He pinned her down. His large hand easily encircled her slender wrists. Bound by his flesh, Harper looked up at him through thick lashes. Sean’s hardness pressed against the creamy skin of her upper thigh. The more he clenched his hand around her wrists, the more he sensed any trepidation in her vanish. She looked at him with total trust as she spread her legs wider.

She parted her lips to say something, but his other hand covered her mouth firmly. “Did I tell you to speak?” he asked.

Harper shook her head gently and he slid his length into her. Her center was familiar, warm and wet. Her eyes widened as he pressed against her G-spot and she let out a muffled cry beneath his hand.

As he began his rhythm into her, the juices that flowed were unbelievable. “How do you get so fucking wet?” he asked her. Sean lifted his hand briefly for her reply.

“You,” she gasped in a small voice. “You do this to me.”

He reclamped his hand over her mouth as she wrapped those long legs around his torso. Harper pulled him deeper with every thrust. The muscles of her thighs begged him to stay buried inside her.

He looked down to her breasts, the nipples hard and bright pink beneath him. As he released her wrists to lower his head to her breasts, the bedroom door shot open.

“LAPD,” the officer boomed. Sean looked up as Harper cried out. He felt her come and her nails, free from his bind, dug into his back.

“Mom?” he asked.

It seemed only mildly unnatural that it was his mother commanding a squad of two other officers. Her always perfectly coifed hair fanned out from below the shiny vinyl cap.

“What do you think you’re doing?” his mother asked. She reached for her baton, but pulled out a small silver flask instead. The other officers skirted the room, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his mother, who guzzled the flask greedily.

“Fucking bitch—” Sean unwound himself from Harper and shot out of bed toward his mother, but as soon as his feet hit the floor she grew to the size of a monster.

“Why don’t you go play with your brother?” his mom asked. She looked suddenly younger, the police uniform completely disappeared. It wasn’t that she’d grown, but he’d shrunk. His childhood home, back on the East Coast, offered a perspective he hadn’t seen in over twenty years. The tables, the wainscoting, the mahogany bar that hugged the wall, they were all adult-sized. Sean looked down to see a small pair of loafers on his feet. He’d always hated those loafers.

“Mama?” he said. The voice sounded tiny, small and scared.

His mother leered at him, draped across the wingback chair that curled against the bar. She took another long sip, still from a flask. He wondered where her favorite cut crystal tumbler was.

Far away, an alarm began to buzz. His mother and his childhood home faded to black. Sean’s eyes shot open and he reached instinctively for Harper. The other side of his bed was cold.

As he pushed himself up, his hardness ached against the boxer shorts. The sheets were tangled and damp with his sweat. Beneath him, the mattress pushed back uncomfortably. It was still too new, too hard. These dreams have to stop, he thought to himself. It was too much, dreaming about a girl who was just on the other side of the penthouse. He heard the alarm fade in Harper’s bedroom and the familiar traipse of her feet as she went to her en-suite.

Sean pulled on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and adjusted himself in his boxers. He listened for Harper, but heard nothing. Hopefully she’ll hide herself in that bathroom for awhile. The soundproofing of the largely concrete penthouse made it easy to live together, yet apart. Most of the time, except for her damn alarm, he couldn’t hear her at all unless he really tried.

He snuck out of his bedroom toward the kitchen for a glass of water. His throat was tight and dry. I gotta remember to keep a glass in the bathroom, he thought. It would mean less chances of running into her—and getting turned on in the process.

As he turned the corner into the gourmet kitchen, he saw her standing barefoot before the fridge. A long, messy red braid snaked down her back. It’s just begging to be played with, he thought. Yanked, used to control and direct her. When she reached for something in the fridge, her oversized t-shirt rose up those porcelain thighs. Any higher, and he’d get a glimpse of what was underneath. If anything at all.

He thought he could make out the bare triangle of her center, and his cock responded with an instant rehardening. Sean shifted and Harper spun around. Her eyes were like saucers, as big as they were in his dream. She clutched a jug of orange juice with an expression like she’d been caught doing something naughty. “Hey,” she said, though her voice broke.

Sean didn’t respond. He held her gaze while he opened three cupboards in search of the glasses. Fucking Connor and his impossible idea of organization. Finally, he found a glass and filled it with tap water.

“Do you want filtered water?” she asked. She watched him warily and scrambled for words to ease the silence. “We have some—”

“Chocolate,” he said.

“What?” She cocked her head at him.

“Is there any chocolate?”

“Uh, yeah. I think so.” She went to the pantry and rustled around. He watched her strong thighs as she bent and stretched. Harper examined the unfamiliar contents while Sean adjusted himself on one of the barstools.

“Cadbury,” she said. She put a small box of imported chocolates on the marble waterfall island.

“Thank god. Not that American shit,” he said. Sean picked up the solid milk chocolate bar, nearly impossible to find outside of Europe. He tore into the foil package and broke off a glossy square. As he placed it on his tongue to melt, he held out the bar to her.

“No thanks, I—”

“Have a piece,” he said. She obliged without putting up a fight. However, he saw calculations flash across her eyes.

“Oh my god,” she said. Harper closed her eyes as the rich British chocolate spread across her palate. “This is amazing.”

“You’ve never had European chocolate before,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Well. Not unless you count Cadbury eggs,” she said. “And that was years ago, as a child.”

“They count,” he said. “They’re just not the best.”

They both savored the chocolate in silence. Sean became aware of the slight hum of the refrigerator. Harper’s face was bare without a whit of makeup. Had he ever seen her like that before? He couldn’t remember. It was easier to see the spray of freckles across her nose, and her eyes looked more open than usual without the eyeshadow, heavy liner and false lashes. She looked younger, more innocent. And that made the desire beneath the flannel stir once again.

“I better go,” she said. Harper broke the silence and started to pad away with bare feet.

Sean watched her go, a pang of loneliness in his chest. Is there any way we could make this work? he wondered.

He didn’t know. There were all kinds of what ifs. What if he’d called her when he was in jail? How mad would she have been? Maybe she would have forgiven him instantly, soothed by the idea that she’d been one of the first people he reached out to.

He’d heard the stories. Supposedly, women loved it when a man showed his vulnerability. Vulnerability. It enraged him to even think of the word. He’d never needed anyone, so what could Harper have done?

Maybe it would have been different if she hadn’t seen him shitfaced and getting arrested. It was impossible to erase something like that from your memory. And he didn’t even know how bad it had been. But it couldn’t have been pretty, he told himself. Years ago, with Ashton, an acquaintance had filmed one of their drunken nights. Sean hadn’t realized it at the time, but when they’d been shown the video the next day he was immediately ashamed. Even in his drunken haze at the time, he’d been straight enough to realize he’d made an ass of himself.

On top of everything, he’d established himself with Harper as her dom. That meant he was her protector, always keeping his cool. The trust he’d broken by losing control like that, wailing on a cop, was probably irreparable.

Sean sighed and downed the last of the water. He opened the steel dishwasher to put the glass away, but thought better of it at the last moment. Instead, he left it on the island. It was a token, a challenge. Let’s see who puts it away first.

As he made his way back to his bedroom, a pinch radiated from his ankle. That damn ankle monitor. Nobody talked about how fucking uncomfortable they were. It had already started to dig into his skin.

He thought about inching a sock up between his flesh and the monitor, but ditched the idea. Hell, let it chew me raw if it wants. I deserve it. As he lay in bed, he understood for the first time why some people cut. To feel something, anything, and let some of those overwhelming emotions release into the world. He hoped the ankle monitor would cut clean through him. At least it would give the police something to grimace about when it finally came off.

Sean closed his eyes and listened hard for any sounds of Harper in the penthouse. But he heard nothing. He strained as hard as he could until sleep finally reclaimed him.