I rub my bleary eyes as I wait in the hospital elevator. I tried to cover my sleepless night with makeup this morning, but I look as tired as I feel. I spent almost all night agonizing over what part of my story I would show to Jackson. I know he said he didn’t read the original chapter I sent him, but there’s a chance he really did. After all, he said it was forgettable, wouldn’t it make sense that he doesn’t remember reading it?

So I picked a new chapter and spent hours tweaking and rearranging it until it was as close to perfect as I could get it. It still has a long way to go though, and I’m seriously fighting the urge to just turn and run while I still can.

I stop in a bathroom before heading to his room and look myself over. I’m wearing gray leggings and a long, loose t-shirt with an equal length cardigan. I tried to make it look like I wasn’t dressing to impress him, but I also didn’t want to look like a slob. I spend a few minutes second guessing my success before heading to his room.

I find him propped up, looking out the window with that distant, pained expression I’ve seen on his face a few times before. I still can’t believe he blames himself for what happened with the woman before me. I did feel a little uneasy hearing how he explained his relationship with her because, well, it sounds a lot like me. I guess I was just being naïve for not considering how many times he has probably gone through more or less this exact same routine before. After all, he’s in his mid-thirties and looks like a movie star. Of course he has been with tons of women.

It’s just harder to swallow that reality when he tells me I’m special and calls me things like princess. It makes me start to think I really am special to him and unique. I can live with being just the latest woman in his long list of conquests, though. The part I have trouble coping with is how it sounded like it was easy for him to cut things off with Karen. He didn’t say why he ended it. He just said he broke things off early.

I can’t even imagine how terrible I would feel if I put myself out there by signing his crazy contract, entering into the BDSM scene with him only to be cut loose. I can’t think about that. It’s selfish and pointless. I know I feel something between us. And every time I see the pain in his eyes it draws me closer, making me want to soothe it away.

Despite all my good intentions, there’s still the distant hope that being with Jackson will break me from the writing paralysis. I already got a taste of it when he came to my dorm and I was able to turn it into part of my story. The writer in me is so hungry for more that I can’t quite tell where that part ends and where the rest begins. I briefly consider coming clean and telling him about it all, but he already has so much on his plate, and I’m also terrified he will cut me loose like Karen if he knows the full truth.

“Are you feeling any stronger today?” I ask.

He turns his head toward me. His dark and gorgeous features are even more stunning with the sunlight streaming from the window across his face. Even battered from the accident, his body is still a statement of power. Broad shoulders, chiseled arms, and lean, muscular legs. He’s stronger than any man I’ve ever seen, and not just physically. I remember the way his voice had the power of a whip to compel me. His command was iron. It was steel. Unbreakable and unapologetic. And obeying him gave me a thrill I don’t fully understand. All I know is I want more.

“Good girl,” he says, ignoring my question. “You brought the story.”

I nod, clutching the pages tightly to my chest.

“Bring them here,” he commands.

It’s that tone again. My feet are moving before I even decided to obey. My chest tingles with warmth. There’s an excitement in obeying him that I can’t describe. I hand him the papers and swallow hard, waiting.

He smirks up at me and starts to read.

“Wait. You’re not going to read it right now are you?”

The look he gives me stops me short. There’s fire in his cold blue eyes. Without saying a word, he silences me. I sit in the chair at his bedside and wait, feeling the reality of what kind of man he is start to settle around me like a dark haze. Am I really ready for this? Maybe he was just playing nice to get past my defenses, to get his foot in the door, and now he’s going to take the gloves off and see if I have what it takes to be his… I don’t even know what signing his contract would make me. His slave? His pet?

After a moment, he looks up and the hardness in his features softens. “Don’t worry, Princess. I can already tell from the first few sentences your writing isn’t forgettable. Not by a fucking long shot.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, slumping forward slightly with relief. Maybe he’s just being kind because he can see how nervous I am, but I don’t know. Jackson Pierce doesn’t strike me as the type of man to sugarcoat things. I think he might really tell me to my face that my writing was garbage if he believed it.

I wait for ten minutes as he reads the chapter, enjoying the opportunity to study his perfection. The longer I look at him, the better he looks. I remember in my freshman year of college, we had to visit an art museum for art history class. When I looked at paintings by some of the masters, the first glance took my breath away, but the longer I studied the details, I was continually more impressed. I was able to understand the perfection by smaller degrees and break it down detail by detail.

Jackson is no different.

From the thickness of his eyelashes to the powerful lines of his profile, he is perfection, and studying him only makes me wonder more and more how in the world I ended up involved with him. I’m practically just a girl compared to him. If this thing between us progresses to where he seems to want… he’ll have to teach me everything. There will be nothing I can do to surprise him or that he hasn’t already seen.

I’m about to descend full-force into a whirlwind of self-doubt when he puts the pages down and raises his eyebrows at me. “It’s good. Really good. If I was your publisher, there would be some details I’d want to work with you on to make this more on target with the market, but fuck. Your descriptions are incredible. The way you can describe the smell of the trash can and juxtapose that with the trouble in the relationship a few lines later was masterful. Seriously.”

I rush over to the bed and hug him tight. He sucks in a sharp breath and I realize I’m hurting him and pull back.

“I didn’t say to stop,” he chuckles.

I smile, blushing. “Sorry. I just… thank you. My parents always… they just never--” I put a hand to my forehead, shaking my head. “I’m not making any sense.”

“Your parents don’t like your writing?”

“No,” I say. “It’s not that. My mom works for minimum wage at a grocery store and my dad unloads trucks in a factory. I am the first one to go to college in my family, and I guess they just thought I’d go on to get a degree in engineering or something. You know? They thought because I had the grades to get in, I could do anything and get a career and make a life better than theirs.

“They’ve always been supportive, so I feel like a brat for even saying anything. I just knew they were disappointed when I said I was going to be a writer. They saw all the potential they never had an opportunity to reach for and they think I’m squandering it I guess. I know you’re not saying you’d publish me or anything. It’s just good to hear something positive about my writing for once.

“To tell the truth, I’m running out of time to declare a major. If I can’t prove to myself I can finish a book, I don’t see how I can let myself major in creative writing. I guess I’d have to go after something like, I don’t know, statistics,” I say.

Jackson’s mouth pulls up in a faint grin. “Who knows what could happen if you keep at it. I’d have to read the whole book, of course, but I think there’s potential. It’d be a fucking waste to let you become a statistician. Besides, there are too many guys in those classes. I can’t have them gawking at you.”

The whole book. The only way he’s reading that is if I take things all the way with him. But now the slight guilt of feeling like I could be using him feels more real. Can I really live with myself if I do this? I just wish it didn’t have to be all or nothing with him. He hasn’t said as much, but I feel as though he’s only keeping me around because he hopes I’ll sign the contract. And if I do that, what’s to stop him from throwing me aside like he did Karen?

He’s like a predator. He’s trying to capture me, but the moment I sign myself over to him, what’s stopping him from getting bored?

“Well,” I say, feeling like I need space more than anything right now. I need room to breathe. Room away from his distracting presence where I can piece my thoughts together. “I really appreciate you taking the time to read over my work. I should be going though.”

“No,” he says.

I smile, thinking he’s joking for a moment until I see the look on his face. He’s not joking. He may be bound to the bed for now, but those blue eyes of his carry all the command and power he needs.

“Lock the door.”

“What about the nurses?” I ask.

“Brianne, I’ll explain this to you now. Beyond this point, I won’t mention any of it again unless you ask. Do you understand?”

I frown, not sure I do, but I nod anyway.

“If you’re going to be involved with me, I need to know that you can be trained. I need to know that you can obey. I assume you already know this, considering the website you contacted me through, but I’m a man with very particular tastes. I want you to know exactly what I expect before we take this any further. Is that clear?”

I nod again. My heart pounds and my chest heaves, but I need to hear what he has to say. This has all been hanging over our heads since we met for lunch last week, since he blindfolded me and commanded me to follow his instructions, and now it’s coming out. I feel terrified and relieved at the same time.

“I’ll also need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. If you’re not familiar, it essentially means everything that happens between us is completely confidential.”

I nod as the full meaning sinks in. Confidential, as in, not to be immortalized into a work of fiction. I’m guessing if I change the names it would be okay, but I’m also fairly certain Jackson might read my book at this point, and there’s no way he wouldn’t pick up on the similarities.

Just when I was starting to convince myself I wasn’t being a total sleaze for getting writing material as a bonus out of this. . .

“BDSM is not what most people think,” he continues. “It’s not a catch-all. Everything is consensual. The lack of control is an illusion. It’s a tool used to heighten the pleasure you feel. If you enter into this with me, if you sign the contract, we would begin to build a relationship unlike any you’ve been in before. I would be your dominant and you would be my submissive. The limits of your pleasure would only be bound by how much you trust me. Trust is key. Is this making sense?”

“I think so,” I say.

“Good. Some dominants have strong inclinations toward certain… flavors of BDSM. In those cases, it’s extremely important for them to find a submissive with the same tastes. I’m not like them. There’s only one thing I want. One thing I crave above all else.

“What is that?” I ask, voice sounding small and weak.

“Your submission. Your pleasure. I want you to learn to give yourself over to me so completely and so fully that I can bring you to climax with nothing but the sound of my voice.”

A chill runs across my skin. I’ve already felt the power of his voice and somehow I don’t doubt that he could bring it that far.

“If you sign the contract, I will push your limits. I will expose you to things you may have never even thought of trying or dreamed that you would enjoy. I may push the boundaries of your comfort, but I can promise you one thing. Every single thing I do is for you and your pleasure. My own needs are secondary.”

He pauses, and I realize he’s done. He’s asking me a question. He’s letting me know I need to decide. I need to commit to this contract or I need to leave.

“Can I read it first?” I ask. “The contract?”

“Of course. I could have it sent to you and you could have as much time as you need to read it. Within reason,” he adds.

“I’ll look at it,” I say.

“Excellent. Now do as you were told and lock the door, Princess.”

I almost laugh, but I quickly realize he isn’t kidding. “I haven’t signed the contract though,” I say.

“The contract goes two ways. I’m bound by it as well as you. I think I deserve to see what I’m committing to, don’t you?”

To see? What does he mean, exactly? I open my mouth to speak, but don’t trust what might come out. I lick my lips slowly, then nod my head.

“Good. Now lock the door. Don’t make me ask again.”

I move to do as I’m told, locking the door and feeling a slight pang of fear set in as the bolt clicks into place.

“Take your top off,” he says.

“What?” I ask. The most exposed I’ve ever been in front of a guy is a swimsuit. Well, that and the time I let Brad Parker unbutton my shirt after a football game in high school, but it was dark and he probably couldn’t see anything. Here in this hospital room with the unforgiving bright lights overhead, I’d feel so… exposed.

“Take your top off,” he says again, voice low and dangerous.

My fingertips graze my thighs as I clutch the bottom of my shirt. I close my eyes, wondering where the hell I’ll find the strength to do this. I try as hard as I can to become the writer again, to take a step back and write the story for someone else.

His voice is like steel, and she obeys.

I imagine the line typed on my document, picturing the vertical bar blinking patiently after the period, waiting for me to add more.

I lift the shirt over my head, stripping the cardigan with it and letting it fall to the floor with a soft woosh. The air vent blows directly on my back, making my skin prickle immediately with goose bumps.

Jackson’s mouth curves in the slightest hint of a smirk. There’s no humor in the expression though, only satisfaction, hunger, and desire.

I wait, chest heaving as I stand before him in nothing but my bra and leggings.

“Make that pile of clothes on the floor taller, Princess. Pants or bra. Your choice.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I feel like it’s a test. He wants to know if it’s worth binding himself to me with the contract. Does he want me to prove I’m bold? Does he just want to see if my body meets his standards?

I decide taking my bra off would be the bolder of the two choices. I slowly move my hands behind my back to unhook it, but pause. I can’t do it. Not here. Not yet. Not like this. I instead drop my fingers to my waistband and slide out of my leggings, adding them to the pile on the ground.

I’m wearing only a pair of lacey black panties and the matching bra.

“Stunning,” he says quietly. “Sit in that chair, Princess.”

I obey, glad for an excuse to be out of the spotlight, just standing and subjecting myself to his scrutiny makes me painfully vulnerable. I sit in the chair and fold my hands in my lap, squeezing my arms together to cover as much of myself as I can.

“Now close your eyes, and do absolutely everything I say.”

I close my eyes.

“Put your hands on your thighs,” he says, voice calm and deep.

I do as he says, letting the growing sense of abandon and excitement take charge over my frightened hands.

“Now touch yourself.”

I wait, thinking he has more instructions to give, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t mean…

I rub my hands down my thighs, eyes still closed, trying to be seductive and sexy, but feeling inept. A few seconds pass before he sighs. I wait again, thinking he will say more, but he doesn’t.

I’m not pleasing him. I push past my reservations and let my hand drift up my thigh, grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh and I find my waiting heat. My mind may be confused and I may be more self-conscious than I’ve ever been, but my body is responding to this. My panties are already soaked as I rub my fingers across myself, moaning softly when the wet material slides against my sensitive slit.

I hear Jackson groan quietly with satisfaction. I can practically imagine him biting his lip and palming himself as he watches.

Every passing second ramps up my desire to entirely new levels. Before long, I’m covering my mouth with one hand to suppress the embarrassingly desperate moans spilling from my lips.

“Touch yourself for me, Princess.”

The rough gravel of his voice caresses me as if it has fingers of its own. I gasp out, spreading my legs wider as I grind my hips against my hand, fingers working furiously between my legs.

“Finger yourself and imagine it’s my cock,” he says.

I breathlessly slide my hand inside my panties, working my forefinger and middle finger into myself, letting my palm rub against my clit each time I pump my fingers in and out.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he says, voice low and hungry.

Every syllable drives me further until I’m panting, each breath a gasping moan. I lurch forward, driving my fingers deep, picturing Jackson over me, powerful muscles tightening and flexing as he pounds into me relentlessly, whispering commands in my ears.

“Cum for me, Princess.”

My mouth opens in a silent exclamation as my fingers freeze inside me, body spasming while I ride my climax. It’s stronger than anything I’ve ever felt, and when it finally passes, I feel weak. I slump in the chair, opening my eyes to see him looking at me with a cocky smirk.

“Goddamn,” he says. “I’ll sign the contract. I’ll sign anything that means I can see how fucking beautifully you cum again.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks.

There’s a knock at the door. A voice calls from the other side. “Mr. Pierce, we need your bloodwork. Why is this locked?”

I look down at my soaked panties and jolt out of the chair, running to put my clothes on faster than I ever have in my life.

“Well,” says Jackson loud enough to be heard through the door. “I was doing push ups in the nude and didn’t want anyone to interrupt.”

“Mr. Pierce!” calls the nurse, clearly annoyed.

I quickly brush the wrinkles from my clothes once I’m dressed and unlock the door. I sprint toward the bed and do a full belly slide to get behind the hospital bed before the door opens.

Jackson laughs out loud, grinning down at me.

I feel like a total idiot. Why did I just sprint and slide to the ground? It’s going to be obvious Jackson didn’t get up and do it.

“Who else is in here?” asks the nurse. She has a stern, matronly voice. The kind of woman who doesn’t play games.

“Well!” I say quickly, standing up and brushing off my knees. “Can’t find my earring anywhere. I thought for sure it would be under there.”

The nurse gives me an unamused look. “Miss, you need to leave. Mr. Pierce needs his rest.”

“I was just on my way out,” I say, looking once over my shoulder at Jackson, who winks, before I leave.

“You didn’t!” says Lacey.

I smile, twirling a strand of my hair. “I did.”

We’re sitting outside the campus library, watching a goose flap his wings at a group of freshmen and scare them as they try to cross the quad.

“Freshman mistake,” laughs Lacey as a young girl yelps with fear and drops her books in her hurry to escape the goose.

I look around campus with what feels like a new lens. My experience with Jackson yesterday has me feeling like I’ve crossed over some invisible threshold. I may still be a virgin, but I would find it hard to believe most people ever experience something as sexually powerful as what happened in that hospital room.

Even though I was still tired from the night before, I stayed up for hours putting down my own version of the scene into my story. The words flowed from me like I was possessed. It felt incredible, and now I’m not just craving the next time I can see Jackson, I’m craving the next experience he will give me. If every time I’m with him charges up my inspiration for writing like this, I’ll have a novel written within days.

I don’t know what thrills me more. Him, or what being with him is doing for my writing.

“Seriously though. You’re not bullshitting me?” asks Lacey.

“I’m completely serious,” I say. “I feel a little bad though. Like I’m using him to finish my story.”

“Screw that. The guy is offering to pay you and wants you to sign a contract for God’s sake. Something tells me he’d understand. Besides, it’s not like the book is the only reason you’re continuing to see him, right?”

“I don’t think it is,” I say. “But I mean, how would I even know if it was?”

Lacey shrugs. “Maybe you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t worry about it, either way. You’re making this a lot more complicated than it is. Sign the contract if you’re comfortable, enjoy yourself, and collect the money.”

“How much money is it, anyway?” I ask. I’ve heard Lacey and even Jackson mention it several times now, but I was so far from considering it that I didn’t even ask.

She narrows her eyes at me. “You mean you guys didn’t even talk about it?”

“Not exactly, no. You kept mentioning it. I thought it was on the site or something.”

“No. We just messaged him out of the blue, remember? I have no idea how much the contract pays. I’d guess a lot though, these guys are all mega rich. You just have to promise to take me on a shopping spree when you get paid.”

“Yeah,” I say distantly. Jackson and his contract seems like the answer to everything. I probably wouldn’t need to worry about money for a long time. I’d lose the virginity that has turned into a curse. I’d finally be able to finish my story.

But I know I’m not being entirely truthful with him, and I hate myself for that. Especially if I sign the NDA and still go on to write our sexual encounters into my story. The question is, can I risk telling him how I’m feeling without spoiling everything?