making every single muscle on his chiseled torso stand out. I open the door, suddenly afraid of what he’s going to do. I get inside just as he storms up my porch. I try to shut the door, but it stops dead. His large hand is pressed against it, keeping me from closing the door. He pushes it back open, leaning in the doorway. He smells like metal. Sweat. Power. The man practically radiates sexuality, and I hate him for it. He doesn’t deserve it. “I must have misheard you,” he says. His dark green eyes are locked on me unflinchingly. I swallow, but refuse to back down. “I said. Fuck you. Asshole.” My voice is a little more muted than I would like, but I deliver the words convincingly enough. His hand is on my shoulder, pushing me against the wall inside my house. His body looms over me, pressing against me. “Careful,” he rasps. I see the hint of something other than anger cross his features. Something like hunger. Lust. I feel it, too, as much as I hate it. Something hard is pressing into my belly, and I’m not sure if it’s a huge wrench or his cock. The thought makes me feel a little lightheaded. “Let me go,” I say, but my voice comes out as soft as a whisper. He bites his lip. “You sure you want that?” I look away, suddenly unable to meet the intensity of his eyes. “Yes.”

He pushes off the wall, glaring down at me. “You can come by tomorrow for your car, by the way. And I’ll need these,” he says, snatching the keys to my Camry off the key rack on the wall. Without another word, he turns, slamming the door behind him. I’m left breathless in the hallway, staring after him. What was that? For a minute there, I thought Reid Riggins was actually thinking about kissing me, or more than that. And for a minute… I think I wanted him to. I shake my head, going upstairs and making a point of not looking at my newly dinged and dented furniture that still needs to be arranged. I hop in the shower even though I just showered about two hours ago before I left for work. I need to clear my head. I need space, time, and I need every last bit of Reid’s scent off my skin. I don’t need little reminders of him catching me by surprise throughout the day. I squeeze out shampoo and wash my hair, whether it needs it or not. I’m undoing all the work I did of getting ready this morning, but that, admittedly, wasn’t much. I slapped on some mascara, concealer, and just brushed the tangles out of my hair, letting it air dry on my walk to work. It’s not like I have anyone to impress. Except Reid. That thought rises up, unwelcome and frustratingly pleasant at the same time. I rub the soap to a furious lather, thinking about Reid and the way it felt to have him against me. I turn my back to the faucet and rub the soap across my chest, cupping my breasts as I do, feeling a tingle of warmth that has nothing to do with the water. My hands slide down my stomach and I rub myself between the legs, eyebrows drawing down, imagining his hard cock is pressing into my belly, throbbing. His body is hard against me, lips only inches from mine. Vivid images of him pumping into me, groaning with pleasure flash in my mind and I’m soon leaning against the wall, working my fingers fast, riding the waves of my shameful climax. I shut off the water and towel off, feeling the guilt from what I just did seep deeper and deeper. Even if Reid wasn’t a total asshole, he’s Tara’s ex. Even if she has changed recently, I’m still her best friend. I lost track of how many pints of ice cream we shared while she talked through her problems with Reid to me. I never really looked at their relationship objectively though. I always looked at it through the lens of being Tara’s best friend. I took her side. That was my job. Now, I think back on it and realize that she was horrible to him. She always came to me and complained that he was a deadbeat who didn’t want to make enough to support her, that he didn’t love her enough to make the life she

wanted. And what did I do? I defended her. I told her she was right, and that he should have goals beyond just doing what makes him comfortable. I can’t help feeling like shit looking back on it. As much as I love Tara, she didn’t know Reid at all. He may be the most abrasive asshole I’ve ever met, but he seems to know what he wants and he’s devoting himself to doing it, regardless of what the world says about it. A lot like me. The realization gives me chills. Did I just compare myself to Reid Riggins? I sigh, wrapping a towel around myself and heading downstairs to pour myself some wine. I really could use a good buzz right about now. Who cares if it’s not even past noon. When I think back to the notice folded in my purse I feel like I could actually go for something closer to black-out drunk. Anything to forget. Anything to put this all behind me, even for a little while. Well, at least the solution to my problems is simple. I just need to come up with about twelve grand on short notice. Yeah. No big deal.

32

REID

I

wipe the sweat from my eyes and squint toward the road at the sound of an approaching car. A six cylinder, by the sound of it, and poorly maintained. I can practically hear the pistons struggling to pump from here. Once the car pulls into view I realize exactly who’s driving. My little brother, Mark. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s one of the last people I want to see right now. Even on a good day I wouldn’t really want to see my little brother these days. I practically raised him, and he thanked me by shitting all over that as soon as he got his fancy college diploma and the fancy job that came with it. I was proud of him, too. Even with the ungrateful attitude and the bullshit he put me through, I was glad my little brother was making something of himself. Until grandpa died and Mark showed his real colors. He thought the garage should have been left to him. He thought he could sell it and use the money to jumpstart his real estate empire. The car door opens and Mark steps out, dusting off his dress shirt like just standing in front of my shop is sullying his fancy city clothes. He makes a show of squinting his eyes and looking around to take everything in, like he didn’t spend the first half of his life growing up here. He’s tall, but still shorter than my six-foot-three frame. He was always a little more prone to carrying weight, and now he has a slight gut and a fullness to his cheeks. His most prominent feature is the expression he wears though. It’s as if he spent so long sneering that one corner of his mouth froze that way. “The fuck do you want?” I ask, setting down the carburetor I was working on and start wiping the grease from my hands. Mark sniffs. “A shower, for starters.” “Get to the point, before I kick your ass off my property.”

“Fine,” says Mark, pulling out a pair of expensive looking sunglasses and putting them on. “I’m working with the mayor to turn this shithole into something useful. We’re going to demolish old dumps like this place and build a strip mall. There will be thousands of middle and upper class families looking to move here, and we plan to have the infrastructure ready before they are. In five years, you won’t even recognize the place. I just thought I’d tell you in person.” I drop the rag I’m wiping my hands with and step closer to Mark. “Let me make sure I understand you,” I say, voice low and deadly. “You think you’re going to take my shop from me?” Mark shakes his head, sighing. “This isn’t the Old West, Reid. It’s the development business. It’s happening all over the country. No one has a use for rinky dink towns like this anymore. There’s a population explosion and we’re just trying to keep up with the demand for houses and entertainment.” “Yeah? Well maybe people should stop fucking, then, because the only way this shop is getting torn down is over my dead body.” Mark makes a face to show he’s unimpressed. “You know, if you violate the terms grandpa left, it’ll be--” “So you’re the one?” asks Sandra. We both turn to her, surprised. She’s wearing jeans and a loose-fitting top and she looks absolutely incredible. I still don’t know how I was with Tara for so long without even noticing what a knockout Sandra is. I guess it’s just that I was the faithful half of the pair. “Sandra…” says Mark. The tone of his voice tells me he knows her, and it’s only then that I look down to his feet and realize where I recognized the boots at Tara’s place from. He’s her new boyfriend. My own little fucking brother. He’s sleeping with my ex-wife and he’s trying to destroy one of the few things in this world I care about by destroying the town. My fist cracks into Mark’s jaw, snapping his head back and sending him toppling to the ground. He tries to scramble to his feet, but I stomp a boot on his chest, pinning him down. “I knew you were a dirty, ungrateful bastard, but this is a new low.” I suck in breaths that come hard and fast, burning my lungs. I couldn’t care less about who Tara fucks these days, as long as he’s not going to be a bad influence on Roman. What pisses me off is that Mark chose to get involved with her. He doesn’t even live around here anymore. It’s almost like he is doing it specifically to piss me off, and it’s working. It’s a matter of respect. Something my little brother has never cared much for. “I don’t know what you’re--” “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re fucking my ex-wife.

Well, you can have her,” I say, taking my foot off his chest. “Just watch out, she cheats.” Mark is slow to rise, rubbing his jaw where I hit him and glaring at me. He knows better than to take a swing back. We fought enough growing up for him to know he’d only lose. “And you,” I say, turning to Sandra. “You didn’t think I’d want to know that my brother was fucking my ex-wife at your place?” Sandra looks away, folding her arms. “I didn’t see what good it would do to tell you, no.” “Unbelievable. Both of you. Get the fuck out of here.” “No,” says Sandra. “I want to know why. Why are you doing this? I’ve worked my whole life for that bakery and you’re going to just rip it away from me?” “Why?” asks Mark. “Honey, the strong feed on the weak. If you don’t want to be a victim, be stronger.” He gets in his car and slams the door behind him, spinning his tires before pulling away. Sandra and I are both left watching after him, wondering how we can hope to stop this from happening. I move to step back into the shop, but Sandra stops me with a hand on my arm. I look down, noticing the way her small pale hand looks so out of place on my rough, tanned skin. Out of place. Just like she is. Just like I will be soon if I don’t figure out a way to keep my shop. “I should have told you,” she says, looking up to meet my eyes. “That was shitty of me. I’m sorry.” “Yeah. It was. Come on, have a beer with me and we’ll call it even,” I say. Sandra raises her eyebrows in a way that says why not and follows me inside. I toss her a cold one, which she fumbles and nearly drops. I grin at her, cracking open a can for myself. “Nice hands, sweetheart.” She gives me a wry smile. “I wasn’t exactly the greatest at sports.” I laugh, eyeing her smooth legs and the curve of her hips. Not for the first time, she catches me off guard. She has a lot more spunk and bite than I’d expect from a rich daddy’s girl. I’m starting to wonder if I really do have her pegged wrong. I pull up a chair and sit across from her at the patio table I have set up outside on the back porch. The hills slope away from us and give a great view of the mountains and the lake in the distance. Nothing but nature. Our town is pretty much surrounded by steep hills and mountains. It’s probably why Mark wants to demolish everything instead of trying to carve a place in the

surrounding wilderness. I imagine it would cost a fortune to try to level all that ground outside town. “Fuck,” I mutter softly. “Can’t believe they want to take it all away.” “I guess I’m not surprised,” says Sandra. “Little places like this are dying everywhere. It was only a matter of time before it caught up with us.” “The machine,” I say. She sips her beer, looking out over the hills, searching for the words. “The American dream,” she says finally. “Everyone wants more. They want it faster, bigger.” I nod my head slowly, draining my can and crumpling it in one hand. “So your grandfather left you this shop?” asks Sandra. The real answer nearly spills out, but I give her the safe one. “Yeah. Pretty much.” “Must be nice,” she says. I squint at her. “You make it sound like your parents never gave you anything.” Sandra picks at a piece of chipped paint on the table. She seems to choose her words carefully. “I’m luckier than most people. I can’t complain.” I nod, draining the last of my beer. “Nah,” I say. “If you ask me, having rich parents isn’t luck at all. If everything is given to you for free, where’s the satisfaction. You know?” She meets my eye, smiling the first real, genuine smile I’ve seen from her, and God is it beautiful. “Yes,” she says softly. Her eyes are distant and I can practically see her mind racing. I don’t have any idea what she’s thinking, but I do know I’m getting dangerously close to doing something I can’t take back. If I get involved with her to save my shop, I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself. But if I don’t do something to save it, I don’t know how I get myself out of bed in the morning. Fucked if I do, fucked if I don’t. I get up to grab another beer from the fridge. I have to get up, because if I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll try to kiss her, or something more. Can’t go down that path. Not right now, probably not ever. Besides, Roman was a little traitor and talked Tara into dropping him off at my place till tonight. I sit back down and set a beer beside her, cracking open my own and taking a deep drink. “They are going to pay me half of what my bakery’s worth unless I can come up with almost twelve grand,” says Sandra. I whistle through my teeth. “So you’re fucked too?” I’m surprised the money seems to be an issue for her, but I don’t press the issue. If she doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s her choice.

She laughs humorlessly. “Yeah. I guess I am. Wait. What do you mean, “too”?” “I’m sure they’ll come after my garage sooner or later,” I say carefully, not wanting to have to talk any more about it. I raise my can to hers before she can respond. “To being fucked together.” She pauses, clearing her throat and looking down. Her reaction makes me realize my choice of words may have been a little more suggestive than I intended. Her cheeks are scarlet. I smirk, reaching farther to tap my can against hers, even though she hasn’t moved. “There’s no one I’d rather get fucked with,” I add, watching her for a reaction. She eyes me in the most fucking adorably bashful way and bites her full bottom lip, grinning. “Reid Riggins, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to suggest something here.” “You’d be right.” At some point our faces came closer together and all I need to do is lean forward just a little to kiss her. The moment feels right, and her eyes flutter closed as she leans closer too. I don’t even know if I’m about to kiss her for the garage or if it’s just because I want to. “Daddy,” comes Roman’s voice from the patio door. Sandra pulls back quickly, clearing her throat and pressing the back of her hand to her lips, large eyes searching mine. There’s surprise there. Arousal. “There’s a customer,” says Roman. “Right, well. I’d best be going,” I say. “Of course,” she says, standing and brushing the wrinkles from her clothes. “Me too. I still need to finish those gutters. You know, once I climb on top of that big thing you gave me.” I smirk. “Now who’s the flirt?”

33

SANDRA

I

spend the rest of my day on the ladder Reid let me borrow--mounting his tool. I laugh softly to myself. Just a few days of living next door to Reid Riggins and he already has my mind nearly as dirty as his. I yank handful after handful of pine needles from the gutters, my mind anywhere but the job. I should be completely preoccupied with the threat of losing my bakery, but that possibility is so catastrophic I can’t even begin to run through what I will do. I don’t know if I have the mental energy to start all over. It took so much to do it the first time around. And how could I drive myself forward when I might just lose it again? Then there’s Mark and Tara. My first impulse was to call Tara and kick her out of my place, but that would just be a spiteful, useless move. I just can’t believe she’s dating the guy who is pulling the strings behind getting my shop taken away from me. No matter how much I tell myself it’s unreasonable to blame her, I know I’m going to end up confronting her about it. I have to. I can’t just let this settle in my chest and fester. Above all of that is the crazy, improbable, and absolutely unbelievable fact that I think I might be falling for Reid Riggins. He’s everything I always thought I wanted to avoid in a man. There’s more to him, though. He guards it well, but I’ve started to see glimpses of it. I saw something in the way he looked out over the hills on his back patio, a thoughtfulness and kindness. It made me realize Reid is a rare creature. He’s a man who has found what he wants in life and will fight to keep it. Most people spend their whole lives trying to find the courage to go after what they want and doubting whether it’s the right path. They second guess themselves, waste time, pass opportunities, and don’t take risks. They end up unhappy because they were too afraid to go after what they really want for fear

of failing. Not Reid. He’s already living his dream, and now it’s going to be taken away from him, just like mine. It all feels so tragic, and I burn with a desire to do something about it, even if I have no idea what that something is. I climb down from the ladder and go inside to cool off. If I think I’m starting to have feelings for Reid, I must be getting heatstroke. I make a quick call to the bakery to see if everything is going okay without me. The girls assure me they are doing fine and that business is going as usual. Still, I need to make time to get down there and put in the order before Tuesday or we’ll be spending all week apologizing for being out of half our products. Mrs. Parsons would probably burn the bakery down before the city had a chance to demolish it if I had to tell her we couldn’t make her cinnamon rolls in the morning. For all I know, Reid is finished with my car already, but I can’t quite bring myself to go back over there right now. I just keep replaying the moment when I was leaning in and actually thinking about kissing him. It’s amazing what a little buzz and a lot of stress will do. Now that I have some distance, it all seems like an insane dream, like none of it really happened. I put him from my mind as much as I can and decide to take a quick walk over to the place I’m renting Tara and Mark. My place. I’m only going over there to check on the property and make sure they are taking care of it, of course. I’m going to keep this strictly professional. I will not say a single word about how Tara is being the world’s shittiest best friend for dating the guy who wants to tear down my bakery. Not a word.

I KNOCK ON THE DOOR AND WAIT . W HEN T ARA OPENS IT , HER EYES LIGHT UP AND she moves forward to hug me. “Hey girl!” “Hey,” I say, grimacing over her shoulder. Tara is ninety to ninety five percent sweet and loving. She was the first and last person to see me at the hospital when I had the embarrassing line dancing incident last summer and sprained my ankle. She was there with sweets and movies every time I had a rough breakup. She has talked me through some of my darkest moments and been there to share my happiest. She’s a friend, in every sense of the word. And sometimes friends are back stabbing, heartless-I force myself to calm down. She probably doesn’t even know. The least I can do is talk to her and feel it out before I start holding a grudge. I owe her that much.

She’s drop dead gorgeous too. Blonde hair, startling green eyes, full lips and a pert little beauty queen nose. She does yoga five times a week and still finds time to go to the gym in between. All of that is absolutely true, but over the years I’ve come to realize there’s just something else about her. Somewhere beneath all that sweetness and kindness is a small, almost imperceptible ball of nasty. Like one time when we were in junior high, the special education kids used to join us for home economics class. One of the special ed girls, Heather, was carrying a bowl of pancake batter across the room and tripped. Half a bowl full of batter spilled all over Tara, who smiled politely and helped clean everything up. I thought nothing of it until two weeks later. We were passing an art display by the special ed kids, and we both saw Heather hanging up her piece and talking to the teacher about showing her parents when they came for parent teacher night later that week. I still don’t know if it was her, but I saw something in Tara’s eyes as we passed that gave me a sick feeling. Sure enough, the next day the artwork was torn to pieces and left on the floor. Heather cried for hours and had to be taken home. Tara never mentioned it, but I still suspect it was her. The sweet teacher’s pet with a nasty side. That’s Tara. My past with her is littered with small memories like that. Moments where her perfect veil nearly slips. Her cheating on Reid was really the first time I ever saw it out in the open. People aren’t perfect. They make mistakes. They do shitty things to others for no reason. And whether she has a nasty streak or not, she’s my friend. “It’s still your place,” says Tara. “Come on in, make yourself at home. Roman’s at his friend’s house playing right now.” My plans to stay civil had started to erode on my long walk over here from my new place, but as usual, Tara’s sweetness is making me forgive her already. “It’s Sunday, right? Where’s Roman?” “He’s over at a friend’s house.” “Oh, Is Mark around?” I ask, sweeping my eyes around, taking in the way she has arranged furniture and set the place up. “He’s out of town, actually. He’s doing something with the mayor.” There’s a slight hint of pride in her voice. “Wow, so he’s pretty connected?” I ask, helping myself to a seat on the couch. “Yeah. I’ve met so many people since he and I started seeing each other. I never thought an architectural planner would have so many connections, but he really does. It’s wild. The politicians he works with treat him like a superstar.”

“Huh,” I say a little distractedly. “Must be nice.” They probably treat him so well because his projects could bring tons of money to their districts and cities. I’m sure they are all bending over backwards to offer him the right to uproot businesses and people if that’s what it takes to get his development company looking their way. “Uh, you okay?” asks Tara. I let my head fall back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as I try to resist saying something. Just let it rest, Sandra. Don’t make a big deal out of this. “I’m fine,” I say. She moves to sit beside me, leaning forward. “You’re not fine. Is this about the bakery?” I straighten, feeling my heartbeat quicken. “You knew?” She looks down at her hands, clasping them in her lap. “Mark told me. I tried to talk him out of it.” I breathe out, frowning in disbelief. A cold, sharp pain seeps into my chest. “And you let me find out with a letter on the door of the bakery? You didn’t think to call me?” Tara reaches to hug me, but I push back off the couch, standing. “Don’t touch me,” I say, voice shaking with anger. It’s all rising up now. The feelings of betrayal I felt. Not just from this, but from the way she brought Mark into her life and let him become her priority, blowing me off to spend time with him. It’s far from the first time, too. “Sandra,” she says, pleading. “Mark said he was going to offer a fair price for your bakery. I thought it’d be okay.” “Wow,” I say, backing away and grabbing my bag by the door. “You really don’t know me at all, do you?” “Sandra… Don’t say that. Come on, I’ve got ice cream in the freezer. Let’s put on a movie and--” “No,” I say. “Save the ice cream for your slimebag of a boyfriend.” I step outside, hand still on the doorknob when a thought occurs to me. It’s a dark, black thought I’ve never let reach the surface of my mind before, but now in the heat of my anger it rises up, too strong to push down or control. Too strong to stop. “Reid deserved better than you,” I say over my shoulder. I slam the door and squeeze my eyes shut, breathing heavy. God. Everything is falling apart. Everything I’ve spent so long building and worked so hard for. It’s all falling away and I can’t see how I’m going to stop it. I stop by the bakery on my way home because I don’t know what else to do. The girls are happy to see me. I spend close to thirty minutes listening to Julia go on about how she handled an unhappy customer and try my best to sound like

the properly proud boss I should be. I help the girls roll out dough for croissants and spread the butter on them. I top some cakes. It’s all work that normally brings me more joy than I can describe and yet it feels empty and meaningless today. It feels like I’m just going through the motions. I never started this business for the money. My only goal was to create something worthwhile. I wanted a business that people enjoyed coming to and I wanted to be doing something I enjoy. I found all that here. Knowing the end is inevitable strips all the satisfaction from that. So what if I do a good job? So what if I make the recipe just that much better by experimenting? It’s all going away. I decide to leave early. I apologize to Lauren and Jennifer, but other than a few sarcastic remarks from Lauren, they seem to understand. It’s only on my walk home that a shameful thought starts to coalesce in my mind. I could hook up with Reid to get back at Tara for letting this happen. Even though she cheated on him and complained all the time, I know for a fact she’s still not over him. She told me as much. Tara thought she deserved to have the most gorgeous guy in town. It was part of the fantasy she built up around herself, and she ended up making it a reality. But when the most gorgeous guy in town didn’t fulfill all her desire to be rich, she went and slept around, hoping to scare him into submission. Instead he got a lawyer and divorced her ass. The thought makes me grin. Reid doesn’t play around. I shake my head in disbelief at how low my thoughts have turned. Did I really just consider hooking up with a guy to get back at my best friend? Even if Reid was interested in me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I thought that’s why I was doing it. As much as I’ve tried to tell myself he’s not the one for me, I still keep coming back to the idea of him. The memory of his touch and how it felt. The scent of him, manly, strong, and sexual. More than that, I recall the look in his eye when he gazed out over the hills. I saw for the first time the depth of Reid Riggins. He’s more than just a beautiful face and body, he’s thoughtful, even if he goes out of his way to hide that from the world.

34

REID

“D

addy, please?” asks Roman. I just picked him up from his mom’s and he’s been trying to convince me to take him to the Fourth of July festival tomorrow. I look down into his little face and feel my resolve thaw. He’s the only one who ever seems to get me to change my mind, and damn is the little guy good at it. I don’t want to let him off too easy though, so I make a show of resisting. I want my little man to grow up strong and decisive. I want him to learn he has to fight for what he wants, that the only way to get anything worth having is through work. “Can’t do it, bud. Remember that F-150 Jerry Hill brought in?” Roman’s little face scrunches as he thinks. “Broken axle?” I beam, pulling him in and giving him a rough hug. “Damn, son. You may be the only four-year-old in the world who knows as much about cars as you do.” “I’m almost five,” he says testily. I smirk. “Yeah. Don’t go growing up too fast on me, Roman. Don’t go changing,” I add a little more solemnly, my thoughts drifting to Mark. As odd as it is, raising Roman feels like raising my second child. I spent so much of my youth mentoring and taking care of my brother that none of this has really felt new for me. Unfortunately, that also means I constantly struggle with the thought that Roman is going to turn on me some day too. Maybe I’m a shit father and he’s just too young to know it yet. “So can we go?” he asks. “You remember how hard it is to fix a broken axle?” “You don’t pay Tyler and Garry for nothin’,” says Roman, repeating a line he’s heard me say a dozen times. “Yeah,” I say, looking out the window and tracing the hills beyond with my

eyes. I grin back at him. “Good point. We can go.”

I ARRIVE AT THE TOWN SQUARE WITH R OMAN ABOUT AN HOUR AFTER THE festival starts. It’s a town tradition. Jason Tills and Cameron Stillwalter were local kids about my age who always used to put on impromptu country concerts at the town square for free. A few years later they made it big, and now their faces are all over television and magazines. Tickets to see their shows cost hundreds, but once a year they come back on the Fourth of July and give us a personal concert for free. They even pay to have it catered and bring their stage crews to set the place up. Pretty much everyone in town is here, and everyone is a few drinks in by the time I arrive. I scan the crowd, eyes searching for Sandra’s dark curls. I only stop to wonder why I’m looking for her a few moments later. I’m looking for her because I can’t stop thinking about her. It has crossed my mind a few times that I might just suddenly be opening up to her now because the need to save my shop is looming. Getting hitched would solve all my problems, assuming a baby came shortly after, but if that’s the only reason I want to be with her, I can’t. Maybe before I started to get to know her, but now, I can’t do that to her. I won’t do that to her. Only problem is I still don’t know for sure what has me so up the wall about her. One thing I do know is the contract on my shop. If I get full ownership, there’s no way my brother can touch it. The shop is on private land, unlike Sandra’s bakery. The only way it’s coming down is if I’m not married with another kid when I turn thirty-five. My grandfather’s will passes the shop on to my brother if that happens. I rake a hand through my hair, nearly bumping into a young teenage girl as I lead Roman down the path. She doesn’t notice though as she smiles up at me. “Hey, Mr. Riggins. And hey there, Mr. Roman,” she says, kneeling to ruffle Roman’s hair. He clutches my leg and peeks out at her. My little man has a huge crush on Lyla Stevens. She’s fourteen though, so I think his chances are minimal at best, even if he does have Riggins blood in him. “Hey Lyla,” I say, fishing in my back pocket for my wallet. I slap a twenty in her hand. “Mind watching Roman tonight? I was thinking I might indulge some. You’d need to get him home when he’s done and tuck him in.” She smiles down at the twenty. “Sure! Come on, Romeo. Wanna go up to the

stage and see Cameron?” Roman scuttles out from behind me and grabs her hand, not even looking back as she leads him through the crowds. Little traitor, I think, smirking after him. A crowd of people are dancing near the stage, where Jason and Cameron are already strumming out an upbeat tune perfect for dancing. Jason’s raspy country twang punctuates the beat as he drawls a story about lost love and fried chicken into the microphone. I recognize almost everyone. Our town isn’t middle-ofnowhere small, but there are only just above a thousand residents. Of those thousand, a little over half come to things like this. It doesn’t take long until everyone’s face starts to look familiar. I see Landon Taylor dancing with Amy Stalls. He’s trying far, far too hard, and she’s politely trying to avoid getting bumped by his gyrating hips. There’s the Waverly’s, who are watching with a judgmental seriousness from the sidelines as usual. Their gray eyebrows seem permanently drawn down in a look of disappointment. Roxy Pierce is swaying and slowly dragging her hands over her young body as she dances by herself, completely ignoring the feel of the music and opting for something more sexual. I catch a glimpse of Timmy Page and his girl, Becca Stipe, arguing behind the stage. From the looks of it, Timmy fucked up again and he’s trying to talk his way out of it. Becca is stony faced and doesn’t seem to be budging. They’ll be hand in hand sipping milkshakes at Red’s by tomorrow though. I sigh, making my way through the crowd toward the coolers where I know I’ll be able to find some beer. Jason and Cameron always bring more than enough booze for everyone. I twist the bottle open and turn, surveying the crowd as I swill down a few gulps. I spot Tara and Mark. Seeing them doesn’t strike up any feelings of jealousy. The only feeling is protectiveness for Roman. My brother isn’t the kind of man I want in my son’s life. Mark and Tara are dancing toward the edge of the crowd. Mark is behind Tara. His hands are pressed to her hips, fingertips inching toward her crotch as she presses her ass into him, swaying her hips and closing her eyes. I grunt in disgust and down another gulp of the beer. “Real nice, isn’t it?” asks a voice beside me. I turn to see Sandra. She’s holding a beer by the throat and looking toward Tara and Mark too. Sandra wears a turquoise dress that is just tight enough around her ass to make me want to stare. There’s a chill in the night and it has her nipples hard. Looking at the bulge of her tits and the perfect point of her nipples is almost too much. I’ve been able to resist seriously considering fucking

her so far, but I feel like I can practically picture her naked. And fuck. I’m tired of imagining. I want the real thing. It was only a few days ago that she moved in, and I’m already almost out of willpower. Not a good sign. I want to see her curly brown hair between my legs as she takes me in her mouth. I want to feel her soft skin under my fingertips, against my hips as I pound into her. I want her. The fact that getting hitched to her would solve all my problems doesn’t hurt, either. But that’s a shitty thought, and I try not to dwell on it. She’d have to know what was really going on, but what woman is going to agree to get married under those conditions? I make a dismissive sound. “She’s a big girl. She can do what she wants.” Sandra looks at me in that irritating way women do, like she knows I’m not saying exactly what I mean. From the looks of it, she’s not going to stop staring at me like that unless I just talk. “She’s making a fucking mistake, obviously,” I add grudgingly. “I guess if it was anyone other than my brother I really wouldn’t give a shit.” “So you do care?” asks Sandra. I shrug. “Not about her, no. I care that my brother is apparently a bigger prick than I realized. I care that him being with her means he’s in Roman’s life.” “Yeah,” says Sandra, sipping down some of her beer. “He is that.” The music blares over us and people move past, making me feel like we’re rocks in a stream, unmoved by the current. Separate from the rest. “Was he always like this with you?” asks Sandra. “Your brother, I mean.” I eye her. Why is she trying to get me to open up? I’m starting to consider the possibility that she and I could start something casual. Sex with no strings attached, maybe. I don’t plan to start spilling my guts out for her though. If that’s what she wants, she can look somewhere else. I shrug. She purses her lips, laughing a little. “Right. I forgot the silent part of the strong silent type. I get it. You don’t want to talk about it.” “Yeah, something like that.” “Am I allowed to ask how you’ve been? I mean, since the divorce. I spent so much time talking to Tara about it and never really thought about your side, until…” “I’ve been fine. Better.” Except for the part where I divorced her before getting full ownership of my shop. I wasn’t going to subject Roman to that shit for a day longer than I had to. After I found out she cheated it just got worse. Fast. It wasn’t a good environment for a kid, and I had to do something. Besides, there was no way in hell I wanted to have another baby with her once I saw the real her. Trying to control the damage she can do to Roman is a big enough job

as it is.” “That’s why you practically live in your garage and never go out anymore?” I clutch my beer bottle a little tighter, looking down at her. She shrinks back some from my gaze, but still holds my eyes. “That’s none of your business.” Sandra sighs. “Look, Reid. As far as I see it, we have a common enemy, and he’s currently groping your ex-wife and my best friend. He’s also threatening to destroy something we both love. This town. So maybe we can just… I don’t know, agree to play nice for a while?” “Play nice…” I say softly, smirking. “You want to play?” She swallows, looking down. “I didn’t mean like that. I just mean--” I feel the beer tingling through me, dulling my inhibitions and my good sense. Normally, I wouldn’t be petty enough to dance with my ex-wife’s best friend just to piss her off. But I’ve already had a few beers, and I’m having a hard time with the whole, ‘why not’ question. The part of me that would never consider leading a girl on because I need to get married or I lose my shop is quiet, too. All that’s left is the pulsing of my cock and the knowledge that the woman in front of me is fucking gorgeous. “I know what you meant. Let’s dance,” I say, grabbing her and pulling her toward the dance floor. “But--” she stammers. Her voice is drowned out as we get closer to the speakers and the stage. The song has a driving beat, and I fall into it effortlessly, my hands finding Sandra’s body. Her eyelids go heavy as I touch her, mouth slightly open as she looks down to where our hips meet. She’s stiff at first, but I let my hands and body guide her, coaxing her into loosening up, inch by inch. Sandra bites her lip slowly, keeping her eyes down in the most irresistibly sexy way before flicking them up to meet mine. She runs a hand through her hair and lets herself go, rocking her shoulders and hips, finding the rhythm and riding it with me. The people around us blur into insignificance. There’s only her and those dark blue eyes locked on mine. Nothing else. My hand finds it’s way to the small of her back and then her ass, where I squeeze a healthy handful and press her into me. She grinds herself into me, the friction of her belly against me like bliss against my rock-hard cock. I bend my neck down and tilt her chin up. She closes her eyes, body still swaying and pressing to the music. Her head extends toward me, mouth open. I take her invitation, kissing her recklessly, plunging my tongue into her mouth and finding hers, swirling against her, losing myself in the moment. Fuck she tastes good. “What the fuck?” demands a familiar voice.

I open one eye, not ready to break the kiss. When I see Tara staring at me, face a mask of fury with hands planted on her hips, I reluctantly pull back. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Tara asks Sandra. She punctuates her question with a hard push to Sandra’s chest. I move between them instantly. “Don’t put your hands on her,” I say carefully. “Or what?” asks Mark, moving to stand beside Tara. “Please, give me an excuse to break your fucking teeth,” I say dryly to my brother. Mark tries to smile off my threat, but I can see the hint of discomfort in his features. “Of course. My big brother, the barbarian. Everything ends with a threat.” “Yeah. Sounds about right. So fuck off. Both of you.” Tara looks at me and shakes her head. “You’re supposed to be watching Roman and you’re here groping this slut, drunk off your ass?” “Watch your mouth,” I warn. “ And Roman is with Lyla. He’s taken care of.” “Slut?” asks Sandra. “If I’m a slut for dancing with a single guy, what are you for fucking your ex-husband’s brother?” “Dancing?” asks Tara. “It looked like you were shoving your tongue down his throat to me.” I sigh, realizing this is going nowhere. “Tara can fuck Mark all she wants. Just like you can kiss whoever you want,” I say, pulling Sandra close and kissing her hard and deep, moving my hands across her until I don’t even hear Tara trying to get my attention anymore. When we finally pull apart, Tara and Mark are gone. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get some more drinks.” Sandra’s face is flushed and her chest heaves for breath. “Don’t you have to drive Roman home?” she asks. “Nah,” I say. “Lyla’s taking him home and getting him in bed. She’s a good kid. She will stay over until I get home. I’ll just toss her some more money if I’m late.” Sandra bites her lip. “I think I just completely ruined things with my best friend. Yeah, I could use a drink.” I grin. “I could use a few dozen.”

35

SANDRA

I

start the long walk to my bakery, hardly thinking about anything else on my walk besides the throbbing pain in my head and the lingering confusion about last night. Reid and I had so much to drink. I can barely remember anything. I hardly even remember getting out of bed. I unlock the bakery and get to work. I still have about thirty minutes before Jennifer and Lauren are due to show up. I use it to mix up a batch of dough and start separating it to sit out for proofing. I have a regimented system for proofing my dough, and I stick a timer onto the tray and set it for specific times based on the type of dough. Most bakers just set it and pull it after at least a day has passed, or two days, depending on the type of dough. I control it down to the hour, and that’s part of what makes my product so delicious. My employees know every last ingredient needs to be measured and added to the most careful degree. I take pride in my product, and I’ve spent countless hours experimenting with tweaking the amounts of each ingredient to find something close to perfection. But the work is never done, which is half the fun. I’m always looking for new ways to improve my recipes. Before long, I’ve forgotten my headache and lost myself in the work. I’m covered in flour and crusty dough up to the elbows when Lauren arrives. “Hey, girl!” she says cheerily. “I was hoping you’d be in today.” I look up from the dough I’m portioning out and smile apologetically. “I know. I’ve been a shitty boss the last couple days.” Lauren’s a few years younger than me, and she’s wearing the uniform with just enough of her own twist on it that I can’t quite get mad at her for it. Where she’s supposed to wear black pants she has opted for yoga pants, and where her shirt is supposed to be white without decals, hers has a small, decorative pattern around the hem. She has straight, brown hair and an upturned nose that’s just a

little bit too big on an otherwise almost perfect face. I’ve known Lauren since I was in high school, but like everyone else I was friends with, she went to the local school here while I went to Pensworth Academy in the next district over. Pensworth was full of stuck up, wealthy beyond belief, and completely out of touch kids. I didn’t make a single lasting friend there. The only people I ever enjoyed were the kids from other schools I got to meet when we traveled for theater and band. I fell in love with this little town when we first came here my Freshman year. I met Tara, Lauren, and Jennifer at a band meet and never lost touch with them. Tara was my age, while Lauren and Jennifer were there as middle schoolers, but we still hit it off all the same. Now Lauren and Jennifer are working here to pay their way through their final years of college, and I can hardly believe how far we’ve all come only for it to all end because of Reid’s greedy brother. I’m not going to just lose my bakery and my ability to give my friends a job, but I’m going to lose the town I spent my childhood dreaming about moving to. It still doesn’t feel real. This place has been like a beacon for as long as I could remember. It was like the shining light beyond the bars of my prison, at least that was how my melodramatic teen self thought of it. If I could just get away from the dinner parties, bow ties, gowns, and fake smiles. If I could just make it here. Everything would be okay. I could forge my own identity and make my own life. Everything would be perfect. Lauren puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me a sympathetic look. “You’re our friend first, Sandra. Boss second. We’re happy to cover for you.” I smile, feeling tears threatening to form. “Besides,” adds Lauren casually, “As our friend and boss, we know you’ll find some way to reward us.” I laugh. “Is that right?” Lauren shrugs, dragging a finger through the flour on the table idly. “I mean. If we could come in an hour later for the rest of the week, it’d really help to regain the strength we spent covering for you.” “Deal,” I say, smirking. She does a small jump of joy and hugs me. “You’re the best.” My smile falters a little when I realize losing the bakery is going to mean having tell Lauren and Jennifer they’ve lost their jobs too. “What’s wrong?” asks Lauren. “Nothing,” I say. “I uh, just have had a strange few days. Living next door to Reid Riggins has been…” Lauren quirks an eyebrow. “Sexy?”

“Try confusing.” “What’s to be confused about? Which hole you want him to put it in first?” “Oh my God, Lauren,” I say, slapping her arm. “You’re unbelievable.” “No. Reid Riggins is unbelievable. You let me know if you ever need someone to watch the house for you. I’ll keep an eye on Reid too, you know, just to make sure he doesn’t come around and mess with your things, or wear too much clothing. It’s hot out, he shouldn’t be risking overheating, you know?” I’m about to tell her to get to work when I hear Jennifer arriving. “You’re back!” She squeals. Jennifer is shorter than Lauren and I. Her black hair is cut pixie style, framing her heart-shaped face and soft, feminine features. Where Lauren has a sort of forceful power to her personality and frame, Jennifer is delicate and fragile. She has narrow shoulders and a slight build and she’s easily the sweetest person I know. “Sandra just agreed to give us an extra hour of sleep every day for the rest of this week,” says Lauren. Jennifer’s eyes widen. “Really? You didn’t threaten to beat her up or something, did you, Lauren?” Lauren scoffs. “Sandra didn’t make me take it that far.” I eye her. “Like you could take me.” Lauren drops into a fighting stance and fires a slow-motion punch at my face. I gently slap a flour-covered hand across her face, easily getting inside her slow-motion defense. For a moment her face is frozen, a white handprint on her cheek and flecks of white still drifting down from the impact. Then her surprise melts to laughter. Jennifer and I laugh along with her. It feels good to forget my problems, even just for a moment. The three of us effortlessly dive into the work. I continue prepping dough, Lauren decorates a cake for Timmy Watkin’s 14th birthday, and Jennifer sets up the display cases with fresh product. Before long, the shop is buzzing with activity as person after person strolls in and collects their daily treat. At least ninety percent of my business comes from regulars. Once I figured that out, it made ordering supplies every week extremely simple and efficient. It’s getting close to my lunch break when the door swings open in a way that causes me to glance up. Reid Riggins storms in, clad in a white shirt dusted with oil. Jennifer and Lauren freeze beside me as well, transfixed by the sight of him. “I could stare at those forearms all day,” mutters Lauren. She rushes up to the counter to greet him. “Reid, what a nice surprise. Can I get you anything, hon? My treat.” Her treat? She’s damn right it will be. I’m not about to give away free

products to him, especially not so Lauren can try to get in his pants. I try not to acknowledge the jealous pang in my chest. He’s not mine. I’ve spent a lot of energy trying to convince him and myself of that. I have no right to be jealous. Reid completely ignores her, stepping up to the counter across from me and glaring. “Sandra. I need you to come outside, now.” Lauren purses her lips in a way that says she will accept her defeat, for now. Jennifer stares at me, mouth slightly open and eyes wide. It would almost be comical if the look on Reid’s face wasn’t intense enough to burn holes straight through me. “You… what?” I ask, feeling more than a little confused. There’s also a distant hint of pride in knowing he came for me. He looked straight past Lauren, hardly even noticing her because of me. “I need you outside,” he says. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m in the middle of something,” I snap. My anger is a little forced, but he doesn’t need to know that. The last thing Reid Riggins’ arrogance needs is a helping hand. Jennifer’s small hands press into me, leading me out of the shop. “Go to him,” she says a little teasingly, dragging her words out slowly so they ring melodramatically severe. “Use protection, kids,” says Lauren a little bitterly. Both Reid and I glare at her and she shrinks back a little, holding her hands up in self-defense. “I’m just saying,” she mutters. “STDs are no joke.” Somehow I’m coaxed outside and then the door closes behind me, bells chiming faintly as it shuts. I cross my arms, trying to hold on to my anger because it’s the only thing keeping me from melting in front of him. He’s too much. Too much man. Too much handsome. Too much muscle. Being this close to him makes it all so overwhelming that I could lose my train of thought in a split second if I’m not careful. “You drove my car back up here to give it to me? You live next door. It would have made a lot more sense to just… I don’t know, wait until I was home?” “Maybe I just wanted to see you. You look cute in that uniform.” “You really--” I clear my throat, blushing like an idiot and remembering to scowl. “Reid. I told you I was busy. Thanks for giving my car back, but I really need to--” “Who said I was giving it back?” he asks. The corner of his mouth pulls up in a playful grin. “You’re going to learn how you fucked it up in the first place so I don’t have to fix it again. Get in,” he says, yanking the door open. I find myself obeying. I’m not normally one to be easily cowed by a man, or

anyone for that matter, but something in his voice broaches no disagreement or argument. He expects obedience, and there’s an undeniable power in the force of that expectation. I wait for him to get in the driver’s seat. He turns the ignition and shifts into drive. “See this?” he says, pushing on the stick just slightly until it glides somewhere between neutral and drive. “Yes,” I say a little hesitantly. “This is what you’ve been doing. I don’t know how often. But you’ve been thinking the car is in drive when it is actually here. Every time you drive like this you’re grinding the shit out of your gearbox. That caused a chain reaction and started fucking everything up.” I nod. “I understand. It uh, won’t happen again?” He smirks. “You know, if you didn’t know how to handle a stick, you could’ve just asked. I’d be happy to let you practice with me some time.” I shake my head, looking out the window. “You know, you’re unbelievable. How do you function in society?” “I don’t,” he says. I let out a surprised laugh. “I guess you’re right. I hardly see you away from that shop of yours, and when I do, you tend to leave a trail of pissed off people in your wake.” “It’s that bad, huh?” “I might be exaggerating. Just a little.” He gets out of the car and comes around to open my door. “Come on,” he says, helping me out carefully, making sure he lifts me slightly to keep me out of a small puddle. “You looked busy in there. Go ahead.” “Thanks. You can just leave the car in the parking lot.” He laughs, already getting into the driver’s seat of my car and revving the engine. “Sweetheart, if you want your car back, you’re going to have to come by the shop and ask nicely. Maybe we can even have a repeat. I’ve never been much of a believe in the one night stand. Call me hungry, but I always go back for seconds.” He spins the tires, pulling away and leaving me in a haze of smoke. I stomp back inside the bakery. Lauren spots me and comes up to the counter, obviously hungry for details. “You have to--” “Not now,” I say, weaving through a few customers to get behind the counter and then to my back office. I step inside and close the door, cradling my head in my hands, trying desperately to remember more than the fuzzy images I have of the festival. As much as I try I only see the same, confusing blur of images, none of which are good. Sweating skin moving against mine, a cock so perfect I have to

be making it up, and those eyes. Those unmistakably piercing, green, smoldering eyes. They stare into mine as he… I can’t be imagining it wrong. I guess it could have all been some alcohol induced dream, but I’ve never dreamed up something like that before. Not in my entire life. Reality creeps in on me, inch by inch. The feeling settles in my stomach, cold, hard, and unrelenting. I made a mistake. I made a mistake with Reid. Now all I can do is hope to God he was carrying a condom and thought to use it. But for some reason he doesn’t strike me as the type to think much about something practical like that, especially not when he’s hammered. I want to close my eyes and sleep away the last dregs of this hangover, but every time I close my eyes I see flashes of memory. My hands on my thighs as my dress rides up and I grind myself into Reid on the dance floor. His hands on me. Sparkling water and naked flesh. His cock. I shiver. Why do I have a memory of his cock? There’s no way in hell I would have slept with him, no matter what he just said before he pulled away. I try to convince myself that the slight throb between my legs is just a side effect of the hangover, and not my core trying to recover from his big, thick… I cover my eyes with my hands and groan. I did not sleep with him. I wouldn’t do that. I drag myself to the back office, ignoring how much the girls need my help with the midday rush for a minute to throw back three pain relievers. My head is just hurting more and more as the day goes on, meanwhile Reid looked perfectly happy and alert. He probably even woke up early to go for a jog, hit things with his wrench, and rub grease and oil on himself. It’s almost frustrating to think about how sexy he is. Even the way he stands seems seductive. Long, lean legs planted wide, powerful torso tapered to a narrow waist, strong, muscular forearms crossed under his ripped chest. He’s just so intense. Ugh. I shake my head to get the image out, which only jostles around the ball of hangover-pain. I wince, clutching my temples and sighing. Just knowing Reid lives so close sends a thrill through me that I can’t suppress, no matter now ill-advised it is. Reid Riggins. Never in a million years would I have thought… He’s the antithesis of what I want in a guy. He’s brash, arrogant, rough… Rugged, hard, strong, and powerful. I shake my head, more carefully this time. Am I just falling into the trap of thinking I can fix him? That I can somehow exert my will and turn him into a well-groomed, nice boy who will open doors for me and massage my feet at night? Every time I move, the faint soreness between my legs makes me more and more certain that I slept with him. Given how much we both had to drink, I think

the chances that we had safe sex are next to zero. What would I do if I was pregnant with Reid Riggins baby? I’d say goodbye to the last shred of my life that wasn’t an utter disaster, for starters. I grin at my own thought. Maybe it would be a disaster. But I’ve seen Reid with Roman. He’s a good dad. He’s a damn good dad. He loves that boy more than anything, and he was willing to put up with Tara’s bullshit for Roman’s sake, until she cheated. At least I don’t have to wonder about that part. Reid would make a great father. The part I have to wonder about is whether he would want to be a father to a child that was the result of a drunken, confused encounter. An accident. Tears well in my eyes and I shake my head. What a complete and total mess. First I learn that my bakery is going to be demolished unless I come up with an impossible amount of money, then this. I grab my phone and open a Google search. How soon can I take a pregnancy test? It doesn’t take long before I get the answer. Basically, even if I get a false result a week from now, it could be a false negative. And my period isn’t due for another two weeks. I run a hand through my hair and search the ceiling for answers, but all I get is the annoying hum of the fluorescent lights. I picture Reid on his back, shirtless and hitting the underside of a car with that wrench of his while he rubs oil across his ripped muscles with the other. I can practically see his finger dragging down the smooth, cut muscles of his torso, rising and falling over the peaks and valleys of his abs… I blow out a frustrated breath. This isn’t helping. I don’t know when it happened, but at some point my body clearly turned on me and started craving him. If my suspicions about last night are true, my body seriously turned on me. The last thing I need is to make it worse by fantasizing about him and adding fuel to the fire. What I need is work. Space. I need to be farther away from Reid and his muscles than shouting distance. I need to be somewhere that doesn’t remind me a baby could be growing in my belly right now. It’s funny. The baby I’ve been secretly hoping for could really be coming, and all I can do now is feel terrified. I wonder what my parents will say if they find out. They would know I lied about being engaged to a wealthy businessman. A mechanic’s baby in the belly of their blue blooded daughter. It will just be a confirmation of everything they ever predicted for me. All the times they made me feel like I was wasting my life and going down a cheap, degrading path… This will be the nail in the coffin. They will love knowing I have to accept their handouts and help to raise the baby. They will keep me hidden from their friends, like some dark, dirty secret.

Their silly little daughter who thought she could make it without mommy and daddy’s money. Whatever happens. No matter how bad it gets. I’m not going to them for help. They can leave a bag of money at my front door and I’ll just set it on fire. I can deal with this on my own. I’ve done it so far, and I’m not going to stop now. I’ll find a way, somehow.

36

REID

T

aylor is trying to figure out which lug nuts fit the part he’s working on while I’m busy sweating my ass off. It’s a little after lunch and the afternoon is already getting hot as hell. I don’t mind though. Roman doesn’t seem to either, as he struts around the shop with his shirt off and his little belly protruding proudly. I strip off my shirt and towel some of the sweat and oil from my body. It feels good to work hard. To work with my hands. I spent all morning wrestling the fucking water pump out of a Toyota, and my arms burn with the effort. Old man Hubert ran into his mailbox and jammed the thing into the engine block. It’s a good exhaustion though. I’d take days like today over lazy days on the couch any time. Besides, I could use the distraction. I keep replaying Sandra’s face when I teased her about having a one night standl. Truth is I have no idea. I can’t fucking remember. I know one thing though, it wasn’t like I was carrying around a pack of condoms. If I fucked her… I rake a hand through my hair and sigh. I expect to feel a sense of panic at the possibility. Knocking a girl up has never been in my plans. I wouldn’t give Roman up for the world, but he wasn’t in the plans, neither was having to marry his mother. I barely know Sandra. I mean, she was practically Tara’s shadow all those years, but it wasn’t like she and I ever talked alone. I grunted at her and she gave me unreadable looks. End of story. Now she might be carrying my baby, and I should be fucking terrified. Except I’m not. I’d like to believe it’s just because I know it would solve a lot of my problems. I could probably convince her to marry me if she was having my kid. I’d meet the terms of my grandfather’s will. The shop would be protected from Mark’s efforts to turn this whole town into a strip mall. If that was all I

cared about, I could understand it. I could accept that. All this shit I’m feeling is more complicated though. Something about Sandra is driving me wild. I feel like a dog on a scent. I can’t get her out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about her. Worse, I can’t help feeling good about the idea that I might have gotten her pregnant. Marked her. Claimed her. Every time I think of her as mine, my chest swells with pride and a need to protect her. Except that’s all just going to cause trouble. We shouldn’t be compatible. It seems like I end up somewhere between pissed off and turned on whenever I’m around her, and she has been driving me wild with the flirty smiles and the way she’s not afraid to mouth off at me. Whether we’re bad for each other or not, our bodies seem to have other plans. I find Taylor working in a corner of my garage. He’s rubbing oil into a carburetor, looking down his long nose and squinting in concentration. I make sure Roman isn’t within earshot and then nudge Taylor, sitting on an overturned paint bucket beside him. “Hey, Taylor,” I say quietly. He quirks a blonde brow up, still focused on his task. “You see me at the festival last night?” “Sure,” he says. “I think everyone did.” My stomach sinks a little. “What does that mean?” He turns to look at me briefly, grinning. “You dragged Sandra Williams towards the lake and started yelling about skinny dipping.” I fight the urge to laugh. This isn’t funny. Okay, it’s a little funny, but I probably shouldn’t make light of it. Regardless of what my dick has to say about the matter, getting involved with Sandra Williams is a complication I could probably do without. Even if it’s a complication that would un-complicate other areas of my life. “Right,” I say. “Thanks.” I cross the garage and flick Roman on the shoulder. He giggles, reaching to try to get me back, but I put a hand on his forehead. He swings his little arms after me, but doesn’t come close to reaching. I finally let him loose and he starts punching at my legs. “Got me,” I say. He smiles up at me. “You ready for drum lessons?” His eyebrows shoot up and he sprints toward the house to get his book of sheet music and drum sticks. “Get that Toyota ready before I’m back, you hear?” I ask. Taylor grumbles. “Will do.”

I start up the truck and watch as Roman scrambles out, trying to throw on a shirt with one handed while he clutches the drumsticks and book in the other. I help him get his shirt on and then get him strapped into his carseat. “Daddy,” says Roman when we’ve been driving for a little while. “What’s up, Bud?” I ask. “Do you like Sandra?” “No,” I say. He makes a thoughtful sound, and like a little psychologist, kills me with his silence. “A little,” I admit. “I like her too,” he says quickly. “She’s pretty.” “Yeah,” I say. “I won’t tell Lyla you were checking out another woman if you don’t tell Sandra I like her.” Roman takes a second to think over the terms of our agreement. “Okay,” he says. “If you like her, will she be my mommy too?” “Uh,” I say. “I don’t think it’s going to happen, but if Miss Sandra and I like each other a lot then yeah, she’d be your mommy too.” He makes another thoughtful sound and then falls silent.

I’ M CLOSING UP THE GARAGE A FEW DAYS LATER WHEN I HEAR RAISED VOICES from next door. I had to drop Roman off with Tara for the weekend already, so I decide to head over toward the sound. It’s coming from Sandra’s house, and I recognize one of the voices as hers. When I step up to the front porch I see a man’s figure. He’s gesturing and shouting something I can’t make out. When I hear the word “bitch” come from his mouth though, my blood boils. I swing the door open and both Sandra and the guy fall silent. The guy is relatively thin. I take him in with one quick glance. Gelled hair combed back, proud features, narrow shoulders, a polo, and jeans rolled up to show boat shoes with no socks. I smirk. He has rich asshole written all over him. Judging from his thin arms, he hasn’t ever spent an honest day working, either. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks me. “David,” says Sandra warningly. “Don’t.” “David?” I ask. I purse my lips. “I’m Sandra’s neighbor, and your shouting was disturbing me.” He rolls his eyes, flashing white teeth. “Yeah? Well that’s too bad, buddy. I’m sure you probably have to get up and head to the office early tomorrow morning, right?” he asks, gesturing at my oil-stained shirt.

I extend my arm. It thuds into his chest and knocks him back. Anger flashes in his features and he purses his lips, looking like a petulant child who just had his toy snatched away. “That’s assault,” he says. “You want to see assault?” I ask, advancing on him. “Try raising your voice to Sandra again. Then you’ll see what real assault looks like.” He glares at me. “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” “David,” I say. “Rich, self-important, scrawny asshole. Did I miss anything?” “Guys,” says Sandra carefully. “Really--” “Yeah,” interrupts David. “You missed my family name. David Cumberfield. Yes. The Cumberfields.” I give him a blank look. “Fields of cum, okay. Got it.” His face turns red so quickly that I laugh. “Did I strike a nerve there, cum fields?” “Mongoloid,” he growls. I look to Sandra. “Please tell me this guy isn’t an ex or something.” She rubs the back of her neck. “He’s an ex.” “I don’t have to be,” he says to her, forgetting his anger at me for a moment.” “Why don’t you get lost?” I ask, stepping between David and Sandra. “Will you tell this barbarian to leave?” David asks Sandra. “Yeah,” I say. “Why don’t you, Sandra? Tell me to leave.” She looks between us, eyes slightly wide with panic. “Oh, that’s right. She’s not asking me to leave because she’s fucking me now,” I say. Sandra opens her mouth to speak, but I silence her with a glare. “You… Really?” asks David in disbelief. “Alfred and Collette were right. Moving out here was a mistake. People like you and I can’t mingle with people like him.” I’m surprised by how much that stings. Whether David is a worthless shit or not, I can’t help feeling some of the truth in his words. She is from a different world than me. It’s a world of careless living, idle play, and excess. My life couldn’t be any farther from that. Even if she was carrying my baby, what makes me think she would want me to play any part in it’s life? I lick my lips, looking to Sandra, who can’t meet my eye. “Message heard. Loud and clear,” I say. I turn to leave, fists clenched. I pause at the doorway. “Did you forget how to--” starts David. His words cut short when I turn and fire my fist into his mouth. His teeth cut my knuckles, but I find comfort knowing it hurts him more than it hurts me. His head kicks back and his legs crumple beneath him. He puts a hand slowly to his

mouth, looking at the blood on his fingers. “You chipped my tooth,” he says. Sure enough, I see the half-circle missing from the bottom of one of his front teeth. “Buy a fucking new one, Cum Fields,” I growl.

37

SANDRA

“D

avid’s back?” asks Jennifer. I flip a piece of popcorn in my mouth, nodding grimly. We’re both sitting on the floor in front of my couch. We’re a few episodes into a Gilmore Girls marathon. “I thought you said he got the message loud and clear when you broke up last summer?” “I thought he did.” “So,” asks Jennifer. “Are you interested?” I sigh, leaning my head back against the couch. “I’m going to tell you something you can’t tell Lauren, okay?” Jennifer nods. “Okay… Are you going to tell her eventually, though?” “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m just afraid she’ll go and try to kill Mark if I tell her.” “Mark? Wait. What?” I tell her everything I know so far about Mark’s plans to buy out my shop and tear it to the ground. When I’ve finished, Jennifer looks down at her hands, frowning. “Can they really do that?” she asks. “Apparently,” I say. “And the only way I have to stop them is to come up with an impossible amount of money. David could come up with that kind of money in a heartbeat, and so could my parents. I hate myself for it, but I can’t do that.” I realize how this must sound to Jennifer. She’s going to lose her job because I’m too proud to go to my parents or David for money. Still, I know I couldn’t live with myself if I did. Even if I let David bail me out, it would be like signing a deal with the preppy devil. “Well… You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

I nod, thinking about the possibility that I could also be mixing a pregnancy into this whole mess, too. “What does David want, anyway?” asks Jennifer. “He wants to get back together. Maybe my parents put him up to it or something. Who knows.” “Does he really think you’re going to get back with him after what happened?” she asks. I laugh bitterly. “It wouldn’t surprise me. I went to school with a bunch of guys just like David. They are given anything they could ever want. They get used to just taking what they want, whenever they want it. Cheating on me probably barely registered as a blip on his radar.” “Asshole,” says Jennifer, reaching to grab a handful of popcorn. “Yeah. They all are.” She grins. “Reid is by far the sexiest of the assholes. For the record,” she adds.

I DECIDE IT ’ S FINALLY TIME TO GET MY CAR BACK THE NEXT MORNING . I thought Reid might just be joking about me having to come over to get the car. I thought he’d eventually get tired of it taking up space and bring it over, but apparently he wants to turn this into a battle of wills. Maybe he thought the only way to get me to come over to his smelly garage was by holding my car hostage. Well. He’s probably right. I find him on his back beneath a truck. The muscles in his arms cord and tense with every movement of his capable hands. I clear my throat, averting my eyes and wait for him to notice me. “You here to apologize?” he asks. Apologize? Is he talking about the other night with David? He’s dreaming if he thinks I’m going to apologize for whatever is bothering him. “No. I’m here to get the car you kidnapped.” “You mean the car I graciously fixed for you? For free?” “I don’t need your handouts,” I say. “How much do I owe you?” I didn’t come over here to pick a fight with him, but something about Reid just riles me up. Everytime, without fail. He comes out from under the car and stands, stretching out to his full height. I feel small and fragile next to his tall, broad frame. “You owe me dinner.” “No,” I say. “No. No way.”

“Then I’m keeping the car.” “You can’t just keep my car. That’s against the law,” I say, knowing I sound pathetic. “Then send the cops. But you’re not getting the car until you agree to dinner with me.” I plant my fists on my hips. I’m getting ready to give him an ear-full when his son, Roman wanders out from the garage. Roman is shirtless, his small belly rounded and glistening with sweat. I’m struck by the cuteness of Reid’s son wanting to go shirtless like his dad always does, and how he hangs around the shop and seems to enjoy himself there. Roman waves. “Hi, Miss Sandy.” I breathe out my anger, not wanting to scare Roman. I smile, kneeling down. “Hey there. Were you helping your daddy fix the cars?” “Nope,” he says. “I was watching to see if you two were going to kiss. Daddy says he likes you.” Reid slowly turns to glare down at Roman. “Traitor,” he mutters. “Is that right?” I ask, looking from Roman to Reid. “Your daddy hasn’t ever said anything nice like that to me.” Reid folds his arms. “Don’t listen to her, Bud. I say nice things to Miss Sandra all the time.” “Really?” asks Sandra. “Care to refresh my memory?” “Sure. We’ll catch up over dinner tonight. Wouldn’t that be nice, Roman?” Roman’s face lights up and I feel myself being caught deeper and deeper in Reid’s little trap. “Really? You’re coming to dinner?” asks Roman. “Can we have spaghetti?” “It’s up to our guest. How’s that sound? Spaghetti. My place. Around six. Oh, and wear something nice,” adds Reid, with a devilish grin. I’m left standing completely dumbfounded. I still don’t have my car keys. I am apparently expected for dinner tonight. And I’m going to have to cancel part two of the Gilmore Girls marathon with Jessica. Roman turns to wave bye to me as Reid leads him back into the garage, and all I can do is walk back home and wonder what the hell Reid Riggin’s idea of something nice is.

I ARRIVE AT R EID ’ S PLACE AFTER A SHORT , UNCOMFORTABLE WALK ACROSS THE grass separating our houses. It’s 6:07 P.M. He said around six, so I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard to follow his instructions, but I also didn’t want to show up early and look too eager. So I chose a perfectly unassuming amount of

time after six to come. I’m wearing a strapless black dress. It only comes down to mid-thigh and it shows a little more cleavage than I probably should in front of Reid Riggins. Then again, I doubt any amount of skin is really all that safe to show around him. I have on a pair of black pumps and earrings my grandma gave me. I spent a long time on my hair trying to make it look like I didn’t obsess over every last strand. The truth is I’m nervous as hell, and I spent way too long getting ready. I don’t know why, either. Yes, he’s gorgeous. Yes, he’s sinfully sexy. But he’s also absolutely insufferable. If it wasn’t for the vague and admittedly unlikely threat of his baby growing in my belly, I could safely say he and I would never have a future together. Something about the certainty of that draws me to him though, as odd as that sounds. Maybe it goes back to my young rebellious teenage years when I tried to date guys that would piss my parents off. Or maybe I still have no idea what kind of guy I want to be with. That’s not true though. I know one thing. The David Cumberfields of the world can all go extinct for all I care. I could live without guys like Mark Riggins, too, for that matter. Thinking about Mark makes me think about my bakery. I still haven’t even told Lauren about it. I definitely haven’t told my parents or my sister, and I don’t know if I will. Jennifer was understanding enough, but I know Lauren will take it harder. She’s a good friend, but she can be a little overzealous at times, and I think she might actually try to attack Mark Riggins when she finds out. And my family… well, I’ll drop off the face of the planet before I tell them. It would hurt too much to let them see me fail just like they predicted. My mind is still bouncing from thought to thought when I knock on Reid’s door. The sound snaps me into the moment. I’m really doing this. I guiltily wonder if what I’m really doing is trying to endear myself to him more so that he might want to stick around if I’m really carrying his baby, but that’s ridiculous. I’m not going to tie myself to someone for the rest of my life because of one mistake. And that’s exactly what it was. A mistake. If it even happened. God. I’m a complete mess right now. The door opens. I raise my eyebrows when I see Reid is wearing a dress shirt and pants. “Wow,” I say. Reid smirks. “Wow yourself. You look great.” I blush. I don’t need to do anything to boost his ego. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but damn. There’s a definite sexuality to seeing him dirty and shirtless from a day of working on cars, but this look is perfectly sexy too. He even seems to have run a comb through his hair. Even in the dress shirt and pants, his masculinity is plain to see. He has enough buttons undone to show his

tanned skin and the crease of muscle in the center of his chest. His sleeves are rolled halfway up his forearms so that his powerful muscles are on display. And the way the dress pants hug his muscular legs is mouth watering. “Come on in,” he says, placing his big hand on my back, coaxing me inside. The touch should be innocent. Maybe it is to him. But it sends heat pulsing from where his hand touches through my entire body, electrifying my nerves and sending me into overdrive. My mind calls up the images that have been replaying ever since the night of the festival. Bare, muscular skin. Piercing green eyes. A cock so perfect it has to be make-believe. Something daring and wild inside me wants to do a little research tonight, to compare notes, so to speak. The only way I’ll know what really happened is if I get a glimpse beneath those clothes of his. I follow him into the kitchen, blushing at my own thoughts. That’s all they are. Thoughts. The truth is I’m not bold enough to make any kind of move. I’m just realizing coming over here was more dangerous than I thought. If Reid is planning to get me into his bed, my ability to resist is going to be laughable right now. I’m too confused and too drawn to him. With all the uncertainty in my life right now, it’s hard not to cling to the clear message my body is sending when I’m around Reid. And that message has sex written all over it. Seeing Roman at the table coloring sobers me up like a splash of cold water. No matter how attracted I am to Reid, he’s still my best friend’s ex. If Tara ever found out something happened between us, she would never forgive me. Even if she’s far from being a pillar of trust and loyalty, I don’t want to hurt her. “Hi,” says Roman. “Hey there,” I say. “Daddy makes the best spaghetti.” “Is that right?” I ask. Reid moves into the kitchen and holds up a jar of store-bought sauce. There’s an opened box of noodles and steam rising from a pot on the stovetop beside him. “What can I say. I follow instructions like a champ.” I grin. If this meal impresses Roman, Reid’s cooking skills probably don’t extend far beyond the microwave. I get a sudden urge to bake something for them. I want them to taste my cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven. Watching Reid strain the pasta and listening to Roman hum is doing treacherous things to my mind. It’s making me start to imagine what life would be like if I was part of their family. Me and my unborn child. I could bake fresh cinnamon rolls for them in the morning. Reid would slide out of bed with his hair in disarray and hug me from behind, kissing me on the cheek and thanking me… I must really be losing it if I’m daydreaming about marrying Reid. He just

needs to open his mouth and piss me off, which I know he will, to squash all these crazy ideas floating around in my head.

38

REID

S

andra’s sitting at the table beside Roman. She’s facing me, but looking down at his coloring book. I can’t help noticing that I can see up her dress from where I stand, catching just a tantalizing hint of her white panties beneath that black dress. I’m hard as a rock in an instant, and my cock isn’t the easiest to conceal when it’s hard. I smirk down at the steaming pile of pasta in the sink, carefully turning my hips slightly to avoid flashing her with the unmistakable bulge of my hard-on. I plate up three portions and wait until she’s saying something to Roman before bringing them over to the table. I catch one more glimpse of her panties as I turn and it feels like my cock is about to explode from the pressure. It’s hard to tell in the dim light beneath the table, but I think she’s wearing cotton panties. The possibility is driving me wild. If I made her wet, those panties would stick to her like glue. I’d have to peel them off to get my mouth on her. Fuck. I wish I could remember more from the night of the festival. If I don’t ever get between her legs again, getting drunk that night will go down as one of my biggest regrets. Not remembering sex with her is unforgivable, and the only remedy is to take another shot. Marrying her wouldn’t hurt, either. I push that thought down. I don’t want this to be manipulative. I may come off as a prick most of the time, but even I don’t want to trick someone into marrying me. I hope she will keep her eyes on Roman’s coloring book as I move toward the table but she looks up. Her eyes scan me from head to toe and widen slightly when they settle on my massive erection. I can’t help smirking a little at the shock on her face. “Uh, bon appétit,” I say, quickly sitting down, unable to stop picturing how

sexy the view up her dress was. She clears her throat and flashes a quick smile, looking down at her plate. The uncomfortable silence is interrupted by a loud slurp as Roman sucks in a huge portion of spaghetti. Marinara sauce splatters on his shirt and covers his face in seconds. Sandra grabs a napkin and reaches to clean it up, but I wave her off. “Don’t bother,” I say. “It’s easier to just dump him into the bathtub when he’s done. There’s no stopping the mess.” Sandra grins and puts down the napkin, trying a bite of the spaghetti. “How is it?” I ask. “It’s good,” she says. “Are you going to just watch me eat, or…” I chuckle, digging into my own portion. After a few seconds I stand up, realizing I forgot drinks. “Want a beer? Wine?” “I’ll take a water,” she says pointedly. I catch a little bite in her words and wonder if she’s holding a grudge over what happened when we had too much to drink at the festival. I guess I couldn’t blame her if she was. I’m about to grab a beer for myself when I think twice, realizing I don’t want to make the mistake of dulling my senses again. Not around her. I fill up two glasses of water and pour Roman some Kool-Aid. I swear the kid’s blood is probably half Kool-Aid. I can’t get him to stop drinking it. I think he’d honestly just let himself die of thirst before he gave it up. I still can’t get my dick to calm down, but I’m past caring. Sandra is hot as hell, and she has to know it. I can have a hard-on if I want to. She’ll just have to deal with it. When I turn to walk back to the table I notice her legs are spread a little wider, giving me an even clearer shot up her dress. I nearly drop the glasses when I catch the mischievous glint in her eye. She’s egging me on. The way her gaze drifts down to my cock only confirms it more. I glance at the clock. Still two hours until I can put Roman down for bed. Damn. She’s going to blue ball me before she even touches me if she keeps this up. “So,” says Sandra. “Do I get my keys back now?” I set the glasses down, taking my seat again. “Sure,” I say. “As long as you keep me happy.” “Keep you happy?” asks Sandra. “What does it take to keep you happy?” There’s a hint of playfulness in her voice, but also an edge of warning. “Tickle his belly. He likes that,” says Roman in a matter-of-fact tone. He follows his advice with a big slurp of spaghetti. Sandra grins. “I may have to try that.”

She had better be careful. If she puts her hands on me, things are going to escalate real fast. I feel like I’m counting down the minutes until Roman’s bed time now. There’s a clatter of metal as Roman’s fork slips out of his hand and lands on the floor. He moves to get it, but Sandra stops him. “Let your daddy get it, Roman,” she says, eyes flicking up to me tauntingly. I narrow my eyes back at her, kneeling to climb under the table. Sandra’s legs are held open beneath the table, giving me a clear shot of her panties. I raise my eyebrows in appreciation, wanting nothing more than to cup her smooth thighs in my hand and slide my way up to her warmth. I move forward, grabbing the fork and taking another long, appreciative look. “You lost down there?” asks Sandra, widening her legs even more. “I’m, uh, just surprised,” I say. “It’s dirtier down here than I expected. Really dirty.” “Oh,” says Sandra, voice slightly muffled as it comes down to me from above. “Is that a problem?” “No,” I say. “I like it.” I back up finally, taking one last, longing look between her legs and rise up to the table. The fact that Sandra’s cheeks are burning red in embarrassment at her own boldness makes it even sexier. She wants me so bad she’s going way outside her comfort zone. “You never like it when it’s dirty, Daddy,” says Roman, confused. I chuckle. “Yeah, I uh, made a special exception for Miss Sandra.” “Oh,” he says. “I’m ready for my bath, Daddy.” “Okay bud, go get the water started and we’ll be there in a sec. Wait for me to get in though, okay?” “‘Kay!” says Roman, already pushing his chair back and running to his room to grab toys for the bath. “So,” says Sandra. “What were you and your brother arguing about the other day? I know he threatened to turn the town into a strip mall. He really didn’t say anything about your shop?” “Nothing,” I say guardedly. “Right. If you two were women, I might believe that, but guys don’t usually argue over nothing.” I chuckle. “Fair enough. We were arguing about something I don’t want to talk about. Is that better?” “It’s honest, at least.” “Why are you so interested?” I ask. “Your brother said something about violating terms to you. I’m trying to

figure out what kind of contract the two of you would agree to sign. I mean, as far as I can tell, you hate each other’s guts. So what could you possibly have agreed on enough to sign your names to?” Damn. She really has been thinking about this a lot. I need to give her something. Enough to make her think she has the whole story and stop trying to piece it together. If she finds out what I need to keep my shop, the way things have played out between us so far is suddenly going to look a lot shadier. It’s going to look like I’m using her to keep my shop. Which is not what I’m doing. I just wish I didn’t feel like I had to keep convincing myself of that. Sandra’s beautiful. She’s smart. She runs her own business and she’s driven. I mean, she probably only manages it with handouts from her rich parents, but still. At least she goes to work every day. “My brother is threatening to tear down my shop,” I say carefully. She nods in a way that says she already guessed as much. “Yeah. Just like my bakery. He’s probably offering you half of what it’s worth as compensation?” “The subject of compensation didn’t actually come up,” I say, grinning. Roman comes back to the edge of the table, waiting expectantly with his dinosaurs in hand and the bath water running in the distance. “Damn,” says Sandra. She covers her mouth, eyes widening when she realizes she swore in front of Roman. “Dang, I mean. Sorry.” “That’s a quarter for the swear jar,” says Roman gravely. “But daddy will let you use a shoe lace if you don't have no quarters,” he adds. “I don’t have shoe laces, honey. Or quarters.” “Don’t worry, Roman,” I say. “I’ll think of a way for Miss Sandra to pay me back.” Sandra eyes me across the table, swallowing hard as something passes between us. Lust. Hunger. Desire. It’s so thick I could reach out and touch it if I wanted. She wants this. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how far I want this beyond one night, but I know I want that.

“G OOD NIGHT , B UD ,” I SAY QUIETLY AS S ANDRA AND I BACK OUT OF R OMAN ’ S room and flick off the light. When we’re back in the living room, it’s just us for the first time tonight. Sandra looks at me and gives a quick, slightly uncomfortable smile, slapping her palms on the side of her legs. “Well, I guess I should go.” I step toward her. “All due respect, but you’re either going to have to sleep with me or drive me to the hospital for the worst case of blue balls this town has

ever seen.” She looks down, smiling shyly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done all that. At the table. I really don’t know what got into me. I don’t do things like--” I kiss her. I don’t do it slowly or tenderly. I kiss her like I’ve been starving for her taste, crushing my mouth into hers, body pressed hard into hers until her back is against the refrigerator. She kisses me back fiercely, squeezing in breathless words between kisses. “We shouldn’t… this is... a bad… idea…” I pin her arms over her head, bending my neck to kiss my way up her jaw to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “Bad ideas are usually the best ones. Now let me see those fucking panties.” Her breathing is coming fast and hard. I watch as her soft tits swell with each inhale and sink with each exhale. She lets me pull her dress up until it’s over her smooth belly. My hand finds her mound and slips between her legs. She’s so fucking wet. Her panties are sticking to her, just like I knew they would. “You want this,” I growl. “Yes,” she gasps. I rip her panties off with one firm tug, letting them drop to the kitchen floor. I move my finger down her slit, making her quiver at my slightest touch. “You’re going to remember this time.” She tenses. “So we really did? Before?” I frown, not wanting to stop to answer questions. My cock is about to fucking explode if I don’t get it inside her soon. The last thing I want right now is to have a conversation about what may or may not have happened. “I don’t know. Probably,” I say, quickly, kissing her again and moving my fingers against her clit. She pulls her head back slightly to talk again. “But you said we did,” she insists. I sigh. Hand freezing against her as I realize she’s not letting this go. “I don’t really remember much, but I think we did. Yeah.” “So you lied then? Just now?” “What?” I ask. Her cheeks are red and I think the intensity she was feeling in lust is starting to turn into anger. “No. I said I don’t know, which I don’t. I remember bits and pieces. Maybe we did. Maybe we didn’t.” I lower my voice, meeting her eye. “I wish I remembered. This is our chance…” She looks down, shaking her head. “What if I’m pregnant.” “What?” I ask. “Did you take a test or something?” “No,” she says. “It’s too soon for that. I just mean… You wouldn’t have used

a condom. If we did, I mean.” I sigh, feeling the moment start to slip away. My hand is still against her, but she’s not focused on that now. “Probably not. No.” “What would we do?” “If you were pregnant?” I ask. “Let’s talk about this later.” “It’s important,” she says. “Fuck,” I groan. “If you were pregnant we’d make it work. Okay?” Something passes across her features that I can’t quite put my finger on. “Like how? How would we make it work.” “Shit, I don’t know. We’d have to find a way to stand each other’s company long enough to raise the kid I guess.” “You mean you wouldn’t pressure me to get an abortion? Because I don’t believe in--” “Hell no,” I say. “If there’s a baby in there, I want to meet it. Simple as that. But people try for months and years to get pregnant. I doubt one time would be enough.” “But there’s a chance,” she says. “Yeah,” I say with exasperation. “There’s a chance.” “Reid... Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to laugh or think I’m crazy.” “I promise,” I say, hoping all this talk hasn’t gotten her out of the mood. But I’m getting the feeling this was something she needs off her chest, and no amount of passion could have stopped it from coming first. “I was scared at first, when I knew I could be pregnant. It terrified me. But now… I can’t stop hoping it’s true. I want to have the baby. And I feel like a complete and total idiot. Maybe I’m having a midlife crisis a little early or something, but--” I kiss her hard to stop her from saying more. She wants to have the baby. She wants to have my baby. Goddamn. All rational thought blurs into incoherent noise and my lust takes over. She wants to have my fucking baby, and knowing that drives me up the fucking wall with hunger. I grip her ass and lift her, hastily unzipping my pants and pulling them down to free my cock. I grip myself and guide my entire length into her in one thrust. She cries out, eyes squeezing shut with pleasure and pain. “You’re so fucking warm,” I growl. “So fucking tight.” “You’re so big,” she breathes. “You like that, sweetheart?” I ask, pounding into her so hard the salt shakers on top of the fridge clink together. “God. Yes. Reid.”

I force my hand up her dress, reaching behind her back to unhook her bra, stripping it from her and letting it fall to the ground. I slide my hand under her dress, which is bunched at her hips, and cup her full tits, feeling her nipples hardening instantly into nubs against my touch. The softness of her skin and the tightness of her pussy are putting me dangerously close to being over the edge, and it’s way too soon for that. As much as I desperately need to cum, I don’t want to waste this. I want her to have the orgasm of her life. I grip her waist with both hands beneath her ass and push her up the fridge, helping her to slide her thighs around my shoulders. My cock comes free, still slick with her wetness and aching for more, but there’s no way in hell I’m rushing this. Magnets are knocked out of the way as I push her up and they clatter to the ground. Her slick pussy is in front of me and I don’t waste any time. My tongue flicks across her clit, circling slowly as I suck and kiss my way over every inch of her. I bring my hand around to work her with my thumb while I plunge my tongue inside her entrance. She clenches against me, and her walls close in around my tongue. I love every second of it, and even with her thighs pressing against my ears and muting my hearing, I can feel the vibrations of her moans through her skin. I bring her as close to the edge as I can without pushing her over. I want her to cum while I’m inside her, and I want her so turned on and desperate for it that she lets go of all her inhibitions. “You want my cock, sweetheart?” “Yes,” she says. “Beg me.” “Please,” she says, eyebrows pulling together as she breathes in heavy lungfuls of air. “Please, give it to me.” I smirk. “Good girl.” I ease her legs off my shoulders and let her back down, turning her to face the fridge. I can see the edges of her tits pillowing out to her sides and I run my hand down the smooth curve of her arched back, slapping her perfectly round ass. I ease my cock in and grip her hips, pounding into her soaking pussy relentlessly. I know she’s on the edge, and she’s going to cum any second. I thrust into her, finding my rhythm as my hips slap against her ass and goosebumps rise up on her skin. I’m going to cum soon, and I know she is too. I lean forward slightly to squeeze one of her tits and suck on her neck. I drive my cock deeper into her, panting against her skin, fighting back the explosion of pleasure as long as I can. Just when I think I can’t hold it back any longer, she throws her head back and gasps so loud I’m worried Roman might hear. Her walls tense around my cock as her pussy tries to milk the cum from me.

As much as the thought of her wanting my baby turned me on, I was still planning on pulling out. I really was. But as soon as I feel the warm walls of her pussy tighten around my cock, I know I’m lost. I bury myself up to the hilt, loving the way her soft ass feels against me, and I cum so hard it’s like a fucking explosion is going off. My cock pulses, releasing wave after wave of hot cum deep inside her, and she doesn’t even budge. She squirms against me, rocking her hips slightly, showing no sign at all of reservations about what just happened. “Your mine now,” I growl.

39

SANDRA

T

ara sits on the other side of the table at Red’s Barbecue. She’s wearing oversized sunglasses and has her lips pursed thoughtfully as she scans the menu. Normally, the sunglasses indoors things rubs me the wrong way, but right now I don’t feel like I could meet her eyes, so I’m grateful. I can still feel a faint soreness between my legs from where her ex-husband’s huge cock was last night. I want to bury my face in my hands and cry with confusion when I think about it. Reid and I are not compatible. He’s cocky and can be a complete asshole, yet all I can think about are the small moments in between. I think about the way he is with Roman, or the small gestures that show his protectiveness of me, like bringing me the ladder or fixing my car. Reid Riggins is the kind of guy most women say they would never, ever consider getting tied up with, myself included. Yet , I let my best friend’s ex-husband have unprotected sex with me and fill me with his cum. For the second time. Ugh. Some part of me keeps trying to make myself feel bad about it, too. It’s almost like the voice of my parents is ingrained into my subconscious somewhere so that no matter how far I get from them, I’ll never really be away from their judgment. That voice tells me I’m a slut. It tells me I’m irresponsible. That I shouldn’t even let a guy like Reid touch me, let alone consider having his baby. It tells me I’m being a short-sighted little girl for thinking I’m ready to have a baby with a guy I probably will never have a long-term relationship with, or have a baby at all, for that matter. I can’t argue with any of it. All I know is I want the baby. Maybe I’ve suppressed my biological clock all these years because I thought I’d never find the right guy to give me a baby. I don’t know what it is. One way or another, I want this baby. And if it’s not inside me yet, I want to keep trying until it is. I

can’t tell a soul, either, because I don’t need an outside opinion to tell me how crazy that sounds. “You’re practically glowing,” says Tara. “Did you get laid last night?” I nearly choke on my water, covering my mouth and coughing. “Sex? What? Who would have sex with me?” I ask in an overly high-pitched voice. Tara lifts her sunglasses and narrows her eyes. “Since when do you keep secrets from me?” I sigh, running my finger along the rim of my cup idly. Neither of us have mentioned the yelling match at the festival since it happened, and I can feel it hanging between us, even now. “Can I tell you something really, really stupid?” “Okay…” says Tara slowly. “I want to have a baby.” “Oh,” says Tara. She sounds a little relieved. “That’s not stupid. I mean, you’re starting to really get settled in with the new business, in a few years you could even--” “No,” I say. “I mean… I want to have a baby like… now.” “What’s the rush?” “Well, I saw this thing on TV about how dangerous it is for older women to have babies, and you know, I’m getting older. And who knows how big a family I might want, so I’d need to get started soon,” I realize I’m talking fast and making very little sense, but I can’t seem to slow down or stop. “And everyone thinks you need a guy to have kids, but I mean even if I was by myself what would be the big deal?” Tara frowns. “Did you have a one night stand last night?” I lower my head, breathing out some of the stress of keeping it all to myself. “Technically, I think it would be a two night stand.” “Oh my God,” says Tara. “With who?” I can see the hint of anger behind her features, waiting to burst free. She suspects. I wince. I should have told anyone but her. She cornered me though. And it’s not like I can just say it was some guy she wouldn’t know. Everyone pretty much knows everyone here. “I--well--don’t want to say.” Tara gives me a dry, threatening look. “Come on. Tell me.” There’s a touch of menace in her words. She knows. She just wants me to admit it. “No,” I say. “Sandra,” she says warningly. “You can’t just drop a bombshell like this and then hold back the juiciest part. You’re going to tell me. So help me God, or I swear I’ll come over this table and we’ll scrap. Right now.” I grin, but Tara doesn’t return my humor. “Girl,” she says. “I’m dead serious.”

Tears well in my eyes. “I can’t,” I say. Tara lifts the sunglasses and I see the full certainty of it in her eyes. She’s put two and two together. She closes her mouth and presses her lips into a hard line, planting her palms on the table. “You fucked Reid.” It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. “Yes…” I say quietly. “But the first time was an accident.” “Oh, okay,” says Tara, a little too loud and in a tone verging on hysteria. “Sorry, Reid! I slipped and fell and your cock just stuck right into my pussy. Over and over again. At least it was just an accident, because if my best friend fucked my ex on purpose that would hurt really bad, you know. But thank fucking God it was an accident.” The whole restaurant is watching us now, and likely storing away the juicy bit of gossip they just heard. By afternoon, everyone in the entire town is going to know I slept with Reid. “And this baby talk?” she asks. “You have the fucking nerve to want to have my ex-husband’s baby? You think he knocked you up? You think you want that?” Tara stands, eyes wet with tears. “Believe me, honey. You don’t want Reid Riggins or his fucking children in your life. He’s a deadbeat loser, and he turned my only son against me.” She stomps toward the door and then turns again, pointing a well-manicured finger at me. “So fuck you and fuck him. I hope he does get you pregnant so he can ruin your life too.” “Tara, please. Just wai--” The door slams behind her, making the little bell dangling above it ring innocently. There’s a few painful seconds of silence before the restaurant starts to hum again with conversation. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, judging me. I grab my purse and rush outside, needing to be anywhere but here. I get in my car, which Reid finally gave me back after dinner and… what followed after dinner. Tara’s words keep repeating in my head, the sting still fresh. But growing up with my parents forged a certain stupid stubbornness in me. It’s not something I’m proud of, but Tara basically telling me I shouldn’t want to be with Reid makes me want to be with him more. It doesn’t erase the guilt or shame of it, but there it is. Where before, my feelings were a gray, muddy, and hard to read middle ground, Tara helped make it more clear. She wants to turn this into her or him? A year ago, I would have chosen her any day of the week. Now, I’m not so ready to take her side. She has blown me off one too many times. She has chosen her boyfriends over me more than once. She thinks I can just be her doormat, loyally waiting for her until she needs me? Screw that. I just hope I’m not using him and the potential of having a baby as an excuse

to take my mind off my real problems. One way or another, I’m going to lose my bakery. My world is going to be turned upside down and I’ll have to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Is it so wrong to want a man in my life to help me do it? I’ve turned away help for so long because it always felt like a surrender, or charity. Being with Reid would be different. Somehow. I don’t know exactly how I know, but I feel it so surely it can’t possibly be wrong.

W HEN I GET BACK HOME I SEE M ARK ’ S TRUCK WAITING OUTSIDE . I SIGH , bracing myself for the interaction I know is going to leave me wanting to hit something. He’s leaning against the truck, wearing a casual outfit of a polo and slacks. I can see hints of Reid’s features in him, but Mark has lived a soft life, at least physically, and it’s written all over him. From the slight sagging skin under his jaw to the ruddy complexion and the pudge around his belly. “Sandra,” he says, giving me an oily smile. “Mark,” I say matter-of-factly, trying to walk past him and avoid this all together. “Easy there. Come on. I just wanted to share some good news.” I turn, exasperated, but distantly hoping he may actually have something to say that I want to hear. “We’re going to be able to offer you twenty percent more for the bakery.” “Great,” I say. “You’re still going to be about eighty grand short of covering the brick and mortar. Forget about the crushed dreams and all that.” “No problem,” he says, obviously not bothering to listen to me. “The only hitch is that we’re moving the demolition date up. I was able to get approval from the mayor to start earlier. Two weeks.” His words knife into me. My stomach feels like ice and fire swirling together. Two weeks? I thought I had months. “I can’t... “ I say slowly. “You can’t just do that. It has to be illegal.” “Honey, you signed it away in the contract. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to get a lawyer to act fast enough to do anything even if there was a problem. Just take the money and move on. That’s my advice.” “Just take the money and move on,” I yell. “Yeah, the money that doesn’t even cover what I still owe on the bakery? You’re going to take my source of income, leave me with debt, and expect me to just rebuild? I won’t be able to get a fucking loan when I owe close to sixty thousand on the mortgage for a demolished store.”

Mark sighs, checking something on his phone. “Right, well I have to take this. Just thought you should know.” He steps into his truck and puts the phone to his ear, pinning it there with his shoulder as he drives off. I watch after him, hoping a meteor will fall from the sky and obliterate Mark and his stupid truck. Or maybe the ground could just open up and give him the quick ride to hell he deserves. I sit on the front porch and throw myself a full-blown pity party. I cover my head with my hands and cry into my knees, thinking about how unfair it all is. I had everything finally going the way I wanted. I fought, struggled, and battled to make a life for myself without my parents’ charity. I made something of myself with nothing but hard work and perseverance, even with everyone in my family trying so hard to convince me to give up and live the easy life. I can just imagine my father’s condescending voice and what he would say if he were here now. Dear, you knew it would end this way. You had to know this little game of yours wouldn’t be fun forever. Come home. Stay at the lake house. We’ll make sure you have everything you need. Easy words. I feel like a sailor from the old myths, watching on shore as a siren tries to lure me to my death with a sweet, tempting song. That’s exactly what it would be, too. It would be the end of me. I am who I am because I resist. The moment I give in, I become them. I become the people I’ve fought so hard not to be. “Saw you crying outside,” says Reid. “Figured you’d cry inside if you didn’t want to be bothered.” I look up to glare at him as he sits beside me on the porch. “Just leave me alone,” I say. “Sure. As soon as you tell me what’s going on.” I sniff, shrugging my shoulders. “My life is just falling apart one huge piece at a time. No big deal.” “Just ask your parents for some cash. Money fixes everything, right?” I turn toward him, fists clenched in my lap. “You don’t know me at all. You know that? Do you really think I just let my parents pay for everything?” Reid’s eyes narrow. “I haven’t taken a penny from my parents since I moved out at eighteen. I worked my way through college and I’m still paying off the loans. I worked to save enough and get a loan to open the bakery. I’d rather fail then go back and beg them for money.” He raises his eyebrows, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “It’s not about the the result. It’s how you get there.” I smile a little, surprised he can sum it up so succinctly. “Yeah… Exactly.”

“Most rich kids just accept it. What made you turn away from all the money?” I lean back. I never really tried to pin it down to an exact moment, but now that I think about it, my thoughts bring me to a particular day when I was younger. “When I was twelve. I remember going into a bakery with my mom and dad to get some danishes one morning. While we waited for our food, I watched the baker and the workers behind the counter. I remember being mesmerized by how hard and fast they were working. The workers were like parts in a machine, all perfectly tuned. There was something on all their faces. It wasn’t really happiness I don’t think. It was more like a satisfied kind of exertion. You know? Like they were doing something they enjoyed and doing it as well as they could. That was enough for them. I don’t think at that moment it mattered how much money they made or how big their houses were. It was just the satisfaction of doing something well. “Then we got in the car and my parents spent the rest of the car ride belittling the baker and the workers. They thought it was disgusting to see how hard they were working. My parents even spent a while speculating on how much money they probably made and compared it to the passive income from interest on their trust funds. “I guess that was when I realized that my parents weren’t like regular people. They were just… there. The baker and the workers were all striving and living and doing something. They were impacting people’s lives, even if it was a small thing. My parents just secluded themselves in their rich people bubble and never gave anything back. The only goal they had was to protect the wealth they already had and to protect the family name, whatever good that does.” Reid nods slowly. “I get you. Yeah.” I grin. “That’s it? I pour my life story out and you get me.” He smirks back. “Yeah. I get you.” Great. Well. My life may be crashing down around me, but at least Reid Riggins gets me. “How could you? You really have no idea what I’m going through.” “Try me,” he says. “Okay. For starters, what if you knew the only way to make your family happy was to give up on your dreams?” He looks up at me, eyes squinted against the sun. The fading sunlight casts his flawless, stubble-covered skin in a golden glow, highlighting his kissable, cocky mouth and powerful jawline. He’s perfect. How could a man so beautiful and sexy be anything but arrogant, obnoxious, and self-centered? How? No matter where he goes, every woman’s eyes will be locked on him, their

imaginations running wild with what a night tangled together with him would be like. His lips pull back into a grin and he looks down. “I think I could relate to that. My grandfather started this shop,” says Reid, tilting his head toward his house. He looks over his shoulder at the shop, almost longingly. I sense the same thoughtfulness in him I saw as he looked over the landscape behind his house and can’t help being reminded there’s more to this man than grease, muscle, and sexuality. It’s something deep that he keeps well hidden, but it’s there, in the small, quiet moments. “He wanted more for me,” says Reid. “They all wanted me to play football.” He bites his lip, shaking his head. “It was perfect. Reid Riggins. Big, strong, and stupid. Football was my only shot. At least that’s what they all thought. I got offers starting junior year. Full rides. I even had a few coaches come out to recruit me. They offered me all kinds of shit. Cars, apartments. You name it.” I frown at him. I knew he played football in high school, but I never bothered going to the games. He didn’t even go to my school, and I thought the rumors about how good he was were just inflated because of how much every girl wanted to sleep with him. “Tara never talked about that…” “Because she didn’t know,” he says, meeting my eyes. “If I had told my family they would’ve pestered me for the rest of my life. I tossed the letters and told the coaches to go fuck themselves. Football was fun, but it wasn’t my dream. I wanted this life. This fucking life I have right here.” Reid stands. “Give me my garage and an honest day’s work. Give me my son. And you’ve given me all I need.” He starts to walk back to his house and then stops, as if just remembering something. “I mean,” he adds. “A good fuck now and then is fine too.” I’m left speechless as he strides back to his garage and barks orders to one of his employees who appears to be slacking off. Every time I try to pin Reid down and think I have him figured out, he defies me. He shows me he’s more than I thought, and with every new development, I’m left wanting more. I want to know more. To feel more. To see more of him. I swallow hard, realizing with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’m falling for Reid, inch by muscled, throbbing inch.

40

REID

I

knock on Tara’s door and wait. I can hear the TV from inside and figure she probably has Roman planted in front of it again. Mother of the year, as fucking usual. The door swings open and I’m surprised to see Roman. “Daddy!” he says. He reaches to hug me and I dodge him, ducking his head under my arm. He spins free and puts his little fists up. I hold up my palms as targets for him and he punches out a series of lefts and rights. Each little impact of his fist is laughably soft, but his face is scrunched with so much concentration that I almost expect the punches to hurt. “Good one,” I say after he gives me a right hook. I shake my hand like the punch stung. Roman relaxes, grinning like crazy and running to hug me. I let him this time, kneeling to hug him back. “How was it, Bud?” “Good,” he says, but his eyes dart to the side. I frown, looking over his shoulder and still seeing no sign of Tara. “Is mom around?” “She’s in the bathroom, I think,” he says. “Why don’t you go get your stuff ready. Just wait here when you’re done, okay?” “Okay,” says Roman. I step inside and head toward the bedroom. I open the door and find Tara sprawled on the bed with her forearm resting over her eyes. I glance behind me and make sure Roman isn’t in earshot. I hear him distantly knocking things around in his room on the other side of the house. “What the hell are you doing?” I ask. Tara sucks in a surprised breath and sits up. “What?” she groans, rubbing

drool from the corner of her mouth. I move closer, kneeling to get a better look. Bloodshot eyes. Slumping posture. She looks dizzy. “Are you drunk?” I ask. “No,” she says. “I just had a cocktail to take the edge off.” “To take the edge off?” I ask, shaking my head. “I’m not leaving Roman here with you again. Call that fucking lawyer of yours if you want. If you want to see him, you need to grow up.” “Grow up?” she shouts. “You want me to talk about growing up? You’re over there playing in your stupid fucking garage and your stupid fucking cars. And you’re fucking that slut who used to call herself my best friend. Get a real job. You’re teaching our son to be lazy and pathetic.” I can’t help smirk at the hypocrisy. “I have better things to do, Tara. Sleep it off, and you can call me when you’re ready to be a fucking mother,” I say, slamming the door behind me. Roman is waiting by the front door when I step into the living room. “Come on, bud, let’s go home.”

W HEN WE GET BACK HOME , R OMAN GOES INSIDE TO HELP T AYLOR WITH AN OIL change. At his age, helping basically consists of handing Taylor tools when he needs them, but Roman loves every second of it. I’m about to get to work when I look toward Sandra’s house and hear muffled cursing and a loud metallic clatter. I head over to her house, wondering what I’m doing with every step I take. I guess I don’t have a plan. I don’t know if I’m hoping she really is pregnant. I don’t know if I want to throttle her or want to marry her. All I know is my feet are taking me over there. Again. I find her in the garage. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and her pants are soaked up to the knees. She’s wearing a man’s style button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back, and she looks fucking adorable in it. Sandra glances up at me. A wet lock of hair is plastered to her forehead. “Reid,” she says. “You know you could get seriously hurt trying to fix that yourself,” I say. She drops the wrench in her hand and puts her face in her hands. I’m surprised when I realize she’s breaking down in tears. “Hey,” I say carefully, moving to sit beside her and put an arm around her. She feels so good in my arms. So small and fragile, even though I know the mind knocking around in that head of hers is strong as hell and fiercely independent. “You’re okay. You’ll be fine.”

“No,” she says, voice heavy with emotion. “My parents are coming tomorrow. They are going to find out I’ve been lying. They are going to see my life is a mess.” “Your life isn’t a mess” I say. I stare outside as I hold her, watching the way the trees I’ve grown up looking at sway as the wind whispers through them. “See those trees?” I ask, nodding toward the trees. “Tell me what you see.” She sniffles. “It’s windy,” she says. “What am I supposed to see?” “The trees can’t do shit about the wind, Sandra. Wind comes. The trees bend. But those are the same fucking trees that have been there since I was a kid.” She’s quiet for a moment. “What are you saying?” I shrug uncomfortably. I’m not used to voicing these kinds of things. They usually just float around in my mind. “I just mean shit happens and it may feel like it’s going to knock you down, but the trees that are too stiff to bend get uprooted in a storm. The trees that bend make it through.” She grins up at me. “Okay. Maybe you’re not just a barbarian who hits cars with wrenches. I see your point. But I don’t see how it is going to help me.” “Because there’s more than one way to fight this. Bend, but don’t break.” Sandra sighs and leans her head into me. I close my eyes, listening to the sound of the trees and the distant clink of the boys in my garage working on something. Holding her and being here with her feels so fucking right. I feel a sudden surge of certainty. The way I’m feeling about Sandra isn’t because of my grandfather’s will. Maybe it started that way. Now, every time I’m with her my feelings just get stronger. The craving. I can hardly believe she was in front of me all the time I was with Tara and I never saw her for what she is. Perfect. “Bend, but don’t break…” she says thoughtfully. There’s a loud crash from the garage. We both jump up together and run the distance from her house to mine. We find Roman wincing in pain and holding his toe. Taylor is white as a ghost. My eyes go immediately to the heavy toolbox on the ground and its spilled contents. I see the dent on its size from where it must have fallen. I pick up Roman, who is starting to cry hard now. “I’ll go with you,” says Sandra. I place him gently on Sandra’s lap in the back of my track and take off toward Dr. Stephens’ clinic. Sandra sits in the back of the truck and holds Roman, rocking him softly and running her fingers through his hair as she shushes him. I start the car, feeling like my insides are ice. My little guy. Fuck. I should have been there. Taylor watches us drive away, rubbing the back of his neck guiltily. My first instinct is to be pissed at him for letting something like this happen, but I can’t blame him. I’m the one who walked away from my son in a dangerous place like a garage to

go look in on Sandra. Fuck. I can practically feel his pain. My foot burns just imagining what it must feel like. Cold tendrils of empathetic pain snake from my foot and all across my skin, giving me goosebumps. “You’re going to be okay, Bud,” I say, glancing in the rearview as I pull close to a hundred miles per hour in my rush to get him to Dr. Stephens. Sandra meets my eye in the rearview as she looks at the damage. “Nothing permanent,” she mouths. I feel a slight relief. Thank God. My first thoughts were to the idea of him losing a toe. Toes, even. He wouldn’t be able to play sports like I did. He’s too young to have his options limited. I knew I would never put any kind of limits on what he can do. I spent so long feeling chained up by my family’s desire for me to play college ball that I promised to never do that to my own kids. If he wants to be a fucking computer programmer, well, good. I’ll encourage the shit out of it. I’ll even take a class up at the local college so I can know what the hell he’s talking about. Point is, I don’t want anything to be off limits for my son. I want the world to be his for the taking. If some stupid ass accident robs him of that, I don’t know what I’m going to do. They take us in right away at the doctor’s office and get Roman in for x-rays. Sandra has to step out to grab a call while Dr. Stephens goes over the facts with me. “It’s a broken metatarsal,” says the doctor, pointing to one of the longer bones in the middle of Roman’s foot. “He’ll have to wear a boot ‘til it heals. Kids his age heal fast, so I expect him to be all better in about six weeks. Eight at the longest.” “Thanks, Doc,” I say, clapping Dr. Stephens a little too hard on the shoulder. He winces, but smiles at me. “Of course.” We’re driving home only thirty minutes later. Roman is already looking ten times better. He’s humming and poking at the medical boot on his foot. “Stop messing with it,” I say. “Sorry, Dad.” Sandra’s sitting in the passenger seat and I realize for the first time since she stepped out to take a call that she looks pale as a ghost. “You still thinking about your parents?” I ask. “Yeah. A little,” she admits. I frown. “So what’s the deal? You said you were worried about them finding something out?”

She laughs humorlessly. “You could say that. I haven’t been entirely honest with them when they’ve bothered to ask about my life. Seeing where I live and where I work is going to be a shock to them. And I kind of told them I was in a serious relationship to get them to stop trying to set me up with guys.” “Where do they think you work?” “I never exactly told them where I work. And… well, they think I’m kind of engaged to a businessman. A wealthy one,” she says, voice growing quieter and more hesitant with every syllable. I bark a laugh. “You’re kidding.” “What’s engaged?” asked Roman. “It’s when two people are planning to get married, Bud,” I say. “Oh,” says Roman. He’s quiet for a few seconds and then he speaks again. “Are you going to get engaged Miss Sandra, Daddy?” Sandra and I laugh, but I notice Sandra’s cheeks burning bright red. “Actually,” I say. “Miss Sandra and I are going to play a game tomorrow. We’re going to pretend to be engaged. And daddy is going to pretend he knows something about business.” “What?” says Sandra. All the red has drained from her face. “No. That would never work. You couldn’t--” “Seriously?” I ask. “I can pass as a businessman if I want. It’s settled. Tomorrow morning. Roman and I will be there and we’ll be looking sharp. It’s a date.” Sandra tries to adopt a neutral expression, but I see the corner of her mouth keep trying to pull up into a smile. What are you getting yourself into here, Reid?

41

SANDRA

W

hen I open the door the next morning I nearly choke on my coffee. Reid Riggins and Roman Riggins are standing on my front porch. Roman is wearing a blue polo and little khaki pants that are adorable. His hair is gelled and combed to the side. Reid is wearing a full suit and he looks like he’s going to a funeral. His hair is combed neatly away from his face, just like Roman’s I cover my mouth and laugh so hard I have to set my coffee down to put both hands on my knees. “Oh my God. This is too much.” Reid smirks. “Now, now, dear. Be careful. You’ll give yourself a condition.” He speaks in a careful accent where he enunciates every syllable precisely. The voice he’s using makes me break out in fresh laughter. “What’s wrong, mommy?” asks Roman. He looks up to Reid, as if making sure he did something right. Reid winks and nods back at him. I can’t help staring at both of them open mouthed in complete disbelief. I doubt anyone is going to buy that Reid is a businessman in that getup, and Roman is wearing dirty tennis shoes with his nice clothes, but the fact that he is trying this for me is easily the sweetest gesture anyone has ever made for me. I’m not sure Roman would be calling me mommy already, but I can’t bear telling him not to. It’s too cute. The doorbell rings again. My eyes go wide. “They weren’t supposed to be here for another hour. I turn to Reid, taking stock of his attempt at looking like he belongs in a suit. I reach to his collar and hastily straighten a crease behind his neck, trying not to get distracted at how good his hard, warm skin feels as my fingertips brush against it. Reid grins. “There are children here, honey.” He’s still using that goofy voice of his. I bite my lip. “Just talk normal, okay? Act like a normal person. Just don’t talk about cars.”

“Let me handle this, wife-to-be.” I bite back a laugh, shushing him as I open the door. It’s the first time I’ve seen my parents in person in at least two years, and they look just as I remember. Alfred Williams III, and Collette Williams, dedicated mother of two and master of none. The two of them have never worked an hour between them, but they are worth millions and their fortune grows every day. They have a small army of people to invest their money and manage it so it keeps growing. As far as they are concerned, their only job is to uphold the family name and find newer and more frivolous ways to spend all their money. Well, being disappointed in me probably registers at least as a part time job for them, too. “You live here?” asks my mother, Collette. Reid steps forward, reaching to help my mother and guide her inside. He winks at me as he escorts them inside and toward my living room. I cross my arms and follow with Roman, listening as he ignores my advice and still speaks in that silly accent. “This is just an investment property,” says Reid. “We’re bypassing some federal regurgitations by using it as a residence. You know,” he says. Did he just say regurgitations instead of regulations? I want to cover my face and laugh or cry. Maybe both. My father’s smile grows, but he doesn’t seem to notice Reid’s slip up. My parents are probably as clueless about real business as Reid is. They just pay other people to handle it for them. “Oh, of course. Collette and I know a thing or two about sticking it to the government. The more you can keep their hands off your money, the better.” “Honey, where is your ring?” asks my mother. I can’t believe I forgot that detail. My hand instinctively moves behind my back and I stutter, unable to think of a response. “At the cleaners,” says Reid. “I can’t have my fiance wearing a dirty ring now, can I?” he asks. Alfred purses his lips in approval. “Certainly not. I appreciate a man who pays attention to detail.” “Oh, yes of course,” says Reid gravely. “Why, I swear. I could lose myself in the details if I didn’t have my lovely fiancée to keep me grounded.” He punctuates his words with a firm squeeze of my ass. I turn to him, glaring while simultaneously feeling a rush of heat flood my body. My mother’s eyebrows flick upwards in surprise, but she only smirks. My father didn’t seem to notice. “What would we do without our women,” muses Alfred. Reid nods. “Exactly, exactly. I couldn’t agree more. Tea?”

“Please,” says my mother. My father nods. Reid walks toward me and pauses. He gives me a slightly panicked look. “Do you have tea?” He whispers. “Yes,” I whisper back. “I don’t know how to make tea,” he says quietly enough so that only I can hear. I roll my eyes, hardly believing I can grin at a time like this. I may have spent my whole life trying to stand apart from my parents and defying them. I may put up a strong front and say I don’t care, but the truth is, it’s not about caring, it’s about proving myself. The thing I’ve always wanted deep down is to show them they are wrong about me. I’ve want them to see I can make something of myself. I can find happiness and fulfillment outside their social circle, and that I can do it without their help. If they even begin to catch wind of my real situation, all of that work will shatter. No matter what happens after this, they will always remember the time they caught me in a web of lies and how pathetic my situation really is. “Is Chamomile okay?” I ask, setting down the saucers and grabbing some sugar. Roman, who has largely been silent so far, clears his throat. “Father. Will we be ‘questrian riding today?” He gives the same, adorable look of question to Reid after he delivers his line, as if waiting to see if he said it right. Questrian? Does he mean equestrian? “Of course, good boy. Just like we do every day.” Alfred cocks a brow at me. “Really, now? I didn’t know your fiancé is into riding, dear.” “Oh yes,” I say, forcing a smile that hopefully hides the panic I’m feeling. “Reid is an avid rider.” “Is that right?” asks my mother. “You bet your jimmies,” says Reid. He winks at me again and I have to stop myself from slapping the smirk off his face. He has no idea how bad he’s doing at pretending to be one of their kind. It’s a shock that my parents aren’t already calling him on it. For some reason they both actually seem to be looking at him with a vague sense of approval that I’m definitely not used to seeing on them. “How about a demonstration?” asks Reid, making as if he’s about to get on his hands and knees and have Roman ride his back. “No, honey. Bad idea,” I say. “You know what I always say,” I add, laughing in too high a pitch. “No equestrian activity in the house!” Reid straightens, brushing the creases from his slacks. He nudges Alfred. “She does always say that.”

“Well,” says my father, with a happy smile that I’ve only seen him use when he looks at my sister. “I have to say I was half-expecting Sandra’s businessminded fiancé to turn out to be one of those turnkey business owners.” He barks a laugh at that, slapping his knee and holding Reid’s gaze uncomfortably the whole time. Reid handles it perfectly though, laughing right along with my father, grasping his stomach and throwing his head back. Roman watches his father and mimics the laugh. I have to cover my face to hold back the smile of disbelief forming on my face. “A turnkey business owner!” gasps Reid. “My God, man. You really are a hoot.” I have to step into the kitchen, away from their eyes and ears to grasp the counter and let out a long, stifled laugh that shakes my whole body. I can’t believe what is going on out in the living room. It’s too improbable to believe, but there it is. Reid Riggins, the most gruff, abrasive man I’ve ever known, is out there schmoozing with my parents and they are buying every second of it. My laughter nearly turns to abject panic when I realize there’s no way he can keep them fooled. He’s probably out there right now about to say something that’s going to give him away once and for all. When I step back out into the living room, my parents are uncharacteristically rowdy as they cheer on Roman, who is riding Reid around the room like he’s a horse. “Guide him with your ankles, son!” laughs my father. “There it is!” adds my mother. “Trust the horse and he’ll take care of the rest.” I watch with a mixture of shock, horror, and amusement. My parents who have only ever seemed able to scowl in my presence look to be having the time of their lives. Granted, none of their good humor or amusement is coming from me, but this is beyond unusual. And Reid… I look at the way he’s bucking his hips and laughing with Roman as he makes a fool of himself. For me. He’s doing all of this for me. I don’t know how much it taxes him or if it does at all, but the simple and plain fact is right there. Clear as day. Reid may not be the selfish asshole I pegged him as. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who jumped to conclusions. He assumed I was just letting my parents’ money solve my problems, and I’ve been assuming he’s as heartless as Tara led me to believe. Now I’m not so sure. The rest of the day goes off without a hitch, to my amazement. In fact, it goes too well, because instead of leaving like they had originally planned, my

parents insisted on renting out a bed and breakfast for themselves to stay a few days. They were completely smitten by Reid and Roman. Neither Alfred nor Collette paid me much attention, but even having them approve of something or someone associated with me is a massive step up in treatment, so I can’t even complain. When they finally leave, It’s close to eight, and Roman is already asleep on the couch. Reid closes the door behind them and turns to me, breathing out a long sigh. “How’d I do?” he asks with a smirk that says he knows exactly how well he did. “You were amazing,” I say. Our eyes lock, and I realize we’re standing incredibly close. So close I can smell the woodsy scent of him. My hands itch to reach for him, to splay across his broad chest and work his buttons open, one by one. “Being your fiancé wasn’t so bad,” he says. I bite my lip, a little embarrassed at how much of a thrill that sends through me. What is he implying? “I can’t disagree.” He chuckles. “It’s settled then. Let’s just tie the knot.” “Wh-what?” I ask. “I’m just fucking with you,” he says. “Yeah. Obviously. Of course,” I say quickly. “But what are we going to do about the ring? If my parents are staying, they will expect to see it soon.” “I’ll figure that out.” “Reid... Thank you. What you did for me today was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. You have no idea what it meant to me to see my parents that happy. I’ve spent so long convincing myself I hated them.” I laugh a little bitterly. “I still resent them for expecting so little out of me, but I also think I may have just hated that I couldn’t make them happy… I couldn’t do it in eighteen years of living with them, and you did it in one night.” I rock forward onto my tip-toes and kiss him on the cheek. My lips linger against the heat of his skin longer than I intend, his scent intoxicating me. His strong hand threads up my neck and into my hair. Our eyes meet, only centimeters apart. “I know just the way for you to thank me,” he says, crashing his lips onto mine and lifting me so my legs can wrap around his waist. He carries me effortlessly toward my bedroom, weaving around obstacles and past the small, sleeping form of Roman. We kiss like we’re starving, like every lust-filled kiss could be the last one and we have to make it strong enough to last an eternity. I’ve never kissed anyone like this. Reid infuses every kiss with more sexuality and power than

most men could give me in hours, just like a master painter can put more meaning into a brush stroke than an amateur can put on an entire canvas, My body reacts to him like a drug. My pulse pounds. My breath comes in heaving, gasping breaths between the locking of our lips and the dance of our tongues. Every movement, touch, and sensation is bliss. I’m thrown down on the bed and Reid stands over me, stripping off his suit and ripping his shirt apart, sending stripped buttons scattering to the carpet. I’ve seen him shirtless before. Outside, in the sun, covered in grease, oil, and sweat. Now I see him like I never have before. Every muscle is a threat. A promise. The powerfully carved chest and abs are a reminder of how much power he has over me, how completely and totally he can rule me in this room. It’s a reminder that I’m in his domain now. And my God does that turn me on. I’ve spent my life trying to prove I can take control for myself, trying to prove I’m above sitting back and letting the power of my parents’ money handle things for me. But here, in this bedroom, and in the presence of Reid, I have no desire to be in control. No, I want to be controlled. I want him to take me how he wants me. With him, I can feel power in surrender. “You liked pretending to be my fucking wife-to-be, didn’t you?” he asks, unbuckling his belt and tossing it aside before pushing his pants off. I bite my lip, nodding and scooting back, away from him on the bed. He growls, grabbing my ankle and yanking me back toward him. “Don’t run away, wife.” Wife. Even imagining being Reid’s wife opens a torrent of confusion in my head. What would that even be like? He would come in from a day of work smelling raw and manly. He’d put his dirty hands all over me. Possessively. Hungrily. He’d probably drag me to bed whether I wanted to or not. He’d take me when he wanted. How he wanted. He would protect me and value me. I close my eyes, letting my head fall back into the blankets. “I liked it,” I whisper. He rips my pants off in one swift motion, taking my panties with them. “You liked what?” he asks. “I liked pretending to be yours.” His grin is dangerous as he strips me of my shirt and bra, leaving me as completely naked as he is. “And you liked feeling my cum deep in your fucking pussy, didn’t you?” “Yes,” I whisper, cheeks burning hot. “You want to carry my baby. You want to be my wife.” I clamp my mouth shut, not trusting myself to deny it. I should deny it, deny him, but I don’t know that I want to anymore.

He smirks down at me. “You’ll admit it before I’m done with you. That’s a promise.” A ball of fear grows in my chest. He wants me to admit it? Why? Is it for his own ego? Does he just like to know how quickly and deeply he can make a sensible woman turn against her better judgment? Or does he want me to admit it because he wants it too? God, I can’t believe how far he already has me over the edge. Now I’m about to sleep with him for the third time and I’m clinging to the hope that he wants to marry me? I must be losing it. His hands snap me out of my thoughts. Big, strong, calloused hands exploring my body reverently. The heavy, fast hunger of our kisses seems to have subsided. Now he moves his hands and eyes over me inch by inch, as if in wonder. His touch leaves a wake of tingling pleasure behind, and his eyes burn hot paths across my skin, heightening my arousal with every passing second. He presses my legs apart and I can feel the cool air against my hot opening. I’m embarrassed by how wet I already am for him. More wet than I’ve ever been. Hotter than I’ve ever been. My core clenches with need, clit throbbing and aching for friction. For release. He doesn’t make me wait. He slides a hand up my inner thigh and finds the heat of my core, spreading my wetness until his fingers glide effortlessly across me. Within seconds, I realize he’s not just good with his hands. He’s a master. I can’t even tell exactly what’s he’s doing, but it feels like heaven. Somehow he’s simultaneously curling two fingers against my G-spot and circling my clit with his thumb and forefinger. I’ve never found being fingered very appealing because guys before him always managed to make it seem like they were digging for spare change. Reid couldn’t be more different. His fingers are magic. Not even a minute into his attentions, and I feel the building pressure of release threatening to come at any moment. I push it back, not wanting him to see how quickly he can bring me to climax. He kisses a hot path up my chest, neck, behind my ear, and finally to my waiting lips. All the while his fingers move blindingly against me, drawing more pleasure from me than I knew I was capable of feeling. The weight of his body on top of me feels good. Comforting. Protective. I claw my fingers into his hard back, probably leaving red lines, but not caring. “You’re so good,” I groan into his neck. “You like having your fiancé’s fingers in your pussy?” he asks through gritted teeth. My fiancé. Why does it sound less like a game now when he says it? Why is

he dangling it in front of me? And why the hell is the idea so tantalizing? “Yes,” I say. “God. Yes.” He pulls his hand away from me, leaving me feeling empty and hollow in his absence. My entire body is on overdrive. My skin tingles from head to toe. My core is throbbing, almost physically hurting from how badly I need it to be filled by him. Reid moves me with confident hands, positioning me so I’m straddling his face as he lays on his back. I don’t even spare a thought of embarrassment for having my ass right in his face. With most guys, I would worry they might spot some imperfection in my most private places and be turned off. With Reid? He’s a different creature entirely. I can’t explain how I know it, but there’s no shame with a man like Reid. There’s no hiding. He consumes. He devours. And right now, he wants me. There’s no imperfection in his eyes. I’m the object of his desire. Knowing that give me such a sense of freedom and arousal. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt. I can be free with him. Here. Now. I can be myself, I can let go. I can surrender, for once. I get my first real look at his cock and I actually put a hand to my mouth in shock. “Oh my God,” I say. Reid responds by gripping my hips and pulling me down so I’m sitting on his face. His tongue and mouth are just as talented as his fingers, maybe more so. I gasp, falling forward, right above his cock. I grip it at the base, marveling at how thick and big it is. I was too drunk to remember our first time, and I barely got a glimpse of his cock the second time. Now I’m not surprised I was a little sore the following day. I’ve never really been aroused by the idea of giving a blowjob, but like everything else, it’s different with Reid. Even though his tongue is doing sinful things between my legs, making me weak, I want nothing more than to take his cock as far into my mouth as I can. My hands feel so small around it as I start stroking, resting my elbows on his hard stomach and using both hands to stroke its length. I love how he shudders at my touch. When I kiss a slow path from the base of his cock to the head, he sucks in a quick breath, tongue motionless inside me until I plunge the velvety head of his cock inside my mouth, swirling my tongue around the sensitive rim. He grunts something into my pussy, but I can’t make it out. My attention shifts between the explosion of pleasure between my legs and the job of pleasing him as well as I can. I work my hands up and down his cock, sucking, kissing, and moving my lips across him. I lose myself in the motions, focusing more and more of my attention on holding back the climax begging to crash over me. I hold it back just to prove I can. I may be turned on by the idea

of surrendering to him and letting him do what he wants with me, but I want to prove I can hold my own with him as well. “Fuck,” he says breathlessly, pulling away from me. “On your knees, sweetheart. I’m going to fill you so fucking deep you’ll feel it for weeks.” I obey, moving off of him and settle on my knees, waiting for him to fill me. He moves behind me, sighing deeply. “You’re so fucking sexy. You know that? I could look at that ass all night.” “You better hurry up and fuck me,” I say over my shoulder. “I need you inside me. Now.” My words light something hot and fiery in his eyes. He bites his lip, smirking as he grips me tight by the hips. He thrusts into me in one smooth motion, driving his cock inside me to the hilt. I gasp, trying to arch my back, but his strong hand presses the small of my back down, forcing me to stay relaxed. His other hand still grips my hip tightly as he starts to find a rhythm inside me. “Fuck,” he groans. “Why are we pretending?” “What?” I ask as his hips slap against my ass again and again, rocking me forward with each impact. My vision is blurring from the pleasure and I can barely hold myself up on my arms. “To be, ugh,” he pauses, holding himself deep inside me and splaying his hand across the smooth skin of my back before slapping my ass hard enough to make me yelp. “To be engaged,” he finishes. “Just fucking marry me for real.” My eyes are squeezed shut and I’m gripping the covers like a lifeline. My world is in the entry and withdrawal of his impossibly perfect cock. His words are barely registering. My senses are completely and totally overwhelmed. All I know is I can’t hold back this orgasm any longer. It breaks against me like a tidal wave, crashing through my defenses, flooding my system with perfect and absolute bliss. “Yes,” I gasp. “Yes! God, Reid. Yes!” He slams into me, cock pulsing as he cums deep inside me.

42

REID

I

stay up most of the night making the ring. My mind keeps replaying the moment. I asked her to marry me for real and she fucking loved it. There’s a nagging doubt in the back of my mind that I should have asked her in a calmer moment, when I could be more sure that she really meant it. That I really meant it. I’ve been pushing things forward with Sandra fast. Maybe too fast. I haven’t even had time to tell her about my grandfather’s will. I’ve seen enough now to know my feelings for her don’t have shit to do with the will. Even if the will said I would lose my garage if I was married with two kids at thirty five, I’d still want this. She’s the one, and I don’t need to spend another minute with her to know that. Hell, I knew it before I was willing to admit it to myself. I just need to be straight with her and tell her about the stipulation in my grandfather’s will. She needs to hear it from me, or she’s going to think I’m using her and who knows what kind of future we’ll have then. If I marry her and if she really is pregnant, I know I can keep my shop. And I’ve cooked up a little plan for her to keep her bakery, too, but I still need to iron out the details. Everything will be perfect. The ring is just temporary, and I’ll need to send out for a stone, but it’ll do for now. Besides, her parents are expecting to see a ring. Sandra will understand the need for a little bit of rushing. I can get her something more permanent in a few weeks. I look down at the simple ring in my hands. I can hardly believe I’m doing this. On one hand, I honestly don’t know if Sandra was really accepting my proposal last night or just lost to her pleasure. Everyone in town may think just because I’m strong that I’m stupid, but I’m not. I know she might have just been into the moment. But damn it, I want to marry her. I know it in my heart. In my soul. I want it. I don’t care if that’s stupid or foolish of me. Whether she meant it

or not last night, I’m going to find out for sure today. Once I get Roman out of bed, we head over to Sandra’s place. I freeze in my tracks as soon as we step outside. Mark’s truck is parked out front. When we reach the front door, I hear voices from inside. Mark’s voice. Shit. I let myself and Roman in. “...just thought you should know,” says Mark, turning to leave. When he turns sideways, I see Sandra’s face for the first time. Her red, tearstained face. I stop Mark with a raised finger and a warning look. I turn to Roman, controlling my voice as much as I can. “Can you run back to the house and grab daddy’s jacket, Bud? I forgot it.” “Sure!” says Roman. He scurries outside and I advance on Mark. I grip his dress shirt and pin him to the wall. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Mark looks down his nose at me, somehow managing to look like he thinks he’s superior even when I could break his teeth and there’s nothing he could do about it. “I just told her the truth, big brother.” I let him go, feeling a stabbing pain in my chest. “Get out,” I say to him. “I was already leaving, asshole. Enjoy.” The door slams behind him and I’m left facing Sandra, who’s eyes are brimming with tears. “You can get out too,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “Sandra…” “Leave!” she screams, throwing a vase towards me. It narrowly misses my head and smashes against the wall. I step outside, fingering the ring in my pocket and finding Roman hustling toward me, breathless and hoisting my jacket over his head like some kind of prize. “Come on, Bud. Miss Sandra isn’t feeling well. We gotta let her rest.” His face falls and he steps in beside me. “Should we get her some soup?” “Nah, Bud. I don’t think she wants company right now.” “What about Alfred and Collette?” asks Roman. “I’m going to pay them a visit and let them know how she’s feeling. I’ll call Lyla and drop you off at her place. Okay?” “Okay,” says Roman.

A N HOUR LATER I’ M KNOCKING ON THE DOOR OF THE BED AND BREAKFAST Alfred and Collette rented out for themselves. Alfred opens the door. He’s already dressed sharply with a velvety robe and some strange, puffy scarf draped

around his neck and tucked inside the robe. “Reid! So good to see you,” he says, reaching out and shaking my hand while clasping my forearm with his other hand, like we’re old buds. I’m wearing the goofy getup of his kind. A dress shirt, dress pants, hair slicked to the side. I feel like a dressed up monkey, but whether Sandra wants me in her life or not, it’s worth it for her. I’ll play whatever game I have to. I’ll embarrass myself as much as I have to. I just don’t want her to get hurt, and I know how much her parents opinion of her matters, even if she won’t admit it to herself. “I came by to let you know that my dear Sandra isn’t feeling up to snuff today.” Alfred makes a face, nodding and clapping my shoulder. “Well, women these days don’t have the constitutions they used to.” I force a smile. “I imagine not. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that you may not want to pay her a visit until the coast is clear.” I glance over my shoulder and make a show of looking discreet. “It’s like World War III over there. Wouldn’t want to muck up the Italian leather on your shoes, right?” Alfred leans conspiratorially close, chuckling and nudging me. “Certainly not! You’ll let me know when we can pay another visit though, won’t you? Collette was charmed by you and that boy of yours. She has been talking about you two all day.” I smile. “I’ll let you know as soon as it’s safe. ” I just wish I knew when it would be safe.

43

SANDRA

J

ennifer and Lauren are over, doing their best to comfort me. To be honest though, the Cheetos and ice cream are doing a much better job of it than they are. “You don’t think the Cheetos kind of, I don’t know, clash with the ice cream?” asks Lauren. “No,” I say, popping a big, fat, puffy cheeto into my mouth and following it with a spoon of Rocky Road ice cream. Rocky Road. How appropriate. Except the road I’m on is more like a cliff. And I’ve already driven over the edge. “Men are assholes,” says Jennifer. “Obviously,” agrees Lauren. “And Reid Riggins is the king of them,” I add. “But what am I supposed to do if he comes back?” “You gouge the eyes and kick for the crotch,” says Lauren simply. Jennifer and I laugh. “He’s not a sexual predator,” I say. “He’s just a selfish, cold-hearted, manipulative asshole.” “Jeez, don’t hold anything back,” says Jennifer. “Is he really that bad? I mean, I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but did you ask him if that was why he proposed? You know, the whole contract thing?” “Of course it was,” snaps Lauren. “He just shows up and gives her the sex of her life and tricks her into agreeing to his proposal while using his magic penis to persuade her.” The anger she manages to infuse into such a ridiculous statement makes Jennifer and I laugh again. “It was pretty magical,” I say, smirking. “Stop it!” says Lauren. “You’re letting his penis distract you from what’s

important here.” “What’s that?” I ask, licking my spoon. Trying to convince myself to hate Reid Riggins is both the easiest and the hardest thing in the world, because as soon as my hatred for him reaches a boiling point, it somehow shifts effortlessly into sexual frustration, and all I want to do is dig my fingernails into his back and… well, not do anything that will help the problem at hand. “You know what it is,” says Lauren. “You need to move on. Let him see you with some other guy to get him jealous and show him what an idiot he was for trying to play you.” “That sounds just as manipulative as what he did,” says Jennifer. Lauren gives her a dry look. “That’s kinda the point.” “I don’t know,” I say. “The last thing I want right now is to get involved in another relationship.” Lauren sighs, moving behind me and massaging me like she’s my coach or something. “Young Sandra, where did I go so wrong in training you?” “I’m a few years older than you…” “Shut up,” snaps Lauren. “The point is you still have so much to learn. This isn’t about what you want. This is about teaching him a lesson. Guys like him are used to getting away with crap like this. They just wave their big, sexy penises around and everyone acts like nothing happened.” “Uh,” says Jennifer, covering a grin with her hand. I laugh. “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way.” “It basically does,” snaps Lauren. “So we’re going to teach him a lesson.” Jennifer narrows her eyes at Lauren. “You seem really, really motivated to get back at Reid. Did he do something to you like, I don’t know, did he strangle your puppy when you were a kid or something?” Lauren crosses her arms. “He hurt my friend. I mean, once we get him back and justice has been served and an appropriate mourning period has passed, he’ll be on the market again, too.” “Lauren!” says Jennifer, slapping her arm. “No,” I say. “It’s okay. He is on the market, as far as I’m concerned. You can have him. I really couldn’t care less about Reid Riggins and his stupid magic penis. I’m totally over him.”

I SPEND THE NEW FEW DAYS TRYING TO COME TO TERMS WITH THE EMOTIONAL whip lash I’ve been through. Just when it seemed like everything was finally going my way, it was snatched away from me. First the bakery, then Reid. Now I

feel like I’ve just been going through the motions, waiting for the day to come when my shop gets demolished. And the whole time I’ve had to deal with David Cumberfield’s never-ending phone calls. He hasn’t stopped begging to speak with me since he arrived, so I finally agreed to let him come say what he had to say just to get him to back off. He pulls up to my house around six, and I greet him wearing the most conservative clothing I could find. He gets out of his Jaguar with a cocky smirk on his face. His clothes, as usual, are without a crease or wrinkle. His hair is perfectly in place. And, as usual, he looks ridiculous. I don’t know what I ever saw in him, other than an opportunity to please my parents. David takes two steps toward me and then freezes, looking to his right. Before I can say a word, I follow David’s gaze and notice Reid storming toward us. He’s not wearing a shirt, and my memory flashes with involuntary images of the last time I was with him, when he took me on the bed. My core clenches just at the thought of him, heating with need. I try to push it all out of my head, but fail. My traitorous body responds to him like no other guy, and there seems to be nothing I can do to stop it. “This guy again?” asks David. “You really should build a fence, dear.” Reid throws a greasy rag over his shoulder and advances on David, making the height and weight advantage he has over David all the more apparent. “You get back in your fancy fucking Jaguar and leave. If you so much as lay a hand on my fiancée, I’ll fucking break you.” “Fiancée?” asks David with a smile of disbelief. “Is he serious?” he asks me. Does Reid really think we’re engaged? Even after I called him on his bullshit and the way he was using me. He really thinks I’m going to marry him? It was ridiculous in the first place, even before I caught him in his lie. “No,” I say. “He’s not serious. He’s delusional.” Reid looks to me with an expression of genuine pain. I wince at the sight of it, not wanting to see. He can’t really be serious about all this. But if he’s not, why is he fighting it so hard? Because I’m his only ticket to saving his precious garage. That’s all I am to him. Like some big, potentially pregnant lottery prize. “I am serious,” he says. “Then you’re dumber than you look,” I snap. “Come on, David. Let’s go inside.” David takes a hesitant look toward Reid and then tries to hide his fear, walking toward me a little too fast for dignity. Reid just watches, fists balled at his side and eyes blazing like they could start a fire. I swallow hard and the door closes behind us, leaving Reid outside and me trapped inside with David Slimeball Cumberfield.

Why did I say that? I didn’t mean it. As angry as I am at Reid, I hate that I just called him dumb. It feels low and dirty. I want to go back and apologize, but David is standing between the door and me. “Don’t worry, dear. I won’t let that oaf ruin our night,” says David as he tries to worm his thin arms around me. I do a little backwards, sidestepping dance to avoid his touch and spin towards the kitchen, laughing awkwardly to mask my discomfort. “You thirsty?” “Sandra. Let’s talk about us. I’m glad you’ve given me another chance to--” There’s a knock on the door. A loud, heavy, angry knock that tells me without a doubt who it is. I sigh, bracing myself as I move for the door. “Don’t, it’s just--” starts David. I ignore him, yanking the door open. “What?” I ask. Reid is standing in the doorway, still shirtless. Still gorgeous. Except now he’s holding something metallic and oily. “Cum fields. Looks like you’ve got some car trouble.” “You touched my Jag? You put your filthy, fucking--” “Yeah, I touched it,” says Reid. “I guess I have a bad habit of touching things that don’t belong to me.” This time his eyes lock on mine. “Oh well,” he says. “You may want to get it checked out, dick breath,” he adds to David, tossing the part in a high arc over his shoulder. David lunges forward, realizing exactly where the part is going to fall. There’s a dull thud as the heavy metal gear bounces off the hood of David’s Jaguar, leaving a large dent and a spot of chipped paint. “You’re paying for the repairs,” shouts David. “Bill me,” says Reid. “Maybe you should go ahead and bill me for the dental work too. Looks like you got the last one fixed, so let’s keep your dentist busy.” “The dental--” Reid’s arm snaps out faster than my eyes can track. David’s head pops back and then he goes stiff, tilting backwards until momentum drags him down like a felled tree. He thumps into the grass, blinking hard and struggling to get back on his feet. “Stay down,” says Reid. “Asshole!” I shout. “You can’t just punch everyone who shows interest in me. You think I’m impressed? Well I’m not. You’re just making an idiot out of yourself. And you’re setting a bad example for your son.” “Roman’s asleep,” says Reid. I shake my head, kneeling to help David up. “Why don’t you just go home,” I say.

Reid doesn’t budge. He only stands there, looking like ten times the man David is and ten times more sexy than anybody has a right to look. Saying no to him feels like telling the sun not to rise in the morning or the tides not to come in. He’s an inevitability. As I look at him, I can feel that so powerfully in my chest I know it has to be true. Reid Riggins is a force. His will is inexhaustible and so long as he sets his sights on me, I have no hope to resist forever. All I can do is delay. Delay the inevitable. But that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Delay, because what he did hurt, and I’m not ready to forgive him yet. “Screw you, Reid. Screw you and your stupid muscles and perfect face. And screw that magical cock of--” I slap a hand to my mouth, feeling like all the blood in my body just rushed up to my head. David is looking at me like I just grew antlers, and Reid looks like he’s trying his hardest to hold back the smirk creeping across his face. “That came out wrong,” I say, mustering as much dignity as I can. “Don’t!” I snap, jabbing a finger toward Reid. “Don’t you dare smile.” Reid puts his hands up innocently, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” “Come on,” I say to David, dragging him inside. David looks uncomfortable after the door closes behind us again. He’s dabbing at his lip checking to see if it’s bleeding. “I think I need to leave, Sandra. You clearly need to sort your priorities out. And my face hurts.” “No,” I say. “You stay here. I don’t care if you just sit on the couch and watch TV. But I’m not letting him think he won. If you leave, he wins. Do you understand?” David shakes his head. “I’m not about to let you use me like some chess piece, Sandra. This is unbelievable. He just assaulted me. Again.” He turns to reach for the door and I grab his arm, stopping him. “David. If you go out there, Reid will probably kick your ass. More.” David flinches a little at that, sniffing and straightening his shirt. “He could try.” David makes a show of yawning dramatically and stretching. “But I could catch a nap before I head home. And I should probably ice my lip. So he’ll have to wait.” I breathe a sigh of relief, grabbing a spare pillow and blanket for David, who stretches out on my couch and starts fiddling with his phone. It’s not five minutes before he’s out like a light, snoring loud enough that I’m afraid Reid might hear from next door. I lean against the countertop and sigh. I should be putting all my energy and attention into saving my bakery. Easier said than done, though. It’s not as if I can magically raise the money to pay for it. And I’m not about to go begging to my

parents for it, either. I can’t fight the contract I signed like an idiot. I can’t fight the city. The more I think about it the more it seems like the only thing I can do is accept it and prepare to move on. As much as it seems like the only option, I’m not wired that way. I’ve spent too long struggling against the current, now it has become second nature. I may not know how I’m going to stop him, but I know one thing, Mark Riggins isn’t going to get my bakery. I worked too hard for it, and no one is taking it away.

44

REID

R

oman slurps the milk from his spoon noisily and then crunches into his Fruit Loops. I watch him as I stab at my eggs, feeling no real desire to eat. I stayed up most of the night because I couldn’t sleep knowing he was in there with her. David Cum Fields. The fucker. “Hey Bud, I have a question.” “Okay,” says Roman cheerily. He’s wearing pajama bottoms and no shirt. Milk has dribbled all over his chest and his small pot belly. “If you liked a girl, wou--” “How much?” asks Roman. “How much what?” I ask. “How much do I like her.” “Oh. You like her a lot. A whole lot.” “Hmmmm. I’d tell her.” “I wasn’t done with my question,” I say dryly. “Okay.” I take a deep breath. “If you liked a girl, a whole lot, what would you do if she didn’t seem to like you as much as you like her?” Roman furrows his eyebrows and slurps another loud sip of milk. “She could borrow my favorite toy.” I frown, leaning back and crossing my arms. I nod my head slowly, looking out the window toward her house. “Like a gift,” I say thoughtfully.

I STEP OUT OF THE GENERAL STORE WITH A BAG FULL OF CLINKING ITEMS AND A certainty in my stomach that I’m going to win her back. I drop the things inside the house and go check on Roman. The guys are joking around with him in the

garage so I let him stay with them while I make the call I’ve been meaning to make. I have to look up Mack “The Mangler” Perry online to find his number after all these years. We were teammates back in high school, but lost touch not long after. He’s a big time lawyer now, and I just have to hope he has time to help. “Hello?” comes a deep voice through the earpiece. “Mack? This is Reid. Reid Riggins.” “No shit! Big Rigg! How the fuck are you?” I smirk. “Good, man. I’m good. Look, I’m not going to pretend I didn’t call you for a reason. I need a favor. A big ass favor.” “All right,” says Mack. “Did you get tangled up with the law?” “Heh. No. Not quite. Do you know anything about real estate law?”

T HIRTY MINUTES LATER , I’ M OUTSIDE S ANDRA ’ S HOUSE WITH THE BAG I PICKED up from the general store. She opens the door and sighs when she sees me. She’s wearing yoga pants and a tank top that falls halfway down her thighs. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun and she looks winded, like she was just working out. Or fucking. My good intentions melt and I shove past her. “Where is he?” “Hey!” she shouts. “You can’t just barge in here!” “Like hell I can’t. Where is that fucker? Did he hide his car around back?” “Reid!” Sandra shouts as she hurries to keep up with me. “Reid!” she says, getting in front of me and planting her hands on my chest. “He left. Okay? It’s just me. I was just exercising. Not that it’s any of your business.” “Oh. Yeah,” I say slowly. “You didn’t let him touch you, right?” Sandra plants a fist on her hip. “What happened is none of your business.” She sighs a little, and seems to force some calm into her voice. “But it wasn’t a date or anything. He had been bugging the crap out of me and I just wanted to get him to give up.” I clench my teeth. “You know my grandfather’s will has nothing to do with how I feel about you, right?” She flicks her eyebrows upwards. “Is that so?” “Hey,” I say. “Nothing about what happened between us is fake. I can’t stop thinking about you, Sandra. You’re constantly on my mind. I see you when I close my eyes at night and you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up.” I frown. “Don’t make me beg.” She folds her arms, smiling a little and looking down. “What’s in the bag?”

she asks. “Roman’s supposed to bring cupcakes for his first day of pre-school. I thought you being a baker and all… and since you still owe me for fixing your car.” “I thought going to dinner was the payment.” He shrugs. “I decided to charge some interest. Take it up with my accountant.” “I’m pretty sure you don’t have an accountant.” “Sue me for lying then. You can take that up with my lawyer.” She grins, picking at the bag I’m holding. “You want me to make cupcakes for him?” “I want you to teach me how to do it,” I say. She laughs softly, a beautiful smile blossoming on her lips. “You got all this stuff so I would teach you how to make cupcakes?” “Yeah,” I say.

I’ M COVERED IN SO MUCH FLOUR THAT MY EYES STING . A PPARENTLY , THE MIXER is more difficult to use than a fucking dynamometer. I chug a few gulps of the chocolate milk sitting out on the table from when we made the batter and sigh. “Maybe I should just watch you do this,” I say, smirking as I take in an eyeful of Sandra’s full ass while she leans over the counter to stir the frosting. “Oh no you won’t,” she scolds. “You’re going to tell Roman you made these for him. It will mean so much for him to know that.” I nod slowly. “Okay, okay. You said to just spoon these in--” There’s a loud knock at Sandra’s door. I move to see who it is and Sandra follows, trying to outpace me but failing. If that David guy is coming to see her again, I’m going to do something to his face a dentist can’t fix this time. I swing the door open and frown when I see Tara. Her eyes are red and puffy and she’s clearly uncomfortable being here. When she sees me, she opens her mouth to say something and snaps it shut, folding her arms and looking away. “Can I come in?” she asks quietly. Almost meekly. Totally unlike her. “Uh, yeah, maybe you should just head out for a little, Reid? We can finish-” “I want my fucking cupcakes,” I growl. Both Tara and Sandra give me slightly amused looks and shake their heads before walking toward the living room. They can be amused all they like, but the truth is Tara is as good as poison if you ask me. I’ll be damned if I leave her

alone with my Sandra. I take a spot on the loveseat directly across from them, leaning forward and templing my fingers. Tara looks at me uncertainly and then back to Sandra. Sandra shrugs. “You know how he is. It’s not like I can make him leave.” “Damn right,” I murmur. Both women snap their heads to glare at me, but they’ve both learned better than to try testing my stubbornness. Tara takes a deep breath, turning her attention back to Sandra. “Mark left me. There’s some… some fucking floosie at Red’s he was flirting with last week. I didn’t think anything of it and then I found panties in our bed yesterday. When I confronted him he just got pissed at me for “acting like I was his mom’” and he dumped me. He just left.” She looks pleadingly at Sandra, as if hoping for some explanation that will change what happened. Sandra looks like she’s battling an urge to do what she should do, which is to tell Tara she got what she deserves and to fuck off. Instead though, she puts a sympathetic hand on Tara’s arm and sighs. “I know this isn’t going to be what you want to hear right now, but at least you found out. It could have gone on for who knows how long without you knowing. You could have been married to him, even. And if he was willing to cheat with some girl from the bar, he would have found someone else to cheat with eventually. So, as much as it hurts, it’s better that you found out.” I try not to smile with satisfaction when I see how Sandra’s words make Tara squirm. Without realizing it, Sandra just explained to Tara that the way she cheated on me was far worse than what just happened to her. From the white in Tara’s face, she didn’t miss it. “Yeah. Better that I find out,” says Tara. Her voice is thin and without force though, like she doesn’t believe the words. “I’m sorry, too. I should have told you what Mark was planning with your bakery.” Sandra nods. “Hey, don’t worry about all that right now.” “I’m worried about it,” I say. The look Sandra gives me could punch a hole through a glacier, but I meet her eyes and continue. “I am. And I won’t apologize for being more worried about you losing your bakery than I am about Tara getting a taste of her own medicine. Hell, maybe it’ll be good for her. That’s my advice. Take a big, deep breath and remember how this feels Tara. Maybe then you’ll think twice next time you want to betray someone’s trust.” Tara gets up, fresh tears rolling from her eyes and storms out of the house. Sandra stands, but Tara is already out the door before she can go after her. “Really, Reid? That was really what you said to someone who just got cheated

on?” “She’s no good for you,” I say. “She treated you like shit and she’ll do it again. You know her as well as I do. Tara is real good at putting on a sad show when she wants sympathy. Once she’s got it, she’ll go right back to the way she was. She’s like a fucking pigeon. Keep giving her crumbs and she’ll keep coming back, but she won’t think twice about shitting on you or your car.” “Shitting on... what?” asks Sandra. I sigh. “You know what I mean. Point is, Tara is a shitty person.” “Do you know something about her bathroom habits I should know?” Sandra asks. The hint of a smile flickering across her lips. I grin back. “Yeah, now that you mention it. Keep clear around 3:00 P.M.” “Okay, that’s disgusting,” Sandra complains. She looks back to the kitchen and bites her lip thoughtfully. “Let’s finish these cupcakes, but you’re still an asshole for how you handled that.” I stand. “Guilty as charged and unrepentant.”

45

SANDRA

I

’m leaving the general store when I notice a sign outside the Francis’ farmhouse. “Strawberry Picking Palooza, NEXT WEEK”. I read the words over and over again, feeling like an idea is on the verge of exploding in my head. It all comes to me at once. The Francis’ have been doing this event for years now, and it brings in tourists from all over the state. Thousands upon thousands of tourists who want to come get a taste of the small town, rural life and who want some of the biggest and juiciest strawberry’s you can find. I have an idea, and I have absolutely no idea if it’s going to be enough, but it’s an idea, and I don’t have any time to waste. I meet Jennifer and Lauren at the bakery ten minutes later, and they are both still rubbing the sleep from their eyes when they arrive. “You’re going to give us extra time off for this, right?” asks Lauren as she stumbles in, eyes squinted against the light. “Don’t be ungrateful,” Jennifer says quietly. I motion for them to sit at one of the round tables for customers and sit across from them. I clasp my hands in front of me and bite my lip, looking for the right way to approach this. “Oh no,” says Lauren. “That is a lot like the look you got when you thought it’d be ‘super fun’ to spend a hundred hours decorating the bakery for Christmas.” “This is totally different,” I say. “It’s not just me, right?” Lauren asks Jennifer. “You’re scared too, aren’t you?” “A little,” admits Jennifer. “Guyyys, come on. Just hear me out.” Lauren reaches to grab Jennifer in a tight hug, pressing Jennifer’s startled

face into her boobs. “Let me go,” says Jennifer, voice muffled by Lauren’s busty embrace. “Did you just bite my boob?” asks Lauren, letting Jennifer go suddenly. Jennifer’s face reddens. “I wasn’t--I just--” “Annnyway,” I say. “I know how we’re going to save the bakery. We’re going to set up a tent by the Francis’ farm to sell everything people need for strawberry shortcake next week. Think about it. Fresh strawberries. Fresh shortcake. Freshly made whipped cream.” “I just thought about it and gained two pounds,” says Lauren. “Oh, and an ulcer. Am I too young to get ulcers?” she asks no one in particular. “Probably,” Jennifer answers helpfully. “So you want to set up a tent,” says Lauren slowly. “But you keep saying the word ‘fresh’. Last time I checked, the Francis’ farm is about ten minutes from here. Are we going to be driving like crazy people to bring freshly baked shortbread from the bakery to the farm?” “No,” I say, my smile widening. “We’re going to bring our ovens to the farm!” They both groan.

A MAN IN A FANCY SUIT IS LEAVING R EID ’ S HOUSE WHEN I COME HOME . M Y first thought when I see the expensive clothes is that my parents are over, but the man is far too young, and when I pull into my driveway, I see he’s a large man with fiery red hair and a thick beard. Definitely not my father. But what the hell is Reid doing talking to a guy like that? I’m considering going over to his house and asking when a Bentley pulls into my driveway. The black bodywork of the car is polished to a mirror sheen, and the chrome is dazzling in the midday sun. Alfred and Collette step out of the car, looking toward me. I realize if Reid sees and decides to come out right now, he’s going to step out of his house looking like a mechanic. He’ll be wearing jeans and either no shirt, or a dirty one. He’ll probably even have grease smeared on his body. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit! I try to walk back to my house with as much calm and dignity as I can manage, all the while hating that my parents still have the power to make me go through so much trouble to impress them. I can’t believe I’m bending over backwards to maintain this ridiculous little lie I should never have begun. Not for the first time, I consider just calling the whole thing off and telling them the

truth. But now the possibility of saving my bakery has me wanting to wait just a little longer. That, and the distant hope that I could be pregnant. I shove all the doubts into the back of my head and force a smile. “Where have you guys been?” “Well, your fiancé was kind enough to come by and warn us about the issue you were having,” says my father. Even now, he’s craning his neck to look past me toward the house, probably hoping to spot Reid or Roman. “It has been a while and we just thought we’d come make sure you were okay.” “Reid’s not here,” I say pointedly. As if he is literally the god of bad timing, Reid freaking Riggins chooses that moment to stroll out of his garage, shirtless and gorgeous. I might have been able to get my parents’ attention diverted in time if he hadn’t dropped a wrench and proceeded to yell back to Roman at the top of his lungs to come look at the ducks. The ducks. Really? Is his life so boring that three ducks mulling around his front lawn is enough reason to summon the whole Riggins clan ? “Is that…” starts my father. “Reid?” asks my mother quietly. The shock and disappointment is obvious in their voices. Reid has a dirty red rag tucked in the waistband of his jeans and his smooth, muscular frame is dotted with smears of oil. He looks exactly like what he is. A mechanic. My parents don’t need any help figuring it out. My father shakes his head at me, narrowing his eyes. “I should have known.” “Why?” asks my mother. “Why would you lie to us?” I turn on them. “Why would I lie to you?” My eyes are threatening to fill with tears, but I focus on the anger I’ve held for so long instead. They don’t deserve to see the sadness they’ve caused me. They can have my anger. Every last drop of it. “Let’s see,” I say dramatically, holding up my hand to count off a list on my fingers. “You two have always rooted for me to fail, you’ve never approved of anything I chose for myself, you probably wish Vanessa had come first so you could’ve just fucking stopped while you were ahead!” “Sandra, lower your voice,” whispers my mother. Of course. I lay my feelings out on the line for the first time in my life and all my mother can do is think of how embarrassing it is to be shouted at by her daughter in the middle of nowhere. “That’s not true,” says my father. “We don’t want you to fail. We just wish you would see reason. There’s no reason for you to live in a filthy place like this. You’re better than these people, Sandra.” I shake my head. “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s where you’ve always been

wrong. The people here are good people. They work hard and they care about each other.” “Exactly, dear,” says my father. “They work hard. You really think we want that for our daughter?” “No. I know you don’t. That’s the problem. You want me to just waste away and spend your money. I never wanted that for myself and you guys never cared what I did want.” “Honey,” says my mother. “Listen to yourself. You’re saying we didn’t care because we didn’t want you struggling away the best years of your life just to make enough money to buy a place like this?” she gestures toward my house without even looking. “I’m saying you didn’t care because you never bothered to see that I’m not like either of you. This place is mine. I was proud as hell when I was able to buy it, okay? Maybe you can’t see that. Maybe it looks like a pile of sticks to you, but it’s mine, and I earned it. That means the world to me.” My parents both focus their gaze somewhere behind me. I hear his footsteps and turn to see Reid approaching. The look on his face is not kind. “You okay?” he asks, squeezing my shoulders and kissing my cheek. His rough whiskers tickle my skin and the wonderful manliness of his smell fills my nose. In his arms and in his presence I feel safe. Protected. Whole. “I’m okay,” I say softly, hoping I can make the words true if I try hard enough. “We trusted you,” says my father. “Yeah, well, I guess you can’t trust every asshole with greased hair and buttons on his shirt.” My mother makes a shocked face and my father scowls. “I told your father we shouldn’t have come.” My father shakes his head, looking at me sadly. “I wanted so much better for you, Sandra. So much better.” They move like they’re about to get back in the car when Reid steps between my father and the door, planting a firm hand on the car and keeping my father from opening it. “No,” says Reid. “You’re not leaving yet.” My father actually tries to push past Reid, but he might as well be shoving against a tree for all the good it does. Reid waits patiently for my father to give up, straightening his suit and crossing his arms petulantly. My mother is halfway in the car, apparently frozen between her decision to get in or get out and try to help. She settles for something in between, peeking over the top of the car at the standoff between Reid and my father.

“You’re not leaving,” continues Reid, “until you have a chance to know what an amazing fucking daughter you have. Your daughter owns a bakery. I’m guessing you didn’t know that by the look on your face. Yeah, she owns her own business and she does a damn fine job of it too. And you know what? She did it without your help. Do you even realize how incredible that is? Do you get how many people would take the easy handout you’re offering? You should be proud as fucking hell of your daughter for the woman she is. If you can’t see that, neither of you deserve to be here. So you can get in your fancy fucking car and go back to your bullshit excuse of a life.” Reid practically shoves my father in the car and slams the door. My father starts the engine and hastily backs out, turning as quickly as he can and spinning the tires in his rush to get away from Reid and his anger. I stand speechless, mouth open as I look at Reid, who is sucking in heavy breaths and frowning. He just defended me. No one has ever defended me, not like that, and especially not to my parents. I’ve always tried to stand up to them and get my point across to them, but it never worked. They never saw who I was or even listened to me. Even if a word of that didn’t sink in for them, I can’t stop hearing it all over and over again in my head. “You really think all that?” I ask, smiling shyly. “Every word of it.” I kiss him then, with the fading afternoon sun warm against my neck and his body pressed to mine. His strong, possessive hands splay across my back, taking me in and making me feel small and vulnerable in all the best ways, in the ways that make me know I can let my guard down around him. I can be the girl I never got a chance to be. I can be vulnerable. I can be all the things I couldn’t because he’s here to protect me. To keep me safe and to care for me. I kiss him knowing all of that is true down to the last syllable because I can feel it in his touch and see it in his eyes. And for the first time, I know with blinding certainty and without even the faintest glimmer of doubt that I want to have his baby. I hope beyond all hope that it’s already growing inside me, and if it’s not, I want to keep trying. “Reid Riggins,” I say softly, pulling away and looking up into his eyes. “You might just be the man of my dreams.” He smirks down at me. “Sweetheart, if I came out of your dreams, I’d hate to see your nightmares.”

46

REID

R

oman waits in the truck and listens to his songs about bears while I go to confront Alfred and Collette Williams, who are ordering around a small team of teenagers from town. The teens are bringing load after load of supplies out of the bed and breakfast from furniture to suitcases to floral arrangements. It’s all being packed into a semi-truck while Collette and Alfred watch, command, and don’t break a sweat. “How long were you planning on staying?” I ask them, eyeing the ridiculous amount of stuff. “You have some nerve to come here,” says Alfred. “Yeah, get used to it,” I say. “You’re both making a mistake. You know if you leave now, you’re going to lose her.” Collette sniffs derisively. “Sandra is losing herself. We’ve done all we can for her.” “That’s what you think?” I ask. “All you’ve done is taken the satisfaction out of chasing her dream. You’ve made her feel like a fucking outcast. Like she’s some kind of slimy, lowlife person for wanting to make something out of herself.” Alfred looks to the sky, holding his hands up as if asking for help from above. “Good God, man. You really don’t get it. Maybe to people like you in places like this, being a… a… baker,” Alfred finally spits out, as if even uttering the word offends his sensibilities. “Maybe that’s ‘making it’. But Sandra is better than that. She has millions of dollars waiting for her if she so much as asks. And she’s too headstrong to ask, so we’re forced to watch one of our own subject herself to this life.” I huff a humorless laugh, nodding my head, finally understanding. “She doesn’t need you. Either of you. Fuck. I should’ve seen it sooner. Yeah,” I say

spitting on the ground, inches from Alfred’s expensive shoes. “Why don’t you two get as fucking far from here as possible and don’t even think about coming back. She’ll be better off without you.” I get back in the car and Roman looks at me from his carseat in the back. I eye him in the rearview and force a smile. “Ready to go home, Bud?” “Why were you yelling, Daddy?” I sigh. “Because someone I care a lot about deserves to be treated better than she is.” “Who?” “A good friend.” Roman grins deviously. “You like Miss Sandra.” I turn the car on and back out, grinning back at him. “Okay. Caught me.” “I like her too. She’s pretty.” “Watch it now,” I say. “You’ve got Lyla. Miss Sandra is mine, okay?” Like the little player he is, Roman refuses to give me a verbal commitment that he’ll stay away from my girl. He just hums quietly to himself, looking out the window innocently. But I know better. A few minutes later, I help Roman out of his carseat and head into Sandra’s bakery. Her only customer is Mrs. Stevens, who’s leaning close to the display and apparently making a life-or-death decision between a danish or a doughnut. Lauren spots me when we come in. “Sandra! There’s a male model out here to see you. He’s got a little kid with him too. Super cute.” Sandra emerges from the back a few seconds later. She has flour all over her apron, hands, and even on her face. The specks of white bring out the red in her cheeks and make her look beautifully flushed. Innocent even, but I know better. I can still remember the way she rode my face. I fucking love that she can look so sweet an innocent and still let go as hard as she does between the sheets. “Hey, beautiful,” I say. Sandra’s cheeks get even redder and Lauren raises her eyebrows, fanning herself off with a well-manicured hand. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?” “Nice to see you too,” I say. “Roman wanted to come over to your place tonight. He hasn’t stopped talking about it.” “I haven’t?” he asks. “Yeah. Remember?” I ask him, nudging him with my toe. “I haven’t stopped asking about it,” he says mechanically, drawing grins from both Sandra and Lauren. “Wow. So your daddy doesn’t really care one way or another? He just wants to come over because you do?”

Roman looks up at me. I raise my eyebrows and signal for him to disagree. “No ma’am. My daddy likes you a lot. That’s why he yelled at your parents before we came here.” Roman gives me two thumbs up and I wince, scratching the back of my neck and bracing myself for the anger. Sandra’s eyes slowly move from Roman to me. “He did what?” she asks. “I might have had a few words with them. Hey, I know. Let’s talk about it over dinner tonight and I’ll give you all the details.” Sandra folds her arms. “Or we could talk about it now.” “Yeah. Wish we could,” I say quickly, scooping up Roman and carrying him over my shoulder. “Little Roman has one of those four hour stomach bugs though. He’ll have to sleep it off before we can come over.” “Reid!” Sandra says sternly. I wave over my shoulder, carrying a giggling Roman out of the bakery and closing the door behind us.

W E ’ RE OUTSIDE S ANDRA ’ S HOUSE THAT EVENING , JUST BEFORE SUNSET . T HE crickets are already chirping and there’s a chill in the air. I lick my thumb and try to smooth down a clump of Roman’s hair that’s standing up in the back. He wanted to dress nice for our “date” with Miss Sandra, so he’s wearing a dress shirt, slacks that are a little too short, and of course his favorite pair of tennis shoes. I’m wearing a button down shirt without enough buttons undone to breathe and the sleeves rolled up. Roman tried to get me to wear dress pants, but I opted for jeans. “Ready?” I ask. Roman nods and runs his hands through his hair, messing up the style he had going on. I smirk, knocking hard. Sandra opens the door. She’s wearing a short black dress and her hair is shiny and falls just above her shoulders in loose brown curls. I give her a crooked smile. “You didn’t have to dress up for us,” I say. “Come in,” she says with a shy smile. She has no idea how much her bashfulness turns me on, but Roman’s here tonight. It’s not the time for that kind of stuff. Tonight, we’re just going to have a good time. Nothing sexual. Nothing dirty. At least that’s the plan. If the little man passes out on the couch or something, I can’t promise to behave. “Smells good,” says Roman. He pads off toward the kitchen, nose raised in the air like he’s a bloodhound following the scent.

“Seems like his stomach bug cleared up,” says Sandra. “Yeah. It’s wild how fast that came and went,” I say. “So, what’s for dinner?” “You just get washed up and sit down. I’ll bring everything to the table.” I raise my eyebrows. “Now that’s a woman who knows how to make me happy.” She narrows her eyes. “It’s a woman who knows you will feel too guilty not to tell me what happened with my parents once you taste my cooking.” I chuckle. “Sounds like challenge.” I take my spot at the table beside Roman, who tucks a napkin into his collar and holds his knife and fork at the ready. Sandra kneels to pull several steaming hot trays from the oven. She clatters dishes and pans around for a few minutes, moving dishes to platters for the table. I stand up, not wanting her to have to do it all herself. “Let me help,” I say, sliding behind her and letting my hips brush against her ass. She bites her lip, not meeting my eye, but smiling slightly. “Fine. You can help, but don’t you dare drop anything.” I lean close enough that only she can hear me. “Only thing I want to drop are your panties. What color?” I ask. She licks her lips, flicking her eyes up to me. “Black,” she says. “Hm... You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” “I don’t know. Maybe you’ll find out. Maybe you won’t. It depends what you said to my parents.” I grab a casserole dish full of sweet potatoes and head to the table, trying not to let the need to drag her to the bedroom completely dominate my thoughts. “This is delicious,” I say a few minutes later when she’s sitting across from Roman and I and we have everything on the table. She made something crusty like pie, but filled with beef, veggies, and cheese. There’s potatoes, carrots, and macaroni and cheese. Roman is in heaven. His plate is piled high and he’d digging into the macaroni and cheese like it owes him money, occasionally sucking in a heavy breath between bites. “Thank you,” Sandra says. “You trying to fatten us up so we can’t fit out the door? Cause if you wanted us to stay, all you had to do was ask.” “Okay, then stay,” she says quickly. The moment hangs between us and she laughs a little nervously, clears her throat, and looks down at her fork. “Sorry. I was just joking. Bad joke.” I watch her, running the moment over in my head and looking at it from every angle. “I can’t figure you out, Sandra.” “Welcome to the club,” she says. “I hardly know what I’m thinking half the

time. You’re not so easy to figure out either, you know. Sometimes I wish I knew what you were thinking.” “Well,” says Roman. “He thinks your pretty. He likes you a lot, and he wants you to be my mo--” Roman’s voice cuts off as I put a hand over his mouth and clap his back. “Easy there Bud, you’re going to choke on that macaroni if you keep talking with your mouth full.” I move my hand away and Roman continues right where he left off. “Mommy,” he finishes. I sigh. “Having a kid is like having a parrot. But more manipulative.” Sandra laughs, but she’s twirling a loose lock of her hair as she looks between Roman and I. What’s going on in that gorgeous head of hers? “Can we get a parrot?” asks Roman. “No,” I say. “One motormouth is enough.” Roman humphs before diving back into his macaroni binge. Sandra eyes me across the table. I may know how to make a woman’s toes curl with the slightest touch and how to make the hairs on her neck stand up with a whisper, but I don’t have a fucking clue when it comes to what they’re thinking. All I know right now is she’s definitely thinking something. “So,” she says. “What happened with my parents?” “I know you’re pissed, but--” “Pissed?” she asks. “Why would I be pissed?” “Uh,” I say. “Right. Exactly.” She scrunches her nose, leaning forward. “You had better spill it.” “All right, fine. You want to know what I said? I told them they were…” I glance toward Roman and decide to opt for the G-rated version. “I told them they were dummies for the way they treat you. And I told them they should get lost, because you’ve made yourself the person you are without them and you don’t need their help.” “You said all that?” I shrug. “Something along those lines.” Tears well in her eyes and she suddenly plants her hands on the table, leaning over the middle. I don’t need to be prompted twice, and I lean over too, kissing her softly. “Yuck,” says Roman. We break apart, and I glare at Roman. “Aren’t you getting tired, Bud?” “Bedtime isn’t for another hour!” he complains. I know better than to turn it into a battle, so I just ruffle his hair and drop it, looking back to Sandra.

“Mind telling me why you’re not pissed?” I ask. “Not that I’m complaining.” “Because they came by after I saw you at the bakery. They apologized. It was… I think it was genuine. I’ve never heard them apologize for anything before. They said they will need some time to come to terms with it, but that they may have been wrong. You have no idea how long I have been needing to hear that from them. So… Thank you.” I nod. “So, how are you feeling?” I ask pointedly, trying to show her my meaning by staring at her belly. She misunderstands, making a scandalized face. “I’m feeling like there are one too many people at the table to be taking the conversation in that direction.” I sigh. “No, I mean. Have you had any strange symptoms lately?” Realization sets in on her face. “Oh. Um, well, nothing too out of the ordinary. I should know for sure in a week.” That soon? Damn. I feel strange about the whole thing, not because I don’t want her to be pregnant, but because I do want it. It’s fucking insane to want to have a baby with someone I’ve essentially spent so little time with, but there it is, clear as day. I want her to be carrying my baby. I want to raise a baby with her, and I want a reason for her to be in Roman’s life. With Tara becoming more and more irresponsible, having a strong woman like Sandra in his life is just what he needs. “Is that a relief to you?” She asks carefully. “That I’m not having symptoms so far?” I narrow my eyes. She’s asking if I want the baby. “No,” I say pointedly. “In fact, I’m thinking I may need to keep trying to make you have those symptoms.” She smiles, biting her lip. The look on her face quickly grows distant though. “What?” I ask. She shakes her head, jabbing her fork idly at her potatoes. “You’re sure none of your excitement has to do with what your brother told me about?” “Positive. Besides. There are two parts to that agreement. If you don’t believe I want this for real, then I’ll tell you this. Garage or no garage, I’d still want this baby. Still want you to be my wife.” I realize I may have said too much in front of Roman, but when I look over his forehead is on the table and his mouth is open, trailing drool. Macaroni and cheese does always make him tired. Sandra notices at the same time as me and smiles. “Is that normal?” “Happens all the time,” I say, carefully wiping his mouth with a napkin and then carrying him to her couch. I lay him down and cover him with a blanket while Sandra watches. I kiss Roman on the forehead and step out to the front porch with Sandra where we can talk without disturbing him.

“You mean what you said?” asks Sandra. “About the being your wife thing?” “I did,” I say. “I do.” She laughs. “This is all so crazy. You realize that, right? What’s happening between us, how fast this is all moving… None of this is normal.” “That’s what makes it so fun. That’s how you know it’s real,” I say more quietly, wanting to find out if her panties are black like she said, wanting to kiss her. “We can’t get married. It’s so soon. Imagine what people would think.” I smirk. “So you’re considering it, then? You wouldn’t be worrying what people would think if you weren’t considering it.” She looks out toward where the trees sway, blotting out the stars. “I don’t know what I’m considering, Reid. There might be a baby growing in here,” she says, clutching her stomach. I put my hand on top of hers, hugging her from behind and resting my chin on her head. “Yeah, I hope there is.” “Don’t say that,” she snaps. She pauses, softening her voice. “This is scary for me. I don’t want you to say it if you don’t mean it. And… well, why would you mean it? You barely know me. Why would you want me to have a baby if not for the contract.” “Because I love you,” I say. It’s not the first time I’ve told a woman I love her, but it’s the first time saying the words has made every inch of my skin tingle. It’s the first time the words have felt real and powerful. “I don’t care if it’s stupid or if it’s too soon, Sandra. I know what I feel. Do you understand?” She turns to face me. There are tears in her eyes but no sadness in her features. Only resolve. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” she says firmly. I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger, kissing her before pulling back and locking eyes with her. “Listen to me. I know you’re used to shitty people and shitty things happening to you. I get it, but believe me when I tell you how I feel.” She doesn’t speak for a long moment, long enough that I wonder if she’s going to say anything at all. “I love you, too. As crazy and stupid as that is. I do.” I kiss her then, hard. I may not know if the plan I have in the works is going to fix the trouble my brother is causing. I may not know how things with Tara and Roman are going to shape up. I may not even know how I plan to save my garage and what I’ll do if I lose it. But I know holding Sandra makes it all seem like background noise.

47

SANDRA

A

s much as I know how quickly things could start shifting out of control, I’m happy. Every day I go to sleep thinking the buzz of joy from knowing Reid wants me and loves me will fade, or that something will come crashing down and turn it on its head, but it doesn’t come. Day after day goes by and the moments I spend with Reid and Roman start to make it seem like maybe I could rebuild if I lose the bakery. Before I saw only darkness and suffering if it was taken from me, now I know I have Reid by my side to stand with me. Even if we end up living out of a car, it would be together. Still. I can’t ignore it much longer. The deadline to pay is coming, and if my plan to take advantage of the strawberry festival doesn’t work, I don’t know what else I can do. I’ll have to let the shop go. Reid might lose his business too. We’d be completely and totally doomed, and my biggest fear is the fresh, almost delicate feelings between us might not survive something like that, no matter how real they are. I have to laugh at myself from time to time. He’s turning me into a lovestruck teenager. I feel like I’m saying and feeling all the things a woman my age would scoff at hearing. He’s the one. He’s mine--forever. The words bounce around my thoughts like rays of warm hope, only seeming to grow stronger with every passing day. The last week has been wonderful, like something out of my dreams. Reid and Roman stop by the bakery during their lunch break and Reid sneaks me out back or into the walk in to steal kisses and sometimes more. I know he wasn’t kidding about wanting me to be pregnant, because he doesn’t miss any opportunities to try. Not that I’m complaining. “Hello, cadet, this is Lauren. Do you read?” I smile awkwardly, realizing I was just standing like a zombie and

daydreaming. “Sorry,” I say. “You may want to tell him to take it easy on you. I think Reid Riggins is banging you so hard your brains are turning to jello.” I blush bright red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, grabbing a tray of batter and moving it to the prep table with a grunt. “Mhm,” says Lauren, folding her arms. “You know the walls of the walk-in aren’t soundproof. Right?” My blush deepens. “Okay, okay. I get it. Can we not talk about this right now? I’m kind of trying to get everything ready for tomorrow and I need to focus.” Lauren laughs. “Well, if you want to focus, you may want to stop daydreaming about Mr. Magic Cock.” “Would you please not talk about Reid’s penis?” Lauren grins. “Listen to you. Penis.” She rolls her eyes upward and waves her hands dramatically, imitating me in a ridiculously high pitched voice. “Oh Reid, please place your large penis inside my vagina. Perhaps you could penetrate me so deeply that the head of your manly erection presses against my cervix!” “Stop it,” I laugh. “I’m not that bad.” “Prove it then. Say ‘cock’.” I shake my head, trying to laugh off her request. “Say it!” “Cock!” I snap. Mrs. Stevens looks up from her daily struggle between the danish and doughnuts. I cover my face with my hand, turning to Lauren and glaring. Lauren bursts out laughing. “I didn’t tell you to yell it. Don’t look at me. You’re supposed to be the mature one here.” “Well, if you’re done being totally inappropriate--” “You’re the one yelling about cocks at two in the afternoon,” she reminds me conscientiously. I slam a ball of batter down on the table and give her my best evil eye. I swear, being around Lauren is a test of willpower at times. “As I was saying. I’m going to need you here by five tomorrow morning. I want everything over to the Francis’ farmhouse by seven at the latest. I have a couple of the guys from the high school football team coming to help move the ovens into trucks.” “Five in the morning, hmmm. Pretttty early. You sure, boss?” “Lauren. You realize this is the only chance of saving the bakery, right? I don’t even have any idea if this can work, but it’s the only shot I have. So can you please just help me on this?” She gives me a rarely genuine smile and squeezes my shoulder. “You know

I’m always here for you, girl. Five in the morning. I’ll be here.”

I STAND OUTSIDE T ARA ’ S DOOR , HOLDING MY HAND UP TO KNOCK , BUT hesitating. I keep replaying what Reid said about her in my head. I can’t help thinking how right it seemed. Hasn’t my history with Tara been a long chain of attention and inattention? She reaches out to me and wants to be close when she needs something from me, and when she doesn’t, she pushes me away. I’ve just been too blind to see it, I guess. Still… I know she’s hurting. Whether she has tried to use me before or not, we have too much history for me to just let things linger this way. I have to at least try to patch things up or I’ll never forgive myself. I knock. A few seconds later, the door opens slowly. For the first time I can remember, Tara isn’t wearing makeup. Yes, she seems to have at least washed her hair and combed it and she’s wearing a cute outfit, but there’s no trace of mascara or concealer on her face. Not even a little blush. She starts to close the door when she sees me, but I put my hand on the door, pressing hard. “Wait, please. Tara, I just want to talk.” “And fuck my ex-husband,” she says, trying again to close the door. “Tara, you’re letting me in there whether you like it or not.” We have a brief, pitiful struggle over the door before I finally push my way inside. There’s a little bit of slapping and clothes yanking before we separate, breathless and glaring. “What the hell!” yells Tara. “Did you come over here to beat me up or something? Because you know I could totally take you.” I roll my eyes. “I said I just want to talk.” “Yeah, and then you charged me like a wild animal.” “You wouldn’t let me in,” I say, grinning a little. Tara bites back a smile and sighs. “Fine. I’m going to have a drink. Do you want anything?” “I’m okay,” I say, plopping down on the couch, which she has inexplicably put in the middle of the far wall, where it barely fits. She sits down with a drink a short time later, swirling some kind of cocktail and squeezing a lime into it before taking a sip. “Okay, shoot. You came to talk. Let’s hear it.” “I just wanted to say I’m sorry things between you and Mark didn’t work out. It wasn’t really fair for me to blame you for what Mark was doing. I know

you had no say in it.” She sips her drink, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. “Apology accepted. And I’m sorry for some of the things I said to you too.” It’s not the best apology I’ve ever heard, but before the last few weeks, I was used to getting no apologies at all, so I’ll take it for now. “I’m also sorry it wound up like this. Reid and I. I really care about him though, and my feelings for him have nothing to do with you.” She takes a long sip of her drink and laughs to herself. “I think I always thought we’d get back together. Some stupid part of me thought dating his brother would wake him up and make him want to fight to have me back. I think all I did was push him farther away. I guess we never were good for each other in the first place. I never really talked about it, but Reid is a good man.” She shakes her head, looking down at her drink thoughtfully. “He is a better man than I deserved. I guess that scared me. It made me feel inferior and insecure. So I did something stupid.” “Even though it didn’t work out with Reid, you have Roman,” I say encouragingly. “You know Roman loves you. It’s important that you be there for him. He needs his mom.” She raises her glass to take a sip and then grimaces, setting it down a little too hard on the end table and shattering it. “Shit,” she says, jumping up and hurrying to pick up the glass. By the time I get up to her to help, she’s already crying, hot tears streaming down into her glass-filled hands. “I fucked it all up,” she sobs. I’m just a big, stupid fuck up.” I kneel down, avoiding the glass and hug her. “There are other guys, but you only have one son. It’s not too late to change for him.” She sniffs, looking down at her shaking hands and gets up to throw away the glass. She pauses in front of the cabinet and then opens the doors above the sink, reaching behind some plates to pull out a bottle of liquor. She opens it and pours it down the sink, following it with several other bottles of alcohol she produces from various places in the kitchen. Before I leave she hugs me tightly. “You’re a good friend, Sandra. You deserve better than the way I’ve treated you all these years.” I hug her back. “I’m ready to start over if you are,” I whisper. As I’m leaving Tara’s house, I’m grabbed by the arm. I’m about to scream when I realize who it is. “Mark? What are you doing? Let me go,” I snap, yanking my arm away from him. He laughs off my discomfort, patting down the air to try to get me to calm

down. “Look. I came by to tell you not to waste your time tomorrow. I know what you and your employees are planning. Let me tell you. It won’t work. Not a chance in hell.” The corner of Mark’s mouth pulls up in a sneer and he hitches his pants, leaning close enough that I can smell his sour breath. “Tell me, Sandra. Do you honestly believe you’re going to sell enough fucking baked goods to get the money? Come on. Be realistic.” I purse my lips and force a tight smile. “If you didn’t think there was a chance of me raising the money, why are you creeping around at night trying to talk me out of doing it?” He runs his tongue along the bottom of his teeth, nodding his head and grinning. “I see why my brother likes you. Tell you what, Sandra. Once this all blows over, you ever get tired of oil stains on your sheets you give me call, okay? Here’s my card.” I look down at the card, smile politely, and drop it in a pile of dog poop by the sidewalk. “What do you know,” I say. “It blends right in.”

48

REID

M

ack Perry looks at me seriously from across the table. The rising sun blares in through the window behind him and he’s tapping a pen against a stack of papers. “You’re sure you want to do this, Riggins?” Roman and I are in his hotel room and Mack is a little hard to take seriously in the t-shirt and basketball shorts he’s wearing, but his eyes are all business. “Yeah. Give me the pen,” I say. Mack tilts his head and then nods, sliding the stack of papers and the pen to me. He jabs in a few spots, indicating the places I need to sign. A few squiggles of the pen later, It’s done. Simple as that. Roman smiles up at me. “Can I sign, Daddy?” “Not now Bud,” I say, struggling to find the energy to smile. I settle for ruffling his hair and looking down at the stack of papers, wondering if I’m the biggest idiot in the world or if I’m doing the right thing. Fuck. I really wish I knew. “I’ll hold on to these, okay Riggins? ‘Til tonight. That way if her plan works you can call me and I’ll just toss these in the shredder.” I stand, leading Roman toward the door. “Thanks, Mack. Somehow I doubt you’ll be hearing from me.”

R OMAN AND I PULL UP TO THE STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE TENT S ANDRA AND THE girls are setting up. There’s a big oven and a huge prep table already sitting in the grass and the oven is linked to a portable generator by some precarious looking extension cords held together partly by duct tape. “I have some cords in the truck that won’t blow you up,” I say, kicking at the cord.

“Good to see you too,” Sandra quips. She looks beautiful. Her cheeks are flushed and I can see the hope in her face. She thinks this is going to work. “So,” I ask. “Who can I talk to about buying some shortcake?” “You don’t even have any strawberries.” I put a hundred dollar bill down on the prep table. “No change.” “Reid…” she says. “Take the man’s money!” says Lauren. “Hold onto it incase he doesn’t pay child support.” I quirk an eyebrow at Sandra, who looks away, cheeks growing redder. “Something you’re not telling me?” I ask. “No, she just knows there’s a possibility. Trying to keep something from Lauren is harder than keeping a secret from the inquisition. She’s crafty.” I chuckle. “She told me too, sorry Reid,” says Jennifer, who pops out from behind the big oven. “Yeah, well, Roman and I will go get that cord and bring it back.” “You didn’t even take any shortcake,” Sandra complains. I smirk. “How much are you charging?” “Four dollars a setup.” I wince. “So that’s, what… Like two or three thousand you need to sell?” Sandra swallows hard. “I wasn’t going to get the calculator out or anything, but well, yeah. Probably around there.” I spend the next twenty minutes safety proofing the ridiculous setup Sandra and the girls have put up. I replace the faulty extension cords, give the generator some oil it desperately needs, tweak the pressure settings so the thing doesn’t explode, and I shove a two by four under one end of the oven to keep it level on the uneven grass beneath. It’s not perfect, but I don’t have to worry a freak accident is going to wind up getting Sandra hurt. Or any of the others, for that matter. The Francis’ have set up their little festival as a real tourist attraction. They have the whole Francis brood from two feet tall to six seven, in the case of Vaughn Francis, out directing traffic. They also make sure to plan this little shindig right before a big college game just a few cities over. All the families heading up the day before see the signs, the Francis farm isn’t far off the road, yeah. Big bucks. They even have it set up where families who’ve gathered their allotted basketful of strawberries are funneled out one exit, forcing them to pass through the gift shop on the way back to their cars, where they can buy souvenirs, t-shirts, and anything else the Francis’ can think up. I’ve always hated it. The locals call it lookie-lou season, because all day and

for most of the day tomorrow, there will be minivans and SUVs crawling through town while screaming kids in the back fight over who gets to watch what on the seat-mounted screens. It’s like a fucking plague, and until this year, I’ve always wished some kind of natural disaster would divert traffic and spare us all the annoyance. Now… Now I’m looking at every football fanatic and tourist like dollar signs that might let Sandra save her dream. And I’m hoping with everything I have that it works. I drag Roman with me inside the strawberry patches and let him watch me a couple times before I let him try to snag some customers. Our first target is a woman and her son. She looks about thirty and her son is just a little older than Roman. I gently tap the back of Roman’s chest with my hand and groan loudly. “Boy, oh boy,” I shout. “I thought the strawberries were good on their own. But once I put them on that fresh made shortcake with the handmade whipped cream? Didn’t get any better. Right, little guy?” Like the complete badass that my son is, Roman belches as if on command, clutching his stomach. He grins up at me and I smile down, hugging him to my side. I act like we’re heading back to get more strawberries, but listen closely as the little boy starts talking his mom into letting them get shortcake when their done. “We will, honey. We will,” she says to him.

49

SANDRA

W

e’re barely able to keep up as customer after customer joins the line out front for shortcake. Jennifer, Lauren, and I are all sweating already and it’s not even ten. I’ve already lost count of how many customers we’ve served and have had to send Jennifer to Red’s for smaller bills twice now. Part of me almost wants to go tell Reid and Roman to slow it down in there. The two of them are like customer magnets. I know most of the business is coming from them, because a very disproportionate amount of our customers are females, and the younger ones look longingly toward Reid, maybe hoping he’ll give them just a scrap more of attention because they took his bait. Sorry girls. He’s mine. The thought makes me smile to myself. Why should I be surprised that I feel possessive of him? I wanted to have his baby even when I it might have been the result of a drunken accident. My body was obviously very sure about my compatibility with Reid way before I was. Now that we’ve had a little more time to settle into what our lives could be like together, my mind is catching up. And it’s catching up with frightening speed. I try to stop myself from thinking girlish, silly thoughts, but don’t succeed. I picture wedding dresses, raising children with Reid, moving into our own place together with a little fence. Maybe even a puppy. I picture it all and just behind the dream is reality. Dark, ever-present, and threatening. Reality could come crashing through at any moment, and if this little scheme of mine doesn’t work, everything might shatter with it. Right now isn’t the time to think about that, so force myself to get my mind back on setting the shortcakes and whipped cream on paper plates and handing them to customers. The rest of the afternoon goes by in a blur. By the time it’s too dark for

people to pick strawberries, we’re all exhausted. Only Reid seems to still have energy. He lets Lauren and Jennifer go home early, promising to help me clean up. He set up a sleeping bag and a pillow in the bed of his truck, which Roman is curled up in and sleeping contentedly. I count out the last dollar bill and press it down on the prep table. Tears well in my eyes. “It’s not enough,” I say. “How much is it?” asks Reid. “Seven thousand,” I say dejectedly. “Just a little over half of what I need.” Reid moves in to hug me tight. “It’ll be okay,” he says softly. “It’ll all work out. Trust me.” “Am I being an idiot for refusing to just take the money from my parents?” I ask. “No,” he says. “The bakery has never been about money to you. It’s a symbol. It’s everything you’ve stood for and fought for. It’s your independence and it’s your strength.” I sigh, squeezing his broad back tightly and burying my face in his chest. “And it’s going to be taken away.” “No,” he says. “They can try to destroy the bakery, but they can’t destroy what it stood for.” He pauses, as if he’s telling himself something and not just me. “They can’t take that from you. No matter what.”

I’ M PUTTING THE LAST OF THE SUPPLIES WE TOOK FROM THE BAKERY BACK INSIDE the next morning when Mark Riggins pulls up to the curb. He gets out of his truck with purpose, storming toward me as he pulls off his sunglasses. “You two think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?” I look over my shoulder, wondering who he’s referring to. “Excuse me?” “You and my stupid fucking brother. You think you outsmarted me? Think again. This town was a piece of shit anyway,” he says, angrily sweeping his arm wide like he’s batting at a fly. “So I should be thanking you for saving me the trouble of trying to turn it into something worthwhile. I hope you all rot in this depressing little shithole.” Without giving me time to figure out what’s going on, Mark gets in his truck, and tears out of the parking lot. Did he just say he’s not going to try to build here anymore? Because of Reid and me? That doesn’t make sense though. I didn’t raise enough money, and my business wasn’t the only business being threatened. I get in the car and drive to Reid’s house and feel a sinking in the pit of my

stomach when I see him and Roman moving boxes outside. I step out of the car, waving my hands to get their attention. “What are you doing? Don’t tell me this is what it looks like.” “Mind running inside for a bit, Bud? Get yourself some Kool-Aid.” Roman runs excitedly inside while Reid rolls his neck and shoves his hands in his jean pockets. His muscles stretch the white shirt he’s wearing and even with everything going on, I can’t help wanting to reach out and touch him. “I called a friend about a week ago. Name’s Mack. He’s a big time lawyer and I had him look into all this shit my brother was trying to pull. He told me district bylaws or some shit mean my brother had to submit a detailed plan for the little shopping mecca he wanted to build. Took us a few days to realize, but turns out my little garage is on a key piece of land. See, he was only able to go after a few businesses and homes that were on a specific type of lot. The center of town was basically free for the picking, but there’s a ring of residential homes surrounding the entire town that he couldn’t touch. “His plan was to wait for the contract to fall through on my place so he could use my land to build a big enough road into town to support all the infrastructure he wanted to put up. So I used an obscure legal loophole to sell my property directly to the town. My grandfather’s will wouldn’t let me sell it until it passed into my name, but I was able to sell the estate to the town as a historical landmark. That puts it out of the hands of the mayor for at least two years. Apparently the city inspector has to fit it into their schedule to come appraise the property and determine a value. In other words, screw my brother, because he’s not getting his hands on this town.” I shake my head. “No. You have to tell them you changed your mind. You can’t just sell your garage and your house because of me. You love that garage.” “I do,” he says, nodding. “And I love you, too.” Tears fill my eyes. “Reid. Please. I can’t let you do this for me. It’s too much.” “Tell you what,” he says. “Roman and I will call it even if you just agree to make this whole engagement for real. What do you say?” he asks, getting on one knee. “Sandra Williams, will you make me the luckiest man in town?” He holds out what looks like a handmade ring complete with a small diamond. I cover my mouth with my hand, letting the tears fall freely now. “I doI mean, yes! God. Yes!” I say, laughing and letting him slide the ring on before squeezing him in a tight hug. “Please tell me you didn’t sell your house and garage just to prove this wasn’t about your grandfather’s will,” I say. “Okay. It wasn’t just to prove that. It was also to make sure my fiancée gets to keep her bakery.”

I shake my head. “I can’t believe you did that for me. It’s the sweetest and stupidest thing anyone has ever done for me.” “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “What about Roman? Where are you going to live?” “Well, seeing as Mark decided to back out of the construction, I don’t need to use the money from selling my house to pay the fee on your bakery. So we’re just going to get a place in town. I think Marley was planning to sell soon. I bet we could talk her into some kind of deal. We’ll be staying at the bed and breakfast your parents rented out until then. They paid for it until next month and we’ll have the whole place to ourselves. It’s going to be great. Oh, and I guess being my fiancée and all, you can come visit if you want. Just don’t overstay your welcome.”

EPILOGUE

Six months later

Sandra R EID , R OMAN , AND MY FATHER ARE ALL OUTSIDE THE BED AND BREAKFAST throwing horse shoes. I sit on the porch, hands pressed gently to the tight curve of my belly where our baby is growing. Our baby. My fiancé’s baby. It all still feels surreal. Reid is wearing jeans and a simple gray t-shirt, but he makes it look like a million dollars. I bite my lip as I watch his biceps flex and strain as he picks up Roman, spinning him around while they both laugh. Even my father is laughing. That is something I still can’t get used to. My parents came down a week ago to help us get ready for the wedding The wedding… Just thinking about it makes me want to laugh. Shopping for a wedding dress while my belly is growing by the day has been stressful, to say the least. I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit looking at pictures of women’s pregnant bellies at various stages to try to predict how much extra room I need to plan for in my dress. Either way, it’s a good problem to have. I’ll happily sacrifice my figure for the little baby growing inside me. “You’re positively glowing, sweetheart,” says my mother. She sets down a glass of lemonade beside me on the porch and takes a seat. I’m still not used to this from her. Part of me wonders if it’s all an act, if my parents being here is all just some elaborate prank to try to get me to let my guard down. Maybe they’re going to kidnap me and drag me to some ivy-

encrusted tower where they’ll lock me away until they find an appropriately nauseating man to marry me off to. Instead of the normal bitterness and panic a thought like that would bring, I just find myself smiling at the silliness of it. A weight I never knew I carried is gone. I don’t know when it happened, and I don’t know how, but I can feel the absence. It’s like my thoughts aren’t as heavy anymore. They don’t have the power to hurt me like they once could. All I have to do is look at Reid, Roman, or feel the growing life inside me to know that nothing else really matters. Even if Mark comes back in two years and tries to take another shot at tearing down my bakery and everything else. I’ve finally started to feel enough of an identity outside the bakery that I could live with it. I could survive and go on and be happy even if it was taken from me. “Mom,” I say, feeling slightly odd not calling her ‘mother’. But calling her mother and calling my dad father was a subtle way of emotionally distancing myself from them. It was my way of saying they were still at arm’s length. Now I don’t feel like I need that anymore. “Can I ask you something?” “Of course, dear.” “What changed? Between us? I’m not complaining, I just don’t think I really get it yet.” She folds her fingers in her lap and rocks back in the chair, looking out over the lawn and at the boys playing horseshoes. “I’d like to say your father and I realized we had made a mistake and wanted to start fixing it. I’d like to say something like that. The truth is that man of yours happened. He showed you to us like we’ve never seen you. Just hearing how he sees you was enough for us to know it’s true.” She reaches across to squeeze my hand. “Darling, I know this isn’t noble of me, but I can’t apologize for the way your father and I raised you. We raised you the way we knew how, and we did our best to instill the same values we hold in you. You just, well, you were made from a different mold. I’m only sorry we didn’t realize it sooner.” I smile, looking down. I don’t think I’m ever going to get the perfect apology from them. I don’t need that. I can accept the imperfect. They are trying to do better now, and that’s what counts. “Is Vanessa going to come?” I ask. “To the wedding, I mean.” My mom makes a face that says not to count on it, shaking her head. “Your sister is very busy, dear. I wasn’t able to get an answer one way or another out of her. I just wouldn’t go getting your hopes up.”

I SPEND THE SECOND HALF OF MY DAY AT THE BAKERY . L AUREN AND J ENNIFER

have been training my two new employees for me, and things seem to be going well so far. After the day we had selling shortcake at the Francis farm, I learned a famous TV chef had been one of my customers that day. She apparently talked about my bakery on national television, and I’ve barely been able to keep up ever since. I’ve gone from two employees to four, and if business keeps up, I’m going to have to think about expanding the shop. Again. Good problems. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that the ultimate good problem of them all, Reid Riggins, started a sort of chain reaction as soon as he came into my life. After I helped the girls get caught up and set the orders up for the day, I head across the street to Reid’s brand new garage. When he rented it out last month, it was an abandoned fire station. He has spent a lot of long nights, when I let him out of bed with me, working on converting it into a fully functional repair shop. He started taking customers again last week. The new garage has the added benefit of being directly across the street from the bakery, so when I have a rare down moment, I can stare through the windows at my fiancé while he works. Reid is standing on a ladder and whacking at something with a hammer. Plaster and fragments of brick rain down, spreading white dust across his broad, tanned shoulders. I bite my lip and watch the way his tight ass moves every time he swings the hammer. When I can’t take it anymore, I help myself to a handful. He smirks down at me. “Shouldn’t you be working?” “You know I can’t focus when you point this at me,” I say, giving his ass another squeeze for emphasis. “I’m not complaining.” “Get down from there so I can kiss you,” I demand. He obliges, hopping down and pulling me into his arms, letting me bask in the perfect smell of him. “You know you saved me,” I say, letting my forehead fall to his chest. “You swept in and saved me.” He tilts my chin up and looks down into my eyes. “You saved yourself. I was just along for the ride.” “You’re full of it, but you’re wise to give me the credit. Maybe you’ll survive married life after all.” He chuckles. “You bet your ass I’ll survive. As long as these lips are mine,” he says, leaning down to kiss me softly. “As long as these tits are mine,” He says, bending his neck to kiss my cleavage, despite the fact that we’re in the middle of the street. My cheeks redden, but I don’t stop him. Let everyone see. Let them see I’m his. “You’re worth it. Whatever it takes to keep you. You’re mine, and I’ll fight to keep it that way. Do you understand me? Whatever it takes.”

R OMAN RINGS THE FULL - SIZED WEDDING BELL MY PARENTS INSISTED ON HAVING delivered. I turned them down on so many aspects of the wedding planning that I had to give in at least in some ways. After all, this may be my day, but letting them feel like they’ve contributed is part of the healing. I’m wearing a wedding dress with a deep V neck and white lace sleeves. The dress is cinched just below my breasts and flows elegantly over my swollen belly. It’s one of the few things I’ve worn lately that doesn’t make me feel like a bloated cow, which is a big plus on my wedding day. I make a last minute check of my hair, which I had straightened. “You look perfect, darling,” says my mom. I smile, squeezing her hand and taking a deep breath. “I think I’m ready.” As if on cue, Roman rings the wedding bell again. I laugh. “Isn’t he just supposed to ring it once?” “I don’t even know,” says Collete, waving away the question. “It’s your time, darling. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it. Savor every moment.” “I will,” I say, kissing her cheek. “Thank you for being here.” “I wouldn’t miss it,” she says, voice growing thick. She dabs at the corner of her eye with a tissue. “Not for the world.” The regret and pain I can see in her face is hard to see, but it tells me she really does want to change. She wants to make things better between us, and when I walk out of the dressing room I can’t stop smiling, because for the first time I really and truly believe things are going to be different now, and not just temporarily. My parents are finally accept me. When I step outside, Vanessa is waiting for me. I invited her as a bridesmaid, but never thought she would actually come. Yet there she is, blonde hair perfectly straight, white teeth, big brown eyes, and ridiculously manicured nails. One look at her and you would know she has never worked a day in her life, but she’s my sister, and she’s here. She’s even wearing the purple bridesmaid dress I asked the girls to wear, despite the fact that it probably seemed like a dirty rag compared to what she normally wears. She hugs me tightly. “Hey sis,” she says lightly. “Thank you,” I say, squeezing her hard. “I didn’t think you’d come.” She laughs. “Well, you know. I was in the area, and I figured there might be some clubs around or something.” She pauses, pulling me back and grinning. “Just kidding, sis. I wanted to be here for you.” I hug her one more time before heading toward the sound of Roman on the wedding bell, which he must have rung ten times by now.

I step outside into the backyard of my new place, which we spent the last few weeks turning into a beautiful site for the wedding. Practically the whole town is outside, and there’s a collective gasp when I step outside.

Reid W HEN I SEE S ANDRA , MY BREATH CATCHES . S HE ’ S STANDING BENEATH A terraced archway and her brown hair is perfectly straight, catching the gold of the mid-afternoon sun and casting it off in a bright blur. Her smile is brilliant as she starts to walk toward me, arm in arm with her father. Our eyes are locked. I don’t see the huge crowd gathered. I don’t see the rose petals scattered in the grass that mark the path she will walk. I don’t even see Roman, who is still going to town on the wedding bell. The next few minutes pass in a blur. I mutter some words as the urging of Pastor Morris, I clasp Sandra’s hand. I’m handed the wedding band and I slide it on her finger and she slides a band on mine. Time only slows down when Pastor Morris says, “You may kiss the bride.” “Finally,” I growl, pulling her close and kissing her harder and deeper than I should in front of all these people. But fuck it. She’s my wife now, and I’ll kiss her however I want to. I hear a few snickers from the crowd as the kiss drags on, but I barely notice. When we finally pull apart I hold her close, wondering how long I have to sit through the reception before I can take her to bed. It turns out I have to sit through exactly two hours and forty five minutes of hand shaking, music, dancing, and eating before I’m allowed to take my bride home and consummate the marriage. Roman is staying with Lyla at the bed and breakfast, and Sandra and I end up at her place. “Damn it,” I growl. “Getting into this dress is like trying to break into a fucking bank vault.” She bites her lip, reaching back to help me by pulling a hidden strap that loosens everything enough for me to get her out of the dress. She’s wearing the sexiest fucking white lace lingerie and stockings I’ve ever seen. I push her down on the bed, working my belt open and tossing it to the ground. I strip off my shirt and undershirt and then let my pants fall. “I’ve got the sexiest fucking wife on the planet,” I say. “You just remember that if you ever get any ideas about being unfaithful,”

she says, grinning up at me. I plant my hands on either side of her, climbing atop her and looking down into her eyes. “There’s no woman on this Earth that could tempt me away from you, Sandra. Not a single fucking one. Don’t you ever doubt that for a second. You’re mine, sweetheart. Body and soul.” I smirk, biting my lip. “Especially body.”

50

BONUS CONTENT - THE BODYGUARD

I

’ve included a free copy of The Bodyguard, which is one of my absolute favorites! Fun fact, I liked this book so much that I went back and basically re-wrote it three months ago, adding over 10,000 words and beefing up every aspect of the story in the process. I hope you’ll give it a chance!

I NEVER THOUGHT I’ D SEE M AKAYLA P IERSON AGAIN . Then I was assigned to protect her. One week. No touching. Absolutely no sex. Just seven days of restraint... How hard can that be?

PROLOGUE

Ten Years Ago

Makayla

J

esse Slade is the kind of guy my parents always told me to stay away from. He’s the guy every girl fantasizes about in the dark moments when no one’s watching--everyone from the sweet goodie-two-shoes girls to the party girls. He’s trouble. Broad shouldered, sculpted-like-a-god, trouble. Simple as that. And he’s my boyfriend. Don’t ask me how. Seriously. I couldn’t tell you. To act like I had any say in the matter would be a joke. The truth is Jesse chose me, and I had as much a chance of resisting him as I would of resisting getting swooped up by a tornado. That’s Jesse. My gorgeous tornado of a boyfriend, and I wouldn’t trade him away for anything in the world. He leans on the counter beside me now, waiting for our milkshakes at Donovan’s Creamery. Today was our last day of high school. Half the school is already here, laughing over milkshakes, burgers, and fries. The other half is probably already down at Ward’s Creek swinging into the crystal blue water like it’s their last day on Earth. Everyone’s happy and full of excitement over what comes next, but something strange is happening with Jesse today. He isn’t carrying himself with his usual confident carelessness and he hasn’t tried to make me laugh all day. Most disturbing of all is that he’s hardly touched me all day. Normally, he

always finds little ways to touch me, whether it’s kissing me passionately or just idly running his fingers along my back. Something’s wrong. I know it so surely that it settles in the pit of my stomach like a rock. We’ve been together six months, and sometimes it feels like six years. It is my first long-term relationship, and I hope it will be my last. Yet I can’t shake the feeling everything is about to change. “C’mon, babe,” Jesse says as he grabs our milkshakes and leads us toward our table at the corner. He takes the seat across from me which only further proves that something isn’t right. My Jesse can’t stand to sit so far away from me, from day one he has always found a way to sit right beside me as if he can’t breathe without me being close. He wears only a simple white t-shirt and jeans, but the way the fabric of his shirt hugs the peaks and valleys of his muscular frame and broad shoulders is almost too much to take. Jesse rakes a hand through his messy, dark hair, pushing it away from his face only for half of it to fall right back into messy disarray. “We gotta talk,” he says, not even touching his milkshake. My hands tighten around the stem of my glass and my heart threatens to pound right out of my chest. Jesse was always too wild to be tied down forever, too powerful to stay in one place or with one person. Somewhere deep down I always knew that, even if I didn’t admit it to myself. I always knew, and still I hoped we could somehow beat the odds and I’d be able to stay with him forever. I watch his lips move in what feels like total silence, not even needing to hear the words to know what he’s saying. It’s over.

51

MAKAYLA

I

sit in Bistro 51 with a plate of coffee and coconut crusted, dry-aged steak in front of me and the most delicious lobster macaroni and cheese steaming in the center of the table. Kennedy and I are seated in the V.I.P. section as a courtesy, but even that doesn’t always stop fans from coming up to our table and asking for autographs or pictures. As I take a bite of the steak and let the flavors unfold on my tongue one at a time, I wonder how I ever got this far. “Do you ever feel like you’re faking it?” I ask Kennedy, my best friend and co-star on Stalked. She looks up at me through thick eyelashes and purses her pouty lips. “All the time,” she says in a matter-of-fact way. “I can’t remember the last real orgasm I’ve had that didn’t come from my vibrator.” I can’t help grinning a little. “No. I mean faking this.” I twirl my finger around, encompassing everything from the severe oil paintings in thick, expensive frames hanging on the dark wood-paneled walls to the servers who glide from table to table wielding thousand dollar bottles of wine. “It feels like just a few months ago we were eating ramen in our dorm, trying so hard to convince ourselves we weren’t making the biggest mistake of our lives moving out here. And now…” “Now we’re living the lives of movie stars?” she asks. “It’s because we are movie stars. Basically, since TV shows are the new movies. At least that’s what Gary says. You shouldn’t feel like you’re faking anything, Makayla. You’ve earned this. Chug that fucking wine like it owes you money! Eat the steak with your bare hands if you want because you know no one will say a word to the great Makayla Pierson. Everybody and their dog watches you on TV and they adore you. Seriously.” I twist my lips into something resembling a smile. “Maybe it’s just that when

I used to daydream about this--all the glamor and glitz--I thought it’d satisfy me. Like it’d fill up this hole in my chest that has been there ever since he left. But it feels empty sometimes.” “Oh my Goddd, please tell me we’re not going down Jesse Slade road again? You’re not due for a Slade detour for at least another few months. Seriously, I love you, but if you don’t get over him soon, I’m going to put a high heel through my eyeball and put myself out of this misery.” “Okay, okay,” I laugh. “I get it. I’ll keep my sorrows to myself. I’m sorry I thought I could talk to my best friend in the world about what’s really on my mind.” Kennedy sighs. “Girl, you know I’ll listen if you really need to vent. It’s just that I hate seeing you let your life pass you by while you pine after some guy who has been gone for ten years. He was just a high school boyfriend. You can have fond memories if you want, but it’s not healthy to let that failed relationship rule your life. Seriously.” I nod. “I know. You’re right, as usual.” “Sorry,” says Kennedy, holding up her hand. “Can you say that one more time so I can record it?” “Your head is big enough without my help.” She makes a show of looking offended, but quickly forgets, downing another gulp of her wine. “So,” Kennedy starts, “did you hear Camillo is getting pressured by the police now? They’re saying one more murder and they will find a way to press charges. As director of the show, they’re saying it’s his responsibility to put a stop to all this.” I swirl my wine and sip it, not tasting anything except the bittersweet aftertaste. “How is it Camillo’s fault? Some psychos are murdering people and modeling the crimes after the show, sure, but TV shows don’t make murderers. What would be the charge? I mean, it’s not like the news stations got sued when their coverage of Columbine inspired more school shootings.” “Doesn’t all of this scare you even a little bit?” asks Kennedy. “I’d be crazy if it didn’t scare me,” I say. “I just don’t think anyone can really blame Camillo for a bunch of copycats trying to murder people and modeling it after the show. Besides, stalkers existed a long time before our show, and a lot of them ended up being violent in the end.” As if on cue, I notice a man at the far end of the restaurant watching me suspiciously over his steak. He looks down when he notices me, but I catch him looking up again as soon as I look away. He just recognizes you from the show. Get over yourself, Makayla. Kennedy leans forward, lowering her voice. “Aren’t you worried some crazy fan of the show is going to pretend to be Jack Carpenter, climb through your

window, and whisper how big a fan he is while he stabs you sixty times?” I sputter, nearly spitting out a mouthful of my wine when I see the way she’s grinning at me like an idiot. I know she’s kidding, but once my laughter fades I can’t get the image of someone climbing through my window while I sleep out of my mind. I try not to show how much her words disturb me, and I try not to look at the man with the steak. “That’s just made up stuff from the show, Kennedy. It’s not real.” She folds her arms, still grinning. “Yeah, well, Susan Nelson would probably disagree with you there. You know, if you could talk to dead people, that is.” She grabs her glass and swills down a few hundred dollars worth of wine in three long gulps. I screw up my lips in a way I know doesn’t have “screen appeal” as Camillo would say. “You sound like Hubert.” I say, spitting his name out of my mouth like it’s something foul. “Ouch,” she says. “I know I’ve annoyed you when you compare me to the dreaded stepfather.” I laugh. “No. I just don’t want to let all of it get inside my head. You know? Pretty soon I’d be seeing stalkers everywhere I look. I’d be a trainwreck--more than I already am, at least.” My eyes unconsciously dart to the guy who’s still staring. Kennedy follows my line of sight and winces, shaking her head. “Creeper.” The waiter drops off our bill and we both lay down our cards without even glancing inside the booklets to see the cost. She smiles kindly at the waiter when he takes our cards up a few seconds later. “Speaking of he-who-must-not-be-named,” I say. “I need to get out of here. I’m supposed to meet Hubert and Linda for dinner. Or was it Maria? I honestly can’t remember anymore.” Linda-Maria is just the latest in a long list of golddiggers my stepfather has courted since mom died. “Want to run through our lines tomorrow morning?” She pffts dismissively. “I’ll figure them out on the fly. Organic acting. That’s a thing, right?” I laugh, “If you say so.” Kennedy grabs her Chanel bag and shoulders it, picking up her coat and getting ready to leave. “Hey,” I say quickly. “Be careful, okay?” She smiles, leaning in and squeezing my cheek. “I knew you’d come around, you little worry-wart.” I slap her hands away. “Get off me you creep!” I laugh.

“Exactly. That’s what you say when Jack Carpenter sneaks up on you in a dark alley and pulls out The Mangler.” “Oh God. Would you stop already!” Kennedy quirks an eyebrow at me, turning to leave. “See you tomorrow!” Once she leaves I gather my own things and stand to leave. I feel a tingle in my spine when I notice the man that was staring stands from his seat at the same time I do. He was probably just waiting to get an autograph and now that I’m done with my meal, he’s going ask me. That’s all. Stop freaking yourself out. I take my eyes off him to rummage through my purse for the Sharpie I carry with me for times like this. I look up, expecting to see him approaching but… He’s gone. I scan the restaurant, hating how hard my heart is pounding. Hating how much Kennedy’s words are repeating in my head. I slowly put the Sharpie back in my bag and step outside. It’s the middle of the afternoon. Nothing is going to happen, I tell myself. I move along the crowded street, passing boutiques, trendy little restaurants, and coffee shops. After a few minutes, I’ve almost completely pushed the man from my mind. It was just a fan who noticed me and happened to leave the restaurant at the same time. It’s not that strange. He probably just lost the courage to approach me, that’s all. I enter the lobby of my apartment building. It’s not the fanciest place in the city, but the rent is reasonable, at least as far as housing downtown goes. I’ve accepted the life of luxury in so many ways, but I tried living in an expensive apartment when the money first started coming in and it never quite felt like home. So I wound up here. It’s nothing special, but it’s safe, and right now that brings me more comfort than any polished marble or expensive views of the city ever could. I press the button for the elevator and wait, hoping the two young college girls who rent an apartment down the hall from me don’t show up and start fangirling all over me again. Having my neighbors accosting me always makes me uncomfortable, more so than when I’m in public. It’s strange when people I’ve never met come up to me like they know me, except the me they know is the character I play on TV. As usual, the elevator doesn’t seem to be working--one of the downsides of not living in luxury--so I open the door to the stairwell. I’m halfway up the stairs when I hear the door close behind me. A few seconds later, it opens again. I reach the second floor landing and when I try the door, it’s locked. “Are you kidding me?” I groan, turning to head back down the stairs. I freeze in place when I see a man wearing a black jacket and golden goat mask standing directly behind me at the top of the stairs, cutting off my only

escape. My throat is instantly dry, and I doubt any sound would even come out if I did scream. My heart hammers in my chest. “W-what do you want?” I stammer. My voice comes out as a strained whisper, as if any sound too loud or sudden might make him attack. He laughs, and the sound is disturbing, like something from a nightmare. It’s deep, jarring, and inhuman. “I want you to know you’re marked.” “I have Mace in my purse, asshole. Don’t come any closer,” I threaten. I can’t seem to catch my breath. Everything is spinning, weightless, moving slow and fast at the same time. I put a hand on the door handle behind me, steadying myself. He raises a gloved hand and drags his index finger across his throat. He points at me and then turns to walk down the stairs. Just like that. It’s over. My brain is playing catch-up, struggling to process what just happened. The reality of it closes in on me piece by piece. That was the stalker. All the stuff in the media, the rumors, the jokes. It’s real. Someone is following me, and they want me to know it. I swallow hard, fighting the urge to sink down and cry. A few moments later, I hear the door below close. I slowly move to the corner of the stairwell, sitting in the corner and hugging my knees to my chest. I could call the police, and maybe I will later, but I can’t even begin to describe the guy. He’ll step on the street outside and disappear. There’s no point. Instead, I pull my phone free with a shaking hand and call my agent. His voice booms through the receiver a few seconds later. “Makayla, honey. I was just about to— “Frank, I want you to hire a bodyguard for me. Get me the best money can buy.” I’ve heard some of the other actresses and actors from the show talk about hiring security ever since this whole thing began. I swore I wouldn’t. But now? “Is this about the stalking thing?” “Can you do it?” I ask. “Sure, yeah. I know a few people. Just let me make some calls.” I hang up the phone and cover my face. My eyes are only closed for a second before I snap them open again, worried another masked person could be peering around the corner at me. Jesse. I wish you were here. The thought rises to the surface of my mind like an unexpected belch. Surprising, unwanted, and embarrassing. Jesse Slade. My old high school sweetheart. The guy who I trusted with my heart. The guy who ripped it in two without a second thought. Yeah, I wish you were here Jesse, so I could punch you in your obnoxiously

gorgeous face. I don’t care if I’ve never felt as safe as I did in his arms. I hate him. He’s a bastard, and I hope I never see him again. Except that’s only halftrue. I may wish that I could hate him with my whole heart, but I’ve held onto the memory of him for so long that I’d be a fool to think the only feeling I have toward him is hatred. The line between love and hate really is as thin as they say. If I saw him right now, I can’t say if I would punch him or throw myself into his strong arms--maybe both.

52

JESSE

I

half-throw Janette Springfield in the back of my car, shielding her with my body and slamming the door behind her. More car doors slam in the distance and engines rev. I unholster my Glock, climbing in the driver’s seat and setting the gun within easy reach. “Oh my God,” she breathes from the backseat. Her perfectly curled platinum blonde hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat. I slam the gas, tires spinning for a second before they gain traction and we tear out of the parking lot. I can still see the venue in my rearview. Over fifty thousand fans in there just watched me pull the biggest country music star in the United States off-stage. They would probably be upset if eight masked men hadn’t rushed after us. “This is fucking insane,” says Jannette. “What were they thinking?” “They might have just wanted to get you off the stage. To draw you out like this,” I say. “Then why did we leave?” she demands. I shift gears, fishtailing around a corner and catching a glimpse of the three cars speeding after us. I hear them slam on their brakes when they can’t make the turn fast enough. “Because they don’t know who they’re fucking with. Do you want to run and hide, or do you want to send a message?” I glance at her in the rearview. She’s frowning. “Run?” she asks. “Wrong. I’m not the best because I wait for my clients to be targeted to react. I’m the best because I find the source of the problem and shut it the fuck down.” I hit the emergency brake and skid to a stop in a dimly lit alley. “Wait here. Don’t get out for anything. Do you understand?” She shakes her head incredulously. “Just keep driving.” “No. This ends here,” I say. All this stalker bullshit is good for my bank

account because it has celebrities clamoring for personal security and willing to pay for the best, but I’m not in this for the money. I never have been. I do what I do because I’m good at it. Because after leaving the SEALs, it’s one of the few legal ways I can still channel the leftover aggression and rage. If I wasn’t a bodyguard, I’d be in prison by now, or worse. I stand outside the car, headlights beaming from behind my back. The three cars pull in front of us a few moments later, slowly crawling to a stop. They park, and for a long while, nothing happens. I’m standing, Glock in my hand, waiting, but nothing happens. Finally, the doors open and men start to file out. Four men wearing gold goat masks and black clothes with their hoods up. I hold my gun up, making sure they see it, and then set it on the hood of my car. I crack my knuckles and roll my shoulders, planting my feet wide. The men glance at each other and nod, moving toward me. I have friends in the justice system, and I can get away with a certain level of violence, but I don’t push it unless I have to. Besides, I still haven’t found a message I couldn’t send loud and clear with my fists. I suck a deep breath in through my nose, almost able to smell the potential violence in the air. It’s thick and acrid like gasoline, but I live for these moments. As strange as it may be, it’s only when I’m laying my life on the line that I can completely forget all the missions and all the horrors I saw in the SEALs. The five of us are brightly lit by the headlights, and there’s no sound but the idle hum of engines and feet scuffing on wet pavement. The only thoughts in my head are primal--hurt or be hurt. Kill or be killed. Do the job. I walk toward one of the masked men, leaving my arms at my side. Before I can throw the first punch, the biggest of the masked men steps forward, holding a hand up. “Jesse Slade,” the man says knowingly. His voice is being run through some sort of distortion device that makes it sound inhumanly deep. He tilts his masked head in a way that makes me imagine he’s sneering. “I see you’ve stayed in shape over the years.” “Who the fuck are you?” I growl. He waves a dismissive hand. “Just a ghost, to you, at least.” “I’ll rip that fucking mask of your face and jam it down your throat. Who are you?” He laughs. “I’m sure you would like to. But my plans for you are just beginning. Tonight is just so you know the game has begun. You’re marked, Slade. And we’ll be coming for you when you least expect it.” I suddenly wish I’d just shot the fuckers, but I let them get the upper hand

when I set my gun down like an idiot. All I can do now is eye the barrels of their guns and watch this asshole “ghost” walk away. The man backpedals casually, twirling a finger over his head. “Pack it up boys. I think he got the message.” He gets behind the wheel of his car and then sticks his head out the window. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Slade.”

I DRAIN A J ACK AND C OKE AT THE BAR . I’ M NOT SURE HOW MANY I’ VE HAD , BUT I’m almost drunk enough to forget about tonight. Almost drunk enough to stop running in mental circles trying to figure out what the hell that was, and who the masked man could have been. God knows I’ve pissed plenty of people off in my life, especially since I came back from overseas. Janette Springfield wasn’t thrilled with how I handled the situation and has requested a new bodyguard. Fuck her though. She shot enough cocaine in the short time I knew her to supply the filming of Scarface. She hardly knew where she was or what was going on most of the time anyway. I glance at my glass of Jack and huff a laugh. Look at me talking. I’d gladly trade places with her if it meant forgetting, but forgetting would be a betrayal. Remembering the men who died under my command is part of my pennance. Every day I think of each one of them and every day it reopens the wound. But that’s the price I have to pay. They died because of me. Thankfully, I already have another job, or else I could spend all week wallowing in this shit, pissing away my nights at the bottom of a bottle and replaying the haunting memories. This stalker shit is good for business, at least. The new client wanted to remain anonymous, according to Vivian, but she was able to tell me it’s an actress. I’ll take actresses over music stars any day. There’s a lot less travel involved, and that makes my job much easier. Either way, I meet the client tomorrow. The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned. The last thing I need is more time to sit around and stew over the past and now this fucker in the mask. Just thinking about him makes me want to break something. A woman at the end of the bar has been trying to get my attention for the past fifteen minutes. She has brown hair, blue eyes, and an impressive pair of tits. I swill down the last dregs of my Jack and Coke and stand. I see her spine lengthen, neck straightening. She’s careful to look at her drink. Her hands clutching the glass. Nervous. I cross the length of the bar, sensing her anticipation growing with every step. Maybe she’s seen me here before, hoped I would notice her and offer to buy her a drink. She looks like a good person,

someone who would be better off without the black stain I would leave in her life. She looks up at me as I pass, hopeful. Maybe another time I would’ve introduced myself, but not tonight. Not now. I’m broken in more ways than one, and I don’t have it in me to put some poor woman through that right now. Besides, every relationship I’ve tried to have since I left for the SEALs--since I left Makayla--has felt empty. I huff a humorless laugh as I step outside into the chill. Look at me, still thinking about some girl I left behind ten years ago, like a fucking idiot. Of the pile of regrets when I look back on my life, leaving Makayla is the crown fucking jewel. Well, at least I’ll meet my new client tomorrow and I’ll have new work to distract me from the past, and from her.

53

MAKAYLA

T

he set buzzes with activity as the production team makes the last touches to camera angles and lighting. The scene we’re about to shoot should leave fans speechless as the credits roll. Everyone expects my character, Bella Frost, to fall for Aaron, the more level-headed leader of the stalkers, but this scene is going to really surprise them. “Places, people!” shouts Camillo. He’s wearing a battered beige ball-cap over his thick mane of silky black hair. He has the look of a handsome man who has lived a hectic life of too little sleep and too much stress eating. He’s uncompromising, and has a reputation in the business for making his actors go through twice as many takes as most directors, but that’s never bothered me. Some of my colleagues just want to get done with the shoot for the day, regardless of the final product. Not me though. Even if it’s ‘just’ a TV show, I want to make something that lasts, and I want every shot to be just as perfect as Camillo does. I take my spot. We’re shooting this scene in a darkened alley with a healthy dose of ominous mist swirling around our feet. I can hear the faint hum of the smoke machine behind me, but I know they’ll edit that out in post. “Andrew!” shouts Camillo. “Turn down the fucking smoke. I said create atmosphere, not simulate the actual atmosphere.” From where I stand, I can see behind the facade of the set, but the cameras are positioned to hide all the falsity. Jason Stone sits cross legged on the ground, wearing his character’s trademark trench coat. I try not to roll my eyes when I look at him, wondering what I ever saw in him. He’s strikingly handsome, but I’ve never been the type to date a guy purely on looks. Before I really got to know him, I mistook his eccentricities for sophistication. Now he just looks like an attention-seeking child to me, sitting

there, clutching his forehead between thumb and forefinger, muttering to himself. He plays Jack Carpenter, the most wild and vicious of the stalkers. In the show, Aaron, the leader of the Stalkers, is constantly trying to keep Jack under control and failing. “Ready on set!” Camillo yells. Jason stands, grabbing his fake cleaver from the ground as he does. The Mangler. He stands with his feet a little too wide and his arms hovering a little too far from his sides in an attempt to look menacing. I find my character, pushing out Makayla as much as I can by focusing on the sound of white noise. The best way I can describe how I feel when I act is that I mentally split myself. I close myself off from the artificial parts of the set and let myself live in the moment. I’m immediately drawn back to how I felt in the stairwell, cornered by the man in the gold mask. I focus on how ripped from the everyday routine I felt, how completely real it felt, like I was only truly living in those moments because they could be my last, how each word carried the power to end or prolong my life. “Action!” “What do you want?” I ask. My chest can’t seem to fill with enough air as I back away, making my words sound like a strained whisper. Jack Carpenter steps closer, skillfully twirling his cleaver and tilting his head. “You.” I back up until I feel the wall behind me and sink down there, legs too weak to hold me any longer. I shake my head, lip quivering and eyes filling with tears. He kneels in front of me, fixing me with icy blue eyes. “I want you to love me.” My thoughts momentarily break character to relish in how much this moment is going to shock fans. I remember Bella Frost’s past, and how much she always strived to get her family to love her and her boyfriends to love her. No one in her life ever actually loved her as much as they loved the idea of her. Jack Carpenter is as real as men come--completely driven by impulse--she lets herself believe that a man like this could actually give her the kind of love she’s craved for so long. I squeeze my eyebrows together, shaking my head. “You’re a monster.” He leans closer, touching my cheek with the blunt edge of his cleaver, dragging it down my skin and eying me with fascination. “I love you,” he says softly. I swallow hard, using my most painful memory to draw up the tears. I don’t think about losing my parents or my most embarrassing moments or anything

like that. I take myself back ten years to Donovan’s where Jesse Slade told me about how his father had been killed overseas , that he had already enlisted and was leaving for bootcamp in a week. My heart still feels raw and torn open from that moment all those years ago, and focusing on that memory makes the tears fall. I reach to touch Jason’s face and let him kiss me as he crouches in front of me. His lips are cold and wet. I have to push down the wave of revulsion that overcomes me until my eyes slide just past his and fall on a man standing off-set. He stands almost a head above everyone else with broad shoulders. He’s wearing a suit, and I can’t quite see his face through the lights, but something deep inside my chest responds, as if I’m magnetically drawn to this man, as if he’s calling to me. My eyes widen slightly when I realize I’m still in the middle of the scene. I look back at Jason, close my eyes, and kiss him back. I have to think back to how I felt kissing Jesse all those years ago to put passion in the kiss. I can hate him all I want, but Jesse might as well have been the physical embodiment of desire. Every touch, breath, and whisper from him seemed to drip with sexuality. Just the memory of his hands on me always sets my skin on fire. After a few seconds, we pull back, foreheads resting against each other. The moment hangs and then Camillo calls cut. This is normally the point when he tells us to reset and run the scene again, waiting only long enough for makeup to be retouched. To my surprise, he looks through the camera’s view window for a brief time and then nods in satisfaction. “Good work people. We’re done.” There’s a stunned moment of silence from everyone on set and then a flutter of activity as people excitedly get to work breaking down the set so they can get home early for once. Jason smirks at me. “I don’t remember the script calling for tongue in that kiss.” I roll my eyes. “Grow up, Jason.” “I miss you,” he says, reaching to touch my face. I flinch away. “We’ve talked about this, Jason. It’s over.” “It doesn’t have to be,” he says, stepping closer to me. I feel the first wave of panic flush through my system just before someone steps between us, pushing Jason back with a large hand. “You can’t touch me!” He says indignantly. “Fuck off,” the man between us growls. There’s something familiar in his voice. It makes my breath catch. It can’t be… “Don’t make me call security,” says Jason, sounding exactly like the spoiled

diva he is. “I am security.” One of the set lights catches his face and I see for the first time who it is. I see the familiar features, the high cheekbones and the breathtaking jawline covered in a few days worth of stubble. I see the deep green eyes. Jesse’s eyes. My Jesse. He wears a suit that fits him perfectly, and damn. He has filled out since high school. He was always in good shape, but now he’s the perfect balance of power and strength. He’s broad in the shoulders and strong, but not bulky. His hair is cut close at the sides and a little longer on top. It’s dark and smooth, making me want to run my fingers through it, at least until I remember how he broke my heart all those years ago. Jason seems to sense that standing toe-to-toe with Jesse is only going to embarrass him further. He pulls out his phone and turns to walk away, muttering over his shoulder. “You have a few minutes before the real security gets here. Asshole.” Jesse turns to face me and for the first time, his focus is entirely on me. It literally takes my breath, drying my throat instantly. I’ve spent so long thinking about him coming back as a “what if” that seeing him in the flesh is a complete shock. It only takes one look at his face to see that he has changed. God, has he changed. It’s not just the way his once clean and boyishly gorgeous face is now rugged, hard, and irresistibly manly. It’s something in his eyes as well, a stony quality that speaks volumes for what he’s been through. There’s pain in those eyes, even if he’s trying to hide it. I see something broken. I realize I’ve spent all this time mentally creating a villain out of him. I’ve been picturing him laughing over drinks with some beautiful, exotic woman he met overseas. I never stopped to consider that he might not have found happiness. I struggle between the desire to reach out and caress his cheek and the need to slap him and walk away, leaving him where he belongs--my past. It’s not my job to heal him. He certainly wasn’t around to help me heal after the damage he caused. “Kay…” He whispers. His hard, calloused hand cups my neck. Despite my fury, I feel myself leaning into his hand, eyes closing. His touch sends fingers of heat dancing down my spine, lighting a long dormant desire that starts in my core and blossoms outward. I blush when I feel my nipples harden. Anger mingles with desire, but I force myself to focus on the anger instead. He left. He threw me away even though I was willing to wait for him. Begged him to let me wait for him.

“Don’t,” I say. “I don’t know why you’re here, but you can do what you do best. Leave.” “I’m your bodyguard. Your agent hired me yesterday.” The hint of laughter in his eyes puts me over the edge. Like he knows what he’s doing to me and it amuses him. “No. Hell no. Consider yourself fired.” His hand locks around my shoulder when I try to walk away. “Kay--” “Don’t!” I snap, fighting down the swell of emotion that rises up. I won’t cry in front of him. I won’t show him how long I’ve held onto the hurt he left me with. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. You can call me Miss Pierson.” “My fee is already paid, Miss Pierson.” I swallow hard, trying not to focus on how sexy it sounds to hear him call me Miss Pierson. “If anything happens to you now,” he continues, “it will be a stain on my professional record. So, like it or not, you’re mine.” He bites his lip, smirking a little at his choice of words and at the way they make me flush red. “To protect.” “Not my problem. Now let me go.” “I made that mistake once and I don’t plan to again,” he says. His words make me pause, eyes locked on his. I regain my composure with considerable effort. “Let. Me. Go.” He releases my arm and watches me storm off the set. I pass through makeup and props, having to weave through crowds of people rushing to get home early. I throw the door to the alley behind the studio open and nearly knock Kennedy over in my rush to get outside. She bobbles her coffee and barely manages to save it. “Jesus! What’s the rush?” she says, scowling. “You came out of there like a sneeze.” “Like a... “ I shake my head. Kennedy is notoriously bad with similes, but that one was terrible, even for her. “Nevermind. I have to go. Look I just… Jesse’s back.” I blurt the words out like an admission of guilt and start toward my car, but Kennedy hurries after me. “Woah, woah there killer. You mean like the Jesse? Mr. Superhot hunk you never really got over?” “That’s not true,” I say. “I never got over how much of an asshole he was. I got over him pretty fast.” The truth I won’t admit to Kennedy is I never did get over Jesse. I can’t admit that. He was real and strong in a way I’ve never found in a guy since. He cared for me with such an intensity that was overwhelming at times, and the brightness of his love for me back then still makes everything after it seem dull in comparison. And kissing him was, well… It was an

experience. The sensation of his touch was so overwhelming that my body had to shut down everything else. I can still remember the way he smelled-something woodsy and so completely Jesse--and the way he ignited my desire. He exuded strength and sexuality. There was no defense against the hunger and passion he sparked within me. I can’t admit any of that. Holding onto feelings like that for someone who broke my heart ten years ago probably makes me crazy. I’ve held a place for him in my heart all this time, convincing myself that I had to be building the memory of him up in my mind and the real thing could never compare. Little did I know I wasn’t even doing him justice. Just thinking about the way I felt when he looked at me makes me crave a cold shower and a glass of wine. I’ve never seen a man pulse with sexuality and intensity like that before. I laugh a little to think of what would happen if he guest starred on Stalked. Every girl in America would have a new obsession overnight. Hating him should be easy, but I already feel the soft thrum of desire from deep in my core just from that brief encounter and innocent touch. My bastard body doesn’t even know what’s best for it. Jesse is trouble. The only smart thing to do is keep my distance. Kennedy tries and fails to hide her smile. “Right. That’s why you look like you’re so turned on right now you might jump my bones.” I laugh despite my irritation. “I’d have to be really, really turned on to resort to that.” Kennedy looks thoughtful. “So it’s a possibility then? Noted.” I slap her arm, feeling some of my anger dissipating with her humor. “Creep.” She pouts, but I’m not falling for it. Kennedy has no shame, and hurting her feelings is pretty hard to do. “I need to get out of here before he catches up with me,” I say, fishing my keys out of my bag and waving. “Okay. I’m just going to wait here so I can get a glimpse of the guy that has you so turned on.” I open my mouth to respond to that and can’t, snapping it shut and hurrying toward my car. I get in and immediately call my agent, waiting impatiently for him to pick up. His shrill voice blasts in my ear. “Makayla, baby! You’re practically showering me with attention lately. I love it!” “Where the hell did you find the bodyguard.” “What? Oh, Mr. Slade? You said you wanted the best money could buy, and that’s what I got. This guy is like the Michael Jordan of the personal protection

industry. His record is flawless. None of his clients have ever been hurt.” “Well I want another bodyguard. I can’t work with this one.” “You already paid him though. He cost twenty grand just for the week.” My eyes bulge and I lean forward, clutching the steering wheel so hard my fingers hurt. “Twenty grand, as in twenty thousand dollars?” “You said to get the best money could buy.” Frank’s voice is uncharacteristically hesitant now. “Didn’t you look at the contract I faxed over before you signed it?” No. I was too preoccupied with trying to drink away the memory of the man in the mask. I sigh, pressing my palm to my forehead. “Just do me a favor and make sure I only have him for the one week, okay?” “Sure, of course,” says Frank, obviously just relieved to be getting off the hook. “I’ll let you get back to your day. Ciao!” He hangs up and I close my eyes, trying to gather some strength. Before I have a chance, someone in a suit tugs on the passenger door. I duck my head a little to try to catch a glimpse of who it is, but I can already tell from the fit body that it’s Jesse. I’m suddenly glad I locked the door. I expect him to yell for me to unlock it, but instead he just smoothly whips out a folded metal bar and shimmies it between my car door and windshield. “Hey! Stop th—” There’s a click and he opens the door, sliding into the seat smoothy with a satisfied sigh. He looks over at me, mouth pulled up in just the slightest hint of a smirk. Cocky bastard. “Where to?” he asks. “It’s hot as hell today. We could go for a swim. I know a great place.” “We are not headed anywhere. You’re going to step out of my car and I’m going to go meet my stepfather.” “I’m not ruining my reputation because some pampered starlet refuses to let me do what I was hired for”. I suck in a deep breath through my nose, looking away from him. Looking anywhere but that gorgeous face that is begging to be touched and kissed. Or punched. He chuckles, “Your nostrils still flare when you’re pissed. It’s cute.” An idea occurs to me and I turn to face him. “You know what? Fine. You can protect me. I paid way too much money to let you go to waste. You can tag along with me to meet my stepfather and we’ll go from there.” We’ll see how long he can tolerate me before he quits on his own. He thinks I’m a pampered starlet? Good. It’ll make it easier to convince him to hate me.

He gives me a wary look but nods. “Good. I’ll drive.” “No. I’ll drive,” I say. He quirks an eyebrow, but looks unconcerned as he leans back in the seat and makes himself comfortable in the most infuriating way. The arrogant prick is trying to act like he just got exactly what he wanted. Unbelievable. I pull out of the parking lot and feel suddenly awkward in the silence that follows. While he may be comfortable sitting in silence like some brooding war hero, I’m not. Silence makes me uncomfortable. And when I’m uncomfortable, my mouth gets ahead of my brain. “So, what have you been up to since you ditched me?” I ask. “Other than push-ups.” I feel blood rush to my cheeks. Did I just say that? I have to press on the brakes when I realize how much I’m speeding already. “Ten years and you still hold a grudge against me? I’m flattered you’ve been thinking of me.” “Oh get over yourself,” I snap. “I just remember that you’re an asshole, and that apparently hasn’t changed.” “Yeah. You’re right about that.” We pull to a stop at a red light and I steal a glance at him. Brooding war hero is right. His face is a study in concentration, but his eyes are distant. What happened to him in the war? As much as I hate him for what he did, I hate seeing him suffer more, and part of me still wants to help him. I shake the thought. No way. I’m not going to be soft on him or go easy. He didn’t just leave, he made sure I would never even think about waiting for him when he told me he never even loved me, that I was just an easy lay. The silence gets the better of me again and I find myself blurting another question. “So you’ve just been working as a bodyguard this whole time?” “I got out of the SEALs about a year ago. I’ve been working personal protection since then.” Personal protection. He doesn’t like the term bodyguard. Noted. “So why a bodyguard? You couldn’t think of anything else barbaric and mindless enough?” I don’t look, but I can feel his glare burning into me. I regret the question, but I won’t let that show. I’m just so pissed. As terrible as it is, part of me just wants to make him hurt as much as I do. “When I got back, it was like I couldn’t turn it off. I guess my brain got wired for living a few inches from death. Normal jobs… they wouldn’t work.” I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. I sigh. I feel like I should apologize, and I almost do, but I stop myself. I’m not ready yet. Maybe I never will be. I can’t forgive him.

54

JESSE

I

t’s all I can do not to stare at her. Ten years and all she has done is get more fucking beautiful. I saw her on TV a few times, but it doesn’t even do her justice. The part that amazes me most is how the innocence still clings to her. She could tell me she’s still a virgin, and if I hadn’t been the one to take that from her personally, I would still believe her. Her thin black dress rides so far up her thighs I think I could lean forward and catch a glimpse of her panties. Jesus Christ. Her legs look so smooth and soft that I can’t help imagining how great they would feel wrapped around me. If the angry scowl on her face is any indication, I’m going to keep imagining, because she doesn’t look willing to let me anywhere near her yet. But fuck. What am I thinking? She’s a client. I don’t fuck around with clients. I never have, and I’ve worked for some clients who were practically begging to be fucked. Maybe it’s for the best that she seems to hate my guts. It will make it easier to keep my hands off her. At least a little bit easier. We arrive at her stepfather's building. It’s a towering skyscraper. At least forty stories. We park in the underground garage and I get out of the car first, scanning the lot and pulling my jacket over the Glock holstered at my side. If someone wanted to hurt Makayla, I wouldn’t blame them for trying to do it here. There’s only one way out of the parking garage by car and two more by foot if you took the elevator or the stairs. As few as three people could lock down the entire area and keep us from slipping away. “What are you scowling at?” asks Makayla as she steps out the car. “This place is perfect for an ambush.” She smirks, lowering her chin in an attempt to deepen her voice as she mimics me. “Perfect for an ambush.” She laughs at her impersonation, but I don’t return her smile. “If I’m going to

keep you safe, I need you to take this seriously.” “Don’t I look serious?” she asks before adjusting her bag on her shoulder and walking past me. I’m forced to follow behind her, keeping my eyes on alert, scanning the garage for any sign of danger. I’m perfectly alert until I realize how perfect her wide hips and ass look from behind. She taps the elevator button and waits, crossing her arms. “We should take the stairs,” I say. “It’s safer.” Her eyes dart to the stairwell and she gives a tight shake of her head. “No. We’ll take the elevator.” I can tell there’s more going on than just stubbornness, but I let it go, for now. Two people file out of the elevator, leaving us to ride up alone together. I step between her and the doors once she punches in her stepfather's floor. I’m always watchful over my clients, but being around Makayla after so long has me hyper-aware. Maybe she’s not mine like she used to be, but she’s mine to protect. It’s enough to have my fingers itching for my gun. I knew I missed her, but I didn’t realize I would still want her this badly. Fuck. I’ve practically had a hard-on since I first saw her on the set just thinking about the things I would do to her behind closed doors. Hell, even thinking about the things I would do to her out in the open has me hard. The door dings before we reach our floor and a Spanish woman with fuckme eyes and tall heels clicks her way in. She does a double take when she sees me. “Jesse?” she asks incredulously. I give her another look and then it hits me. Shit. I met her at Maverick’s a few months back. I can’t remember much else, though. I’ve tried to fill the void for so long now, sometimes with alcohol, sometimes with forgettable one-night stands, but it’s all a blur to me. Just more regret to throw on the pile. “You must have me confused for someone else,” I say, hoping to avoid a scene. “No,” says Makayla, turning her full attention on the woman and planting her hands on her hips. “He’s exactly who you think. Jesse Slade. He can be a little forgetful. Why don’t you remind him what he did to you?” I can tell by the look in the woman’s eyes she thinks she’s about to out me to my girlfriend. “He fucked me and then kicked me out of his place the next morning without so much as an apology.” She steps toward me, jabbing me in the chest with a finger. “He’s a fucking asshole.” Makayla gives me a look that hurts more than I’d like to admit, like she’s seeing me for what I’ve become and she doesn’t like it. I want to run my hands through my hair and go find some space, but I’m working, so I square up and

watch the doors. Let her be pissed, let all of them be pissed. I just need to stay focused on the job at hand and get this done. It’s no use in explaining. What am I going to say? Ever since I left you in high school, no woman has felt right. No one can fill the void you left. Fucking right. I’d look insane, so I keep my mouth shut. I ignore the tense silence that follows until the door opens and we leave the still fuming woman behind. Makayla seems to be walking even faster now, striving to get more distance between herself and me. “Was I supposed to stay celibate after I left?” I ask when we enter the main building. With more emotion in my voice than I like, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. “You were supposed to do whatever the hell you wanted, like you always did. And don’t flatter yourself by thinking I care who you slept with. I couldn’t care less. You can sleep with whoever you want for all I care.” “Right,” I say dryly. “That’s why you look ready to put your fist through a wall.” She rounds on me, cheeks flushed. “Fine. You want some truth? It just makes me sick to see how far you’ve fallen. I thought you were better than that.” She turns again, whipping her blonde hair behind her as she storms through the polished marble hallways lined with expensive paintings. I clench my teeth together, hating how much her words sting. I want to tell her the truth, about everything, about why I really left, about the lies I told her to make sure she could forget me and move on. All of it. But I know right now it’d fall on deaf ears. Besides, I have a job to do. No matter how I might feel, that shit is all secondary. I need to protect Makayla at all costs, and if my past is going to get in the way, I need to try to get fucking control, and fast. She walks past a secretary who obviously recognizes her and scrambles to call ahead to her boss before we reach his office. We move through a hallway crowded with doors until we reach a door at the end of the hall, set apart from the rest. Makayla raises a hand to knock and pauses when voices come from within. “...insurance policy will handle that,” says a man’s deep voice. “You had better hope, Mr. Walsh. If this scheme of yours falls through, then you won’t be far behind it.” “Don’t worry about that. I’ll call you when it’s time.” I don’t like the tone of the man’s voice at all. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but there’s a touch of malice in his voice that makes me think he’s not talking about car insurance. The door swings open and a man in an expensive suit pauses when he sees us

waiting outside, but only for a moment. He straightens his tie and shoves past, the click of his shoes on the marble fades away as he leaves the way we came. The office is large and obviously meant to be impressive. Everything seems over-sized from the rug to the desk to the paintings on the wall and even the ridiculous view. Everything except the man behind the desk, whose small size is amplified by the enormity of his surroundings. “Makayla, who’s this?” He asks. I recognize the voice. He’s the one who was just saying he would get someone money. Money for what though? And what insurance policy was he talking about? “My bodyguard” she says. She turns to me next, giving a sarcastically grand wave of her hand toward the small man behind the desk. “Bodyguard, let me introduce Hubert Walsh, my stepfather.” I try not to let my irritation show. I’m personal fucking protection. Not some low-rent bodyguard. There’s a man standing in the corner of his office wearing a suit that’s a little too big. He’s so burly that he’s probably more for show than for effectiveness, but he’s clearly security--no, a bodyguard. What is a businessman doing with a bodyguard? Most businessmen would obviously have security for the building, but only someone with a lot of enemies would feel the need to have a bodyguard stationed in his office. There’s a look on Hubert’s face as he sizes me up that I can’t place. I can tell he’s impressed with me, but it almost seems as though he’s irritated. “A bodyguard? He looks expensive. What happened to my frugal little flower?” He smiles adoringly at her, smoothing over some of the accusation in his question. Makayla straightens self-consciously. “He was actually very cheap. Practically free.” I shift in annoyance. Like fuck I am. But I know she’s just trying to get under my skin, so I keep silent. Hubert purses his lips. “Sweetie, why didn’t you just ask? You could have had your pick of any of my men.” “If your men are all like him, I don’t blame her,” I say. Hubert’s face is deadly calm as he slides his eyes to rest on me. He makes a show of sizing me up and then huffs dismissively before looking back to Makayla. “Does he always speak without permission like that?” My fingers itch for his fucking throat. It would be so easy. Hell, I could just flip his massive desk and let gravity do the work of crushing his skull. The bodyguard probably wouldn’t even be fast enough to draw his gun in time to stop me. I’m not usually like this on the job. I put protection first and my own pride

second. I just can’t stand seeing this fucker push Makayla, even if it’s just a little. The way he chided her for not using one of his men reeked of a controlling personality, like she’s obligated to run her decisions through him. Fuck that. She’s a grown woman and shouldn’t have to answer to a prick like him. “What was it you called me here to talk about again?” asks Makayla, clearly attempting to diffuse the tension. “And where’s Maria?” “Julia,” he corrects with an easy smile. Makayla makes an innocent face and shrugs. Hubert sighs, templing his fingers in front of his mouth. “I just got through talking with my good friend, Police Chief Watts.” He pauses to see if we’re impressed by the name he dropped. We’re not. “And Chief Watts told me there is reason to believe these stalkers are more organized than the media would indicate. He thinks they are backed by a wealthy individual, and that their numbers are growing every day.” Hubert clears his throat. “My first thought was keeping you safe. So I made arrangements to have personal protection provided for you. I want you to cooperate with them, even if you did hire this… thug. You can keep him, but make sure he doesn’t get in the way of the real professionals.” My jaw flexes and I’m a breath away from putting this soft businessman on his back and breaking his bodyguard’s nose. My voice is tense when I turn to Makayla, speaking low. “No way,” I say. “I work alone. They will get in the--” “I’ll cooperate with them,” she says to Hubert. “The more the merrier. Right, Jesse?” she asks.

55

MAKAYLA

T

he look on Jesse’s face is worth whatever I have to put up with by letting Hubert’s men protect me. His face doesn’t betray much, but his eyes are slightly narrowed and his nostrils are flared. I can practically feel the hot anger radiating off him. It feels good to get him back, even if I’m being a little childish to do it. But as quickly as the anger in his features came, it’s gone. His lips curl at the corner and his eyes relax, as if something funny just occurred to him. “Of course, the more the merrier,” he agrees. “Well, thanks Hubert,” I say, knowing he still wants me to call him dad. I see him flinch every time I use his name, but I can’t make myself do it. He’s not my dad. He has been nice to me and I don’t have anything real to complain about, but calling him dad wouldn’t feel right. It would be a betrayal. My dad was one of the few good things in my life before he passed. Hubert can be overbearing, possessive, and ruthless, but he does love me in his own way. It’s just impossible not to compare him to my father, not to catalogue every shortcoming. “Be careful out there. Call me if there’s any trouble.” We’re met by two members of my “team” right outside the door. They are the big beefy types, like men I would expect to see watching the door of a club. One is bald and the other has a closely shaved head. “I’m George,” says the bald one. “I’ll be your driver.” “I’m Rafal,” says the one with the shaved head. He has a thick, almost Russian accent. “I hurt anyone who try to hurt you.” I glance at Jesse and don’t like the way he’s still smirking. I’m sure whatever he thinks is so funny isn’t going to amuse me, and I’m not looking forward to figuring out what it is. “This way, Miss Pierson,” says Rafal. “We take back exit.”

I look at Jesse, but he only waves me on, falling in behind us. Rafal holds the door for me and I’m followed into the staircase by George. The staircase is bringing back memories of the man in the gold mask, but I push down my fears. I want to get under Jesse’s skin by doing exactly what these men say. I want him to see I was only obstinate with him. It’s a small punishment for what he did, but I feel the need to lash out in some way. I hear an abrupt shuffling sound from behind me and the door closes. There’s a dull thump and a grunt. A second later, the door opens and Jesse strides through, straightens the sleeves of his jacket, and winks at me. He’s alone. Where’s Rafal? I frown at Jesse, but he only watches me with eyes full of laughter. Rafal probably just took the elevator to check downstairs before we get there. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that Jesse is up to something. Climbing down the thirty flights of stairs has me huffing and puffing by the time we’re done. George looks even worse than I do. His bald head is shining and dripping and his cheap suit is stained through with sweat. To my annoyance, Jesse isn’t even out of breath. We’re about to step into the building’s lobby when Jesse steps in front of the door. He bumps into me as he pushes past and I can’t help noticing how unbelievably hard his body is. It’s like bumping into a lifesized G.I. Joe. “You said you’re the driver, right?” asks Jesse, pulling a set of keys free and twirling them. My keys. How the hell… “Catch,” he says, tossing the keys in a high arc to George. George’s eyes follow the keys up, and Jesse takes a quick step in, spinning George around in a complicated maneuver. In a split second, Jesse has George from behind, forearm pressing into George’s neck. Jesse reaches up casually and catches the keys he tossed, then lowers George to the ground as George’s reddening face goes slack and he loses consciousness. “You can’t--” I start. “He’s just taking a nap. Thirty minutes or so and he’ll be up and good to go.” I fold my arms. “No. I’m not going with you. You can’t just do that and expect me to walk away with you. Where’s the other one?” I suck in a breath, ready to call for Rafal, but Jesse steps closer to me, planting a hand on the wall behind me so he has me pinned in, unable to escape. Fear and attraction swirl in my chest. “You will come with me. I can carry you out over my shoulder, kicking and screaming, or you can leave with some dignity. Your choice.” “You’re a fucking asshole,” I say. “You don’t have to like me. You just have to do what I say. Do you understand?”

I want to fight it, to run, to scream, or to make a scene, if for no other reason than to teach him he can’t talk to me like that. But the only one that would hurt is me. Someone would snap a picture on their phone and it would end up plastered all over the tabloids by tomorrow morning. I’d have to deal with Frank’s disappointment and questions from the paparazzi. I follow him through the lobby, feeling pissed off and helpless. He makes me sit in the passenger seat and gets behind the wheel. I fold my arms under my breasts, looking out the window. It annoys me that I can still see the ghost of his reflection as he drives, looking stony and handsome. A wave of nostalgia rips through me, but it only brings sadness, because this isn’t the boy I loved in high school. Jesse is someone else now, something else. Whatever happened to him in the years we’ve been apart changed him. He drives us past the road to my apartment, showing no sign of slowing down. “You just passed my--” “We’re staying at my place tonight. It’s safer.” “No way. All my things are at my apartment. I can’t just stay at your place without notice.” I frown, voice growing hard. “I won’t. Take me to my apartment.” “No,” he says simply. In a moment of desperation, I reach to grab the door handle, even though we both know I wouldn’t actually jump out of the car, but he casually flicks the child-protection locks and prevents me from even unlocking my own door. How fucking appropriate. He is controlling me as easily as you might control a child. Well fuck him. I’ll wait until he lets his guard down and get him back for this. Somehow. I resume looking out the window and say nothing for the rest of the drive. His apartment building is modern and obviously expensive. He parks in a valet spot and tries to help me from the car, but I stand on my own, ignoring the hand he extends to me. I hate the way he just smirks at my rudeness, like he doesn’t think it’s real, like he thinks this is a game. It just makes me want to get him back even more, to get him back harder. God, he’s turning me into a spiteful child. I know he is, but I can’t help it. I’ve spent so long rebuilding my life after him. As stupid as it was, by the time we had been dating a few months, I was already planning my life around him. I only applied to the colleges I knew he’d want to play football for. I spent all my free time studying so I would have the grades to get into those schools. I thought we would get married and have kids. I let my social life fall to pieces around me because I knew he was the one. I knew it so absolutely that at some point, the idea of us breaking up stopped being a possibility.

Then it happened. He showed me I never really knew him at all, and he broke my heart. At first I was just devastatingly sad. I thought maybe I had done something to deserve it, or I could have been a better girlfriend. After that, I thought maybe I had just misunderstood, that he really was planning to come back to me after he finished his overseas tour. Eventually though, all I felt was anger. It wasn’t the kind of anger that makes me want to throw things or yell. It was a slow-burning, smoldering anger that settled in my stomach and never quite left, touching every emotion I’ve felt since with just the smallest hint of bitter heat. He marked me, and I hated him for it. I look at him now and wish he had let himself go in the years since we were together. It would be easier to forget the past if he was a shell of his former self, unsure, remorseful, and broken. Instead, he looks more put together than he ever was, despite what I said to him after we ran into the woman in the elevator. He’s frustratingly competent, unbelievably fit, and even more gorgeous than I remember. My traitorous body can attest to the last. Just being near him makes my heart pound, even if I want to hurt him as much as I want to kiss him. The only flaw is the glint of pain in his eyes that surfaces at random, in the moments when he’s quiet and doesn’t think I’m looking. Once we’ve parked and gotten out of the car, Jesse jogs up the stairs to the building, glancing behind to make sure I’m following. I try really, really hard not to look at the way his dark pants pull against his tight ass and hugs those long, lean legs of his. I mostly succeed, and I’m grateful when I’m no longer slightly beneath him so that his jacket covers most of his ass again. I raise my eyebrows at the luxurious lobby of his apartment building. It’s all sleek, polished wood and dark reds. It has an old money, sophisticated kind of vibe, and I have to admit, a little bit of a sexy atmosphere. Just the kind of place I would imagine a man like Jesse living. There are several large rooms set off from the main lobby. I can see workout equipment beyond one door, elegant cursive lettering labeling a spa in another area, and a strange windowed area with what must be artificial grass and even hills. A small swarm of dogs runs by my view and I smile a little. Really? He lives in an apartment with an indoor dog park? To my surprise, he heads straight for the dog area. When he opens the door, a young blonde girl gives me an appraising look and doesn’t bother hiding her jealousy. She must think I’m with him. I don’t know whether to laugh or roll my eyes. She can have him for all I care. He’d probably love to fuck some young pretty thing like her. He probably already has… I’m annoyed when the thought makes my stomach turn a little. It’s not jealousy, it’s just… disappointment. The Jesse I knew wouldn’t do things like

that, but this new man might. I don’t know what he’s capable of anymore, and that scares me. The girl turns her head, not letting her eyes move far from Jesse. “Makayla! Come here, sweetie!” she calls. I feel a jolt of confusion. It’s only when I look to Jesse and see the way his cheeks are actually flushing with red that I realize. He named his freaking dog after me. I give him an incredulous look, but he only shrugs. “She came with the name,” he says with uncharacteristic quickness. “Got her from a shelter.” “Right,” I say, starting to grin. He turns to leave and the girl takes two quick steps after him. “Have a good day, Mr. Slade!” He nods, pushing back through the doors and heading for the elevator with his panting bulldog in tow. “Do you make her call you Mr. Slade, or was that her idea?” He half-turns to look down at me, quirking an eyebrow in an irritatingly sexy way. “You’re jealous? Of her?” I laugh a little too loud. “Yeah. Totally. Look. It’s your life to do whatever you want with. You made that perfectly clear ten years ago.” He says nothing, but tries to guide me into the elevator by the small of my back. I quickly step in, avoiding his touch, though I don’t know how much of that is because I’m furious with him and how much is because I don’t want my bastard emotions to cloud my judgment. Why is it so hard to completely hate him? Even if he wants to play tough guy and act like I have no choice in this, I know I could just walk. He’s not going to throw me over his shoulder and drag me back into his apartment in front of all these people. He’s not going to punish me for disobeying him. I shift on my feet, pressing my thighs together a little tighter. Thinking about him punishing me is doing all the wrong things to me. I just need to leave. But I can’t. As immature as it is, I know if I leave it will be like admitting defeat, like he won. If I leave, it shows him that I never got over him. It shows that I didn’t take control of my life after he left and I never moved on. Well, screw that. I won’t give him the satisfaction. The dog pants happily, but she’s so overfed she might as well be a zeppelin with four furry legs. “I see the dog doesn’t take fitness as seriously as you do?” Jesse glares at me with unexpected hurt in his face. “She has a slow metabolism.” The way he defends her is cute, but as soon as I feel myself softening again for him I think back to that day at Donovan’s and the way his face was blank

when he told me he was leaving. “How long does this elevator take?” I snap suddenly. “A minute and fifteen seconds.” I roll my eyes. “You would know exactly how long.” “Paying attention to details is part of what makes me the best. For example, you’re wearing a thong.” The doors open and he walks down a long hallway covered in matte-finish gray tiles, leaving me standing there, mouth hanging open while his bulldog stands dutifully beside me. How did he… I follow him down the hallway, self-consciously pulling at the back of my dress and feeling to see if it’s really so tight that he could see. I know I should feel mortified or violated that he was staring at my ass enough to notice, but I can’t quite push down the thrill of excitement at the flirtation of his words. The doors to the apartments on his floor are silver and modern, giving the whole hallway an expensive, clean atmosphere. He unlocks his door, using three different keys to open three different locks. “Three locks?” I ask. “Like I said. My place is safer.” He opens the door and I can’t help raising my eyebrows in appreciation when I see his apartment. It’s airy with high ceilings, and the far wall is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows that give a spectacular view of the city and the sparkling ocean behind it. The furniture is modern and sleek, reeking of money and cleanliness. The place is so spotless I’m sure he must have a cleaner, and so tasteful there’s no way he put it all together himself. He strips off his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt. “What are you doing?” I ask, breath catching in my throat. I can see the smooth crease between his chest muscles and I anticipate seeing more. “Taking a shower. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. Make yourself at home. Just don’t leave.” “What, am I your prisoner now?” He strips his shirt all the way off and I try to swallow, but my mouth is too dry. There isn’t an ounce of fat on his body, just slabs of perfectly sculpted muscle. I can’t help letting my eyes wander from his broad shoulders to the perfect line of division between his abs and then to the diagonal cuts of his obliques. I’m fascinated by the way his muscles cord and relax as he slips the shirt off. I would think he was stripping in front of me to show off, but there’s no hint of it in his face, as if he’s completely unaware how mind-numbingly perfect his body is and what seeing it would do to me. “No,” he says, turning to walk to the shower. “You’re just my guest who

can’t leave.” I watch his chiseled back until he rounds the corner. I finally suck in a breath once he’s out of sight, only now able to fill my lungs completely. “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath with less conviction than I would like. I hear the shower start and I realize I’m alone in his place. Out of idle curiosity, I start to wander through the apartment, first moving through his kitchen. I’m surprised to see that it’s professional-grade with gas ranges and a temperature controlled glass case filled with dozens of potted herbs. I purse my lips. He either takes his cooking seriously, or he has someone he pays to do it for him. Probably the latter. I wander into another room set off from the kitchen and realize it must be his bedroom. I nearly turn and leave to avoid being more of a snoop than I already have been, but something compels me forward. I’m not sure what I expect to find… panties? Maybe even some floosie he forgot was still sleeping at his place? I try not to imagine how many women he’s had in the luxurious bed that fills the center of his room. I’m about to turn and leave when my elbow bumps a fancy display with an expensive watch to the ground beside his dresser. I wince, falling to my knees to pick it up when I notice a seam beneath the lowest drawer. There’s a small, almost imperceptible ridge where I can fit my finger. I put the watch back on the dresser and focusing on the ridge. I hook my finger in and tug, pulling out a thin drawer. There’s just a single composition book inside. It’s leather-bound and a little battered. I lift it carefully, noticing one of the corners is torn. I know I should close it and walk away. I try to stop myself, but my curiosity overpowers everything else and I open the book.

O CTOBER 27 TH , 2004 Apparently I have to actually write in this thing. I tried blowing it off and they threatened to drydock me for the next mission if I didn’t start playing along with the therapist. I’m supposed to talk about my feelings in here. What the fuck is there to talk about? I’m pissed off and it doesn’t seem to matter how many of them I kill. I’m still pissed. They took my father from me, they made me leave my girl… I clutch the journal a little tighter. 2004… that was three years after he left me. He couldn’t be talking about me. After all, he said he never loved me in the first place, that he was trying to get laid. I take a deep breath and read more.

The doc wants me to speak my mind, well, fuck it. I put my fucking knife in a kid’s heart back in Tajikistan. It was a night mission. A simple grab and go for some journalist that command considered an asset. We almost got out clean when I saw someone trying to get to the landline to call for help. A few seconds and he could’ve brought dozens of insurgents down on us. So I grabbed him by the mouth and stuck my fucking knife in his chest. It was only after he stopped twitching that I dropped him and saw how young he was. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen, and I killed him. The worst part was how they all patted me on the back for saving the mission and told me what a big fucking hero I was. Is that enough fucking emotion for one day? I don’t feel any better. A lot of good this fucking journal is doing. My heart aches for Jesse. I realize suddenly how selfish I’ve been. While I thought I was living a hard life because I had to face rejection after rejection auditioning for parts and playing in small, shitty roles to work my way up, he was dealing with all this? It doesn’t completely excuse what he did, but it helps, and I’m already regretting how I’ve treated him so far. At least a little bit. I hear the shower stop running and hurriedly put the journal back in place, feeling a stab of guilt for invading his privacy. I rush back to the living room and try to adopt something like a casual position on his couch, anything to imply that I wasn’t just helping myself to his deepest, darkest secrets like a complete jerk. He steps into the living room, black towel around his waist, bending his neck slightly to ruffle his still wet hair. He squints over at me, looking sinfully touchable with his smooth, muscled body fresh out of the shower. I know there’s no way he could know, but I shift under his focus, like he knows I’ve just been reading the journal in his room. “You look a little breathless,” he says, stepping even closer and making my heart thrum in my chest. “Is it from the view, or have you been sneaking around while I was in the shower?” “The… view?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper. He’s taking away all my self-control, all my poise and power. “You’re not exactly hiding it,” I say, averting my eyes and gesturing toward him. “I was talking about the ocean,” he says with a grin. No you weren’t. Asshole… “So what now?” I ask. “Am I just supposed to stay put and avoid doing anything remotely dangerous?” He moves to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and tilting his head back to drain it. My eyes trail down to his powerful neck as he swallows it down. Even his stupid neck is sexy. Jesus. I tear my eyes away.

“No. I’m yours, Kay… Makayla. My job is to shadow you, no matter where that leads us.” He’s already moved from calling me Miss Pierson to Makayla, but I can’t bring myself to correct him. “That wasn’t the impression you gave me when you dragged me here against my will.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Well, I had to get… my dog from daycare and grab a shower.” “Your dog named Makayla. Right. I had almost forgotten.” His perfect composure falters for just a second when he steps toward me, still clad in only a towel, and jabs a finger at me. “I told you. The shelter already named her that.” It’s my turn to grin now. “Mhmm. So you just happened to pick the one dog out of a few dozen that happened to have the same name as me?” I glance at his dog who obviously has an eating problem. Her stubby legs are splayed out beneath her and she pants, eyes covered beneath the folds of her skin. “Not that she isn’t charming, of course.” Jesse frowns, looking at his dog in a way that is adorably protective. He kneels to scratch behind her ears and pat her bottom and oh God. If he just angled his hips a touch more toward me, I think I would have a full view of everything. I catch myself leaning to the side, like a bowler trying to urge the ball away from the gutter. I lean just a little too far forward and lose my balance. I have to jerk my body back and clutch the armrest to keep from falling. Jesse doesn’t even turn to look, but the way he bites his lip says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. For the hundredth time in a just the few hours since I’ve seen him again, I can’t help thinking what a tremendous asshole he is. Now I just have to figure out a way to survive this entire week without falling for him again.

56

JESSE

M

akayla is taking a nap on my couch and my dog is curled up beside her legs later that night. I smile to see the old girl warming up to someone new so quickly. I look around the apartment, noticing all the small things that are out of place from her obvious snooping session. I knew she would try it, but when I check the hidden drawer in my room and see the hair I carefully wedge in the crack has fallen, I’m surprised. This woman is no ordinary snoop. Damn. She can’t have had much time to read the contents, but she will have already seen more than I hoped. Just holding the journal in my hands makes them shake. I slam it back down in the drawer, steadying my hand on the dresser and lowering my head, fighting the memories that are rising up. I’m covered in dirt and blood. My hand is warm. God, it’s so fucking warm. I’m pressing the hilt of a knife into his stomach and yanking up like I’m opening the thick burlap of a sack of potatoes. I feel resistance as it moves through him, hot blood drenching my hand. He tries to collapse, but I hold him upright, finishing the job of ending him. He wraps his arms around me as he dies, almost hugging me, like he’s afraid to die alone. I should feel something. I should feel sympathy, fear, anger, disgust. But I feel none of it. That’s what worries me. I end his life and let his corpse fall to the ground and I feel nothing. Not a fucking thing. I snap myself out of it, wiping the cold sweat forming on my forehead away. War showed me the parts of human nature most people could never understand. I saw how worthless human life can become, how quickly men can put their own survival above others. I saw how easy death comes, and how the world moves on, season by season, forgetting the dead and the dust they become. I went to war because I wanted to stop the pain losing my father created. I stopped the pain, but I stopped everything else, too. Being around Makayla is the

first time in years I’ve felt closer to my old self, like part of me is still linked to her and how I was in those days. She’s helping me remember who I am, little by little. The worst part is I don’t know if I want to remember. Every step closer I take to my old self makes me realize how far I’ve fallen, and how much I stand to lose if I lose her again. I step back into the living room and stop in my tracks. She’s still asleep on my couch, one long leg dangling from the blankets. One very naked, long leg. I take in the smooth skin that glistens softly and the way her calf tapers perfectly into a narrow ankle, to feet that are a little larger than average. Rather than seeing it as a flaw, I always thought it was endearing. Makayla Pierson was always seen as perfect by everyone, but she always had those slightly oversized feet. It makes me grin to remember the ways she tried to avoid me noticing when we first started dating. Always black shoes, never open faced, and usually a size too small. Before I realize it, I’m only a few steps from where she sleeps peacefully on the couch. Her golden hair swirls around her heart shaped face, framing the perfect picture of innocence it makes. Such an innocent face that you would never expect her to lie or snoop through someone’s apartment when they weren’t watching. Thinking about the way she tried to deceive me has me wanting to… I bite my lip. Hard. No. I’m not even going to dignify that line of thought right now. She’s a client. I don’t care how fucking gorgeous she is or how much I’d like to see those perfect lips wrapped around my-Shit. Maybe I’m going to think about it a little, but I’m not going to do anything. I can manage that much. I’m about to turn and walk away when her eyes drift slowly open and then widen at the sight of me standing over her. She notices her leg hanging out from beneath the blanket and pulls it back under, covering herself again. Her dress must have ridden up a hell of a lot, and I’m guessing without the blanket I would’ve gotten a show to remember. “I was going to see if you wanted to grab a bite to eat,” I say. “You sure?” she asks. “Because it looked like you were thinking about taking a bite of me.” I smirk, rubbing my mouth with my thumb. Goddamn. What a fucking tease. She gives me a half-smile before it falters and she clears her throat. “Food sounds good, actually.” I’m a little surprised that she’s making it so easy on me, but I don’t fully let my guard down. “I know a place,” I say. “Just let me grab Makay… my dog some food.” I see her covering a smile as I head to the kitchen to grab my dog’s

food. Okay, so what if the shit about the shelter already naming her was a lie. Her original owners named her Bat Girl, and I wasn’t about to walk around calling my fucking dog Bat Girl. So I named her Makayla. It was the first name to pop in my head, big deal. I use a can opener on Makayla’s wet food and pour it in her favorite bowl, giving it a fifteen second shot in the microwave, just the way she likes. I sprinkle a little salt on it for taste and stir in a handful of dry food. Then I set two treats for her on one of the bar stools. She has to stand on her hind legs to get to them, and it always takes her a few minutes to work up the energy to do it, but the old girl needs the exercise. I slap her plump belly as she waddles over to get her food. “Keep an eye on the place while we’re gone, girly.” When I stand, the other Makayla is leaning in the doorway with a huge grin on her face. I’m going to have to get her out of that fucking dress and into something more modest. If I’m going to have any hope of making it through this contract without putting my hands on her, I can’t have her walking around looking that sexy. “I never would’ve guessed you could be such a sweetheart.” “Shut up,” I growl, moving past her. I hear her following after me. “Do you always season her dog food?” she asks. I don’t even have to look over my shoulder as I pull open the door to know she’s still smiling ear to ear. “She’s picky,” I grumble. “You don’t think she’d eat whatever you gave her if she was hungry enough? Salted or not salted?” I sigh, increasing my pace as we walk toward the elevator, wanting to get out of this embarrassing line of questions. “She’s all I have. I’m not going to starve her.” I wince. That sounded way more pathetic than I intended, and judging from the look of concern on Makayla’s face, she picked up on every bit of it. Her smile is gone, replaced by a reluctant look of sorrow. “She’s all you have?” “I’m fine. Really. I don’t need a bunch of people complicating my life.” I feel her looking at me, waiting for me to say more. She can wait all she wants. I’m done talking about it. The elevator doors chime and let us out in the lobby. I motion for Makayla to wait in the elevator while I scan the room for anything out of the ordinary. Once I’m sure it’s clear, I gently guide her out by the small of her back. It’s habit, but when she doesn’t flinch away from my touch this time and lets me continue to protectively guide her to my car, I feel my cock stirring traitorously. The way the soft muscles of her back tense and relax with each step is making me think of how it would feel to squeeze her hips as she

grinded into my cock, and that’s a thought I don’t need to be having. If being my client wasn’t enough to make her off-limits, the way I treated her ten years ago definitely is. I don’t deserve to be with her, and she definitely deserves more than my shell of a self getting entangled in her life again. But I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stay away. I might be too fucking selfish to keep my hands off her and keep my distance. I want to taste her lips again so badly it hurts, even if it’s just once. When we step outside, I grimace at the traffic choked streets. “Let’s just walk,” I say. “I don’t want to get stuck in this.” “Okay,” she says, oddly compliant. What’s more odd is she lets me keep my hand on the small of her back, and I don’t have the willpower to move it away. I lead her down the street. I’m wearing a low-key outfit of jeans and a black t-shirt and she’s still in the small dress from her shoot the day before. I’m surprised she hasn’t already been raising a fuss over going back to get fresh clothes. Most women I’ve met wouldn’t have left the apartment without fresh clothes, but she seems to be handling it. On a whim, I decide to take her inside one of the clothing stores we pass. She gives me a strange look, but I rifle through the racks and quickly pick out a light green top and gray leggings. I hesitate for a second and then grab a pair of boots too. She’s looking at me like I’ve absolutely lost it now, but I push on to the register and pay for the clothes. The guy behind the counter gives me a receipt, and I quickly snatch the clothes and hand them to Makayla. “Go put these on in one of the changing room.” She looks down at the clothes thoughtfully and then meets my eye with a daring boldness that has my cock hardening immediately. “What about panties?” I clear my throat. “Go on then. Pick some out.” She smirks, slinking past me and picking out the most dainty little red thong she can find and a silky black bra. She puts them on the counter and then turns, waiting expectantly for me. I shake my head, unable to do anything but huff a laugh as I pay for her lingerie and watch her step into one of the changing rooms. The changing rooms are little more than half-doors that leave me with a tantalizing view of her calves. I find my eyes lingering on that open space as I watch the dress fall to a pile beneath her feet. She kicks it away, and then her legs bend slightly and a tiny black thong follows behind it. Fucking hell. I turn to see the cashier smirking knowingly at me.

“Fuck off,” I growl. He jumps a little, suddenly finding something to do away from the register. And away from me. I don’t look toward the changing room again until I hear the door open and see Makayla emerge. She looks ridiculously good in the clothes I picked out for her, and my gaze immediately drops to the way the gray leggings hug her curvy hips and emphasize the perfect gap between her inner thighs. Knowing she’s wearing the clothes I picked and saw her choose the underwear turns me on in an unexpected way. It makes her feel like she’s mine. And that thought feels dangerously good. She gets a plastic bag from behind the counter and stashes her old clothes inside, then follows me back outside. My hand automatically goes to the small of her back, it’s an instinctual reaction to being so close to her. A deep seeded need to touch her. It’s a compulsion and I’m relieved when she doesn’t stop me. The fabric of her top is thin beneath my fingertips and I drive myself fucking wild thinking about how good her bare skin would feel against mine. As we start walking down the street, I let the movement of her hips jostle my hand a few centimeters lower until my pinky rests just on the top of her perfectly round ass. I’m hard as a rock now, and mentally willing myself to move my hand away, but my muscles are in full-scale rebellion, refusing to obey any command that takes me further from her body. After a few minutes of walking quietly together, I begin to let my mind wander, imagining what it would feel like to have Makayla as my own. To walk with her out in public like this, just enjoying the evening and heading out to grab a bite, knowing that we might go back to my place later, where I could do anything I’d like to her. It’s a nice fantasy, but that’s all it is. I’m too damaged and she’s too different. We’re not compatible anymore, no matter how much the sparks seem to fly at the slightest touch. Besides, a quiet life like that isn’t in the cards for me. I’ve done and seen far too much to think I could be the kind of guy Makayla deserves. Focus on the job, Jesse, I mentally chide myself. You’re getting distracted. Distractions lead to mistakes. And you don’t make fucking mistakes. I suck in a breath, mentally rallying myself to focus on the job. We reach Z Shack, my favorite burger place. It’s jammed between a drycleaners and one of those scammy loan places. The windows are tinted, but when we step inside the bright lights of a dozen huge TV screens provide all the light the place needs. Servers in black shirts and jeans scramble around, grabbing to-go boxes and making milkshakes or taking orders. I guide Makayla to the register, reluctantly taking my hand from her back to grab a menu and show her. “Just about everything is good,” I say. “But the

Swamp Thing is my favorite.” She gives me a strange look. “Sounds appetizing.” “It is. Pulled barbeque pork and a burger patty with Z sauce.” “What’s Z sauce?” she asks, having to raise her voice as the patrons cheer over something that happens in one of the games playing over the TVs. “Delicious,” I say, smirking. She rolls her eyes, but smiles. She reaches for her wallet and I stop her with a quick hand. “It’s on me,” I say. “No, it’s okay, I can pay,” she says. “I’m a big girl and I have my own money.” “For what I’m charging you, the least I can do is buy you a burger and a change of clothes.” She bites her lip and gives in, waiting behind me. I take the liberty of ordering the Swamp Thing for her. I know she’ll love it. She doesn’t complain when I add Oreo cheesecake milkshakes to the order either. We find a place to sit while we wait for our food. Makayla is frowning at me, looking a little confused. “Do you normally eat like this?” she asks. I shrug. “Sometimes. Why?” “Well, it’s just that you’re… you know. I don’t get how you can eat like this and still be…” “Still be…” I prompt, trying not to revel in her discomfort too much. “You know,” she says. “You just. Well. You’re put together nicely.” She clears her throat and sits back, eyes widening a little as she likely replays what she just said to her own horror. I bark a laugh. “Is that movie star slang?” “I’ve never been in a movie. Just television.” “You’re not happy doing television?” She shakes her head as she fiddles with the roll of silverware on the table, plucking at the sticker holding the napkins together. “I love working on the show.” “Yeah, I can tell,” I say sarcastically. She laughs, stealing a glance at me and looking back down. “Really. I can’t complain. There are so many people who would kill to be doing what I’m doing.” “That means you have to like it?” I ask. She scowls at me. “No. It’s just that it makes me feel selfish for not being satisfied.” “Fuck that,” I say. “If you want it, don’t stop going after it.” She finally looks up at me, saying nothing for a long moment. “So this is

what you wanted?” she asks. I chuckle. “Shots fired.” She tilts her head and sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean, I don’t know, being a bodyguard--sorry, personal security--doesn’t seem like a job most people would be happy with long-term.” “Maybe not. But it got me here, so I can’t complain too much,” I say, watching to see her reaction. Her cheeks blossom with pink. “I thought you were supposed to be professional security. Not a professional flirt.” A young girl drops our food off. Makayla’s eyes widen as she takes in the burger and shake. “This does look good.” We spend a few minutes quietly enjoying our food. I forgot how much she and I always clicked. I hate talking while I’m eating, and she was always the same. We could just eat in relative peace, enjoying our food and talking after. She glances up at me, eyes sparkling as if she just thought of the exact same thing. There’s a glob of orange Z sauce at the corner of her mouth as she smiles. I reach across the table and swipe it away with my thumb without thinking, licking the sauce from my finger. My unthinking gesture feels a hell of a lot more seductive than it should’ve been, and judging by the way her chest is practically heaving, she thought so too. My cock stirs and I shift in my seat. I’m about to apologize and set the record straight, to tell her that I don’t get involved with clients, even if I can’t stop myself from hitting on her every time a chance presents itself, but something outside the window catches my eye. A flash of gold. I just barely see the two pointed goat horns on a golden mask tucked in a man’s inner jacket pocket. I jolt upright, jostling the table. I rush outside the restaurant and hear Makayla coming after me. “Wait here!” I growl at her. I burst out the door, find the man, and slow my pace just enough to avoid catching his attention before I want to. I walk right up behind him, putting my hand on the back of his neck. The street is relatively crowded, and I can avoid causing a scene if I play my cards right. “Make a sound and I’ll snap your fucking neck,” I say into his ear, still walking beside him. He moves his eyes toward me. “You must have the wrong guy,” he says. He’s probably in his twenties. He’s relatively built and his mannerisms mark him as former or current military to me. What the fuck is a soldier doing playing this stupid game? “This way,” I say, pushing him down an alley between two buildings. There’s an alcove that blocks us completely from the street a few yards into the alley,

and I shove him roughly into it. His chin bounces off the bricks. He spins, landing hard and cupping his bloodied chin. His hand moves to his back, but I’m on top of him in an instant, feeling at the waistband of his pants and finding the gun he was reaching for. I step back, racking a bullet into the chamber and pointing it at him. “Looking for this?” He shakes his head, blood dripping from his chin. He’s already sobbing. Fucking pathetic. I hear footsteps coming down the alley. I turn, seeing Makayla walking cautiously toward me, looking so effortlessly beautiful that she snaps me out of the moment. I feel a wave of pity for this bleeding coward on the ground, as if seeing Makayla in the middle of this gives me some kind of new perspective on the violence, but I push it down. I don’t have room to get distracted. I kneel, still pointing the gun toward him as I roughly open his jacket and pull the mask free. “Go back to the restaurant, Kay,” I snap. She stops short when I used my old pet name for her by mistake. “What are you doing?” “Just go back to the--” The soldier sees an opportunity while I’m distracted and lunges forward, wrestling me for control of the gun. He has decent training, but I can tell after just a few seconds that he doesn’t have the real world experience to back it up. I let him think he’s putting me in a vulnerable position as he turns me to face the ground, and when he takes the bait and reaches past me for the gun, I grab his arm and yank him forward, using my back as a fulcrum to flip him hard to the pavement. I don’t let go of his arm as he flips and I feel it snap and twist as he spins over me. He screams, curling in on himself and clutching his arm. The sound of his screams bring me back to the war. I feel the sun beating on my back, the layers of sand caked on my sweat and blood soaked skin. I feel the ache of the bullet I took in my thigh a few months ago. My hand is around an insurgent’s throat. My gun is out of ammo and my knife is back near where the IED went off. He’s clawing at my forearm to stop me from killing him but I don’t relent. He tried to kill my men, and he’s going to… “Stop!” Makayla shouts. I snap out of my memory, realizing I’m choking the bleeding soldier. His face is purple and his eyes are staining with red veins. I let go and he gasps, coughing hard. “What the fuck are you doing?” asks Makayla. “You almost killed him!” I ignore her, blood still thundering in my ears. I kneel down, clutching the

front of his shirt. “What are you playing at?” I ask. The fear in his face tells me he’s not about to hold anything back. “Her,” he says, looking past me. “The boss wants her dead. There’s a big,” he stops, coughing hard until blood splatters the pavement beside him. “A big payout for whoever gets her.” I turn slowly to look at Makayla, whose face has gone pale. “Why me?” she asks. “I just know they want you dead. That’s all. I swear to fucking God. Just please let me go, man.” I let his shirt go and he flops back to the ground, rolling to his side and whimpering. “Come on. Let’s get out of here,” I say. Makayla takes a step back when I reach for her. I sigh in frustration. “We need to move.” “I’ll find my own way,” she says. “Like hell you will. You just heard him. They want you dead. You’re not getting out of my fucking sight.” Emotion clouds her features as she shakes her head. It’s then that it hits me. She’s scared of me. She’s fucking afraid. Of me. The realization sinks into my gut like a cold weight, a weight I’ll have to bear if I want to protect her. I grab her arm and pull her back toward the road. I hate the way she flinches at my touch, but I don’t let up as I lead her back toward my place. I don’t care if I have to take her hostage to protect her, I’ll do what it takes, whether she thinks I’m a monster or not.

57

MAKAYLA

H

e lets me into his apartment and shows me a room I can use. It’s furnished in whites, grays, and steel blue. He doesn’t say a word as he pushes me inside and shuts the door. I breathe out heavily when he’s gone, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding up my hand, watching as it shakes. What the hell am I doing? Watching the way he treated the guy in the alley and how close he came to killing him… it was like a slap in the face. He’s not just some innocent, wounded puppy I can scratch behind the ears and fix. He’s a man who has killed and will probably kill again if what I just saw is any indication. He’s dangerous. I have no doubt he’s capable of protecting me, but who’s going to protect me from him? I wander to the bathroom attached to my room, leaning over the sink and splashing water in my face. I look up in the vanity mirror and rub my eyes. I look like a mess. A little over twenty-four hours ago I was cornered in the stairwell by a stalker in a mask. Less than twelve hours ago Jesse sauntered back into my life and shook it to the ground. Thirty minutes ago I saw real, lifethreatening violence for the first time in my life and barely stopped Jesse from killing someone. Now? Now I’m still in his apartment, playing along with this game for reasons I don’t even understand. I could leave. I could just walk out the door and hire another bodyguard. He would let me leave if I really wanted to, wouldn’t he? The doubt in my mind makes my stomach queasy. I should leave. I know I should. But I don’t want to. I keep thinking back to the journal in his room. I’ve waited so long to see him again and to find out what made him leave me. Maybe I’m an idiot for thinking so, but I still can’t believe he was faking the way he felt about me all

that time. It never felt right. I always had the lingering sense that Jesse didn’t tell me everything. Now the thought of walking away when he’s so close scares me more than the very real danger of staying near him. And as much as I hate to admit it, my decision would be a whole hell of a lot easier if he wasn’t so goddamn gorgeous. Just thinking about the way his green eyes seem to pierce right through me and light a fire in my chest has me squeezing my thighs together to suppress the need that arises for him. The hunger. I hear the door open to my room. I step out of the bathroom and see Jesse looming in the doorway, holding the journal in his hand. He looks at it and then tosses it on my bed. “You already started reading it. Might as well finish.” WIthout another word he turns and closes the door, leaving me in stunned silence. I move slowly to the journal and pick it up. It practically burns in my fingertips. The fact that he wants me to read it only furthers my curiosity. Does he think the contents will change my mind about him somehow? I flip it open, finding where I left off. November 24th, 2013 For the record, I still think this journal is a waste of time. But if my CO keeps telling me I have to cooperate with the therapist, I’ll keep cooperating. We’re stationed near Turkey right now, about fifteen clicks south, just below the Syrian border. We’re supposed to kill some terrorist mastermind named Asaad Yousif. To be honest, I’ve never heard of the fucker, but if they say he had anything to do with the September 11th attacks, then I have no problem ending his sorry life. Dr. Croft says I need to talk about my feelings too. Feelings though? All I really feel is numb. I guess I had to close it all out. If I think too hard about it… there’s too much in my past I want to forget. I want to forget what happened to my dad and I want to forget the way I treated her. I wish I could just wipe it all away, then I could deal with what I’ve become. But I guess it doesn’t work that way, so I’ll just keep hurting. But if I have to suffer for my country and for the memory of my father, then I’ll fucking suffer, no problem. I frown at the pages, surprised when I realize my eyes are watering. He was still thinking about me? Or was “her” some other girl? Was she just some other victim in the long line of broken hearts littering Jesse’s past? I flip to the next page. December 25th, 2013 It’s fucking Christmas. The guys are in the mess hall right now getting drunk on improvised eggnog that’s probably going to make them puke later. I should be there with them, but… fuck. It’s harder around the holidays. I think of what I left behind. I guess the hardest part is I know it’s too late to fix what I’ve broken.

Even if Makayla forgave me for what I did, I can’t go back to her anymore. Not like this. Not after what I’ve done. How could I touch her with the same hands that have squeezed the life out of men? The fucking hands have caused so much pain I don’t even know if they’re capable of anything else anymore. Ha… listen to me, like fucking Faulkner or something over here. I’ll give myself a pass for being a little sappy on Christmas, I guess. I just keep wondering if I did the right thing. I knew she would wait for me, however long it took. I knew she would because she was that kind of girl, perfect, sweet, and way better than I ever deserved. So what did I do? I lied and told her I didn’t care about her. Shit. I’ve had to pull pieces of skull from my fatigues and brush brain matter off my face and none of that was as hard as what I did to her. I still remember how it felt when I walked out of the restaurant that afternoon. It was like someone reached in my chest and just fucking squeezed my heart until it burst. After that, everything has been… less. You know? Like some of the color drained out of the world. All the killing, the pain, the suffering, it just seems muted compared to what I did to her. The truth is I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her a widow. When my father was killed, I knew I had to come here. I had to do something about it, to fight for him. And I knew I couldn’t honor his memory if Makayla was still waiting for me back home. I’d find some excuse to come back, or I’d leave before the job was done. Worse, I might pay the ultimate price over here. Whatever pain I had to put her through was a small price compared to what she’d go through if I died. So I had to make her hurt. I had to hurt her so much that she wouldn’t care if I died. I had to make it burn so bad she would curse my name and happily move on. I guess I just thought the wound would’ve healed over for me by now, but if anything, it gets more raw every day, more fucking painful. I know she’s still out there, and she thinks I betrayed her. Fuck it all to hell. I really do know how to make a mess out of things. The guys are breaking shit now. I need to get out there. Merry fucking Christmas, Dr. Croft. A hot tear falls on the journal and I hastily wipe my eyes, sniffing and closing the book. I know there’s more, but I don’t know if I can stand to read more right now. Jesse lied. He still cared about me. It was all because he wanted to protect me. I don’t know how to feel. I’m surprised to find I don’t immediately forgive him. If he had just been open and told me how he was feeling, I would’ve understood. I would’ve still waited for him, and I wouldn’t have felt so broken all these years.

It wasn’t his fucking choice. He isn’t the one who gets to decide if I should be sad over his death. We were in a relationship for better or worse, and it was my decision to make. He thought he was protecting me, but he did more damage than he could ever know. All the trust issues I’ve had because of his lie… all the times I’ve pushed myself to do more because I wanted to somehow prove he made a mistake, like he was watching from somewhere and would see me on the TV screen and regret what he did. I laugh humorlessly, realizing for the first time how much of that is true. Sure, I love being on the screen and the challenge of acting, but how much of it was really just to spite him? Did I just want him to see what a mistake he had made? I’m storming from the bedroom before I know it. I find him sitting on the couch, holding a hand in front of himself and watching as it shakes. The sight makes me pause, just for a moment. I realize I’m holding the journal. I lift it, scowling as I shake it at him. “All this time?” I ask, hating how thick with emotion my voice is. He looks up. “I’m not going to make excuses for myself. You know the truth now.” I slam the journal on the ground. “You ruined me. You threw my heart on the ground and stomped all over it. You call that protection?” “Yes. Especially after I saw how you reacted when you watched me in the alley. You were scared. Well, that’s the real fucking me, Kay.” Hearing him use the pet name makes my heartbeat race a little, adding a confusing surge of warmth to the anger I feel. “No. That wasn’t you. I know you.” “You knew me,” he corrects. “War changed me. Everyone wants to look at me like some fucking hero since I came back. You know what I see when I look in the mirror? A killer.” I want to reach out and touch him. He’s so strong and powerful, but I can see how much he hurts, how much he needs some compassion. I wonder if he gets anything but lust from women and I suddenly feel sorry for him. I’m afraid of him. I still feel that, and I’m still not ready to forgive him for what he did, but I don’t want to see him hurt. He’s suffered enough for me and for everyone else he went over there to protect. I move closer to him on the couch, reaching for his knee, but he stands before I can touch him. “Don’t,” he says. “I don’t want this to get complicated.” I can’t help laughing a little. “Well you’ve done a perfect job of preventing that.”

He stalks off toward his bedroom, but I don’t give up. I follow after him. He turns to face me. “What are you doing?” he asks. “Let me in. Let someone in.” He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Don’t feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for the people who have had the misfortune of crossing my path. Yourself included.” “Stop with the tough guy bullshit,” I snap. “You showed me the journal. You wanted me to see how you felt even if you couldn’t talk about it. So why don’t you just let me help?” He sits on the bed, forearms resting on his knees. “That’s not why I showed you the journal.” I sit beside him, painfully aware that I’m sitting next to him on his bed. My heart flutters a little as vivid images of him pinning me to the soft mattress with his powerful arms flash in my mind. “Then why did you show me?” I ask, voice practically a whisper. “Women think they want a guy like me. They think the danger is exciting. How many of them would still be sniffing around if they watched me jam a fucking knife in a young kid’s heart? There’s a big difference between fantasy and reality, and back there, you saw it. I figured you would try to run off on me soon. I just thought you deserved to know the truth before you left.” I can practically feel the unspoken question hanging between us. It thrums in the air like something electric. Something alive. You’ve seen the real me. What will you do now? Part of me is screaming to kiss him, to pull him into me and kiss him with everything I have, to let him take me. Another part is begging me to run. He’s dangerous and he’s damaged. And he broke my heart into a million pieces. I should just walk away, but I can’t. I put my hand on his thigh in an attempt to show my compassion and immediately regret the decision. His thigh is thick and hard, tempting me to squeeze and move my hand along his lean leg. I nearly pull my hand away, but then I see the bulge of his cock against his pants growing. Jesus. I had forgotten how big it was. Hell, maybe it has gotten bigger. I bite my lip. “What are you doing?” he asks. I move my hand up his thigh, frowning as I do. It’s almost as if my hand is moving of its own volition. “Helping you to relax.” He stands, shaking me off. “Well stop it. You think fucking you would relax me? I don’t mix business and pleasure. It’s that simple.” I reel back, stung a little and feeling an unexpected wave of anger rise up. “God. Just when I think I can forgive you for being an asshole, you--”

“Careful,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “Watch that fucking mouth of yours.” There’s anger in his face. Red, hot anger that would terrify me if I didn’t also see a hint of lust behind it and the bulge of his cock against his pants. Why does being scolded like a child make my skin tingle? Jesus Christ. I know what I’m going to do before I do it, and the idea terrifies me. “No, you watch my fucking mouth real close so you don’t miss a word,” I say, fighting the mischevious smile that threatens to split my face. Getting pissed turns him on? Well, that shouldn’t be hard... “Asshole. As in you’re a fucking--” He closes the distance between us in a heartbeat, pinning me to the bed and gripping my cheeks so that my lips smoosh together. He looms over me, eyes dark and face even darker. “You don’t want to piss me off,” he snarls. On the contrary… I’m finding myself in the middle of a fantasy I never knew I had. I’ve spent so long trying to project confidence and control. The idea of a man like Jesse wrestling that control away from me has all my nerves prickling in anticipation and my nipples hard. My body feels so alive, electric, almost. My wild eyes follow the strong line of his arm as he holds himself up over me, the muscles of his forearm straining as he pins me to the bed. I jerk my face out of his grasp, mustering up all the venom I can manage. “You’re too scared to fuck me because you can’t handle me,” I gasp, shocking even myself with my boldness. He straightens, getting off me and standing up. For a disappointing moment, I think he’s going to walk away and leave me here, exposed and embarrassed. Instead, he flicks the buttons of his pants loose in one a smooth motion. He lifts the black shirt over his head and takes my breath away with the rigid lines of muscle that cover his body. I could cut my tongue on any one of those perfectly sharp lines, and if this goes on much longer, it’s a risk I may have to take. I watch as he drops his shirt to the floor with so much menace that it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Makayla what in the hell are you doing? Doubt creeps up in the back of my mind, logical, reasonable doubts. The biggest of which is the fact that I haven’t seen Jesse in ten years, and now I’m about to sleep with him after just a day of him being back in my life? He moves toward me, all the power in his body directed at me, practically paralyzing me. What am I doing? I ask myself again. He climbs on the bed and flips me over. I struggle a little, but it’s halfhearted at best. He pulls my pants down with one hand and I turn just in time to see him raising a hand, as if he’s about to fucking spank me. I close my eyes, expecting it to come. The moment passes and I look back at him. He freezes. The heat in his eyes melts away and soon his cool, green eyes are back, regarding me. He lowers his hand and shakes his head. “Not like this,”

he says simply, almost sadly. “I’m sorry,” I gasp, suddenly embarrassed and pulling my pants back up. “It’s not your fault, it’s just--God. I’m such a fucking idiot,” I say, rushing from the room and leaving Jesse on the bed. I shut the door behind me, pacing around his living room, seriously considering bolting for the tenth time in the last hour. Just leave. There are probably thousands of bodyguards I could hire. So what if I paid his ridiculous fee already. I make enough money to cover it. I go to my room and grab my phone from beside the bed. It’s the only possession of mine at his apartment other than the clothes on my back. Leaving would be so simple. So clean. Even if I leave, I know he’ll find me. He may be arrogant and he may be an asshole, but I have no doubts about his competence. There’s no way I could slip away from him for long. No. I can’t leave. I’m stuck here, and my stupid stomach is rumbling with hunger. Just thinking about having to face Jesse after trying to seduce him and then the way I couldn’t even look him in the eyes after he stopped me. I just ran out of the room like a chicken. He probably thinks I’m batshit crazy. I go to his refrigerator and open it, raising my eyebrows when I find a jar of my favorite kind of pickles. I twist the metal lid off and crunch into one, turning and nearly dropping the whole jar when I see Jesse standing there, blocking my exit from the kitchen. “You always did go to pickles when you were upset,” he says, smirking a little. “I’m sorry,” I blurt, forgetting there’s a half-chewed pickle in my mouth. Jesse covers his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to smile. “There’s nothing to be sorry. I’m the one who let my tastes cloud my judgment. I shouldn’t have...” An image of his raised hand over my bare ass pops in my mind. His tastes… “No, it wasn’t you. I just got carried away. I practically jumped your bones. I don’t, well, do that. I’m not a prude or anything, but I don’t just sleep with guys like it’s no big deal. I made a mistake. I take full responsibility.” My cheeks burn red and I can’t make myself meet his eye. He quirks an eyebrow, stepping in to grab a pickle and snap off a bite. He was kind enough to put his shirt back on and re-button his pants, but my memory still burns with the image of how incredible he looked. “I shouldn’t have taken your bait,” he says. “I don’t want to compromise our professional relationship.” He lowers his voice. “And if I did, I’d…” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe we should just keep this simple. It’s a job, right? That’s all.” “Right,” I say, a little too quickly. “We should keep this simple.” For now, at

least. We may have poured water on the flames just now, but I feel a growing certainty that it’s only a matter of time before I end up pinned beneath his hard body again, and I’m not sure either of us will be able to stop next time.

58

JESSE

I

wander the set while Makayla gets ready for her scene. It’s a fascinating place, even though I would rather there weren’t so many unknowns. My eyes trace the rafters overhead where someone could easily sneak up with a weapon, or the many nooks and crannies behind the flat set-pieces and large equipment. Even the caterers and delivery guys who seem to endlessly stream in and out of the set could be here to hurt her. I’m on edge the whole time, clenching my hands and regularly straightening my suit just to reassure myself with the weight of my Glock holstered at my side. Last night was… interesting. I woke up in the middle of the night, having the same nightmare about when I was captured back in Abu Siad and tortured for a week. I could have sworn I heard Makayla shushing me and felt her hands gliding down my body, easing me back into bed. It’s impossible though. I’m as light a sleeper as there is, and one glimpse of her would’ve had me completely awake. I hate how much vulnerability I’ve already shown her. All the years of hardening myself to emotion and shutting it out seem to have melted away as soon as I saw her. She has me feeling real fucking pussyish right about now, and I could use an outlet for my anger, but there’s no time to hit the gym or go for a jog. If the news stories and my sources are right, these stalkers aren’t fucking around. I can’t afford to let her out of my sight any more than I have to. I watch Makayla reading her lines with Kennedy. They’re laughing about something, and her friend keeps glancing my way. Makayla eventually bulges her eyes at her slightly, pulling Kennedy’s chin away from me with two stiff fingers. “She’s something, isn’t she,” asks Jason, who slips up to my side. I don’t dignify him with a response, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he settles

in, crossing his arms. “We dated once, you know,” he adds. “Makayla and I. Well, I took a go at Kennedy too, come to think of it.” He punctuates this by trying to give me a back slap, like it’s a funny fucking joke. But I turn slightly, catching his wrist before he can touch me. I meet his eyes, making sure I have every last ounce of his attention. “Next time you try to touch me, I’ll break your fucking arm.” I let go, shoving him away a little as I do. He straightens his jacket and stalks off, glaring once at me over his shoulder as he goes. Fucking asshole. A kid who can’t be older than eighteen shuffles up beside me. “Don’t mind him,” he says. His voice is a little higher pitched than it should be for his age. I give him a curious look. His lanky arms are folded and he’s clearly trying to look casual, even though the way his hands are shaking and his throat is tight makes his nervousness painfully clear. I could tell the kid to fuck off, but something about him amuses me, so I only grin down at him. “You know him?” “Oh yeah. My name’s Ed, by the way,” he shoves an oversized hand toward me. I grab it and shake, trying not to smile when he squeezes my hand so hard it makes his face scrunch up. “Jason’s a douchebag. He never deserved Makayla,” he adds. My grin grows. “Is that right?” He laughs a little and blushes. “She’s the reason I took this job. I pretty much just go get coffee and things like that for the crew, but hey, it gives me a chance to watch her every day, so I’m not complaining.” I open my mouth to say something because he’s starting to give me the creeps, but he sees my expression and laughs. It’s a quick, halting sound--sharp intakes of breaths and a wheezing exhale. “It’s not like that,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to be an actor. I love watching her work. She could do so much better than this crummy show. She should be on broadway or on the big screen. Whatever she wanted, really.” I size the kid up again, trying to imagine what sort of roles he could play, but come up short. I feel a little sorry for him. “What makes her so good?” I ask. To me, acting never seemed too impressive. You just read off lines from a script and go through the motions they tell you to. How hard could that be? A light enters Ed’s eyes. “Her presence, for starters. She knows just how to use silence to demand attention. She regulates the volume of her voice to force you to want to lean in closer, wanting to hear her every word. I mean, just watch her,” he says, pointing toward the set and lowering his voice. “They’re about to

shoot.” I look toward her. She stands on a set that looks like the outside of a bar. Blue light bathes her to simulate night time, and a single, yellow streetlight buzzes overhead. She moves to wait inside the door to the “bar” while Camillo, the director, counts down and then calls action. Jason bursts from the door of the bar, grabbing Makayla hard by the arm and dragging her behind him. My muscles tense and I itch to walk out there and rip him off her. It’s just a TV show, Jesse, don’t be stupid. Makayla pulls, trying to free herself from Jason. He pushes her down and she crumples to the ground, defeated. Her small hands rise to cover her face as her body shakes with sobs. “Get up!” he yells down at her. My hand slowly moves to my side. I feel the shape of the Glock and briefly entertain the idea of shoving the barrel as far down Jason’s throat as I can. Ed snaps me out of it when he nudges my arm. His voice is so low I have to lean down to hear him. “...absolute control. See how much she says with her body language?” I look back to her. Yeah, I notice. That’s why I’m having so much trouble remembering they are just pretending. Maybe it’s her skill at acting that has me ready to go end this fucking Jason guy. Jason stomps toward her, less convincing in his actions than Makayla. Seeing them side by side exaggerates the difference, now that I’m looking for it. He has an artificial air to his voice and movements, making it obvious he’s conscious of how he’ll look and sound on camera. Makayla on the other hand… she’s really feeling the emotions somehow. When she pulls her hands away from her face to scoot back away from him, the terror and pain in her face makes my heart twist. Where is she going to find that kind of pain? What memory is she calling up from the depths of her past? I wonder if she remembers what I did to her to feel that kind of sadness. The thought pisses me off. Seeing the emotion on her face and knowing I could have caused that makes me hate myself. I’ve wondered all this time if I did the right thing, and looking at her now makes me sure I didn’t. I fucked up. What else is new? They died because of you. All my fucking men. Dead. The thought bubbles to the surface, turning my stomach over and making my fists clench. I briefly see the image of the rocket explode against the brick wall my men were hiding behind--the wall I told them to hide behind. I push it down. Of all the memories, it’s the most painful, and I can’t take it right now. “Stay back!” she shouts. Jason stops short. A few extras on set are gathered around them, watching

the scene in shock. “You knew who I was from the start. Don’t play stupid now. You knew the whole time.” Her voice is low enough that I barely hear it. Every word is laced with pain and regret. “I thought you could change.” He laughs. “For you? Get up. Get up!” he repeats, yanking her to her feet as the gathered crowd gasps. “Stop blubbering,” he growls as he drags her off set. I feel a ball of emotion in my stomach, strongest of all is the desire to hurt Jason. Even if he is just following the script, I wanted to hurt him before I watched the scene. I’m also blown away by Makayla’s talent. I knew she was special, but seeing it first-hand is something else. She really could do better than this show. Ed nudges me and gives me a big, toothy smile. “See what I’m saying?” I surprise myself by laughing a little. I can’t help but like the kid. “Yeah. You’re spot on, kid.” He beams. “You want coffee or anything Mr… I never caught your name.” “Slade. Jesse Slade.” He quirks an eyebrow. “That’s good. You should audition to be the next James Bond.” “Nah,” I say. “Not for me. No thanks on the coffee, either.” “Suit yourself!” he says, jogging toward the back exit of the set. A few minutes later I catch up with Makayla once she’s changed out of her outfit for the scene she just did. She showered too, and her thick hair is still wet. As far as I can tell, she’s not even wearing makeup. I can’t think of a woman I’ve ever seen who looks as good. She’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, but seeing her so dressed down is sexy as hell. I love the way she doesn’t even have to try to look fuckable. I mentally steer myself away from that line of thought. She’s not fuckable, Jesse. She’s my client. I shouldn’t even be thinking about that. The moment I start getting distracted with thoughts like that, I put her in danger. I need to be on my game and thinking about the job, not that perfectly tight ass of hers. We head to her apartment so she can gather some spare clothes and toiletries to take back to my place. She lets me in and I’m surprised by how small and simple her place is. She could definitely afford a nicer apartment. Even the amount she’s paying me for the week would cover the rent of a nicer place for a full year. The apartment is meticulously clean, and she seems to be making quick work of getting her essentials packed. I wander the small apartment while she gathers her things and look at the pictures on display. There’s a picture of her and Hubert smiling in front of some

rolling green gardens and a palatial white building. There’s also a picture of her and Jason. It’s mixed in with a collage of pictures she has with various members of the crew, but seeing them, faces pressed cheek to cheek and smiling makes me want to hit something. I don’t own her though. I have no right to be jealous of what she does or who she sees. I especially don’t have a right to get pissed over the past. I’m the one who threw her away. Of course she moved on. She wheels out one small black suitcase. “All set,” she says. Her hair shows some of the natural curls toward the ends as it dries and I have to fight the urge to spear my fingers through it. “Good,” I say a little stiffly. “Let’s go.” I keep thinking about how I nearly fucked her last night. I still remember how perfect her tight ass looked when I yanked her pants down and almost spanked her. The thought of punishing her for all the little games she has played with me makes my cock hard, but it’ll have to remain a thought. Although I’ve barely been back with her for a day and we already almost fucked. Jesus. It’s only our second night together and I’m not even sure if I can keep my hands off her for another day, let alone the rest of the week. “Kennedy is coming over to work on lines with me,” says Makayla. “I told her she’ll have to come to your place.” I nod. “Yeah. That’s fine.” I help her load her suitcase in the back of my car and when I’m walking to get in, I notice a van parked at the other end of the parking garage. The engine is running and someone sits behind the wheel. Something about it makes my hairs stand on end. “Wait here,” I say to Makayla. She gives me a strange look, but stays put. I jog toward the van and increase my pace when I hear the engine rev and see it start to back out. I’m nearly to the vehicle when the driver guns the gas, making the tires squeal and rounds the corner. I stop short, watching after it helplessly. “What was that about?” she asks. Her voice a little strained, even though I can tell she’s trying to sound disinterested. I guess her acting ability doesn’t completely translate to real life. “I had a feeling about that car,” I say, realizing how dumb it sounds as I get behind the wheel and start the engine. She grins. “So you decided to just run at it? What were you going to do? Touch it?” “I was going to make sure they weren’t following us.” “Why would someone follow us? I mean, I know there are the stalkers and all that, but what’s the point of just following us around?” “They could be gathering information, looking for patterns of behavior,

trying to find the ideal time to make their move. Anything.” “Wouldn’t it have been smarter to watch and see if they followed us? You know… instead of running at them like a big barbarian and scaring them off?” I grip the steering wheel in annoyance. Yes, it would have been, but my feelings for you are clouding my judgment. My need to see my cock plunge into that perfectly tight pussy of yours has me completely and utterly distracted. “Why don’t you let me do my job?” She shakes her head and sits back in her seat, looking out the window as I drive us to my place. Makayla is going to get me into trouble. Big fucking trouble. I need to find a way to get my mind off getting between her legs and get it back on the job before one of those asshole stalkers decides to make a move.

59

MAKAYLA

K

ennedy arrives at Jesse’s apartment shortly after we do. Jesse lets her in and I watch with annoyance when she eyes him up and down. She bites her lip and looks to me, raising her eyebrows suggestively, apparently not caring that Jesse can see what she’s doing. “Stop it,” I mouth at her while Jesse isn’t looking. “Jesse, do you think you could do your whole brooding thing somewhere else? Out of Kennedy’s field of view, maybe?” Kennedy reaches to touch his forearm. “Not necessary at all, Jesse. I’ll be good. I promise.” I hate the spike of jealousy I feel at seeing her touch him. He’s not mine. I don’t get to be jealous, especially when I’ve spent most of our time together pushing him away. He was definitely ready to sleep with me last night though, and that has to count for something. If I was keeping score, that is. It’s just an innocent touch on the arm, at least it would be if I didn’t know Kennedy better. She would never take a guy out from under my nose, but I’ve been doing my best to convince everyone that I’m not interested in Jesse. The only one who still doesn’t believe I don’t want him is me. “Stop crossing your fingers then,” I say, a little more testily than I intend. “I swear, you’re about as mature as a four-year-old sometimes.” “Oh come on,” Kennedy whines. “Kids don’t start doing the crossed fingers thing until at least like eight or nine, right?” Jesse looks at me with those gorgeous eyes, looking impeccably tall and strong beside Kennedy’s small frame. “I’ll be brooding on the loveseat. Where I can see you.” I can’t be entirely upset. I may not want Kennedy ogling him all night and botching her lines, but I also have to admit to liking the idea of keeping Jesse

where I can see him, too. He sits on the loveseat, planting his feet wide and pulling out his phone. He looks so good that I want to jump on his lap and wrap my arms around that strong neck of his. I want to feel his cock hardening under my ass and watch the desire blossom in his eyes. I got a taste of his need for me last night, and I hoped a little time would quench my feelings for him, but all it has done is made me even hungrier. “Want something to drink?” I ask Kennedy. “You know me so well,” she says. Her eyes dart past me to Jesse and linger there too long. I snap my fingers. “Focus, Kennedy.” I hear Jesse cough from behind me and I have to drag Kennedy by the arm into the kitchen. “Sorry,” she says when we’re out of Jesse’s earshot. “Are you two… you know? Because I’ll back off--reluctantly--if you two are a thing already.” “No,” I say slowly. “He’s just my bodyguard. That’s all.” “Well then,” purrs Kennedy. I force a smile, not liking the thoughts I can see churning behind her eyes at all. “Red wine?” I ask with somewhat forced cheerfulness. “Perfect!” she sings, rummaging through Jesse’s cabinets to find glasses. “I don’t know if he even has any--” “Above the fridge,” he calls. We both stop dead, eyes wide. How did he hear that? “Does he have super hearing or something?” Kennedy hisses. “Yes,” he says almost smugly. I feel my cheeks burn hot and even Kennedy looks embarrassed. I grab a bottle of wine, not even thinking about which one. I pour Kennedy and myself a glass, but she grabs the bottle and fills her glass until it’s nearly overflowing. She sucks down a few gulps before walking back into the living room. “You should consider letting scientists study those ears of yours,” Kennedy retorts. “I could study the rest of you if--” I nudge her, nearly making her spill her wine. Jesse doesn’t look up from his phone, but I think I see the hint of a grin on his face. Does he like that she’s flirting with him? “Lines,” I say, wincing when the word comes out harshly, like a curse. Kennedy mimics me as she rummages through her bag for the script. “Since when are you Miss Get To Business?” I give her a warning glare and grab my own script. It takes a little while to get comfortable reading lines with Jesse sitting in the corner of the room. He doesn’t look up from his phone, but I can practically feel him listening to us.

A few glasses of wine later, we’re appropriately loosened up and far too tipsy to be doing any real work with our lines. The sun has set outside, and there’s a calm peacefulness to Jesse’s apartment at night. The large windows let in all the starlight I could ever want, and he looks absolutely divine in that chair, working on his laptop now while we drunkenly fumble through our lines. “You’ve got to… uhhh,” Kennedy stumbles over her words, smiling wide. “Tell those--you know… those people. Tell them I’m going to be reaaaal mad if they don’t do what I say.” I cover my mouth, trying to hold back a laugh. “Oh I’ll tell them. Wait,” I say. “I’m reading Aaron’s lines right now.” Kennedy laughs. “Fuck it! You be Aaron! I’ll be me!” “No way! The scene ends with a kiss. I’m not kissing you,” I say, laughing. I notice Jesse glance up from his computer for the first time, shifting in his seat. “I don’t have cooties,” says Kennedy. “I’ll read the lines, but I’m not kissing you,” I laugh. “Ohh, but I can be very… seductive,” says Kennedy, reaching to squeeze a handful of my ass. We both laugh before launching back into the lines. I’m highly conscious of Jesse watching us now, computer forgotten in his lap. “Will you wait for me?” asks Kennedy a few minutes later, when we’ve stumbled and tripped through most of the scene. “You know I will,” I say in the deepest voice I can manage. She steps toward me, touching my cheek and leaning so close I can smell the wine on her breath. I feel the full weight of Jesse’s attention on me. I can practically sense his sexual arousal crackling through the room like electricity. Knowing he’s turned on has me excited, and I briefly consider actually kissing Kennedy, just to see what Jesse would do. But when she starts leaning in for the kiss, I put my hand over her mouth and theatrically kiss the back of my own hand, dipping her and pretending to maul her with passionate kisses. I lean her back a little too far and we both fall to the floor, laughing. “Were you licking my hand?” I ask, clutching my stomach as laughter rips through me. “Just a little,” she says with a devilish smirk. Jesse coughs loud and I see him looking at his computer again. I also see the huge outline of his cock straining against his pants. “Jesse,” says Kennedy, still sitting on the ground. “Why don’t you play Aaron? I can’t take Makayla serious. She plays such a bad man.” “No thanks,” says Jesse. “I won’t take no for an answer,” chides Kennedy. “She really won’t,” I tell Jesse. “Just humor her.”

Even through the haze of wine that’s making my head spin, I’m shocked as hell when Jesse actually stalks over and snatches a script from my hand. There’s something in his eyes I can’t place. A challenge? All I can do is stay on the floor where I lounge and watch as Kennedy stumbles to her feet and stands across from him, grinning down at her script. I watch as she slurs out her lines and he nails Aaron’s. Every passing second sobers me more and more. He’s a natural, no, he’s more than a natural. He’s good, like, already better than most actors who have trained for years. I watch as he effortlessly reads through the lines, portraying the right emotions and adding his own unique take on each line as if he was born to fill the role. He’s not pretending. He’s not acting. He’s just… I don’t know how to describe it. I think maybe he’s so good at it because a man like him has no need to be false or ingenuine. So when he reads the lines, every word rings true. I’m rapt in complete fascination while I watch, noticing that even Kennedy is starting to seem more and more sober. She’s glancing up at him, forgetting to control her face between lines when she watches him deliver powerful line after powerful line. They reach the moment of the kiss, and Kennedy’s eyebrows are pulled together, her face full of far more desire than it would be in a simple walkthrough. She wants to kiss him, for real. Of course she does. He’s stiff now, on the verge of pulling back, but I can’t take it. I can’t wait to see if he’s going to stop her from kissing him or if he’s going to do it. “Stop!” I say quickly, only realizing I’ve stood after I spoke and both of them are looking at me. I realize at the same moment I spoke, Jesse was turning his head away from her. Kennedy laughs a little nervously. It’s as if his flawless performance had cast the room in a thick sheen of fantasy, and for those moments, everything that happened would only be happening within the story. It wasn’t real. But something cut through the bundle of confusion in my mind when I watched Kennedy leaning in to kiss him. I may still be angry with him. And I may never completely forgive him, but I’m not ready to watch him be with someone else, no matter how selfish of me that is. “Well, maybe I should be going anyway,” says Kennedy. “It’s pretty late.” I glance at the clock and realize it’s nearly midnight. “Wow. Yeah. We should all get some sleep. We’re shooting early tomorrow for the sunrise scene.” Kennedy grabs her coat and winks at me over her shoulder. She mouths something at me that looks an awful lot like “fuck him” and I try not to blush as I practically push her out the door. It closes behind her and Jesse moves close beside me to lock up. The silence that follows makes me painfully aware it’s

only us in the room. “You’re amazing,” I say. My words hang in the silence long enough for me to wish I could rephrase. “I mean those lines. You’ve never acted before?” He laughs. “No. That was a first. I thought it might be the best way to get you two off my back. I guess I was wrong.” I rub the back of my head, feeling dizzy from the wine. “I’m sorry about that. Stopping you, I mean. I just…” “From kissing Kennedy?” he asks. “I wasn’t going to kiss her.” “You weren’t?” I ask, letting too much of the excitement I feel slip into my words. He smirks, catching it. “No. I was hoping to kiss someone else.” My heart pounds in my chest. I can’t seem to take a breath deep enough to fill my lungs as I look up into his gorgeous eyes. I take in his hard, sculpted features and the cocky set of his mouth. Looking at his lips was a mistake because all I can think of now is whether they still taste as good as they used to. It’s been ten years since I last kissed him, and I’ve never even come close to finding a substitute. Kissing him now surely wouldn’t live up to the memory though. “Who?” I whisper. “Who were you hoping to kiss?” His hand cups my cheek and I melt into it, eyes devouring him, inviting him. A kiss. It’s a small thing. A simple thing. It’s harmless. He looks down. “My client. But I don’t get involved with clients.” “Then don’t get involved,” I breathe. “Just kiss me. Don’t make me beg.” When he looks up his green eyes practically burn with heat. I bite my lip as I reach for the back of his neck, urging him to bend down and kiss me. He attacks my mouth with his, kissing me hard at first, as if he can’t hold back his desire, as if the kiss has been building inside him for all these years and now it’s finally free. The kiss is wild and out of control, limitless and brimming with pent up desire and need. I kiss him back just as intensely, feeling the emotions that have been held up within my heart all this time flowing through me, electrifying every movement of his lips against mine, every flick of his hot tongue inside my mouth. I breathe him in, loving the manly scent of him, marveling at how it’s exactly as I remembered as it swirls around me, bathing me in him. He’s pinning me to the wall with the weight of his hard body, hands clutching fistfulls of my thick hair. I feel the full length of his cock pressing into my belly and I shamelessly push myself more firmly against him, relishing in the sensation of it. My breasts pillow between us and my body begs for friction. Resisting the urge to wrap my legs around his hips and grind into him is impossible. I dig my fingers into his

broad back, feeling the moment spiral out of control. I feel every last ounce of resolve I had to keep him at a distance melting away. All that’s left is memory, nostalgia, and a white-hot, mind-searing need. A need to be held by him and to hold him back, to soothe away the pain that has scarred him since we’ve been apart, and a more basic, primal need to have him inside me, to let him claim me and mark me, to be wanted by a man so powerful and strong. I reach for his cock and he suddenly goes stiff, entire body growing rigid, unyielding. His lips fall still and I’m forced to pull back, searching his eyes. “What’s wrong?” “You’ve had too much to drink, Kay. I’m not going to take advantage of you.” “I’m sober enough,” I say, hating that he’s making me beg. He shakes his head. “It’s not a good idea. I can’t let myself get distracted and compromise your safety.” I grit my teeth, all the desire and lust pulsing through my body suddenly turns into anger. I know he wants this, and I’ve put myself out there to show him I want it too. And he’s seriously going to discard me again? It hurts. God it hurts. I mask the pain with a wall of thick anger that blocks out everything else. “I need to use the restroom,” I say. He sighs and walks off toward the kitchen. I hear himself pouring a glass of something, probably liquor for himself. I can only take so much embarrassment and rejection. I’ve practically thrown myself at the man after I swore I wouldn’t, the man who has done nothing but offer me pain. I’ve made a fool of myself and the thought of having to face him again is too much. I need space. I need to breathe. As soon as I’m in the bathroom, I check the small window to see if it’s locked. It is, but the latch locks from the inside, and I’m able to undo it. My heart is pounding as I use the sink to climb high enough to push the window open and stick my head out. As I hoped, there’s a ladder leading down to the back of the building, ending in an alley between Jesse’s apartment building and the one behind it. The ladder is about a foot to the side of the window, which drops straight down at least thirty floors. I thank the wine in my system and the anger pounding through me for a hefty dose of bravery as I step off the sink and put all my weight onto the windowsill, trying not to think about what would happen if I lose my balance. Cold night air whips my hair around my head, blasting my eyes and making them water, blurring my vision more than it already is from the alcohol. I grip the edge of the window tightly, at least somewhat confident that I could catch

myself from falling and scramble back in the window if I slipped. I carefully turn myself around, reaching for the ladder with my right hand. I have to stretch and lean out of the window a little to reach it, clutching the window’s edge like the lifeline it is the whole time. The ladder is cold against my hand, but a quick shake confirms it will hold. I suck in a breath and make arguably the dumbest, most reckless decision of my adult life. I let go of the window and nearly have a heart attack as my body swings from the open window to the ladder. I scramble to get my left hand on the ladder and to find footholds for my feet. Once I’m securely in place, I hug my body to the metal, quivering and marveling at how incredibly pissed I am at Jesse for driving me to do something this dumb. Yes, I could have just walked out the front door or waited until he was asleep, but knowing him, he would’ve caught me right away and dragged me back, kicking and screaming. I just need a few hours away from him to catch my breath and get away from the suffocating claustrophobia of his sexual presence. It’s starting to feel like every last thought ends in an image of he and I wrapped together in bed, in a naked tangle of sweating limbs. Not the right time, a voice in my head warns. I make the mistake of looking down and it seems as if the ground pulls even farther away from me. A strong gust of wind actually jolts me to the side and I whimper a little, having to steady myself and start climbing down. I’m very aware that the longer I dangle here, the more tired my arms and legs will get, and the more chance there is of me slipping off, so I had better hurry. I move down the ladder one step at a time, giving very little thought to anything but the absolute insanity of what I’m doing. Still, picturing the look on Jesse’s face when he realizes I’ve slipped away from him is at least partially worth the risk of life and limb. Once I reach the solid pavement of the alley below, I’m tempted to get on my knees and kiss the lovely dirt-stained, puddle-ridden ground. I look up the ladder and am hit by one final wave of what the hell did I just do before straightening my clothes and waltzing out of the alley and into the street like I didn’t just climb down a building. I check the front of the apartment building before I turn the corner to make sure Jesse isn’t already prowling around, looking for me. It’s only a matter of time before he figures it out, and I’m not sure how far I need to go to evade him, but I can’t shake the almost supernatural certainty I have that he will be able to find me, no matter where I go. It’s only about thirty seconds before I realize I have no idea where to go. I left my phone in his apartment, along with all my cards and money. I have no ID, no debit card, and no clue what I’m going to do. I don’t even have the keys to

my apartment. I run a hand through my hair and glance behind me at the empty street. There’s almost no one walking around at this hour, but I thought I saw something move into the alley just a few yards behind me. I can’t believe that Jesse could already be tailing me, but if he is… I duck into the nearest coffee shop and sit down at a table facing the window and the exit. Once I’m inside, the paranoia starts to set in. I just trapped myself. One way in, one way out. Jesse is going to laugh the whole way back to his apartment at my pathetic excuse of an escape attempt. He might even want to punish me for it. That thought skids across my consciousness like a bullet, bouncing around my skull and igniting fantasies about all the possible directions that could go. Stop it. I just ran away from the guy and only five minutes later I’m fantasizing about having dirty sex with him? He’s turning me into a basket case. I look toward the guy working the register and realize he’s glaring at me as he mutters into a cell phone. He looks away as soon as he sees me. A chill runs up my spine. I’m just being paranoid. He’s probably glaring at me because I’m just bumming a table and showing no intentions of buying anything. Or maybe he was about to close up and I just kept him from it. I manage to talk myself down and settle back into trying to enjoy my brief respite from Jesse. Except all I can do is feel like a lunatic because I miss him already. I’ve grown so used to him shadowing me in the two days he’s been back in my life, and I’ve already become accustomed to the comfort of knowing he’s my protector. My protector-Jesse Slade. I smile wryly, playing with my fingers idly on the table. I never thought those words would come to my mind after how he ended things. That was just a lie to protect myself, too, at least as far as he saw it. All he’s ever done is try to protect me. And here I am, pushing him away and then pulling him back. He probably thinks I’m mad. The guy behind the counter must have walked into the back, because I realize for the first time since walking in that I’m the only person in the store. Sitting alone in the small café makes me feel vulnerable and afraid. I’m about to get up and leave, despite the likelihood that I’ll just run into Jesse, but the door chimes. Three men in dark coats and golden goat masks walk into the café, and one turns to lock the door behind him.

60

JESSE

“Y

ou need a plunger in there or something?” I yell through the door. Girls have to take shits too, I get it, but Jesus. She has been in there a long time and I don’t hear a thing. “Kay!” I shout again, banging on the door. I give it about three seconds before slamming my shoulder into the door and busting it open. The window’s open. My heart sinks and I run to the window, pulling myself up to stick my head out and look down. I’m terrified of what I might see, but there’s only an empty alley beneath. And a ladder. A fucking ladder to my left. That fucking… insane, wild bitch. Did she seriously climb down the ladder on the side of a fucking thirty story building just to get away from me? I grab my Glock and holster it as I rush out the door, passing the elevator in favor of the stairs. I’m tearing down the stairs as fast as I can, rounding corner after corner blindly, making enough noise to wake the whole building and not giving two shits. Something black blurs in front of my face and pain explodes in my chest. I’m leveled. Stairs slamming into my back as my full-speed descent is stopped suddenly and without warning. My vision spins but I see a figure looming over me. He’s wearing a thick black jacket and mask, but I can tell even under all the clothing that he’s big. He waits for me to stand, fists clenched at his side. I see the hint of a tattoo on the back of his hand. A snake’s tail coiled around the tip of a sword. It’s the same tattoo Liam used to have on his hand. Exactly the same. Impossible. I stand slowly, mind replaying the hiss and trail of smoke as the rocket tore through the dry Middle Eastern air and slammed into the wall. The last two

members of my squad were behind that wall, one of whom was Liam. They died behind that wall. I saw the explosion and the rubble. I knew there was no way anyone could survive an explosion like that. I still remember digging through it, trying to find their bodies after the fighting was through. I was stained to the knees in blood, but I dug like a fucking lunatic, trying to find them. The man stands below me, arm still outstretched from where he clothes-lined me. I crack my neck, flexing my fists. “Where did you get that fucking tattoo?” I growl He laughs metallically from behind the mask, voice distorted. “You were always observant, Slade.” “Who the fuck are you?” I ask, stepping closer to him. “You can call me The Jackal.” The laughter in his voice pushes me over the edge. Makayla is out there alone right now and this asshole is wasting my time with his games. I would like nothing more than to make him hurt as much as possible, but I don’t have time. I reach for my gun and he moves in expertly, avoiding my attempt to push him back and twisting my arm under his grip. He strips the gun from my holster and I barely stop him from taking full control of the weapon. My arm is straining in his hold and I can feel the tendons in my shoulder hyperextending. A few more seconds and he’ll have my gun. Whoever he is, he’s good. He has training. Advanced training. I knee him in the thigh, wincing as the movement yanks my arm even farther out of place, but the distraction gives me time to flick the magazine catch and it clatters to the ground just as he pulls the gun from me. I know there’s not a bullet in the chamber, so the weapon’s useless now. I kick the magazine farther away from him and turn and punch him in the jaw as hard as I can, but the thick mask does more damage to me than I do to him. He headbutts me, still squeezing my shoulder tighter and tighter until it feels like it’s about to fucking burst. I focus on Makayla and fight through it, bracing myself as I slip his grip with a risky maneuver and then throw my body into him and ramming his back into the wall. I rip the mask from his face, snapping the leather strap behind his head that holds it in place. We both freeze as I look eye to eye with a fucking dead man. Liam Hartley. “You died. I saw you die.” He grips me by the shirt and pushes me back, turning until I’m the one pinned to the wall now. “Unfortunately for you, I lived.” I shake my head in confusion, mind replaying everything that happened and coming up short with an explanation. “I looked for your bodies.”

“And then you stopped looking, and so did the rest of the rescue team that came for you. I woke up two days later, nearly fucking dead from thirst. The insurgents pulled me out and… well, see for yourself.” He shoves me back into the wall and takes a step apart from me, opening his coat and lifting the black shirt beneath. His torso is ripped and corded with muscle, but thick scars crisscross his body in more places than I can count. I realize one of his eyes is cloudy too, sightless. One of his ears is missing. “Liam…” I say, gut wrenching to think that I did this to him. “No. You’re right. Liam is dead. I’m the fucking Jackal, and I’m not going to let you off easy by killing you.” He drops my empty Glock and flashes the Desert Eagle holstered at his side. I push down the crushing guilt and confusion that threatens to overwhelm me and focus on what matters most. Makayla. I can already see it in Liam’s eyes. He’s never going to forgive me. He’s not the same man I left behind that wall. I reach for his gun while he thinks I’m dazed. I slip it from his holder and point it at his forehead. His eyes are ablaze with the kind of fury only a man who has lost most of himself can muster. He steps into the gun, making the barrel dig into his forehead. His hand grips mine and he hisses through clenched teeth, spraying spittle. “Do it. Fucking kill me twice. Fucking do it.” As much as I want to end him and ease my mind about making Makayla that much safer, I squeeze the barrel release and flip the safety latch with my forefinger, disassembling the gun in three swift movements. I pocket the barrel and push his chest back, scooping up my Glock and magazine before leaving him where he stands, still sucking in heavy breaths through clenched teeth. That was for the old you, Liam. But if I see you again, I won’t hesitate to kill you.

61

MAKAYLA

T

wo of the masked men stand by the door, as if guarding it while the third sits across from me. My heart is pounding out of my chest and everything in me screams to run, but I’m afraid a sudden movement might set the men off. For now, the safest course of action is to try as hard as I can to remain calm and let this play out. Just moments ago I was hoping Jesse wouldn’t find me, and now I’m wishing he would hurry up and get his ass here. “Makayla,” says the man across from me. His voice is distorted by some device inside the goat mask, just like the man’s voice in the stairwell. “I can’t reveal who I am without risk of endangering myself and my associates,” he says, gesturing to the two men by the door who slightly incline their heads. “But we are not here to hurt you.” I feel a slight hint of relief, but I’m not ready to believe them. Not yet. “I wanted to wait until I had more information, but I don’t know if I will have time to learn more,” says the masked man. “But someone you trust wants you dead. My friends and I are part of an order. It was founded by fans of the show and we never wanted anyone to get hurt. At least most of us didn’t. Then money started coming from somewhere and our order splintered.” I shake my head, not understanding. “Order? None of this makes sense. Why would someone want to hurt me?” “Like I said. I don’t know as much as I would like. I only know that word has circulated within the order about a hefty reward for your death, and some of the information provided to aid any who would make an attempt on you is too sensitive to come from an outside source.” He stands abruptly, motioning to to the two men by the door to unlock it. “Be careful, Miss. Pierson. This is the last time I will contact you.” I sit in stunned silence as the three men silently file out of the café. My head

is spinning and it has nothing to do with the wine I drank earlier, which is all but gone from my system. It all feels so unreal, like one of the plotlines from Stalked. I keep expecting to hear “cut” called from the shadows and turn to see the crew getting ready for the next shot. But it’s just me, the empty café, and the dark street beyond. Someone I trust? That’s a relatively small group of people. I can’t even think of what sort of sensitive information there is about me to give away. I guess my address or my schedule might qualify, but it’s not as if a determined paparazzi couldn’t figure either of those out. I bury my face in my hands, trying to clear my mind, to get a reprieve from the constant stream of doubts and questions that have been bouncing around my skull since I first saw the stalker in the gold mask. I laugh a little humorlessly. Actually, the mental strain really only began to be too much when Jesse came back into my life. I think I could handle the threats more easily than I can handle his broad, beautiful… I blink a few times, sighing and standing. The past two days have been bizarre, and the last hour has been stranger still, but it’s not like me to sit and wallow or feel sorry for myself. I’m going to do the smart thing. The logical thing. Someone wants to hurt me, so I’m going to go back to the bodyguard I’m paying a small fortune for. I’m going to be as mature as I can about the fact that he’s deadly attractive and doing all kinds of things to my emotions. I’ll either figure it out or I won’t, but the most important thing for me to do is get somewhere safe. I’m a big girl. I’ll figure out the rest. I step outside just as someone big crashes into me, squeezing me to his body. “Kay,” Jesse says, relief clear in his voice. He wraps a protective arm around my back and leads me down the street, eyes hard with determination. I cling to him, not proud of how good it feels to be back within his protective circle, but accepting it for once. I squeeze him tight. “We have to get out of here,” I whisper, still not confident those three masked men really had my best interests at heart. “I know,” he growls. A taxi slowly pulls onto the street ahead. Jesse tries to hail it, and when it seems clear the taxi isn’t stopping, he motions for me to stay put and jogs into the street, pulling out his gun. My breath catches. What the hell is he doing? The taxi screeches to a halt. He moves to the driver’s window, leans down, and says something in quick, clipped tones. I see the driver nodding furiously and then he gets out of the car. Jesse hands him a card and claps him on the back before shoving him toward the sidewalk. He waves me toward the car. I approach hesitantly. “You’re just stealing his car?” “I’m borrowing it. Get in.”

I take the door handle and sit in the passenger seat. “What if he calls the cops?” “Then he won’t get the money I promised him.” “Oh,” I say quietly. “But what if--” “What the fuck were you thinking?” he snaps, throwing the car in reverse and turning us around so that we’re driving away from his apartment. “I was overwhelmed and embarrassed,” I say. “I just wanted some space to think and I knew you wouldn’t let me.” “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” The way he’s talking to me like a child irks me, but I notice the blood on his face and the way his breathing is pained. He’s also holding his left arm a little tentatively. “What happened to you?” I ask. “Nothing.” “It looks like nothing happened pretty hard, then.” He licks his lips, ignoring my sarcastic tone. “You said we had to get out of there. Did something happen?” I cross my arms. “Nothing happened.” He glares at me briefly before looking back to the road. “One of the stalkers was waiting for me in the stairwell when I came after you. I knew him.” “He wasn’t wearing a mask?” “He was. At first.” “Who was he?” “Someone I thought died a long time ago.” He shakes his head, twisting his hands on the steering wheel and squeezing until his knuckles go white. “I left him there. Everything that happened to him was because of me.” “I don’t understand…” I say. He sighs. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.” I touch his thigh, regretting the decision when I feel how warm and perfectly hard it is. “You don’t have to put up walls around me.” He huffs a laugh. “You sound like the army shrink they used to make me see.” “I’m serious, Jesse.” “Yeah, well, I can take care of myself. The only thing I’m concerned with right now is keeping you safe.” “And those flashbacks you have are good for keeping me safe?” I ask carefully. His jaw flexes. “I have pills for them.” “Do they work?” “Some.”

“You can talk to me. I’m not here to judge you. Whatever you had to do over there couldn’t have been easy, but it’s not your fault. Soldiers have orders. You had to follow them.” “Not my fault?” he asks. I sense a tinge of anger in his voice that makes me pull my hand back, suddenly anxious. He looks like he’s about to say more but he just shakes his head, eyes still locked on the road ahead. “You couldn’t understand.” “Try me.” He glares at me and I can see he’s going somewhere mentally, calling up old ghosts that he would rather leave dormant. “The thing that sticks is the guilt. In the moment, it’s just about the mission. People become targets. Objectives. When you’re over there, it all feels so vital, like if you don’t eliminate the target, our way of life back home will be over in an instant. But then I came back and realized most people hardly pay it a passing thought. All the shit I did to protect the country… how much of it mattered? And if it didn’t matter, how can I justify it?” I frown. I’ve never been the most patriotic person, but hearing his side of it breaks my heart. I feel guilty for being one of those people and never really thinking much about the soldiers fighting to protect us. “You’re protecting that innocence,” I say. “Think about it. If people had to be aware that their freedom was so fragile, it wouldn’t feel like freedom at all. The fact that people are able to go weeks, months, or even years without really thinking about it means you were doing your job. It was worth it.” He says nothing, but I can see something subtle change in his face. I don’t know if it’s relief or comfort, but he doesn’t speak again until we park in a dark field in the middle of nowhere. “Where are we?” I ask. “Nowhere special. But we need to wait out the night at least. It probably won’t make a difference, but I’d rather be cautious.” His eyes flick to me, and I realize he only wants to be cautious for my sake. Jesse is not the cautious type, and I’m touched by how much he’s willing to act outside his normal impulses to keep me safe. He may just be doing his job, but part of me feels like it’s more than that. Where are we going to sleep?” I ask, stepping out of the car and looking around. We’re parked at the bottom of a smooth slope of grass. There’s a chainlink fence at the top of the hill and a narrow dirt path winding its way up to where we’re parked, but our view is otherwise made up of rolling grass and a speckling of trees. It’s beautiful, and I can see so many stars in the sky that I find myself staring. I never find much reason to get away from the city, and it’s

amazing how quickly I can forget what the sky looks like away from all the lights. He gestures to the ground, smirking. “It’s freezing out here,” I say, clutching my arms to my side. “Here,” he says, sliding his jacket around my shoulders and rubbing some warmth into my arms. I close my eyes, leaning into him. We sit silently for a while before I speak. “Don’t freak out…” I say carefully. Jesse tenses beside me. “But three men in goat masks talked to me when I was waiting in that coffee shop.” “What did they do?” he growls. “Nothing. It was strange. They just wanted to tell me something. They said someone I trust is feeding information to the people who want to hurt me.” “Someone you trust?” he asks. “How long is that list?” “Not long. My stepfather, Kennedy… you.” “Don’t tell them anything from now on. Not where we’re going, our plans. Nothing. Okay?” I smirk. “So I should still trust you?” “You can always trust me.” I want to believe that. I really do. But the echo of his betrayal still haunts me. “I’m sorry I ran,” I say. His hands pause for a moment before he starts to rub my arms again. He’s behind me and his hot breath tickles my ear as he speaks. “Me too.” His tone tells me he doesn’t mean he’s sorry I ran. He’s sorry he ran… all those years ago. Tears well in my eyes. So what if he’s sorry? Does it change what he did? Yes, it does. I already read his journal and I know he was only trying to protect me to begin with. Hearing him apologize melts away some of the last remnants of the anger I held toward him. “What happens if you get involved with a client?” I ask, turning to face him. He takes me in calmly with his eyes. “Bad things,” he says, voice full of hunger. I put a hand on his broad chest, letting my fingers slide down slowly, tracing long, delicate lines on his skin. He sucks in a slow breath. “Maybe I want you to do bad things to me,” I breathe. His hands weave through my hair and his mouth crashes against mine. A roaring sound makes me jump back, looking to the sky in confusion and panic. He holds me tight as we watch the underbelly of a jumbo jet as it takes off from somewhere just on the other side of the hill. It crawls past our heads, impossibly

slow for something so large. “You brought us to an airport… like we used to,” I say. He smirks. “Call me sentimental.” I bite my lip, kissing him again and pulling his shirt over his head. He lowers me softly to the grass, kissing my mouth and my neck, pulling my shirt up. I let him take it off me, lifting my shoulders to allow him to unhook my bra next. He props himself up on one arm, still kissing me greedily as he uses his free hand to unbutton my pants and start pushing them down. I help him, lifting my ass and shimmying out of my pants and panties. He yanks his pants down and I catch a glimpse of his perfectly sculpted body cast in sharp relief by the moonlight. I see his cock for a brief moment before he crushes his body into mine. I have a split second to marvel at how large it is. He kisses his way down my chest and finds my nipple, sucking and kissing every inch of me. I arch my back, already feeling a building of pressure between my legs. I’ve anticipated this for so long. I’ve feared it and dreamed of it. Now it’s happening, and all I can do is give in to the desire. I realize with a start that he’s kissed his way down my body and his beautiful features are poised over my belly. I suck in a breath of surprise at the rush of pleasure that shoots through me when he licks a playful circle around the sensitive skin of my belly button, and then trails kisses down the smooth flesh above my mound. His touch is electric. It’s fire and ice all mixed together as his hot mouth burns my skin leaving an echo of icy shock in its wake. My body is alive like I’ve never felt as each kiss sends jolts of pleasure pulsing through my body. I grip the grass tight, barely feeling the way it tickles my bare back, feeling like I need to grab onto something or I might lose myself in the moment. I want to be here, to be present. I want to relish in every second of it because the thread connecting us is frighteningly strong, but the same power of attraction could repel us just as easily. It’s exhilarating and terrifying. He’s about to reach my throbbing clit with his lips. He lingers, letting the heat of his mouth sink deep into the skin just above my slit. He pulls back and I suck in a breath, anticipating the explosion of pleasure when he finds my waiting heat, but instead he tortures me by kissing the inside of my thigh. His rough palm grasps my leg, lifting it so that he can reach every inch of the sensitive skin. I press the back of my head into the ground, gritting my teeth. It feels so good. I lift my head to look down at him and feel a fresh surge of excitement. He’s holding my leg with one hand under my ankle and the other beneath my knee. His smoldering eyes regard me with a heart-stopping intensity as he kisses a path down the soft flesh of one leg before licking his way up the other. My breathing comes in heaving gasps and I clench my teeth, feeling such a

powerful need that I think it might actually tear me apart at the seams. When his lips finally encircles my clit, a lusty moan spills from my lips and I press myself up into him, squeezing my eyes shut, reeling from the intensity. I’ve been with men before. Sex has never felt like this, even all those years ago with Jesse. It’s only been a few short seconds of his mouth on my clit and I know with crushing certainty that he just ruined sex for me with any other man. Nothing will ever touch this feeling. Nothing will come close to drawing this much pleasure out of just a single touch. I lose track of time, giving myself over to the blinding waves of ecstasy his mouth is igniting. His tongue is everywhere--flicking against my clit as he sucks the sensitive bit of flesh, circling my entrance before plunging it inside me. He works my pussy over in a way tht has me rocking my hips into him while desperately gasping his name. The men who’ve gone down on me in the past were tentative at best. Like it was more of a chore, or a means to an end than something derived pleasure. Jesse? He attacks my pussy like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. Like it’s the most precious thing in the world and it’s his job to pay tribute to it. He pays attention to every detail, making note of my every response and using that knowledge to hone in on how to further drive my pleasure He’s a fucking pussy eating god. I never want it to stop, but I can only hold back the tidal wave that is my orgasm for so long. His attention turns solely to my clit, working me into a breathless frenzy. He alternates between delicate, fluttering licks of his tongue and hard pressing swipes that have my toes curling. When his fingers glide into my entrance I clench around them as the first wave of release washes over me. He moves his fingers in a steady rhythm, drawing me close and closer to the edge. I’m so primed that when he sucks my clit between his lips and curls his fingers inside me, my orgasm rushes up and over, stealing my breath as I cry out, cumming harder than I ever have. “Oh my God,” I gasp as my orgasm continues to roll through me in waves. I’ve never been loud in bed, but Jesse has made me a moaning, screaming mess and I can’t find it in myself to care. I dig my hands into his silky hair, not knowing if I’m trying to hold him closer or pull him away as I quiver, absolutely floored by the torrent of sensations ripping through me. When my orgasm finally subsides, I realize with a mixture of fear and excitement that it’s not over. I’m completely wiped out, but with every passing second I look at his gorgeous face and hard body and the scrumptiously large cock throbbing between his legs… well, let’s just say I make a quick recovery. I reach down and wrap my fingers around his cock, biting my lip and looking

into his eyes. “Do you have a condom?” I ask. He reaches to his discarded pants and fishes out a metallic wrapper, expertly opening it and sliding it onto his cock in seconds. I try not to dwell on why he’s so good at that, or the fact that he was carrying one around. It’s not hard to shift my focus when he presses himself against me, straining the walls of my core with his thickness. My eyebrows draw together and my mouth opens in a silent “O.” There’s a brief moment of tension and then he’s seated inside me, filling me so completely that I wonder how I ever lived without him. I wrap my legs around his back, holding him to me. I grip the hard, corded muscles of his arms as he holds himself up over me and glides himself in and out of my slick heat. He moves slowly at first, almost reverently. I get lost watching his face, the way it almost looks as if he’s frowning, but his lips are slightly parted, and his downcast eyes take in their fill of my naked body. His pace increases with a relentless certainty, never wavering, always getting just a little faster with each thrust. I become transfixed by it, the precision of it, and the way it creates a suspense, a question of how long he can keep up the increasing pace, like listening to a master singer hit higher and higher notes, knowing it can’t go on forever but reveling in the anticipation. He pounds into me, face drawn in a mask of passion. I squeeze his arms, nails digging into his smooth, hard skin. I look up at him, the perfect outline of his body silhouetted against a blanket of stars above us. Being with him feels so primal and so right, like if I could only hold on to this moment, it would breathe the life back into my world, giving back the meaning that has been missing since he left. His pace reaches a fever pitch and I can feel myself clenching around him in the telltale sign that I’m about to cum. Our eyes meet and the fervent look in his is my undoing. My orgasm seems never ending… and when he groans as he finds his own release, I shudder. I feel the warmth of his cum through the condom and am racked with another hit of pleasure. I practically melt into the ground as Jesse falls to his elbows and buries his head into the crook of my neck. I don’t know what this means for us, whether it was just release or something deeper. I don’t know if Jesse felt the same bond and connection I did, but if I can trust my heart, I know he did. The sensation of something real and tangible linking us together was unmistakable. But a single question burns in my mind with painful heat: What if he leaves again?

62

JESSE

I

’m in a dark room. Water drips from the ceiling somewhere. A man’s boots scuff on the ground as he picks up metal implements from a table behind me and sets them back down, humming casually. My body is on fire. My wrists are rubbed raw from where the ropes hold me. The bullet wound in my side feels like it’s festering, and my back is pulsing with agonizing pain from where they whipped me. I spit blood on the floor, forcing myself to straighten and stay strong. If they’re going to kill me, so be it, but I’m going to die like a fucking soldier, head held high and without a trace of fear in my eyes. The man steps back in front of me. He’s middle-eastern with dark skin and a thick beard. He has oddly kind eyes for someone in his line of work. They are light brown, soft, like his features. I can picture him sitting on the edge of his children’s bed, reading them a story. But now the only story he wants to hear is where I came from and who I work for. “Go fuck yourself,” I say, spitting another mouthful of blood at his feet. He regards the blood with disinterest, raising the surgeon’s knife to my face. His accent is thick, but I can understand him well enough. “This knife is sharpened by a special machine. You will not even feel the cut at first. It can slice skin and bone just as easily. I could carve at you for hours before you even lose consciousness.” My eyes are drawn to the razor-thin blade and I grit my teeth. “Fuck you,” I say. He tsks, “And I thought we were getting along so well.” Without preamble or hesitation, he swipes the blade across my thigh. I feel a slight tug, nothing more, nothing less. His lips slowly curve up into a malicious grin as he raises the knife to my face again. It’s smeared in blood now. I try not to, but my eyes fall to my thigh, where I can clearly see a thin black line across

my the bare skin. The pain follows seconds later, but he’s right, it’s not much. I watch the blood rise up and spill from the wound. Judging from the bleeding, the cut is fucking deep. I know how little blood it actually takes to bleed out, and I’ve already lost so much. If he thinks he can keep this up for hours, he’s going to be disappointed. He taps the knife against my cheek. It’s warm and wet, not cold like it should be. I stir, no longer sitting upright, but lying on my back. I’m not in some dirty fucking torturers paradise anymore, either. I’m outside, in the fresh air and beneath the stairs. The pain in my leg fades to memory and my eyes jolt open. My chest is heaving and my body is covered in a sheen of sweat. Makayla’s hand rests on my bare chest and she props herself up over me, looking down into my face with so much compassion it hurts. “Hey,” she says, voice as soft as an angels. “I’m here. You’re okay.” I sit upright, not wanting to give in to the warmth of her touch, not feeling like I deserve to be comforted. Those dark moments are just part of my penance, the price I pay for what I did and the men I failed to save. “It’s fine. Just a bad dream.” “Your hands are shaking,” she says, sliding her fingertips down my forearm to steady my hand by clasping it in hers. I stand, pulling away from her. I’m still completely naked, and it feels a little strange to be bare-ass naked outdoors in the light of the morning, but I don’t care. She stands, apparently feeling the same because she starts to hunt down her panties and bra, sliding them on. I’ve played this scene out so many times since being discharged. The morning after, when reality comes crashing back and I realize I want nothing more than to get as far as fucking possible from the woman I just slept with. I keep waiting for that uncontrollable need. It’s part of what really held me back from sleeping with Makayla. Something in me is broken, and I’ve known it for a long time. I don’t stick around when it comes to women. There might be a brief spark but only emptiness ever follows. I didn’t want the same thing to happen with Makayla. I worried that my darkness would taint even the most powerful and pure feelings I have for my sweet Makayl, but the only thing I feel is the cold morning chill on my sweat-soaked skin. I’m shocked when I realize that last night I was able to cum without completely controlling the situation. We just made loved. There wasn’t anything dirty or kinky about it and I came harder than I ever remember. I turn slightly to look at her as she bends over to pick up her pants, my cock stirs and I think about moving behind her to grip those perfect fucking hips

and… I still want her. I still want her as bad as the night before, maybe worse. But something else is pulling at my consciousness. Guilt. The sinking, stomachchurning sense that this is more than I deserve. I’m a fucking asshole who doesn’t deserve happiness. It’s not pussy feelings talking or psychobabble left over from my time with the army shrink. It’s a cold hard fact. I’ve killed and I’ve made mistakes that cost men who trusted me their lives. And now I learn that I made a mistake that led to Liam being tortured, and by the looks of it, he got it worse than I ever did. Fuck. I do not deserve her, but I’m going to take her because I’m a selfish bastard. I want her too badly to let her go again, and I can’t stand the thought of her with another man. “We should head back,” I say. She bites her lip, looking drop-dead gorgeous in her lacy black panties and red bra with black trim. “Only if you keep those clothes off.” I smirk, glancing down at my rock-hard cock and naked body. “That might not be the best way to avoid notice.” She steps in closer, hand circling my cock. “I might need to take care of this for you if you plan to fit beneath the steering wheel.” I lick my lips, stealing a handful of her perfect ass and kissing her softly on the lips. “As much as I would enjoy that, we really shouldn’t linger here. “Makayla… my dog Makayla, has probably crapped all over the apartment by now.” She gives me an amused look. “I’m starting to get a lot less flattered that you named your dog after me.” I grab my clothes and start to get dressed. “I told you. The shelter named her that.” “Right,” she says.

I PARK IN THE GARAGE ACROSS THE STREET FROM MY APARTMENT BUILDING . “Stay here,” I say to Makayla. “No running off this time.” She glances around the parking garage a little nervously. “I think I’ll take my chances with you.” Looking around I realize she’s probably right. It will be safer if she’s with me. I can’t be sure how much manpower these people have. If it’s a small operation, there’s no way they would find us here. But if they’re well-funded enough, they could have eyes all over. I pull out my Glock, checking the chamber and re-holstering it.

“You really think you’ll need that?” asks Makayla. I motion for her to stop before we step out of the garage and onto the sidewalk, making sure it’s clear. “I don’t know. But they know I’m coming back.” I hear her take a deep breath as we cross the street and step into the lobby of my building. There is quite a bit of activity, and I recognize most of the faces, but there are too many tenants for me to know everyone, so I move carefully, always touching Makayla and doing my best to shield her with my body. We take the elevator without incident and reach my hallway. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but hell, being paranoid is my job. My muscles are all tight, ready to engage at a moment’s notice as we cross the distance, stopping outside my door. I unlock all the locks and then draw my gun. I’ve been around danger enough to have developed something like a sixth sense for violence, and right now, my sixth sense is going fucking haywire. I’m positive there are going to be people waiting inside my apartment, and I’m equally sure they aren’t in there to throw us a surprise party. I briefly consider asking Makayla to wait outside in the hall, but they might also be expecting that. Whatever happens, she’s safest with me. “Stay behind me,” I whisper to her. She nods as we creep inside. My hair prickles on the back of my neck when I hear my dog whining from the bedroom. The door was open when I left. She shouldn’t be trapped in there. I close the door behind us and quietly re-lock it. If we’re not alone in here, I don’t want any surprises coming from behind. I turn off the lights. The blackout curtains make the apartment almost pitch black, despite the rising sun outside. “Stay right here,” I whisper. I guide her through the absolute darkness to crouch behind a thick bookshelf that should shield her from most directions. It’ll have to do for now. I can barely see the whites of Makayla’s eyes as she nods. My dog whines in the distance, but I don’t hear anything else. I move past the kitchen, stepping silently and sliding a chef’s knife from the block on my way. I hold the knife in my left hand, which is still a little weak from the hold Liam put on me last night, and my Glock in the right. I’m about to reach my bedroom when I hear a sudden rush of movement. I whirl toward the sound just as there’s more movement from behind me, coming from the guest room. One of the assailants bumps into a sidetable in the near darkness and I hear him crash into the floor. The other tries to take cover behind my couch. I can’t see much, but when I hear the groan of the couch’s leather armrest, I know exactly where to point and shoot. I squeeze off two rounds, catching split-second freeze frames of the room in

the bright muzzle flash. I see a black hole ripped through the inside of the couch’s armrest from my first shot. A second hole appears an inch to the right and this time I see a man falling out from behind the couch, clutching his chest. I turn just in time to ram the knife in the other assailant’s stomach. He’s holding a taser and a small black club, both thump to the floor as I ram the knife into him. Hot blood rushes over my hand and I instinctively pull the knife free, driving it home through his heart, ending him in an instant. I cross the distance to the downed man behind the couch, aiming my gun in his direction as I approach. I kneel, dragging the blade of the knife across his throat to finish the job. I wait outside the door to my bedroom, staining my ears to listen for any sound, but all I can hear are Makayla’s panicked breaths. She’s trying to keep as quiet as possible, but her breathing is too rapid. I hate that she’s here for this, but I hope the darkness has shielded her from most of the bloodshed. I open the bedroom door and rush in, gun raised. There’s a burst of light and an ear-splitting sound as someone fires a heavy caliber pistol toward the doorway. I roll inside, distracted as my dog rushes toward me, whimpering. I fire three rounds toward where I saw the gunman, but I still hear movement and cursing from behind my bed. I didn’t hit him. I run past my dog, sliding down on the other side of my bed and then lifting the frame and mattress in one quick motion, flipping the whole thing over toward the gunman on the other side. He’s forced to run out into the open. I fire once, hitting him in the shoulder. His gun clatters to the ground and he’s jolted backwards, squeezing a hand to the bullet wound. I rush him, pinning him to the wall by the throat. “What the fuck are you here for? What do you want?” “You,” he croaks. “We were supposed to capture you and...” his words are cut off as my hand tightens. I’m forced to ease up, letting him get enough air to speak. “Boss wanted to make you watch while he fucked your girl. Then he’d kill you.” My blood burns like acid in my veins. I grip his throat again, digging my fingers into his flesh until I feel his tendons straining. His eyes bulge and he claws at me. I ease up one more time. “Who is he? Who’s your fucking boss?” “The Jackal,” he coughs, voice like sandpaper as he collapses to the ground, retching and trying to crawl away from me. I aim my Glock at the back of his head and fire, dusting my carpet and walls with his blood. Makayla rushes into the room, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. She stutters to a stop, taking in the violence one piece at a time.

“Are you…” she mutters, eyes glassy. I move to her, taking her shoulders and easing her from the room. I’m probably smearing blood all over her, but I talk in low, soothing tones, trying to calm her. My mind is elsewhere. Liam did this. I let him go because it appeased my guilt and now I’ve put Makayla in danger because of it. And as long as I’m involved with her, she’s never going to be safe. I keep my hand on my holstered gun as we step into the hallway. “Come on,” I whisper, slapping my leg to get my dog’s attention. She hurries after me, happily panting and slobbering. “We can’t stay here. Cops are probably already on the way. I should be in the clear because it was a home invasion, but we can’t afford to get tied up with questioning right now. We have to stay on the move and low key. Okay?” Makayla’s eyes are still distant, but she nods. “They’re dead, aren’t they?” she asks. “Yeah. They’re dead. They can’t hurt you now.” Those men can’t, but whoever else Liam plans to send still can and will. And if I keep selfishly staying involved with you, they aren’t going to stop. We take the elevator downstairs. An elderly couple steps inside with us and the woman smiles up at me sweetly. “Honey,” she says, touching my arm. “You’ve spilt ketchup all over yourself.” I look down at my left arm and side. It’s misted with dried blood. My hands are caked in the stuff and Makayla’s clothes are too. “Oh,” I say. “I just really love hamburgers. I must have gotten carried away.” She laughs, touching my forearm. “You’re too funny.” I give a strained smile, hoping neither of them notice how traumatized Makayla looks. The distraction of looking after her is helping keep the flashbacks at bay, but the smell of sand and blood reaches my nose. I can feel the sun on the back of my neck, even though I’m in an artificially lit elevator. There’s a rifle strapped to my back… No. I’m in an elevator. I’m not in the desert. The doors ding when we reach the lobby. I lead Makayla and my dog to the garage, ushering everyone into the car. I rip out of the parking garage and head toward my safehouse, stomach clenching when I think about what I am going to have to do to keep her safe. I’m going to have to break her heart again, and I fucking hate myself for it.

63

MAKAYLA

J

esse’s safehouse is a sparsely decorated building in the middle of town. We’ve been here for a day already, and Jesse and I have hardly spoken. I try to wrap my head around the fact that it was only four days ago that Jesse came back into my life. Four days and so much has already happened. I had to go to the set and film this morning, despite Jesse’s insistence that I stay somewhere secluded. When I threatened to walk if he didn’t take me himself, he finally relented and went with me. I think I set a record for the number of takes needed to satisfy Camillo today. Needless to say, my mind is anywhere but on the job. No matter how much I try to push what I saw from my mind, it keeps coming back. I can still hear the ear-piercing rip of gunfire. I can see the blinding flashes of light and freeze-frame images of a man falling to the ground, mortally wounded. I can smell the gunpowder and blood, the burnt upholstery. I can’t seem to completely get rid of the tightness in my chest, the looming sense of dread. Everything has taken on a sense of immediacy, and I can’t stop the flow of melodramatic thoughts assaulting my consciousness. I wondered if the shower I took this morning would be the last, or if today would be my last day on set. The questions have had the unsettling side effect of making me question what I’m doing with my life in the first place. If I really want to act in movies, why am I settling for a TV show? Why am I assuming I have all the time in the world to slowly work my way toward my goals? Just thinking about it all makes me want to hyperventilate. Now I’m on a simple, uncomfortable couch in Jesse’s safehouse, trying not to let my thoughts drive me crazy. He had to let me stop on the way home to buy a few spare sets of clothes and underwear. More than anything, I wish I could

just relax in my own apartment for a day, using all my normal shampoos and soaps and maybe even drawing myself a nice, hot bath. Instead, I’m in this cold box of a building. It’s a converted TV set that he apparently acquired from a previous client. The part of the building that we’re in is an old set overlooked by an area that would have sat about four hundred audience members. When Jesse turned the stage lights on, we couldn’t figure out how to turn the blue filter off, so everything is cast in midnight blue light, making the shabby space feel eerie. The set is arranged to look like a small apartment--I can imagine it was used for some kind of 90s sitcom. I’m sitting on the couch in the ‘living room’. The only other real pieces of furniture are a small bed and an aged table with chairs. Everything else in the space is a prop. He has been on his phone all morning, talking in low tones and casting furtive glances my way. What are you up to, Jesse? Ever since the gunfight in his apartment, he’s been distant, cold even. If it wasn’t for Makayla, my bulldog counterpart, I would feel completely alone. She’s nuzzled beside me, panting happily and displaying the jutting shelf of her lower jaw proudly. I rub the folds of skin on top of her head, sighing. How did this happen? One day, I’m living my life like normal, completely tunnel-visioned on my goals, occasionally daydreaming about the guy who let me go. The next? My life is threatened and the man who broke my heart comes crashing back into it, seemingly set on wedging his way back into those broken pieces. How did everything fall apart so quickly? And why would someone want to kill me? I’m no saint, but I can’t think of anything I’ve done that would warrant hurting me, let alone killing me. The masked man’s words from the cafe come back to me. Someone I trust. Who do I even trust? Kennedy? Jesse? My stepfather? Jesse obviously doesn’t want to see me hurt. Kennedy would have no reason to want something bad to happen to me. That only leaves Hubert. I can’t buy that either. He’s always been like a collector of people and things, gathering what he considers to be pretty and valuable and then hoarding it for his own satisfaction. I’ve never known him to give up the things he prizes, and as far as I know, he prizes me. So who then? All I can think is that the man in the golden mask was wrong. After all, he was obviously part of the same people who want to kill me so is it so hard to believe that he would be lying to me? Jesse hangs up the phone and stalks toward me. He looks gorgeous in a gray suit and crisp black undershirt. But he looks more than gorgeous, he looks deadly. He is deadly. I remind myself.

The thought bubbles up without warning, turning my stomach. Why does that draw me to him so much? I hate violence, yet seeing how brutally effective and competent he is does things to me I’m not proud of. It makes me feel safe, cared for, and prized in a good way, not in the selfish kind of greedy way that Hubert prizes me. “I’m going to check the perimeter. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I frown, already so dependant on his presence that I don’t like the idea of being left alone. I watch him walk across the stage and exit out the back. After ten minutes go by, I start to worry. I get up and move to the exit, carefully stepping outside so his dog doesn’t follow me. Outside, I see Jesse leaning over a car and talking to two men in suits. They nod as he walks away and they step out of the car. My heart stops. What’s going on? I watch Jesse get in his car. I see him punch the dashboard and yell something I can’t hear behind the closed doors before he drives off. Jesse… What are you doing? I watch the two men approach with a creeping dread, knowing there’s no point in running. The taller man holds a calming palm to me when he notices me. He’s freakishly tall with a bald head and a long face. The other is shorter with thick lips and protruding ears. “We’re your new protection,” the tall man says once they’re closer. “I’m Edwards.” “Rosenthal,” says the shorter man. I realize I’ve backed up until I’m pressed against the door. I force something like calm to come over my face, but my mind is racing. New protection? “Where’s Jesse?” “He has been reassigned,” Rosenthal informs. From their demeanor, I gather that Rosenthal is the more serious of the two. Edwards has a calm ease about him while Rosenthal looks like he doesn’t know how to smile. “Why didn’t he say anything to me about it?” I ask. I feel like I’m on the verge of absolute panic. My pulse pounds in my head, breaths coming shallow. “We’re not at liberty to say,” says Rosenthal. “Miss, we should really get inside. It’s safer.” I feel a cloud of anger settle over me. Edwards has the decency to flinch a little. Some professional, I think. “I’m not taking that for an answer. I paid a lot of money for Mr. Slade’s protection. He can’t just--” “Your money is already refunded,” Rosenthal quickly states. “Mr. Slade also paid our fees for you. Everything is taken care of. Now, can we please step inside?” “You said he was reassigned. Why would he pay my fee if he was--”

Rosenthal manhandles me, wrapping my arms in front of my chest and pushing the door open. He leads me inside and lets Edwards in before slamming the door behind us. “Let me make one thing clear. Your protection is my top priority. If I have to displease you or upset you to keep you safe, I won’t hesitate.” Edwards looks at me apologetically, spreading his big hands and shrugging. I pull away, straightening my clothes and glaring at him so hard I’m surprised he doesn’t wither where he stands.

T WO WEEKS . T WO FUCKING WEEKS AND I HAVEN ’ T HEARD A WORD FROM J ESSE . Instead of the immediate, heart-crushing pain I felt when he left me ten years ago, all I feel now is a creeping sort of finality. It’s like I’m walking on a frozen lake, watching the cracks spreading beneath my feet, threatening to give out. Every moment threatens to shatter the false sense of “everything’s okay” I’m trying so hard to project, but it’s a balancing act in the worst kind of way. I know sooner or later, it’s all going to come crashing down around me with a cold kind of reality that will leave me numb and dead inside. This isn’t a simple broken heart, this is something soul deep--irreparable. I go to work. I read my lines. I spend time with Kennedy. I eat, sleep, shower, and repeat. All the while I ignore the two men who shadow my every move, unable to avoid constantly comparing them to Jesse, to marvel at how much safer I felt in the protection of one man than I do with these two. I keep thinking I see Jesse. In the corner of the coffee shop, looming behind the crew while I’m on set, waiting in a parked car outside the safehouse, or mixed in with the crowd on the street. I see him everywhere, but I know I’m just imagining it. I can’t stop torturing myself with thoughts of him. He’s gone, Makayla. He’s gone again. You knew he’d leave from the start. I’m trying so hard to hate him for leaving, but I can’t. All I can do is miss him and think about what I would do differently if he came back. I’m definitely still pissed, and if he has the nerve to show his face, he had better get ready to be slapped. But beneath the shallow layer of anger is a deep, agonizing need to be with him again. I already crave his touch and his smell, wishing I could have his strong arms around me again, protecting me and making me feel safe. I pace around the abandoned set that has become my prison, waffling between hating and missing Jesse. Logically, I should hate him. I should be ready to leave him in the past where he so clearly wants to be, but my stupid heart still wants the man I used to love. But I’m confused… why would he leave

his beloved dog behind? It must mean he plans to come back, right? I don’t know how much time passes while I’m lost to my thoughts, but a slow kind of resolve washes over me. I’m stronger than this. I don’t want to be some weakling that sits around waiting for a man that doesn’t want to be with me. I decide here and now that I’m going to move on. I won’t waste my time again. I won’t lose another ten years secretly hoping he deigns to come back. I’m going to live my life for myself. It won’t be easy, but I’m not going to let myself wither away again over Jesse Slade.

64

JESSE

I

rip the golden mask from his face and punch him across the jaw, leaning in so he can see my eyes clearly. He blinks through the pain, wincing and working his jaw, struggling against the ropes that tie him to the chair. I prowl around him like a restless animal, hungry for blood and on the edge of losing myself. How long has it been since I walked away from her for the second time? Two weeks? Three? It’s all been a blur of too little sleep and far too much bloodshed. All I have to do to find these gold masked fuckers is tail Makayla. It’s like a small army of the worthless pricks is out there, creeping around. The toughest part is sifting through the pretenders and the real deal. Ever since the news picked up the story of the “Gold Stalkers”, there has been an explosion of activity. Celebrities are being kidnapped, beaten, and even killed. “Who do you work for?” I ask. I already suspect this guy isn’t just a pretender by the way he took my punch. He’s a professional. Not like the last couple I rounded up. “Who do you think?” he asks. My fist snaps out as I land another hard punch across his already bruised face. I nearly topple him and the chair, but he manages to stay upright. “You’re going to kill me anyway. Why should I tell you anything?” “Because there are all kinds of ways to die. And I can get real fucking creative if you piss me off.” He huffs a laugh, shaking his head slowly. “The reward isn’t good enough for this shit.” I turn, a little surprised at his change of heart. I listen intently, sensing that he’s about to finally tell me something I don’t know. “Reward?” “Yeah. The price on Makayla Pierson’s head. Whoever clips her gets the money. That simple.”

“Who’s offering the money?” “No idea. But whoever it is has enough influence to get the message trickling through most of the top military contractors. There are a ton of ex-military with their eye on the reward, but a rumor also spread pretty fast that people who tail Makayla have a tendency to turn up dead. Still, it’s only a matter of time before someone hungry enough gets to her.” I clench my fists. “Anything else?” He sniffs, looking down sadly and shaking his head. “That’s pretty much it. Can you try not to fuck up my face when you kill me?” he asks. “I got family.” I pull a knife from my hip and kneel in front of him. He watches the tip closely. I reach behind him and cut the ropes holding him in place. “Get the fuck out of here. If I see you within a mile of Makayla again, I’ll end you, and your face will look like a Mr. Potato Head toy by the time I’m done with it.” He smirks. “Fair enough.” I help him to stand and watch as he hobbles out of the building. It’s one of half a dozen properties I own around the city. They serve as safe houses and double as investments. Lately, they have been good locations to torture and dispose of the people who aim to hurt Makayla. I rub my lips slowly, trying to think of how I’m going to deal with this. They may have just been words, but I didn’t like that he said someone would get to her eventually. I realize it’s true. I can’t just keep picking off the runoff like this. I need to find a way to Liam, or this is never going to end. But I have a sinking feeling I’m not dealing with just one person. I think this whole mess might just be a convenient smokescreen for the real people behind it. Someone is looking to gain something from Makayla’s death, I just need to figure out what.. I know Liam is using the situation to lash out at me for personal reasons, it’s the person who ordered the hit on Makayla that is the true danger. What a clusterfuck. I swore I wouldn’t hurt her again, and look at the shit I’ve pulled. I walked away without a single word, leaving Edwards and Rosenthal to deal with the fallout. They might not seem like much, but aside from myself, they are the best in the business. Even so, I’m not letting Makayla out of my sight. No matter how it looks, she’s still mine to protect. The only difference is now she doesn’t know I’m taking care of her, that I’m keeping her safe by staying away. My stomach turns a little when I realize how similar a path I’m walking to the one I’ve spent ten years regretting, when I hurt her to protect her.

65

MAKAYLA

“Y

ou have to go,” Kennedy says as she leans back in her seat, twirling a stray lock of her black hair. Rosenthal looms near the doorway while Edwards helps himself to some sugar cookies from her pantry. I sigh. “I know. I wasn’t really planning on ditching it. It’s just…” “Scary?” asks Kennedy. I realize she must think I don’t want to go to the red carpet event because I’m worried about being exposed in public and giving an open invitation to anyone who wants to hurt me. I shake my head, not wanting to keep my best friend in the dark. “I’m trying really hard to be over Jesse, but I just--” I laugh a little, shaking my head. “It’s stupid. I was worried I might run into him there, you know. These knuckleheads won’t tell me who he was reassigned to, but if he’s protecting a celebrity, chances are good he’ll be there. Screw it though. I need to get over it and just go.” Kennedy gives me a sympathetic look but smiles. “You know, if you really want to move on, you should consider seeing someone else. Not that you were seeing Jesse, of course,” she adds with a mischievous little smile. “Why do I have a feeling you have someone in mind?” “Because you’re my bestie and you know me better than anyone,” Kennedy singsongs. Rosenthal actually grimaces to be subjected to so much girl talk. Edwards doesn’t seem to notice. He’s found a small bag of candy and is making his way through it with enthusiasm. “So,” Kennedy starts. “I’m taking Patrick Lockheart.” She pauses, waiting for me to react. I realize I’m supposed to recognize the name so I raise my eyebrows and do

my best impressed gasp. Kennedy doesn’t fall for it. “Seriously? You don’t know who he is?” She clicks her manicured fingers on her phone a few times and waits, turning the screen to show me a picture of a guy who looks a little too young, but is undeniably attractive. He has sandy blond hair with a strong, stubble-covered jaw, and bedroom eyes. “He plays the lead for the Men of Mayhem? Not ringing any bells?” “Sorry, no.” “Well, he’s going with me and he is really bummed that his cousin couldn’t find someone to go with. You could take him. He’s really cute, and if Jesse happens to be there, I’m sure it would drive him nuts to see you hanging on some hunk’s arm. You can borrow my Jean Bernice dress... It’s a little slutty, but God you would look killer in it!” Rosenthal clears his throat, suddenly looking very interested in the rug at his feet. I smile a little. “I don’t even have any idea if he’ll be there, Kennedy. And even if he is, I don’t need to make him jealous. That would just prove I’m still thinking about him. Which I’m not.” She gives me a skeptical look, narrowing her eyes. “Didn’t you just say--” “Shut up,” I say, smirking.

I STEP ONTO THE RED CARPET WITH H UNTER S MITH , P ATRICK L OCKHEART ’ S cousin. I’m wearing Kennedy’s Jean Bernice dress and fighting the urge to pull at the fabric to cover more of my scandalously exposed breasts. It’s tight in all the right places and way more revealing than anything I would normally wear. I totally didn’t wear it because I want to make Jesse jealous. It was just easier than going through the trouble of getting my own dress and less embarrassing than sending one of my bodyguards to go rummage through my closet at my apartment to find one, since they still insist on keeping me at the safehouse. At least that’s what I keep telling myself to avoid feeling like the silly little girl I’m being. Cameras snap and bulbs flash, making my eyes burn with red afterimages. The sound of the reporters’ chatter reaches a fever pitch as they realize it’s me. The cameras click like automatic machine guns, capturing so many pictures I wonder what anyone could possibly do with them. As much as I try to resist, I reach down and tug at the fabric of the dress, trying to pull it over my breasts a little more.

I’m stopped several times, asked to twirl, strike a pose, or tell someone “who I’m wearing.” It’s all part of the job, but it’s never been the part of the job I craved. I live for the moments when I’m completely absorbed by the character I’m playing, when Makayla Pierson fades into some distant place and I become someone else. After what feels like an age, we reach the inside of the venue. It’s an oldstyle theater they are using to screen the finalé of Stalked a day before it airs on television. A few select members of the press and influential critics will be allowed to watch, but it’s more about showing off the cast before the screening. The building is old, but classic, with crown molding everywhere, romanesque support pillars, and gold accents giving everything an expensive sheen. I spot most of the cast milling around the lobby, where the number of press allowed in is severely limited. Everyone is more relaxed, and the few press allowed in are tactful enough to be discreet about the pictures they take. I see Jason talking to three beautiful women, narrowing his eyes in the silly way he thinks is seductive. I want to roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of it until I remember who I’m walking beside. The date I shamefully brought along on the off chance that Jesse would be here to see and get jealous. I don’t know how I let Kennedy talk me into this. Hunter is handsome, but he’s way, way too aware of how handsome he is. He wears a constant, smug little smirk that rubs me the wrong way. I’m glad when we find Kennedy and Patrick, because it gives me a breather while Hunter and Patrick make me nauseous with their overly-macho greeting. They slap hands together with a loud pop, pull each other in to bang shoulders, and then pop each other on the back like their performing the heimlich. As if that’s not enough, Patrick punches Hunter on the shoulder after they break up their little greeting ritual. They laugh too loud, smile too wide, and never stop darting their eyes around the room to see who’s noticing them. I move to Kennedy’s side and we watch the like a zoo exhibit. I lower my voice, leaning toward her ear. “When do you think they will get out the clubs and start grunting?” I ask Kennedy. She taps her chin thoughtfully. “I think that comes after the next chest bump.” I sigh, grinning. “Don’t let me forget how much you owe me for this.” “Sure. But it looks like it’s working,” she says, moving her eyes past the two men toward the other end of the room. My heart jumps in my chest. Jesse. He’s standing like a statue in an art museum, so perfectly crafted that I could walk slow circles around him,

admiring every detail down to the smallest curve. When I find his eyes though, I feel my admiration melt into fear. He looks like he might actually pull the gun he hides under his suit and kill Patrick and Hunter at any moment. When I look to Hunter and see the silly way he’s still preening and grinning like a self-impressed idiot, I decide Jesse might be doing the world a favor if he did shoot him. Very well then. Game on. I slink over to Hunter, putting my hand on his back and letting my fingers splay as I slide it down his spine and move around his hip. I smile up at him like he’s the funniest man in the world. I have about three seconds to wonder what Jesse will do before I feel a presence behind me. We’re facing Patrick, who has been joined by Kennedy, and both their eyes drift over our shoulders. I turn to see Jesse looming over us. His eyes are like hot coals, boring into me, dropping to where my hand touches Hunter’s side. I feel an irresistible urge to pull my hand away, like I’ve been caught misbehaving, but I force myself to keep it there. Jesse doesn’t get to leave twice and still expect me to wait for him. “You are?” Jesse asks Hunter. “I don’t have to answer to you, asshole.” He says, smirking and slapping Patrick’s chest with the back of his hand. “Yeah,” says Patrick. “Our girls aren’t signing autographs, so you can get lost, buddy.” Jesse ignores them, turning toward me. There’s a question in his eye and I try not to speak to him, to give him the cold shoulder he deserves, but the words tumble out of me. “Why did you leave?” “Who is this asshole?” asks Hunter. “Is he an ex?” “No,” I say. “Yes,” says Jesse at the exact same time. We glare at each other, paying no attention to Hunter’s baffled expression. “Where the hell are Edwards and Rosenthal?” asks Jesse. “I don’t have to answer to you,” I snap. I realize at some point I took my hand off Hunter’s hip to plant both fists on my sides, giving Jesse my full attention. “You left. Again. No call. No letter. Nothing.” “To keep you safe,” he growls. “Let’s talk somewhere more private.” Hunter takes a step toward him, reaching to push Jesse’s shoulder. Everything happens so fast it’s over before I realize it began. Jesse’s hands are a blur as he slaps Hunter’s arm aside and gives a single, hard shove that sends Hunter to the ground. I blink in surprise, looking at Hunter sprawled on the ground and Jesse standing casually, as if nothing just happened. Hunter glares, clutching his shoulder where Jesse pushed him, taking Patrick’s offered hand and letting

himself be pulled back to his feet. I cover my face in embarrassment, noticing the way several heads have turned our direction and are now watching intently, probably hoping for more drama. I put my hand on Hunter’s back, glaring at Jesse. “No. I don’t think I want to go anywhere private with you again.” Hunter’s eyebrows draw down in confusion as he likely follows my implication. “Come on,” I say gesturing to everyone but Jesse to walk with me into the seating area where the pre-showing dinner will be held. I expect Jesse to protest, but he doesn’t give me the satisfaction. He only watches us calmly as we walk away, and looks sinfully sexy while he does. If there was any justice in the universe, Jesse would be hideous and frail, but that would make this too easy. Instead, he has to be the physical embodiment of every sexual fantasy I’ve ever had. He has to be fucking perfect, and I hate him for it. I squeeze Hunter’s arm tighter, leading him to our table near the edge of the room. People are starting to trickle from the lobby to the dining area, but we’re one of the first to sit down. The table is decked out in a white tablecloth and everything looks ridiculously expensive. The wine glasses are polished to a glimmering sheen and the cutlery is gold gilded. There’s already a basket of warm bread in the center of the table, so I reach into the basket and grab two rolls, gnawing off a huge mouthful from one. Kennedy covers an amused smile while Patrick and Hunter openly stare at me. “What?” I ask angrily through a mouthful of bread. “Here. Take one.” I shove a roll at Hunter, who smiles nervously, taking it and nodding his appreciation. “I need to use the ladies room,” Kennedy says. “Go ahead,” I say, still jawing away at the bread. She clears her throat and bulges her eyes slightly at me. I sigh, setting the bread down on the table and standing. “Fine. I have to pee too, I guess.” Hunter gives Patrick a strange look and nods. “We’ll be here,” he says. I follow Kennedy to the ladies room, which is thankfully empty. We get inside and she turns immediately, putting soft hands on my shoulders. “Hey. What’s going on? Talk to me.” I can’t meet her eyes, shaking my head. “I’m fine.” “Can we skip the part where you pretend something’s not going on? I’m your best friend, Makayla. I know when you have to fart before you do.” I laugh despite the roiling emotions in my chest. “I don’t fart…” I say. “Yeah, you can tell the world that, but you and I both remember the road trip.

Carlos Carnitas was it? Yeah. Enclosed space, poor ventilation--” I roll my eyes. “I get it. I maybe have had a few indiscretionary moments once or twice in my life. I still don’t see your point.” “My point is that I know you too well.” She lowers her voice in her best Jack Carpenter impression. “You can’t hide from me, bitch.” I laugh, sucking in a deep breath. “Okay, I’m not as over Jesse as I claimed to be. Happy?” “That’s all? I figured as much when you wore this,” she says, looking down and prodding some of my scandalously exposed cleavage. I slap her hand away, grinning. “Hey!” I laugh. “Good. I knew a fart joke and some light fondling would cheer you up.” “Yeah,” I say sarcastically. “That’s exactly what I needed.” “Seriously though. I think maybe you need to just tell Jesse how you feel. Tell him he’s had too many chances and it’s over. And then give him my number.” I glare at her. “Okay. Too soon. You’re right. Juuust kidding,” she clears her throat. “Mostly.” “The reason I’m so pissed is that I want to give him another chance. I know I shouldn’t. I’ve let myself fall for him twice now, and both times he’s cut me loose without so much as a goodbye. Why should I think the third time would be any different, or even the fifth?” Kennedy leans back against the sink, chewing her thumbnail and looking down. “Well, what if you’re not seeing the whole picture?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, just think of the way he looks at you. It’s obvious he’s still completely obsessed with you. I would kill for a guy to look at me the way Jesse looks at you, like he’d move a fucking mountain just to make me happy. Why would a guy who feels like that break things off with you?” “Because he thinks he’s protecting me…” The words come out of me slowly and I realize with every syllable how true they are. Of course he is. Everything he’s ever done has been his version of protecting me. He’s always protected me. Why would now be any different? “I need to talk to him.” I turn to leave without a backward glance. “Good talk!” Kennedy yells after me. I’m surprised by how much the dining room has filled since I stepped into the bathroom with Kennedy. I scan the room as I slowly make my way back to the table where Hunter and Patrick are laughing over something. Hunter notices me and watches me approach hungrily. Seeing his eyes fall down my neckline

makes me want to cover up and slap him at the same time. I’m forced to sit back down in my seat in front of the crumbs left by the poor bread roll I was taking my anger out on. I don’t see Jesse anywhere. I realize Hunter is looking at me expectantly, waiting for a response. Did he say something? I smile, nodding, hoping he doesn’t realize I have no idea what he said. He’s talking again, but I immediately lose focus when I see who just walked into the dining room. Becca Fawnette. I’ve never been the fan-girl type, especially since I’ve seen first-hand how obnoxious it can be to be on the receiving end of obsessed fans, but Becca Fawnette? I feel my heart thudding in my chest. Not only is she probably the most beautiful woman alive, she’s also one of the most talented actresses I’ve ever seen. She sashays into the room, hips smoothly rocking with each movement of her long, toned legs. She embodies everything that makes a movie star. Her hair is done in classic golden ringlets, bobbing energetically around her heart-shaped face. And just a few steps behind her is a man who commands just as much attention, though no one has ever seen him on a movie or TV screen. Jesse Slade. He looms behind her, practically dripping with danger and sexuality as he stalks through the room, intense eyes taking in every last detail and likely committing it to memory. Becca turns to him and places her perfect fingers on his shoulder and leans close to his chest, having to tilt her head up to whisper something to him. I see Jesse’s lips move in response and she throws her head back, laughing and letting her fucking hand slide down his chest like it’s accidental. I’m not a violent person by nature, but right now I’m suddenly ready to throw down with my childhood idol. I bet that lipstick wouldn’t look so flawless with a fistprint in the middle of it… I take a deep breath and laugh at myself a little, realizing how ridiculous I’m being. Becca is just a toucher. She’s touching everybody she passes, caressing forearms and shoulders, air-kissing cheeks, and flashing those perfectly white teeth to anyone who looks her way. Jesse is protecting her now. I had almost convinced myself the only reason he would leave was to protect me, but I somehow forgot the other obvious possibility. He can’t keep his dick in his pants and he left because he already got what he wanted from me. He still looks at me like he wants me because he’s a player, not because he wants to keep me safe. I’m an idiot for not seeing it

sooner. With difficulty, I tear my gaze away from the two of them and look to Hunter, who I realize has been watching Becca and is still watching her even when I clear my throat. He finally realizes I’m looking at him, jumping a little and smiling. “So,” he says quickly. “Do we order food or is this one of those things where they just bring something out?” Kennedy returns to the table, giving me a curious look. “You take what they give you,” she says distractedly. She and I have a silent exchange via eye contact. Judging by her bulged eyes and twitchy head movements, she wants me to go talk to him, and I try my best to signal back with pursed lips and lowered eyebrows that it’s not happening. Patrick and Hunter watch both of us, probably just beginning to regret their chosen dates when I finally stand, unable to take Kennedy’s prodding anymore. Fine. I’ll go talk to the big idiot.

66

JESSE

I

watch the waiters and waitresses circulate the room with bottles of wine, filling everyone’s cups. A waiter arrives at my table, blocking my view of Makayla’s table as he mumbles something about the wine and takes our glasses. I notice the knuckles on his right hand are scabbed over and calloused. I look up at him with narrowed eyes. He’s a hell of a lot rougher around the edges than the average server, and he fills our glasses way too high, like he hardly knows what he’s doing--strange, considering the budget they likely had to put this dinner together for millionaire movie and TV stars. My attention is quickly drawn away when he steps to the side and I see Makayla storming toward my table. Fuck, I can’t keep my eyes on her face because that dress is doing some wonderful things for her body. I’m practically mesmerized by the way her full tits are bouncing with every swaying step until she’s right in my face. Becca sits beside me, laughing and talking with the people at our table. She doesn’t seem to notice Makayla, which is probably for the best. She’s been trying to flirt with me since I took the job protecting her and I think she might bring her claws out if she senses my interest in Makayla. “So this is why you quit?” Makayla asks. I tear my gaze from her tits and look into her eyes. I see the hurt and pain there, hating myself for being the one who caused it. “This isn’t the place to talk,” I mutter. “Oh yes it is,” she says dangerously. I clear my throat, painfully aware that it’s only a matter of time until Becca notices her and makes this worse. “Why don’t we talk somewhere--” “We’re talking here,” she says, folding her arms under her breasts. God. The way her tits balloon upward gives me a sinfully good look at her perfect milky white skin and it’s all I can do not to reach out for a taste of her

again, even if it’s just one last touch. I know what she wants to talk about, and I realize I may have done more damage by keeping the truth from her. If she forgives me, I might not be able to stop myself from letting her get close again, and if she gets close, she’s in danger. At least until I can figure out how to get to Liam and stop his plans for revenge. I hate myself for doing it, but I know I can’t stand her thinking I’ve betrayed her again. I thought I could do it, but every moment since I left her has been torture. I’ll just have to find a way to make sure Liam can’t get to her. I’m about to tell her the truth when I hear a soft hmmmm from behind me. I don’t need to look back to know Becca just set her sights on Makayla. “Is this an ex of yours, Jesse?” Becca purrs. She talks in slow, sultry tones, as if every word out of her mouth is murmured across the pillows of a luxurious bed. I don’t quite know how to answer her, but Makayla saves me the trouble. “I’m nobody to him,” she says sweetly, “But my name is Makayla. It’s nice to meet you.” She reaches to shake Becca’s hand. Becca waits just a heartbeat too long to take Makayla’s hand, delicately shaking it. “Do I recognize you from somewhere, sweetie? Weren’t you in one of those made-for-television movies?” Makayla smiles tightly. “I play the lead in Stalked. You know, the show this event is celebrating.” Becca laughs unconvincingly. “Of course. It’s just so hard to keep track of all the shows lately. It seems like they are popping up everywhere. It’s good though. It gives people a chance to try their hand at acting even if they can’t make it to the big screen.” I clear my throat. “Makayla’s not an ex, actually,” I say, standing and sliding my arm around her waist. I feel her shudder at my touch. “We’re currently dating,” I say, gently pulling her chin toward me with two fingers and kissing her softly on the lips. I can practically feel an electric jolt of energy pass between us, making my already hard cock throb painfully. Her lips are so soft and warm that it’s nearly impossible to pull away. She looks back at me, face momentarily frozen in shock. I see a flash of anger in her eyes and her hand comes toward me. I catch what she intends as a slap and slow her arm down, placing it on my cheek and winking at her as I force her to caress my face as a lover would. She bites her lip. Becca’s lip curls in distaste.”Well stop slobbering over her and get back to work. For how much I’m paying you--” “I was just leaving,” Makayla says quickly, but that idiot she’s with shows up

at her shoulder. He’s clearly pissed, in that way only privileged rich kids who are used to getting their way get pissed. I touched something that was his and he’s here to remind me that he doesn’t like to share. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asks me. “Who’s this?” Becca asks, the corner of her lip pulling up in a smirk as she starts to puzzle together the situation. “Her fucking date,” Hunter snaps. “At least I was until she started kissing this asshole.” “So you two are together, but she’s also dating this one?” asks Becca. She gives Makayla a predatory look. “Since you’re okay with being shared, you won’t mind if I take a little bite of this man of yours later tonight, will you? I just have to have him.” I’m about to protest, but Makayla beats me to it. “LIke hell you will,” she snaps. “If you so much as...” Her voice trails off and her cheeks blossom with red. I grin, quirking an eyebrow at her. She gives me a confused look, clearly not expecting this exchange to play out this way. Hunter is fuming, apparently not sure who he should be pissed at or what’s even happening. Becca leans back in her chair, laughing through her nose without taking her eyes from Makayla. She opens her mouth to speak and I interrupt her, tired of this mess. First I turn to Becca. “I’d rather cut my dick off than put it anywhere near your poisonous ass, so you can stuff it.” I look to Hunter next. “And if you put your fucking hand on Makayla one more time I swear to God I will snap it off.” Lastly, I look at Makayla. “You and I are going to talk privately. Now,” I add. She flexes her jaw and her chest heaves, drawing my eyes to those perfect tits again. Instead of taking my offered hand though, she turns and walks back to the table where Kennedy sits. Hunter walks after her, fists bunched at his sides, making him look exactly like the spoiled brat he is. I plop down and glance at Becca, who is openly fuming. I grab her wine and kick it back. “Get over it,” I mutter, turning to watch Makayla. But something catches my eye. I notice another waiter who looks out of place. His movements are precise and his eyes are hard, harder than any waiter’s eyes I’ve ever seen. There’s something really fucking familiar about him. I watch him and realize he’s pulling a small container from his pocket and drizzling something into a man’s glass before handing the wine back to him. Poison?

I’m brought back five years ago to a craggy, rock-strewn field in Afghanistan. We had ten days to take out the surveillance equipment in a terrorist camp near the border. Command wanted us to infiltrate the camp and sabotage the equipment quietly, but gave us carte blanche to get the job done however our team saw fit. I was going to go along with command and take the safe route, but one of my men took it upon himself to find a simpler, more brutal method. We were positioned upstream from the camp, and Liam dragged as much rotted meat as he could gather in a day from the surrounding plains and he piled it in the river. In a few days the terrorists were so sick that we just walked in and took the place from them. We were able to turn off the equipment without spending a single bullet. It worked, but I always thought it was a dirty play. Poison is for pussies, as far as I’m concerned, and I only knew one man who resorted to it. I look at all the waiters and waitresses with renewed interest, realizing the majority of them have hard eyes and hard bodies. Professionals. All of them. This is a fucking trap and Makayla is right in the middle of it. Meanwhile fucking Edwards and Rosenthal are scanning the perimeter. Useless. I stand, ignoring whatever Becca says as I rush toward Makayla’s table. A server reaches to refill her wine glass, which she just chugged, and he taps a drop of something in the glass just as I arrive. “What do you have there?” I ask. He looks at me, eyes betraying his desire to handle this with fists. “Pardon, sir?” I take the wine glass from him and smash it on the floor. The room falls silent as heads turn to look at the scene that’s unfolding right in front of them. “Don’t drink the fucking wine,” I say, projecting my voice so that everyone in the room can hear. Rather than try to explain to the entire room, I grip the waiter by the neck, squeezing him tight and frisking him with my free hand. There are a few gasps and murmurs as I search. I pull a gun free from his waistband and hold it by the barrel, showing the room. This time there are screams and the screech of hundreds of chairs being pushed back as people rush to leave the room. The men posing as waiters push their way through the panicked crowd, eyes intent on Makayla. I shove the waiter to the ground and let him get trampled beneath the escaping crowd, using my size to bulldoze a path to the back exit I spotted when I came in to the large banquet hall. I have a firm grasp on Makayla’s arm, but she keeps tugging me in the wrong direction. “Kennedy!” she yells over the noise. “I can’t leave Kennedy!” “They want us,” I yell back to her. “The farther from us, the safer she is. Just

stay with me.” It seems to work, because she stops resisting my pull. A few seconds later, the room is considerably more empty, and I have no way around one of the waiters. When he spots me, he reaches behind his back for a weapon. I snag a plate from the nearest table and frisbee it at his face. He’s too slow to react and the plate shatters against his forehead. A second later, I’ve grabbed a steak knife and closed the distance to him, still gripping Makayla’s arm. I jam the knife in his chest and strip the gun from him. His eyes widen as he falls to his knees, clutching at the wound. I push past him, not having time to finish him off because with the room mostly cleared out, the waiters will have a clear line of shot at us any second. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see a man aiming a pistol at us. I flick the safety off the stolen gun and sling Makayla behind me, shielding her with my body as I take aim. I squeeze off a round, favoring quickness over accuracy. The first bullet takes him in the shoulder, jarring his aim so when he fires a split second later, the bullet zips over my head. I fire two more times, dropping him. More gunshots follow, tearing into the plaster and showering Makayla and I in dust as we duck out the exit. I’m running on pure instinct and training. I scan our surroundings, assessing our options. An alley to our left leads to the main street where I can see crowds of people from the party running past. Too obvious. They will have someone watching the main exit for us. To our right, the alley leads to a wider back alley behind the theater. I yank her to the right and just as we’re about to round the corner I plow into someone, knocking them to the ground. I’m pointing my borrowed gun at the man’s face before I even register who he is. “Edwards?” I ask. He shakes his head a little. “Yeah, fuck. Remind me not to piss you off,” he says, reaching for the hand I offer to help him up. “Where’s--” “Here,” Rosenthal says, moving smoothly around the corner. Just looking at the two incompetent assholes makes my blood boil. They didn’t know I would be inside to look after Makayla. Their “perimeter checks” left her completely vulnerable in there. If I hadn’t been here… Fuck. Just thinking about it turns my stomach. I want to lay into them, but now isn’t the time. Still, I don’t plan to let them out of my sight until I’ve had a chance to rip them to pieces. “Come on,” I say quickly, “we’ll run a few blocks and then find a place to lay low till this blows over.

Rosenthal slides his hand from behind his back, pointing a gun at Makayla’s stomach. I raise my gun to his head in the same instant, finger tight on the trigger, heart pounding. Edwards shifted to move slightly behind my back and I didn’t even notice. I was so pissed off at the two of them that I let my fucking guard down. I run through all the possible outcomes and keep coming up short. “Nothing personal,” Edwards says. Double fucking crossed, and I paid these two slime bags more than triple the usual rate already. How much did someone have to offer them to get them to turn on me? “You better fucking believe it’s personal,” I growl. The exit door we came out of bangs open and a small group of waiters file out, guns in hand. They are followed by a man in black with a gold goat mask. I can already tell by the way he moves that it’s Liam. I clench my jaw, holding Makayla tightly to me. I failed her. The thought burns like acid in my mind. I failed her, just like I failed all the men in my unit who trusted me to protect them. My finger twitches on the trigger and I feel it pull back slightly. Dangerous. It’s not my gun, and I don’t know how sensitive the trigger is. I could’ve just blown Rosenthal’s brains out and gotten both of us killed. It rips me up inside to do it, but I lower my gun, knowing this isn’t a situation I can fight my way out of. The only hope we have is to wait for a better opportunity, hope for some kind of fuck up on their part, as slim a hope as that might be. If it was just me, I would happily kill Rosenthal and try to drop one or two more before they brought me down. But with Makayla beside me, it’s out of the question. As small as the chance may be, we have to take it. “I expected better,” Liam mocks, lifting his mask to reveal his scarred face. “The great fucking Jesse Slade only killed one of my men and wounded another before being captured.” He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “And I tried telling these clowns he would never fall for their double cross, but you really have lost your touch, haven’t you?” “You don’t care about Makayla,” I say. “Let her go and you can torture me as much as you fucking want. I won’t fight.” He smirks at me. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You get to suffer through whatever I put you through knowing you did it for her.” He rolls his eyes, stepping forward and reaching out to touch Makayla’s face. My hand flies out, gripping his wrist so tightly I can feel his bones straining not to snap. Half a dozen guns are pointed at my head, but all I see is red. If he so much as fucking touches her… Liam’s face is strained, but he manages a twisted smile. “It’s okay, boys.

He’s going to let me go, because he knows I could take his fucking bitch apart piece by piece right now if I want to. But if he behaves, who knows? Maybe he’ll find some way to stop me.” I grudgingly let go of his wrist, glaring hard enough to burn holes in his skin. “What do you want?” He looks down, smiling. “Since you’re mine now, I think I’ll let you in on a little secret. You too, honey,” he says, looking to Makayla. “Your stepfather has made arranging your death a can’t-miss opportunity. Imagine my delight when I realized I could get the revenge I want and cash in on your pretty little ass at the same time.” “You’re lying,” Makayla breathes. Her voice sounds thick with emotion, and it tears at me to hear it. The need to protect her throbs within me, nearly overwhelming me and driving me mad because we’re in an impossible situation. There’s no amount of strategy or cleverness that could do anything about the number of guns pointed at us. The only option right now is to wait. “Not that I have anything against lying,” says Liam, “but no. Hubert’s up to his eyeballs in debt and the people he owes money to are just about ready to collect his balls as collateral. Do you recall agreeing to be covered for life insurance?” Makayla doesn’t say anything, but the look on her face says she does. “Well, I guess you didn’t bother to read the terms. He and his lawyer apparently managed to get you covered for a lot of money. And since Hubert is the primary benefactor in the event of your death, well, he’s ready to cash in and get his business back on the ground. A tear streaks down Makayla’s cheek. “He wouldn’t. He loves me.” Liam shrugs. “I’m sure some farmers become attached to their cattle, but when the family’s stomach starts to rumble, the cow gets slaughtered all the same.” “You’re lying. They could have hurt me whenever they wanted,” she says, looking to Edwards and Rosenthal. “If he had paid them to betray me, they wouldn’t have waited so long.” “I only just managed to find a price they both found agreeable. Besides, you’re worth about three times as much if the death looks like an accident. Putting a bullet in your head would lose us a lot of money. I’m thinking a car accident will do the trick, but I don’t plan to let this body of yours go to waste before at least giving it a taste,” Liam steps forward and reaches for Makayla. I land two thundering cross hooks. The first connecting with his eye and the second with his nose. His head snaps back twice, eyes glazing. Something hard

and metallic slams into the back of my head, followed by two more blows. I fall to my knees, vision going black. I have just long enough to hate myself for failing Makayla before I lose consciousness.

67

MAKAYLA

I

’m being kept prisoner in a classically elegant room. The furniture all looks antique but well-maintained, and the room is furnished with a seemingly endless supply of ornamental pieces each looking more priceless than the last. I have half a mind to trash the place just to spite these assholes, but I know it wouldn’t be smart. Because it might make them kill you faster, whispers a small voice in my head. A wave of chills washes over me. It still doesn’t feel completely real. The last few hours have been such an emotional rollercoaster that I still can’t completely wrap my head around it. Hell, the last few weeks have been an emotional roller coaster, except it seems like there have been way more downs than ups. I can’t seem to go more than five minutes without thinking about Jesse. Without worrying about Jesse. Those men hit him so hard I thought they killed him. I nearly cried with relief when I saw that he was still breathing as they dragged him into a waiting car. But God, as horrible as it is, part of me almost wished he wasn’t breathing. I know what Liam plans to do to him and it’s eating me up inside. I know I should be completely focused on getting myself out of here right now, but I’m finding it hard not to give into despair. Jesse is gone. They took him and he can’t save me. If I’m going to get out of here I’m going to have to do it myself. Easier said than done. I pace around the room, thinking of every possible way out of this situation. I don’t know how long I have. All I really know is that Liam had some “business” to set in order before he could come “fuck the bitch.” I feel bile rise in my throat. I’ll bite off my own tongue before I let him touch me. It’s not going to come to that, because I’m going to find a way out of here. Somehow. I stupidly reach for my purse to grab my phone on impulse. I have neither, of

course. I still vividly remember watching my purse fall to the concrete when they dragged me to a car, its contents spilling to the concrete. As I remember the image, I fixate on my inhaler tumbling from the bag and an idea strikes me. I haven’t had an asthma attack since second grade, but every time I’ve changed purses, I’ve always moved the inhaler from purse to purse out of habit. Now that it sparked this idea, I know it might not have been a complete waste of effort. I have to wait a few minutes until I hear men outside my door. I quickly put myself in the zone. Lights. Camera. Action. I clutch my throat, gasping dramatically, wheezing in a pained breath like it might be my last. I choke out a strained “help,” pressing my mouth close to the door. I keep gasping and clawing at my throat as I fall to my knees, banging a hand on the door. It’s only a second before I hear a key scrabbling at the lock and the door swings open to reveal Edwards and Rosenthal. Rosenthal looks annoyed, but Edwards’ face is lined with concern. “The fuck?” asks Rosenthal. “Asthma… attack…” I gasp. “Inhaler…” The two men exchange a look. “Fuck, man,” Rosenthal says. “Liam’s going to be pissed if she dies before he gets to play with her.” “We need to take her to see a doctor or something,” Edwards says. “Are you fucking stupid?” Rosenthal asks. “That idiot told her we’re planning to kill her. We can’t take her anywhere.” I squeeze my throat discreetly, making the blood rush to my face as I gasp, letting spit drip down from my mouth. Edwards picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, heading toward the front door of the large house. “Put her down,” says Rosenthal. “If she dies, she dies.” “I’m not going to watch her suffer. This isn’t what I signed up--” A gunshot blasts my eardrums. Edwards’ tall frame crumples beneath me and I’m slammed to the ground as he drops me. He falls to his knees, pulling a gun and turning in time to shoot once at Rosenthal before Rosenthal empties the rest of his clip into the man, squeezing the trigger several times after he’s out of bullets, making the gun click uselessly. I barely manage to crawl out of the crossfire. I look to Rosenthal in horror. He takes a step toward me, face contorted in rage. His steps falter and he falls to one knee, clutching his stomach. “Fuck!” he shouts, slamming the butt of his pistol on the ground. I realize his gun is empty and Edwards’ weapon is only a few inches from my hand. Rosenthal is looking down at his wound, pulling his bloody hand away and cursing again. I suck in a deep breath and grab Edwards’

gun before I have time to talk myself out of it. I aim it at Rosenthal just as he looks up and realizes what’s happening. “You fucking--” I fire three times. The first two shots are above him and to the left, but the third catches his forehead. I expect his head to snap back or explode in a show of gore, but all I see is a small black circle appear on his forehead, almost like a fly just landed there, and then I turn away before I throw up everything I’ve eaten in the last month. I hear footsteps thumping from upstairs and raised voices. I force myself to my feet and run to a nearby closet, shutting the door and watching through the slits in the wood. Men come down the stairs a few seconds later, cursing and making disgusted sounds as they take in the scene. “What the fuck?” one of the men asks. “Weren’t they partners?” “Maybe they wanted a bigger cut?” “Hey!” someone shouts from down the hall. “The girl’s gone.” “Shit!” another man yells as they all rush out the front door. I hear shouting from outside and car engines starting. Within a minute, I’m completely alone in the house, except for two dead bodies.

68

JESSE

I

wake and my hands are tied to a chair. I jolt with pure, liquid fear as I realize where I am. I’m in Afghanistan. I’m being tortured by that terrorist fucker. I suck in deep, hard breaths through my nose, trying not to hyperventilate. But as my vision clears, I realize this isn’t the war. I see the broad back of Liam bent over a table, sifting through metallic tools carefully. “Glad to see you’re awake,” he says over his shoulder. “I’m anxious to get back and fuck that girl of yours. Was her pussy tight? She looks like she’d have a tight pussy.” My hands clench, fingers digging painfully into my palms. “What did you do with her?” “She’s being taken care of. For now.” I wince as I watch him try to decide on which tool to torture me with first. My head pounds from where they hit me and my vision is blurry, but even the pain can’t distract me from the throbbing hatred and rage threatening to boil over at any minute. I strain against the ropes behind my back. The knot is tight, but I swore I would never be victim to the same shit I went through during the war and I trained my body for this. I press my thumbs to my pinkies, narrowing the size of my hand and then use the rope to dislocate the joints in my hands. The pain is blinding, but I push through it, pulling up as hard as I can until both my hands are free. My calves are tied together at the base of the chair still, but knowing my hands are free gives me some hope of escaping. I’m in some sort of a basement and the only exit seems to be at the top of a small set of stairs. I have no idea how many men could be waiting on the other side, but I learned a long time ago to tackle impossible situations one possibility at a time. Right now, all I need to focus on is the possibility of getting out of this chair and stopping Liam from

killing me or crippling me to the point that I can’t help Makayla. More importantly, I need to try to gather some kind of information from him about where she’s being held, which means I need to stall as much as I can. He picks up a meat cleaver after deliberating for a while, twirling it in his hand as he approaches me. I try not to think about the damage that knife could do, or what the blunted blade would feel like hacking through my flesh. Just think of Makayla. Think of how I’ll make this up to her when I get out of here and find a way to free her. Think of how I’ll never make the mistake of letting her go again. I clench my teeth together, fighting the urge to reach out and snatch the cleaver from Liam as soon as he’s within my reach. I need to get information if I can. “I was thinking I could start with that famous cock of yours. It would almost be worth letting you go, cockless and neutered, just knowing Jesse fucking Slade would have to live out the rest of his life without a cock.” I glare at him. “Where is she?” It’s not the most subtle line of questioning, but I don’t have much time. “Oh, don’t you worry. She’s on standby. They may have scarred the shit out of me after you left me for dead, but they did leave me with a functioning cock, which is more than I can say for you if you make it out of here.” He lifts the knife, looking at it curiously. “You know, I’ve heard a man can easily bleed out from losing his cock. Maybe I should chop you up a little before I risk losing you. That can be the finalé. I’ll bring Makayla a piece of you every day to remind her how pathetic you were in the end.” So she’s within twelve hours of where he’s keeping me if he thinks he could bring pieces of me to her every day and get back here in time to keep it up. It’s not much at all, but it’s something. Assuming the psycho sleeps, that means she’s within more like six or eight hours. If she’s that close, chances are she’s really close. Still, I’m going to need a hell of a lot more than that. “So you’re keeping her at your place?” I ask. He laughs. “You’re still trying to gather information? It’s sad, really. I don’t think you’ve ever really experienced what it’s like to lose. You don’t realize it’s over. You still fucking think you’ll find a way out of this and save her?” He leans in close, pressing the blade of the cleaver to my cheek. I can smell his hot, sour breath as he breathes the words in my face. “Everybody loses eventually. And now it’s your turn, Slade.” His phone rings from his pocket. He holds my gaze for a moment before sighing and stepping away to answer it. “This had better be fucking good.” A pause. I see his knuckles turn white as he grips the phone. He raises it over his head and slams it on the ground, shattering it. “Fuck!” he yells, kneeling and

clenching both fists. “Fuck!” He holds the cleaver to my face. “Your fucking bitch girlfriend escaped. Change of plans. I was going to take my time, but now I’m going to fuck her and then bring you the pieces of her day after day.” I realize this is my last chance and I act. My hand flashes out, grabbing his wrist and squeezing. I rip the cleaver free while he’s distracted and slam it in his chest. It all happens in a split second and he has no idea it’s coming. His eyebrows dart up and his eyes widen as he looks down at his chest. Blood drizzles from the wound, splattering to the floor. I rip the cleaver free and he falls to his knees. I bend, using the edge of the blade to saw the ropes holding my legs in place free. Once standing, I look down at Liam. Blood is seeping from the corners of his mouth and he’s still looking down at his chest in shock. “Where were you keeping her?” I ask. He finds the strength to laugh, but the sound is cut short as he coughs up more blood. “Fuck you,” he says. “I made the mistake of letting you go once,” I say. “Not again,” I growl as I slide the cleaver’s blade across his throat, bathing my hand in hot blood. My face contorts in disgust as I search his spasming body, finding car keys and his gun. I leave him, gurgling and bleeding to death. I climb the stairs and cautiously step out of the door, surprised to see a grassy field and a gravel road. His BMW is parked a few yards from the door. I turn to see a bunker-like entrance to what must be his torture cell. Sick fuck. I search through his car. I’m surprised when I open his glove compartment and my phone tumbles out. I tap the home button and frown in confusion when I see a text from an unknown number. 931-555-2133 (4:31 p.m.): It’s Makayla. I’m with Kennedy. Got out. Called cops to find you. Hold tight. I love you. My eyebrows draw down in confusion. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t just heard Liam admit she had escaped, but how could she already be with Kennedy? Maybe his men were afraid to call him when she first escaped and waited until they were sure they couldn’t find her? Shit. I don’t know why, but my heart is hammering in my chest. I want to believe it’s true so badly, but I’m afraid of latching on to the fantasy and finding out it’s false. I throw the car in gear and look through my phone’s memory for Kennedy’s address. I stored it when I first took the job, always getting as much information as I possibly can has paid off in the past, and it looks like this time is no exception. It’s about fifteen minutes away, but I plan to make the drive in half that time.

69

MAKAYLA

I

’m pacing around Kennedy’s kitchen, phone clutched in my hand and blanket draped around my shoulders. Kennedy leans against the sink, watching me nervously. “The police are going to do all they can, Makayla. Why don’t you take a shower and get the blood out of your hair?” I shake off her suggestion. “He’s out there right now and all I can do is walk in circles in this fucking kitchen,” I snap. “I should be doing something.” “You have no idea where they took him,” Kennedy soothes. “The police are going to do all they can. The smartest thing you can do is stay here where you’re safe. There are half a dozen cops out there in the hallway and more still in the lobby downstairs. No one is going to hurt you here. If you do something stupid and go driving around to look for him, the bad guys might find you again. Think about it.” I don’t want to think about it. I just want to do something. I’m trying to sift through the tangle of emotions. The confusing, absolutely incomprehensible emotions. I must have mental whiplash by now with how many times my feelings for Jesse have changed. The truth is I’ve never really believed he wasn’t right for me. I’ve always known, but I’ve spent so much energy trying to convince myself that he wasn’t. Hell, Jesse has tried really hard to convince me too. But behind all of it is the way he makes me feel. When I’m near him my heart sings and my head feels light. I know he’s the one. I know it with so much certainty that it’s a wonder I’ve deluded myself into thinking I could live without him until now. I just wish I had come to my senses before it was too late. I’m about to yell something incoherent when the phone in my hand buzzes. “Oh my God. It’s Jesse,” I say breathlessly.

“What does it say?” Kennedy asks, rushing to my side. Jesse (4:42 p.m.): Coming. “How?” I ask. Kennedy shakes her head. She smiles up at me a little uncertainly. “You did say he’s kind of a badass,” she suggests. I feel tears well in my eyes. “How do I look?” I ask. We both laugh as Kennedy gingerly lifts some of my hair. It’s matted with dried blood. “Take a shower,” Kennedy suggests again. “It’ll help you calm down. He’s okay. He’s coming,” she says, smiling and gripping my shoulders. “It’s over.” Not completely, I think. If what Liam said about my stepfather is true, he’s still out there and he still wants me dead. I told the cops what I knew, but so far everything is circumstantial. Unless something concrete turns up, it’s unlikely they will be able to do anything about him. Kennedy’s right though, everything may be a blur of confusion right now, but I know one thing for certain. I’m going to throw up again if I let this blood sit in my hair any longer. I strip my filthy clothes and turn on the shower. I pointedly avoid the mirror before stepping into the steaming water, sighing with relief as I work the clumps of gore from my hair and skin. I may be able to wash it off my body, but I have a sinking feeling the memory of what I did and saw isn’t going to scrub away as easily. I have to avoid closing my eyes because I keep seeing the way the hole opened up in Rosenthal’s forehead when I shot him and the faint trail of smoke that rose from his skin. I see the way Edwards’ body jolted with each impact and the way blood sprayed behind him, splattering the floor. I breathe deeply, wishing I could forget it all, trying to focus on the positive. He’s okay. Jesse is okay. He’s coming here. I hear a commotion outside but can’t make it out over the water. Kennedy says something loudly and a door slams. There’s a thud as the door to the bathroom opens and I see Jesse storming in. Kennedy follows close behind him. “I tried to tell him to wait!” cries Kennedy. “But he just… oh,” she says, turning and shielding her eyes when he pulls the door to the shower open and steps inside with me, fully clothed His hand is covered in blood and his face is bruised and bloody. I’m so happy to see him that it takes a moment to register that I’m standing absolutely naked in front of him and he’s completely clothed. The water rushes over his face, softening the blood caked there and rinsing it away. He looks into my eyes so intensely that I feel heat spreading through my body, and it has nothing to do with the steam from the shower. His shirt clings to his skin as the water rains down on us, highlighting his cut

muscles. I fight for something to say… I should have meaningful words right now, but my mind can’t seem to think beyond Jesse is here. Jesse’s here. He’s here. It’s the first time since he walked away ten years ago that I’ve felt he was really here, that he wasn’t going to disappear on me again. Maybe it’s because I’ve finally started to understand why he left, and that he has always been my protector, whether I knew it or not. “Your clothes are getting ruined,” I stupidly say when I finally find my voice. He slowly reaches for the buttons of his shirt, exposing the tanned skin of his chest. Those expressive eyes of his never waver from mine. He shrugs the shirt off, letting it fall to the shower floor in a wet heap. “I thought I lost you,” he says, emotion dripping from every word. “You sure as hell tried,” I say, “but you never could.” I laugh a little, biting my lip and leaning into him. “It’s the only thing you can’t do. You could never lose me,” I whisper, knowing every word is true. Maybe I’ve lied to myself before. Maybe I could convince myself I was over him for days or even weeks, but deep down I always knew. Jesse was the one, and nothing could ever change that. No matter what happens now, I’m not letting him leave me again--not even to protect me. Jesse’s mine as surely as I’m his. And he’s just going to have to deal with that. He threads a hand through my soaked hair, squeezing and pulling me toward him, crushing his mouth against mine in a toe-curling kiss. “I’ll never let you go again,” he whispers, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak, and then pressing his lips back to mine. I feel all the passion and regret that’s built up within him in that kiss, as if his thoughts crackle across our skin and enter my mind. He never wanted to do anything but keep me safe, and he was just a good man put into impossible situations. A weaker man would have stayed with me and spared me the immediate pain at the cost of enduring long-term pain. Jesse has never been weak. I reach for his belt, unclasping it and pulling it free. He helps to undo his button and lets his pants and briefs fall to the floor wetly. He kicks the pile out of the way, never taking his lips from mine. His strong hands splay over my lower back, spanning the entire width of my waist. I love how good it feels to be wrapped in his arms, how small I feel and how completely safe I feel. I thought I would never feel this again. I thought I might never feel anything again, and now it’s all so much at once. I can’t get my footing, as if I’m floating

just a few inches above reality, watching everything happen in slow motion. His tongue swirls against mine and I rub my hand down the hard plain of muscle covering his torso. The smooth curve of his chest and the perfect lines of his abs and the diagonal crease of muscle leading down to his massive, throbbing cock. I circle his thick length with my hand, loving the heavy weight of it as I stroke him. I barely hold back a moan when I feel his body shudder against mine at my touch. I try to lose myself in the feel of him, but my mind is too full of everything that’s happened. One part of me is fixated on the sight of his perfectly hard body glistening as rivulets of water run over the endless rise and fall of his muscles… on the feel of his stiff cock in my hand… on the way I could lose myself in those fiery eyes of his. The other part of my mind is trying to come to terms with not only what happened today, but what has happened over the last few weeks. Has it only been a few weeks? It feels like a whole lifetime. Then there is a tiny little piece of me that whispers doubt into my ear. Can I really trust Jesse? Will he try to leave me again? Am I strong enough to hold onto him if he does? I’d like to think I am. Something about the way he’s looking at me tells me that it’s time for a leap of faith. Even if I didn’t admit it to myself, I’ve wanted to forgive Jesse since the moment he stepped back into my life. It’s terrifying placing that much power back in his hands, but the second I decide to, contentment washes over me. For better or worse, I’m placing my heart back in his hands. No reservations. His hand on my inner thigh snaps me from my thoughts. He taps my leg, indicating he wants me to open for him. I do as he wishes and suck in a breath when his fingers slide over my smooth mound. I pump his length in my hand, but lose my rhythm when his fingers slip into my wet folds and circle my clit. A shockwave of pleasure shudders through me and I pull away from our kiss with a cry. I’m transfixed when my eyes find his. I can see so much in those eyes, more than he would ever put into words. I see hunger, lust, need, but the most powerful emotion present is love. I can’t take my eyes off him as we touch each other until the torrent of sensation builds to a breaking point. “Fuck,” he mutters, gripping my hand to stop my movements against his cock. Knowing I almost made him cum with just my hand pushes me over the edge I’m teetering on. I squeeze my thighs together, wrapping my arms around his strong, wet body and hold on tight as I’m racked with bliss. He presses my back against the tiles, giving me a momentary shock of cold that only adds to the pleasure flooding my system. Gripping my hips, he lifts me effortlessly, I instinctively wrap my legs around him as he pins me against the wall with his broad body. With one smooth thrust, his cock is buried deep,

stretching my walls. His movements are maddeningly slow, but bone achingly deep. He's filling me so completely and taking me so tenderly. I never thought a man like him could show such tenderness, but he's treating me as if I'm something precious, like he's worshipping me. I'm lost to the feel of him, distracted by my thoughts, so I don't realize what he's done until he has my hands already pinned above my head in one if his. I half-heartedly try to break his hold and when his grip tightens slightly, my pussy clenches around his cock. He gives me a small smirk, like he knows exactly what that little show of dominance did to me. I watch his face with fascination, transfixed by the way his forehead creases with concentration and effort, by how his shoulders tense and cord with thick muscle, and by the way I’m completely at this man’s mercy and wouldn’t change a thing if I could. My hands might as well be bound in stone with how he’s holding me. I’m his. He can do whatever he wants to me. His free hand explores my body, running his calloused fingers over my aching nipples and down my stomach. He grips my hip seconds before his cock pistons into me with ferocity, taking me fast and hard. Our bodies crash together and my world melts away into a blur of pleasure. I can’t help the obscene sounds that fall from my lips, that is, until Jesse kisses me again. He invades my mouth just as surely as he does my pussy. Both tongue and cock working in tandem to drive me crazy. I fist my hands until my nails dig into my palms and cant my hips, leveraging his hold on my wrists to move myself against him, desperate for him to give me more—harder, faster. I want it all. A completely crazy desire slips into my mind, shocking me with it’s intensity. He’s not wearing a condom and I want him to cum inside me. It’s ridiculous and unrealistic, but I suddenly want it so badly. I want him to claim me, to put a baby inside me and make me his completely. The thought of it drives me up the fucking wall and I cling even tighter to him, rocking against him like my life depends on it. He tenses and I can tell he’s close. He’s going to cum. God, I know somewhere distantly that I’m being insane, but I can’t get a logical thought through the haze of sensation assaulting me. I just want his cum inside me. I want it so bad I don’t care how crazy it is. I sense him about to pull back when he cums, but I don’t let up on my grip, squeezing tight to him. I meet his eyes and see the question there, unspoken but clear as daylight. You’re sure? I bite my lip and don’t stop rocking against him, working his cock relentlessly, begging for his cum. “Fuck,” he growls, grip tensing on my wrists until it almost hurts. His cock pulses inside me and I feel the heat of his cum spreading deep

inside me. Holy shit. We don’t speak about what just happened in the minutes that follow, but the echoes of the scene don’t stop replaying in my mind. We step out of the shower, kissing when we’re close and never quite taking our hands off each other. “Wasn’t expecting that,” he says finally. I blush guiltily, quickly rummaging through Kennedy’s closet to find clothes for us. It looks like one of her exes left behind clothes big enough for Jesse, which I toss to him. “I’m sorry. Maybe I just got carried away. I could get a morning after pill if you want.” The words ring hollow. I know I didn’t just get carried away. I want it. As absolutely insane as it is, I want this. “No,” he says, stepping into me and pressing a wide hand to my belly. “No,” he says more quietly, kissing me.

70

JESSE

“I

don’t think this is a good idea,” Makayla says as we step into her stepfather’s building. I stop, pulling her to the side of the busy lobby and meet her eyes. It has been two days since the premiere party and the cops haven’t been able to find anything concrete on Hubert. It’s already looking like he’s going to avoid jail time, and there’s no fucking way I’m letting that happen. I just have to make sure Makayla’s on board. He’s still her stepfather, so I need to be careful how I handle this. “He was going to sacrifice your life for money, Kay,” I say as carefully as I can. She forces a quick smile. “Yeah. No, I know. He deserves it.” She’s trying too hard to sound casual. Something’s wrong. I frown at her. Whether she likes it or not, I’m not letting this bastard get away with what he did. I hate to admit it, but it’s just not happening. Still, it would be easier if she’s on my side with this. “He’s a danger to you. I can’t let him continue to be--” “It’s just,” says Makayla, eyes distant. “I want to be the one to bring him down.” Her words take a second to process. “You… what?” I ask. “I actually cared about him. He made me feel like a total idiot,” she says, a sudden rush of anger entering her voice. “He lied to me and made a fool out of me. I want to get him back.” I grin. Damn. She has no idea how much this fiery temper of hers is turning me on. I’m half-hard just from watching her intensity. “Hell yes,” I say. She smiles a little guiltily. “I sound a little crazy, don’t I?” “Not in the slightest. Do you have a plan?”

She nods, licking her lips in a ridiculously sexy way. “I think I do.” “Good.” “Hey,” she says slowly. “Are the police going to come after you for shooting your gun at the banquet? There must have been cameras or something, right?” “There were four cameras in the lobby and a few scattered throughout employee areas. None in the alley. I have a license to carry and I also have connections that run pretty deep with the local police. A few guys I knew from the SEALs have worked their way up the food chain. It gives me a little freedom.” “Freedom to hurt people?” asks Makayla. “To protect them. We should get going before someone realizes we’re here and gives him a heads up.” “Let’s go then,” she says. We take the elevator to the top floor and blow past the secretary who calls for us to stop. We barge into Hubert’s office and find him standing beside his desk, face red as he yells into the phone. “Find it then. I don’t care how you do it. Just make it happen.” He looks up at us and slams the phone down face etched with surprise. It lasts only a second before the anger returns. He snaps his fingers towards his bodyguards and then toward us. The bodyguards are the same two clowns I dispatched a few weeks back when he tried to set a tail on Makayla. I realize now he wasn’t happy about me protecting her because he planned to have his own guys do the job to make setting her death up as easy as he could. Fucker. The bigger of the two reaches me first and reaches for my shoulder. I catch his wrist, turning it until I hear a snap. I uppercut the bottom of his elbow and break his arm, too. He falls backward, gasping in pain and clutching his elbow. The other one reaches for a gun, but I pin his arm to his side and connect three quick jabs with his face. His eyes glaze after the third punch so I let his arm go and send him spinning to the ground with a cross hook to his jaw that leaves my hand throbbing. “Go ahead, Kayla,” I say with a smirk. She raises her eyebrows and then rounds on Hubert, all the amusement draining from her face in an instant. “You tried to have me killed.” “I had no other choice, honey,” he says, stepping toward her with a simpering look of apology on his face, like he didn’t just try to have bodyguards kill us. “Don’t even fucking dare call me that,” snaps Makayla. At the same time, I step between him and her, putting up my hand in

warning. “Keep your distance,” I growl. Fear enters his eyes for the first time since we entered his office. He looks to his downed bodyguards and then back to me. “What do you want? Money? I don’t have any to give you.” “I want you to get what you deserve,” says Makayla. “I think prison would be good.” “I can’t go to prison,” he says, smiling nervously. “Besides. There’s no evidence against me. And don’t think you’re going to get me to make some admission of guilt out loud. I’ve seen the fucking movies. You’re probably recording this.” He looks toward me, eyes a little crazed. “I’m innocent. I had no part in any of this.” “I trusted you,” says Makayla, the hurt in her voice tearing at my chest. I want to break this fucker on her behalf, but I know it’s important to her that she takes care of it herself. Hubert spreads his palms. “You still can trust me, honey.” I see it coming before Hubert does. Makayla steps forward, getting just close enough to slap the shit out of him. The sound is like a thunderclap in the office. His head jerks to the side like she just punched him and his small, meaty hand slowly rises to his already reddening cheek. “You fucking--” he starts. I feel his fleshy cheek against my fist before I realize I’ve punched him. “Oh shit,” I say. Hubert is squirming on the ground, clutching his face with both hands. “Sorry, Kay.” She ignores me, standing over him. “Here’s how this is going to work,” she says, surprising me with the authority in her voice. “You’re going to turn yourself in by tomorrow morning, or we’re going to turn over the evidence we have to the police and watch you get dragged kicking and screaming to prison.” His voice is a little slurred from his already swelling jaw. “You have no evidence,” he says. “Oh, I almost forgot,” adds Makayla. “If, for some reason, you’re dumb enough to try to have me hurt again, Jesse knows where you sleep, and he has been begging me to let him kill you since he met you.” Hubert’s face pales a little. “You’re full of shit,” he says. “That’s up to you to decide. Maybe you’ll have a chance to avoid a life sentence if you come clean. You sure as hell won’t if we turn over what we have though.” With that, Makayla turns and delicately steps over an unconscious bodyguard and signals for me to follow. I wait until she’s around the corner and kneel to punch Hubert one more time in the face just for posterity’s sake.

Makayla is standing just outside with a strange look on her face. She puffs out a long breath of air and looks to me nervously. “How was that?” I laugh. “My favorite was the part about how I’d kill him.” She blushes a little. “Was that too much?” We start walking toward the elevator. “Not at all. Did I say I wanted to kill him, or did you just read my mind?” She smirks. “You don’t really have any evidence against him, do you?” “No,” she says a little dejectedly. “But maybe if I testified against him the police could get warrants to search his records and things. There could be something there.” “Yeah. Maybe,” I say. “Or I could give them Liam’s phone. I took his car when I escaped and there was enough evidence in there to send Hubert to prison for a long time.” We ride the elevator in silence for a few moments before she speaks again. “It still doesn’t feel over.” I put my arm around her shoulders and pull her to me, hugging her to my chest. “It will be soon. Nothing else is going to happen to you. I’m going to make sure of it.”

71

JESSE

I

watch Makayla and Kennedy talking on the set between scenes. The set lights are brightest on her, making her shine like something out of a fucking dream. It’s actually hard to look at her for too long because I know how sweet those lips taste and how good she feels against me. I can only handle seeing her without touching her for so long, and I’m getting real close to my limit. Camillo is pacing around the edge of the set, yelling at someone on the phone in Spanish. I speak a little Spanish, but only catch bits and pieces of the conversation. It sounds like someone isn’t happy with the terms of their contract and they’re not planning to show up. He hangs up the phone and stares at it, fuming. Finally, he raises an arm and manages to grab everyone’s attention with surprising ease. “No shoot today. Jason quit. We’re going to recast as quickly as we can, but it could be weeks.” He reacts to his own words, as if the full reality is just now setting in on him too. “All our promotions and advertisements will have to be reshot.” Camillo’s voice trails off as he walks toward the exit, one hand on his hip and the other spearing his hair. “Fuck!” he yells, kicking a chair over and stepping outside. There’s a tense silence that follows until Makayla looks at me with something in her eyes I don’t like, at all. She jogs over to me and draws my eyes to her deliciously bouncing tits. If shooting is canceled for today, that means I can get her back to my place even sooner and relieve the unbearable ache in my cock. I haven’t stopped thinking about the way she wanted me to cum inside her. Fuck. Just thinking about it gives me an instant hard-on. I knew it was beyond crazy to do, but I’ve never been a man of hesitation. I don’t have any doubts about Makayla. I never have. The only thing standing between us has only ever been what’s best for her, and I’ve made the mistake of thinking distance from me

would be best too many times. It’s not a mistake I’ll ever make again. “Jesse,” she says when she comes to a stop in front of me. She’s biting her lip, which is a bad sign. “You could play the part. Just come run through the lines. I know if Camillo sees you act he will be over the moon.” “No fucking way,” I grunt. I don’t want to admit it, but I actually kind of enjoyed reading through the lines that night Kennedy and Makayla were practicing a few weeks back. I don’t know if I was good at it, but there was something satisfying about it I couldn’t quite put my finger on. If not for the embarrassment, I would have asked to try again. But I don’t plan to let her know that. I’d never live it down. I might as well throw on a tutu and some make-up. Even if I do need something to occupy myself now that my involvement with Makayla is going to put an end to my personal protection career. The agency will find out sooner or later and cut me loose. “Please?” she asks. One word and my resolve threatens to shatter. Fuck. Oh shit, she’s doing the pouty thing with her lip, too. None of that bullshit ever worked from other women, but at times I feel like Makayla can control me with the smallest twitch of a muscle. “It’s not happening. No way.”

T EN MINUTES LATER I’ M WEARING A LEATHER JACKET FROM PROPS AND SHOES that are a size too small and jeans that are a little too tight. Jason wasn’t as big as me, and none of this shit really fits me right. A man with eyebrows that are far too perfect to be natural approaches me, arms bent at the elbow and hands dangling uselessly like a T-rex. He reaches to a nearby table and grabs a makeup kit. I jab a finger at him. “You touch me with that make-up, and you fucking die.” He claws his fingers at me. “Rawr.” He calls over his shoulder to Makayla. “He’s feisty, you sure he’s straight?” “Hands off, Andy.” Andy tsks, walking away and throwing me a look over his shoulder. What the fuck am I doing? I walk toward the set and notice most of the women on the crew and cast are looking at me strangely. “What are they looking at?” I ask Makayla, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. She grins, touching my chest affectionately. “Even people in show business

aren’t used to seeing guys as gorgeous as you. They have probably all been wondering how long it would take for someone to throw you in front of a camera.” “Great,” I growl. “That’s good,” she says, still grinning. “Channel your inner Jack Carpenter. Gritty. Angry. Deadly.” I roll my eyes. “Let’s get this over with.” She hands me the script and I glance through the lines. There aren’t many of them, so I quickly commit them to memory and set the script aside. “You’re going to need that,” she says, pointing to the script. “I’m good,” I say. There is a slight commotion as the crew gets cameras and lights ready. Camillo reenters the studio, staring angrily when he sees everyone is still setting up cameras even though he called it a day. “What the fuck?” he asks. Makayla steps forward. “Camillo. I think we found the perfect actor for Jack Carpenter. Meet Jesse Slade,” she says, gesturing to me grandly. Camillo takes me in. “Your bodyguard?” Makayla nods. “My personal protection who is also an amazing actor.” Camillo frowns. “Fine. He gets one take. He definitely looks the part, at least. Probably can’t act for shit though.” They call for everyone to take their places. The script didn’t say anything about where to stand, so I have to let Makayla direct me to a spot just a few inches away from her. Not going to complain about that. I focus on Makayla, letting the lines become reality as I recite the character’s feelings for Makayla’s character. I talk about how I’ve loved her even though I haven’t always made the right choices or shown it in the right ways. I listen when she tells me how scared the thought of loving me makes her, how wrong it seems, but how she still wants it more than anything. And then we kiss. The scene goes by in a blur, and when the director calls cut in a hushed voice I feel my heart beating fast. I never thought I would enjoy acting. Hell, I never thought I would enjoy much of anything after the war. But there’s a thrill to working through the scene, and if it gives me one more excuse to kiss Makayla, it can’t be that bad. There’s a delayed round of applause from the crew. I look to Makayla in confusion. They don’t normally clap after a scene. She squeals with excitement and cups my cheeks, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me. “You were amazing!” Camillo approaches, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “It doesn’t normally work this way. There’s paperwork, auditions, blah blah blah. But I want you for this part. The contract is yours if you want it.”

72

MAKAYLA

I

lean into Jesse’s shoulder, watching the TV with rapt attention as a serious blonde woman speaks into the microphone. “I’m outside East Valley Courthouse today where the notorious real estate tycoon, Hubert Walsh, is being taken into custody. Our sources at WJXT News indicate the charges involve allegations of violence against Mr. Walsh’s step-daughter, Makayla Pierson, best known for her leading role in the popular TV show, Stalked. Early indications are that Mr. Walsh could be facing some serious jail time.” I look to Jesse. “He turned himself in?” Jesse smirks. “You did it.” He leans in to give me a quick kiss. I feel something blossom in my chest that’s not entirely sweet. As much as I know Hubert needed to find justice, I don’t think there was any way to find it without at least a tinge of regret. I don’t regret that he’s going to pay for what he did, but I regret that it came to this. As horrible as it was to know there were people wanting to hurt me, knowing one of the few people I trusted was behind it all made a mark on me I don’t think will ever completely go away. But the positive to come out of all this is how Hubert’s betrayal has made me appreciate the remaining people I can trust, like Kennedy and Jesse. Even though I thought Jesse had betrayed my trust at times, I know now that all he ever did was try to protect me, and I love him so much for that. “You okay?” he asks. “I will be,” I say, closing my eyes and pressing my face into his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat calm me.

73

EPILOGUE

Two Months Later

“Y

ou sure you don’t want to tell me what we’re doing?” I ask Jesse as we climb what seems like the fortieth flight of stairs. “I mean, if you thought I needed a workout you could just come out and say it.” He smirks, grabbing my hand and picking me up, holding me in front of his chest and climbing the remaining dozen flights of stairs with a spring in his step. I love how it feels to be carried by him, like I weigh nothing at all. He sets me down when we reach the roof and I gasp, taking in the view of the city stretched out beneath us. I feel a little rush of vertigo and swoon, but Jesse is right beside me to steady me on my feet. “This is beautiful,” I say, a little breathlessly. He pulls me close to his side protectively. “Yeah. See that?” he asks, pointing to a helicopter banking in the distance and heading our way. “Yes…” I say. “Why?” He says nothing, just watching and looking obnoxiously pleased with himself. What are you up to, Jesse Slade? I press a hand to my stomach, feeling a wave of fear and excitement pass through me. I want to tell him, but I’m terrified at the same time. I think I know how he’ll react, but I could be wrong. Maybe I’ll just say it. Just blurt the words out. I’m pregnant. I clutch Jesse a little tighter when it looks like the helicopter is about to crash right into the building. The nose pulls up at the last second, blasting us with strong wind while the helicopter maneuvers into position and lands on a slightly raised portion of the roof. Jesse gestures grandly for me to follow him. I take his hand, not quite understanding what’s going on, but excited nonetheless.

“I’ve never been in a helicopter!” I yell, shouting to be heard over the rotating blades. He helps me up into the passenger area, where I sit in one of two seats and watch Jesse hop inside, looking spectacular in his black suit and gray dress shirt. I’m wearing a somewhat revealing green dress because he told me to wear something nice and because I love the way he looks at me when I wear this dress in particular. Jesse’s eyes always have a way of drinking me in like he’s the thirstiest man alive and I’m a tall, cold glass of water, but when I wear this it’s just a little more pronounced, and what can I say, I can’t get enough of being wanted by him. It’s like a drug to me. He reaches over and helps me with the straps of my seat belt, buckling me in and grabbing a headset hanging on the side of the chair and carefully placing it over my ears and moves the microphone into place. He gets himself strapped in and puts on his headset next. “Can you hear me?” he asks. I see his lips move but can’t hear anything except the sound of his voice through the headset, slightly robotic, but perfectly clear. “Yeah!” I shout, giving him a thumbs up. He grins. “You don’t have to yell. The microphone will pick it up.” I blush. “This is amazing,” I say, making a point of using a more normal voice. He leans forward, slapping the pilot on his shoulder. The helicopter jolts beneath me as we lift into the air. There are no doors, which admittedly unsettles me, but Jesse is close enough that I can reach out and hold his hand--which I do-and the harnesses of the seat feel secure. Before long, I’m lost in the view, watching the city crawl by beneath us, marveling at how this perspective makes it all seem so much different, so small and insignificant, but also at how a little distance makes it seem so clean and beautiful. Jesse places a small black box in my lap. My fingers brush over the velvety material coating the box and my chest constricts. My eyes dart to his, questioning. “Open it,” he says, face serious. I crack the box open and my breath hitches. The most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen sparkles up at me from the box, catching every single hint of light and spraying it into every color imaginable. It’s a delicate, classic, and exactly the type of ring I always dreamed of wearing. “This is…” I say, confusion and surprise in my voice. “Will you?” he asks. Yes. The word erupts in my mind. It explodes. Yes. Absolutely yes. A

thousand times, yes. Tears well in my eyes. “Of course,” I say, voice thick. He bites his lip and leans over, gently pulling my face toward his to kiss me. “Was this whole helicopter thing just so you would have an excuse not to get on your knees in front of me?” His smirk is sinful when he pulls back from the kiss. “I’m planning to get on my knees in front of you--tonight.” It feels like all the blood in my body rushes to my cheeks when I think about his head between my legs. It feels like I’m floating, and it has nothing to do with the fact that in a way I technically am. It’s too perfect. Everything is so perfect I’m afraid it will slip away if I stop to think about it for too long. Jesse has been an instant hit on the show, and we’ve even been getting offers from some big names in the movie business now. Hubert lost his case and is going to be spending twenty-five years behind bars, largely in part because of his confession and Liam’s phone, which mysteriously found its way to the police. Kennedy broke up with that idiot she was dating and has started seeing someone I like for her, for once. I can’t fix my past. That will never be clear or perfect. I’ll always be scarred and the memories of pain will never quite leave me. But I’m moving into the future with Jesse now, and I feel in my heart that he’ll always be by my side, always holding my hand and protecting me, keeping my past from catching up with me and making sure my future shapes up to be something out of my childhood fantasies. Well, I was too innocent to even daydream about some of the things Jesse does to me behind closed doors, but still. I suck in a deep breath and look over to him. “I’m pregnant.” Jesse looks into my eyes, his brows closing together and his eyes widening. “You’re not just fucking with me?” “Not fucking with you,” I say a little nervously. “Holy shit,” he says, sliding the ring on my finger when he realizes he still hasn’t. He swallows hard. “You have no idea how fucking happy that makes me.” I grin. “You just stole my line.”

Extended Epilogue Four Years Later Jesse

I WATCH M AKAYLA AND OUR TWO GIRLS , P AISLEY AND A MELIA ENJOYING THE Montana countryside outside our lakehouse. Paisley is coming up on her third birthday now in a few months, which I’m sure is going to be just as meticulously planned by Makayla as the last two were, and Amelia just had her first birthday a few weeks ago. My girls. The thought brings a smile to my face as I admire the way the setting sun casts a blazing outline around the three of them. Makayla tucks a strand of golden hair behind her ear, long eyelashes on display as she looks down at the bright purple flower she’s showing to Amelia, who she holds at her side. Paisley stands at her other side looking girly as hell with two huge bows holding up her hair, which is exactly the same color as her mother’s. It’s a perfect evening--one of many I never thought I’d have--and I’m enjoying every fucking second of it. We’re in our vacation home out in Montana because the countryside is beyond perfect this time of year. Big sky, big mountains, and bigger views. It’s a place to make me forget about everything except what matters: my wife, my kids, and spending time together as a family. We spend our mornings cooking over an open fire outside our sprawling lakehouse. Sure, we have all the facilities of a small hotel inside the mansion, but we still come outside every morning and start the fire. Makayla and the girls come outside wrapped in blankets and looking to snuggle through the morning chill. We eat charred bacon and smooth eggs while the rising sun bounces off the ice-capped mountains in the distance and across the lake. We waste the daylight away in the lake, laughing and playing games or just relaxing and listening to the sounds of the breeze rustling through the grass and trees. At night we huddle together, whether it’s inside with a movie and a big blanket or outside around the fire, just talking and telling stories. Out here I can almost forget what kind of life we’ve made for ourselves back in the real world. I can forget that Makayla and I draw more attention from the paparazzi than any other celebrity couple, and if we’re not careful, we end up surrounded by a swarm of flashbulbs and clicking lenses. But I wouldn’t trade it away. Not a single part. I’ve made a life with Makayla I don’t deserve. I know that deep in my chest. I’d be lying if I said the war doesn’t still come back to me, or even some of the things I had to do to keep Makayla safe. When I find myself far from family and in quiet moments, the images do come back, but it’s getting better. Makayla sits down beside me in the grass, propping Amelia up in my lap. “She was asking for you,” says Makayla with a grin. I smile down at Amelia, who is always ready to flash her three teeth at a

moment’s notice. “Hey there, you pretty little thing,” I say, tickling her chest and loving the giggles it produces. Paisley tackle-hugs me from the side. “Am I a pretty lil’ thing, Daddy?” “You’re a pretty little-bit-bigger little thing,” I say. Paisley laughs. “Lil’ bit bigger--lil’...” she trails off and laughs more when she can’t manage to get the words out. “Run to the cooler and grab some graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows, okay?” says Makayla. Paisley nods, running off in a more-or-less straight line, only stopping a few times to swat at the lightning bugs that are just starting to come out. Makayla leans her head into my shoulder and I pull her in closer, trying to keep Amelia from breaking free with my other hand. “I love you,” Makayla says. “I love this.” “I love you too,” I say. I plant a kiss on the top of her head and breathe in the smell of her shampoo. It smells like comfort to me now, like home and happiness all rolled into one, and I can’t get enough of it. “I think you had the rough end of the bargain when it came to the whole bringing kids into the world thing, but I wouldn’t change a thing if I went back.” “Me either. Except I might have slapped you a little harder when I first saw you after all that time. I think I let you off too easy.” I smirk, watching while Paisley comes stomping back to land beside us with the loot from the cooler. “You don’t think you made me pay enough?” I ask. “What about all the hoops you made me jump through those first few days. Or that guy you showed up to the red carpet event with, what was his name?” “Hunter, I think,” she says with a mischievous grin. “He was cute.” “Don’t try to make me jealous,” I say. “You know what happens when I get jealous.” “I do. That’s exactly why I’m trying to make you jealous,” she snaps back with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows. “What happens when daddy gets jealous?” asks Paisley with all the innocence of a two-year-old. “He…” stammers Makayla, cheeks flushing. “He makes Mommy scream.” “Because he’s mean to you?” asks Paisley. I grin. “No. When daddy gets jealous, he gets extra nice.” “Then why does mommy scream?” Makayla shoots me an amused look when Paisley isn’t looking, obviously interested in what kind of answer I’m going to come up with.

“Because…” he says slowly, grabbing Paisley and lifting her over his head. “I give her ice cream! And we all scream for ice cream!” “Ice cream!” shouts Paisley, giggling and pulling at my hands as I spin her overhead and take her toward the house.

Makayla A S MUCH AS I LOVE SPENDING TIME WITH J ESSE AND THE GIRLS , NOTHING QUITE beats the evenings we spend after they go to bed. Paisley and Amelia went down about half an hour ago and I can still hear the white noise from the baby monitor that sits beside us on the dock. “I still can’t believe there are so many stars,” I say, leaning my head back into Jesse’s lap and looking up at the sky. “I guess living my whole life in cities made me think it was normal for the night sky to be some weird shade of green or orange with just a few specks of light.” “Beautiful,” he says quietly, but he’s looking straight down at me with a halfcocked smile. I bite my lip. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to seduce me.” “You always were perceptive.” “I don’t know,” I say playfully, making a show of stretching and yawning. “I’m pretty tired. I think I could just fall asleep right here on this comfy lap of yours.” “Somehow I think I could keep you up. All fucking night,” he adds with a dark grin. My breath catches. It doesn’t matter how many times he’s had me or how many times I’ve roamed his body with my hands. Jesse Slade can still take my breath away. He still makes my stomach flutter like we’re on our first date and holding hands for the very first time. He still has me waking up like a little girl on Christmas morning, so excited to start my day and spend time with him and the girls that I couldn’t sleep in if I tried. He’s my everything. My rock. My husband. Even thinking it after nearly four years of marriage makes my heart swell. Jesse moves out from under my head and makes me suck in a surprised laugh when he lifts me effortlessly, carrying me to the grass a few yards away. He lays me down and the soft grass tickles the bare skin of my shoulders and neck. “Are you wet for me, my wife?” Jesse’s says as his lips skate across the sensitive skin of my neck, raising goose bumps in their wake. I tilt my head,

giving him further access, loving how he always knows exactly where to flutter soft kisses and where to nip and suck my skin to drive my desire higher. “Why don’t you find out?” I say with a teasing smile. He quirks up one sculpted brow in a way that says he accepts my challenge. Yay me. Jesse slowly undresses me, running his hands over every inch of skin that he exposes to the chilly night air until I’m completely naked. The soft grass against my naked body brings me back to the first time we made love under the stars like this. Everything was a mess back then, our lives were in danger, our relationship was in disarray—it seemed like the only thing we had in store for us was more heartache. I’m looking up at the same stars, but everything about this night is different. No one is out to kill us, Jesse is my husband, the father of my children, and we are happy. Totally, completely—blissfully—happy. Jesse kisses me passionately, then trails a line of kisses down my body, pausing just above my mound. He looks up at me with desire burning bright in his eyes, he wants to taste me just as badly as I want him to. His tongue swipes through my folds and I moan in pleasure. I bury my hands in his hair, holding onto him as if he could disappear if I were to let go. But with the way his mouth is devouring my pussy, maybe I should be more worried about him making me burst into a million pieces and not if he’s going to disappear. His tongue spears into my opening, fucking me with it like it’s his cock. The warm, wet feel of it is indescribable… I love it, but I want more. Need more. “Jesse,” I gasp. “Please…” He raises his head, looking up at me. His mouth shines with my juices and I want those sexy lips on mine. I want him to kiss me, deep and hard, I want to taste the way I taste on his tongue. I never thought I would want something so dirty. In fact, there was a time I would have thought it was disgusting, but with Jesse, I’ve found there are many, many things I enjoy that I would’ve never tried before him. “Please what?” he says with his patented smirk. The one that says, I know what you are thinking, but I’m going to make you beg for it. Good thing I’m not above begging. Before I can beg for his cock, he pushes two fingers inside me, crooking them in a come hither motion, but the slowness at which he moves them only ramps up my need without taking me to the place where I’ll find release. It’s delicious, but not what I want. “More, I want more,” I beg. His eyes never leave mine as his mouth lowers and his tongue snakes out,

licking over my clit. My nipples pebble into stiff peaks and I shudder at the sensation, but it’s still not enough. From the mischievous look in his eyes, he knows it’s not enough. Bastard. “Fuck me,” I moan… well, more like wail, but I’m getting desperate now. “Jesse, I need your cock. Please.” I’m begging… With each swipe of his tongue, I chant out a hushed ‘please’ over and over until he rises above me, kneeing my thighs further apart, to make room for what’s to come. I shiver in excitement when he runs his cock up and down my slit, for a maddening minute, all he does is move his tip from my entrance to my clit and back again, spreading my wetness, and I start to worry that he’s not done teasing me. Finally, after minutes, hours, days, he notches his cock at my opening and pushes himself in one thick inch at a time. His eyes are downcast, watching himself disappear into my body, I rise up on my elbows and follow his gaze, taking in the erotic sight. My pussy stretches impossibly to accommodate his thickness, but the part that drives me wild is when he pulls back and his cock is gleaming wet with proof of my excitement. Jesse’s lips meet mine in a breathtakingly sweet kiss. I get caught up in his languorous thrusts and tender kisses that I’m taken by surprise when I find myself flat on my back, Jesse’s strong fingers entwined with mine as he pins my hands above my head. The spark of heat that flashes through his eyes is the only warning I get before he slams his cock inside me, setting a brutal pace. Each thrust is harder than the last until the lewd sounds of slapping skin and our moans of pleasure fill the silence of the night. “I’m gunna…” I say as my climax barrels down on me. “Yes, cum for me,” he growls. “Cum all over my cock.” My back arches and I throw my head back as I scream Jesse’s name. His rhythm never falters. He keeps fucking me straight through one orgasm and into a second. Just when I don’t think I can take anymore, I feel him swell inside me and a rush of heat splashes over my walls. Jesse collapses on top of me, barely catching himself before he crushes me with his strong body. He brushes and errant hair away from my face, then drops a tender kiss to my lips. “I love you, Makayla.” I couldn’t respond if I wanted to. All I can do is lay back, feeling like I might melt into the Earth and dissolve there into a puddle of happy, satisfied bliss. We may have more money than most people would make in ten or even a hundred lifetimes. We may have houses all over the world. We have all of that, and I know with heart-stopping certainty that I’d throw it away in an instant if it

meant I would never lose Jesse or my girls. I’ve found a kind of happiness people are only supposed to be able to dream of. As I lay with my bare body against the Earth, staring up at the waning moon and the swathe of stars scattered across the sky, all I can do is smile, because I know I’m perfectly, truly happy, and so long as Jesse is at my side, I always will be.

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More by Penelope Bloom Knocked Up by the Master (#12 ranked Amazon Bestselling novel for October) Knocked Up by the Dom (USA Today Bestselling Novel and #8 ranked Bestselling Amazon novel for September) (The Citrione Crime Family) His (Book 1) Mine (Book 2) Dark (Book 3) Punished (*Amazon top 40 Best Selling Novel for February* Standalone BDSM Romance) Single Dad Next Door (*Amazon top 12 Best Selling Novel for February*) The Dom’s Virgin (*Amazon top 22 Best Selling Novel for March) Punished by the Prince (*Amazon top 28 Best Selling Novel for June) Single Dad’s Virgin (*Amazon top 10 Best Selling Novel for April) Single Dad’s Hostage (*Amazon top 40 Best Selling Novel for May) The Bodyguard Miss Matchmaker