I spend all night tossing and turning in my bed. It's too hot when I stay under the blanket, and it's too chilly when I pull it off me.

But to be honest, the real problem is that my dick is begging for attention. I’ve had to jerk myself off just to be able to sleep since Sarah moved in.

After a fitful night, in the morning I decide to spend the day outside.

I can't be trusted around Sarah. She's too perfect. Just the right amount of strength, and just the right amount of softness. Her usual strong-headedness makes her submission so much more enticing.

To have a woman like Sarah kneeling at my feet, willing to do anything I ask of her . . .

Yeah. I shouldn't stay in the house today.

But as soon as I unlock my bedroom door and pull it open, I realize I won't be able to leave.

Because in front of me is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

Morning sunlight hits Sarah’s bare skin and blonde hair. She looks like an angel.

But that's not all.

She's also naked as the day she was born, and kneeling on the floor right in front of my bedroom door.

“Good morning, Sir,” she says, gazing at me from underneath her thick lashes.

“How long . . .” I sound like I’m fucking choking. I clear my throat and try again. “How long have you been here?”

“About one hour.”

Jesus. That's a long time to stay on your knees.

And yet she’s doing it for me.

It makes me wonder . . . What else would she do for me? How far could I push her limits?

I try to avert my gaze. But her naked ass is on my fucking floor, and all I want is to tease her until she drips onto the carpet and spank her for being a naughty, dirty girl.

I walk past her into the kitchen and have my breakfast. I hear nothing but the ticking clock as I hurriedly inhale last night’s pizza.

The sooner I finish, the sooner I can get out of the house. Maybe I’ll take a walk in the woods today. I don’t know. Do something other than obsess over this perfect submissive woman whom I can’t touch.

I dump the pizza box into the trash. As soon as I enter the hallway, I see her, still kneeling by the open doorway to my bedroom.

Such a good fucking girl.

“Don't you want breakfast?” I ask, gritting my teeth. She's really testing me today.

“It doesn't matter what I want.” She twists to look at me, her honey-brown hair caressing her bare shoulders. Her red lips part tantalizingly. “The only thing that matters is what you want . . . Sir.”

Jesus, Buddha, and Krishna, please help me get through the day.

The sunlight streaming in through the window casts shadows from the leaves outside on her body. Naturally beautiful patterns imprint themselves on her skin, shifting with her movements. She’s like poetry in motion . . . although I don’t remember ever getting this hard from any poetry I’ve read.

“Get up, put on some clothes, and have breakfast,” I say as I tear my gaze off her body.

If I can get her to at least not be naked, that should help, right?

Sarah gets up to her dainty feet and slowly puts on the trench coat she wore to the hotel last week.

Fuck.

Okay, that’s not helping at all.

If anything, I’m even more acutely aware that she’s stark-naked under that coat.

It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving anyway.

I keep my body close to the wall as I move past her and into my bedroom. I’m right at the edge of my self-control.

If just one of my fingers grazes her skin, I don’t know what I’ll do. The rest of my body will want to touch her too, and sheer, stupid jealousy will make me lose this battle. Sarah makes no sound as I slam the door in her face.

I throw on a pair of jeans and a white shirt. Grabbing my keys, I dash down the hallway and past the kitchen where

Sarah’s eating at the small breakfast table like I told her to. She’s also still wearing that stupidly sexy trench coat, a small smile on her red lips, and presumably . . . nothing else.

“Where are you going, Sir?” she asks, one hand pressed against a coffee mug for warmth.

“Out.”

“Oh,” she says in a small voice, her facial expression down and dejected.

That’s it? She’s not going to say anything else? That’s unusual. She's usually so chatty.

But this is good. This means I can just leave.

As I turn around to make my way to the front door, I hear her say, “I guess I can do whatever I want, then . . .”

Damn it.

I feel like I’m walking into a trap, but I can’t just walk away without finding out what she means by that.

I walk back down the corridor and lean against the doorway opening to the kitchen. I cross my arms over my chest. Glaring at her, I ask, “Care to explain yourself?”

“I thought the whole point of me being here was so you could keep me under watch round the clock. But now I see I get some time to do whatever I want after all.” She picks up her coffee mug with two dainty hands and takes a sip. Knowing she’s got my attention, she pretends like she’s completely absorbed with her food. When she reaches for the croissant, she lifts her gaze to meet mine and asks, “Oh, you’re still here?”

“What do you mean, ‘whatever you want’?” I ask, ignoring her question.

“Oh, it’s not something a lady should talk about,” she says coyly. “But we both need some time to unwind, right? Get away from each other for a while.”

“You’re going to invite some guy over here to fuck you up?”

“Well, preferably he just fucks me instead of fucking me up, but yeah, that’s the idea . . . although I wouldn't mind it if he were rough with me.” Sarah winks at me. “Let me know what time you’re coming home, unless you want to walk in on me being nailed by some guy.”

“I’m going to beat up that guy,” I say. “And then I’m going to lock you up in your room. Say hello to solitary confinement.”

I don’t know if she’s going to buy that. The only thing she’s seen me “beat up” is Peter’s African drum.

“You’re not going out?” she asks as I walk back to my bedroom.

I ignore her and lock the door behind me. What follows is a shameful abomination.

I lie down on my bed, pull out my phone and my dick, then watch video after video of writhing, naked women being fucked hard and rough.

I wear earphones to hide what I’m doing from Sarah, but also to drown out any noises from outside, in case she’s whispering evil, tempting things through the door.

I stroke my fist up and down my rock-hard shaft. It takes too fucking long because none of these videos does it for me.

But as soon as I imagine Sarah’s red lips around my cock, cum boils in my balls, and I shoot ropes of it onto my own shirt.

Jesus, what’s wrong with me? I didn’t even remember to prepare some tissue to catch my cum? I haven’t made that mistake since I was fifteen.

I pace into the en-suite bathroom to clean myself up. After that, with nothing to do, I decide to take a nap. But sleep just won’t come.

So I grab a book from the shelf. The Tattoo History Source Book. It’s a collection of historical records about tattoos, dating back from ancient times, all the way to the present. I’ve been meaning to finish the book, and seeing as I have time now . . .

Soon, though, I find that reading just frustrates me. I can’t focus. I’ve been staring at the same illustration for five solid minutes, during which I also haven’t flipped a single page.

All I can think about is Sarah.

I wonder what she’s doing. Is she still sitting in the kitchen? Is she still naked underneath that coat, or has she grown tired of my passive resistance?

My chest burns as I think about her threat to invite some random guy to my house to fuck her. But anger and arousal go hand in hand for someone like me, and Sarah knows that.

I thought knowing her weaknesses was my advantage. I forgot that also means she knows my weaknesses, too.

I throw my book on the floor, where it makes a loud thud at impact. No doubt she hears it, too.

Fuck this.

A warning bell rings in my head, telling me I’m doing the wrong thing.

But my cock still yearns for her, even after I jerked myself off. Thoughts of her swirl in my mind, making no space for anything else.

I unlock the door. I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I can’t hide in my room forever.

At the doorway leading to the kitchen, I stop.

She’s still sitting there, like an obedient little slave. She looks up at me like she’s been expecting me. Her eyes, big and innocent, watch me expectantly. She doesn’t have to say a word. I notice the slight part of her lips and the way her breathing has quickened.

She’s begging me to take her.

Fine, little doll. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I march into the kitchen. Standing behind her, I pull her up to her feet and back against my chest. She gasps in surprise, but she puts up no resistance.

Leaning against the kitchen cabinet, I pull out a knife from the wooden block on the counter.