How does he not understand what he said was wrong? That he just fucked me, then asked me to work by sleeping with other guys.

Who the fuck does he think I am?

He’s made me so angry I can’t sleep. All I can do is pace back and forth in my room like I’ve lost my mind. Quickly changing my clothes, I call an Uber. Ringing Falcon, he answers on the first ring.

“Where does he live?”

“Well, hellooo to you, too, pretty.”

“Don’t pretty me, Falcon. Tell me where he lives.”

“Fine. Fine. No need to get your panties in a twist.” He rattles off Creed’s address and before he hangs up, he pauses. “No one goes to his place, and I mean never. So don’t take it personally if he doesn’t answer the door.”

The honk of the Uber lets me know it’s here. Running out, I jump in as I make my way to his house. My foot bounces heavily and I have to close my eyes several times while trying to count to ten to calm myself down. It doesn’t work, none of it does. My heart beats harder as I come to a stop out front of his home. It’s raised and stairs wind up to the front door, making it seem like it’s almost magical, but in truth I’m about to walk into something that could potentially hurt me. The light color of the outside of the house matches well with the dark trimmings around it. The door is solid wood I can see it from where I sit. Tipping the Uber driver, I try to see if he’s home, but I don’t notice any lights. My hand grips the railing as I pull myself up his stairs. A glass panel is on his wooden door but it’s tinted so dark that you can’t see inside, so I have to tell myself to knock and not to run the other way. But it’s been over twelve hours since I’ve seen him, and I can’t sleep. I need to have this out, so it’s not the only thing I think about. I need him to leave my system. I wish it were that easy.

My knuckles rap on the door, twice.

No answer.

Looking back down the driveway, the Uber driver is gone, it’s late and it’s getting darker now. My eyes are hanging from my head because I haven’t slept, and I don’t want to be standing here forever. Knocking again with no answer, I pull out my cell to start ordering another Uber as the door opens. He stands there with no shirt on and jeans that hang so low I can see his perfectly trimmed hair which starts at his belly button and leads in a perfect trail down to his jeans. He doesn’t bother pulling them up as he stands there looking at me, he doesn’t even move. The only way I know he’s alive is the slight motion of his perfect, well-and-truly fucking amazing body breathing in and out. His chest is wet like he’s just stepped out from the shower and I can smell him. He’s even hotter than he was last time I saw him.

How that is even possible? I have no idea.

His dark eyes search mine and it makes me take a step back away from him.

“You want to talk now, do you?”

I nod my head, and he steps aside to let me in. I hear him take a deep breath as I walk past him but neither of us comments as he shuts the door. Looking around, I see how remarkably clean his place is. And open. And very large. Well, compared to mine, a shoebox would be larger. He has a black leather couch situated in front of a television which hangs off the wall. His kitchen is behind the living area with an island bench which has black stools around it. His wooden floors have nothing on them, no rugs. Everything is very minimal. Cold. Stark.

“Are you going to talk, Elicea?” The way he says my name makes me want to throw myself at him. It’s like he screams sex when he says it. Luckily for me he doesn’t say it often and I’m thankful for small graces.

“You’re an asshole.”

He smirks like he knew I was going to say that.

“You only think of yourself, don’t you?”

He nods, no shame in admitting it, I suppose. “If you have to love someone, Elicea, let it be yourself. You’re less likely to be hurt.” His words stun me, but I can hear the truth ringing in them.

“That’s a sad way to look at the world.”

He doesn’t reply, just watches me not moving. “Did you want to fuck, Elicea?”

“Stop saying my name.” Closing my eyes, I breathe, deeply. When I get to ten and open my eyes he’s standing in front of me.

“That’s your name.”

I nod because I can smell him, breathe him in. He’s standing right there. If I lifted my hand it would touch him. “I’m a bad man, Elicea.” He smirks when he says my name.

“How bad—” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. His hand reaches up and touches my hip. Before he squeezes, I remember why I’m here and step back. His hand drops back to his side as he leans back on his counter, his abs showcasing every ridge and valley and it’s hard not to step forward to touch him.

“You wanted to make me one of your girls?” I regain my nerve, gaping at him. He pushes off the counter and walks around to the cupboard, pulling two wine glasses out and starts pouring.

“I did. It was business, not personal.”

“So that’s how you see things? Business not personal?” I ask him, confused. He lifts a glass up offering it to me. I shake my head and he places it on the edge of the bench, before bringing his own to his lips.

“No, usually it’s all business. I said that to appease you. Obviously, it upsets you.”

I scoff at him, stepping forward and reaching for the glass of wine, drinking it in one hit.

“Maybe we should keep it all business then. No more touching. No more lips. Keep those to yourself,” I snap at him.

He places his glass down and walks around to me. “After tonight?”

“What about tonight?” I ask, and before I can think of what he’s meaning, his hands are lifting me up as he slams his lips onto mine. He tastes like sweet grapes and mint. All at once, my head becomes foggy and I can’t pull away as his hands squeeze my ass while his mouth works wonders with how he kisses. It shouldn’t be legal.

He starts walking with me and drops me so my back goes on his leather couch. I can feel it below me before his hands start to work his magic removing all my clothes fast. His jeans are dropped and in one swift quick movement, he’s in me. My back arches and a scream so loud leaves my lips—I wasn’t ready for him. Will I ever be? His hand touches my clit and then he starts moving, all the while his lips stay on mine. Pushing him away so I can breathe, I try to stop the onslaught of his lips. They fuck me up every time.

I want to be able to breathe and not be consumed by him.

Which is next to impossible.

You don’t just let someone like him touch you. No, his sole purpose is to consume, and he does it like he was made to do it. So fucking effortlessly.

“Elicea,” he says my name and I slap my hand over his mouth to stop him. My other hand grabs my breast, pinching at my nipple as I start to ride the wave that’s coming. Add in his words and I see the fucking stars. I want to see the moon not the stars, he takes the stars and doesn’t give them back. I’ll keep the fucking moon.

“Shut up,” I scream at him, sitting up and wrapping my hands around his neck, riding out all the pleasure he can give me.

He chuckles in my ear. But doesn’t stop, not until we both come.

When I do, he lifts me up and carries me through a darkened hall before he flicks on a light. Lifting my head from his shoulder, I notice it’s the bathroom. He turns the tub jets on—the water already filled to the top—and he steps into the bath, water coating us as he places me down, my head still lying on his chest because now I’m fucking exhausted.

“This is the end,” I say as his hands roam over me. I can smell him everywhere now and I realize he’s washing me with his soap.

“If you think so.”

“I know so. We don’t work.” I hear and feel his chest rise then slowly fall. “You see me as nothing more than a worker.”

He doesn’t say a word as he finishes washing me off then lifting me back up and wrapping a towel around us before he starts walking again.

“I’m a broken man, Elicea. I’ve seen things, done things no man should do. I know what color blood turns when it’s drained from the body, I know the sound a man makes as he takes his last breath. Do you understand Elicea? I’m not normal, I do things that aren’t normal, it’s the broken part of me who likes the abnormal. It’s why I am here with you.” His breath touches my ear. “Just like you, you’re broken too. I can see it, but you may not be able to withstand my broken.”

“You don’t know what I can withstand, you may be surprised,” I say as my eyes grow heavy. The last thing I feel are silk sheets followed by lips touching my forehead.

It’s quiet, so quiet when I wake up. I almost forget where I am for a second until my hands reach out and feel the silk, and that’s when I remember I’m at my boss’s house. Probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But I did tell him it was the last time. Sitting up, pulling the silk sheet with me, I look around for my clothes, which are in a neat pile on the end of the bed. Quickly getting up and dressed I go to look for him, but I can’t find him anywhere. He’s not in his kitchen or even in his living room.

My cell sits on the counter but nothing else. It’s like I wasn’t even here with him. No glasses or bottle of wine, no traces of anything. Walking to the other end of the house with my cell in hand I try to listen for noises, but I hear nothing until I see a door I didn’t notice last night. My hand touches it and I call out his name. I get no answer in return. Pulling it open, I’m jarred back by the blast of music that follows.

How did I not hear that from the other side of the door?

Is it soundproofed?

Steps go down and wind around. Looking to the bottom I don’t see anyone, but he has to be there. Who else would be in there with music blaring like that? The sound of rock music is overpowering and vibrates through the stairs as I take the first step. My heart begins beating loudly and I try to calm it down, but it doesn’t work. It just pounds even louder, almost deafening me over the music.

I can’t hear myself on the steps and as I get to the last three, I look up and that’s when I see him. He’s covered in blood, the smooth, clean chest that I want to kiss and do terrible things with is now coated in someone else’s blood. Blood, that clearly isn’t his. It belongs to the man who’s tied to the chair, because his blood drips from him and it’s running everywhere. A scream leaves my mouth when I realize he’s missing fingers. It drips away from him as eyes zone in on me. Creed doesn’t move, just watches me for a single heartbeat. Is this what he was talking about, is this his broken?

The knife which is in his hands drops to the counter before him as the man tied to the chair looks to me for help. He starts making grunting noises through the tape covering his mouth.

“You should go upstairs and stay there until I come up.”

My hands are covering my mouth. I’m unable to move, my feet stuck in the one place.

“Elicea.”

My eyes snap up to his at the sound of his voice. He sees the horror in them and makes his way over to me. When he’s standing in front of me, his hand reaches out to touch me. And that’s when I realize it’s completely covered in blood and I fall back. Quickly righting myself, I run up the stairs, but slip, my back somehow slamming down onto the stairs.

“Elicea, I want you to listen carefully. Nod if you’re hearing me.”

Somehow, someway, I manage to nod my head.

“Good. Good girl. Elicea, there are two things I want you to do. First, stand up, and second, I want you to walk your fine ass to my living room sofa and sit down. Nod if you understand me.”

My head nods and I push off up the stairs. He watches me as I go. I no longer hear my heart pounding—maybe it’s disappeared from my chest and found a new home.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?