Rayne stands there, looking all doe-eyed, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the slate floor. That tiny scratching sound annoys the living hell out of me. God bring back the tedium of my life because chaos comes in the name of Rayne. Yet, when I challenge her, fill her personal space with my bad-boy Jaden aggression, she doesn’t back down. I watch in amazement as hurt Rayne morphs into my little dragon. She squares her shoulders. Her fiery gaze dares me to take her on.

I’ve hurt her. But, goddammit, something about her just gets under my skin, irritating like a muscle cramp. I feel like shit. Even Coral is giving me the cold shoulder, choosing to run after Rayne instead.

You’re doing it again, Jay. Rayne obviously has issues with having sex with me. Like I’m going to take her against her will or something. She’s obviously really uptight. Common sense overtakes testosterone brain. If I’d been used and abused like she has, I’d probably have more than issues. I shake my head. Enough is enough. There’s every reason not to let my cock lead me one step further down this path.

Rayne’s too young, though twenty-five doth not a child make. She’s needy on the one hand and fiercely independent on the other. She is feisty. She has issues, I mean, fuck, multiple rapes. Assault. I feel her heat. She’s a chatty pain in the ass. She’s unique, exotic, and very sensual. I shake my head at that one. Maybe in a tomboyish sort of way. It’s a puzzle.

I go after her. She stands in the middle of the bedroom, looking lost. I step closer, careful not to invade her space. She looks up. Tears sparkle in eyes that light with defiance. In two swift strides, she stands in front of me, jabbing her tiny index finger in my pecs.

“Listen, you asshole. I don’t know who you think you are, but you brought me here. First, you tell me I’m free to go. You hire me. You insist I be honest with you. You didn’t demand sex from me. You’re nice to me. What’s that about? Now you’re acting like I’m some kind of pustule you’d like to pop and have disappear. Talk about mixed messages. If you want me gone, just say so.” Her chin juts toward the ceiling as she looks up at me. “Well? Do you want me gone or what? Do you even like me?”

Yes. Too goddamned much. I want to look away from those penetrating eyes, but they hold mine tight. I put my hands on her shoulders. She shrugs them off.

“I don’t know.” I watch as her shield of indifference starts to drop into place. No. It’s my turn to shrug my shoulders. Those eyes demand nothing less than the truth. I run my fingers through my hair. “Of course I like you. My moods have nothing to do with you.” Everything to do with you. “Look, you’ve got to admit there’s been a lot going on.”

Her eyes narrow again. “What do you want from me?” She turns my question back to me.

I choke down the word trying to burst free from my tight lips. The same word she’d spoken: nothing. You’ll lose her. She would shut down, possibly for good. I don’t know much, but I’m damned sure I don’t want that.

“I told you what I want from you. I want you to be honest. To be yourself. In turn, I’ll do the same.” There. That’s as close to true confessions as I could come.

She says nothing. In the candlelight, her eyes shimmer. She gives off heat that assaults my senses. Her scent’s a living thing. Shifting in an attempt to hide my growing erection, I look down and get sucked into the deep pools of her eyes. I try to gather up my roiling emotions and shove them in a deep, dark cave. It doesn’t work. Those eyes undo me.

“I like you.” My voice is so low, I can barely hear myself. “Maybe too much. I don’t know how I feel. That’s the truth.”

She doesn’t blink. I hold my breath for what seems half my lifetime. Then, she grins.

“Okay.” She steps away and waves her arms around the room. “Now I’ve got to find some bedding.”

“I’m being an ass. I’ll sleep on the couch. I’ve got work to do anyway.” I can’t help but feel kind of puffed up about the way she looks all relieved and happy. I don’t want to think about why I feel that way.

I wake with a start and look around. I’m alone. Vague images from a nightmare involving whips and torture are already receding into oblivion. The adrenaline rush and cold sweat are slow to follow. I have no idea what time it is; it could be high noon the next day. I check my watch. One o’clock in the morning. I have an hour to kill before hooking up with Joker and Treadmill.

I wander down the hall toward the bedroom to check on Rayne. I stand at the end of the bed and watch her in the dim candlelight. She breathes evenly, sleeping peacefully. At least one of us can.

I go back to my den, as I like to think of it, and sit on the recliner loveseat, flipping aimlessly through channels, volume turned low. I land on one of the late night smut shows and settle in to amuse myself. My hand became my favorite sexual companion After Savannah. I massage my dick as I watch a big-titted blonde go down on some guy while another fucks her in the ass. Good stimulation if you focus on the body parts and not the whole person. Except that all I can think about is what Rayne’s mouth would look like wrapped around my cock. My lids drift shut as I picture how her ass would bounce if I fucked her from behind. How I’d make her scream and come. It’s been so long since a woman, any woman, has touched emotions I have long since locked away . . . and it scares me.

My eyes fly open at a quiet choking sound. Rayne stands, leaning against the archway leading from the hall. I groan inside as she stares at me with my lounge pants resting low on my hips and a small towel across my belly. Concern turns to delight as she watches, mesmerized as my large hand strokes my cock. I keep my head on the back of the recliner, turning my gaze back to the screen. Despite the low volume, there’s no mistaking the moaning and sucking sounds issuing from the TV.

“Watch with me.” The words are out before I can stop myself.

I hold my breath as she stays frozen with indecision. A small worm of doubt starts to make its way through my sex-filled fog. Would this traumatize her? I don’t have any idea how experienced she is. Oh for God’s sake, Jaden. She was a sex slave. Yet the doubt curls relentlessly around my conscious. I watch her from my peripheral vision, waiting for a sign. Do I stop, or do I continue?

She shifts and licks her lips. Shimmers of heat roll off her in huge waves. I pat the seat beside me, careful not to look at her. Hoping she won’t bolt.

She edges toward the recliner, perches on the edge beside me, and fastens her eyes on the screen, disgusted and curious at the same time. Like she really wants to watch me jerk off, but she’d die before she let me know. She sits, all wrapped up in excitement but not close enough to touch.

“Do what you want.” My voice is low and husky. Her head jerks to the left like it’s a puppet on a string.

“What did you say?”

I turn my head, and chestnut eyes dark with lust meet mine.

“Do what you want to do.”

She chews on her bottom lip and fidgets. It’s like no one’s ever asked her what she wants, nor has she thought about it. Maybe she hasn’t; that’s an intriguing thought. Little Dragon, I’ll make you scream.

She curls her legs under her and turns in my direction . . . just a bit. Like she doesn’t want to appear too eager. She clasps and unclasps her hands. I keep my smile hidden. She’s itching to touch me. For all her declarations about hating sex, her body language throws off one hell of a mixed message.

I gently caress the sides of my dick. I slide my thumb around the head, tracing the precum around the glans. She licks her lips again, eyes glued to my hand. I close my eyes, imagining those full lips moving up and down my cock. I grow even harder, and my balls clench hard, fighting to explode. Tightening my grasp, I stroke hard and fast. I’ve done the same motion a million times before, but there’s something very stimulating about her watching me bring myself off. After several long strokes, white cum arches onto the towel. I stifle my moan, careful not to do anything that might scare her. I sit still, letting the tremors fade away. She says nothing, but her breathing is stilted as if she’s struggling to keep it even.

“You act like this is the first time you’ve watched someone masturbate.” My comment must catch her by surprise because she jumps.

I look into eyes still dark with lust, unsure of my next move. I’ve never masturbated in front of someone before. If she were someone less damaged, less emotionally fragile, I’d reach for her. Instead, I keep still and wait for her reaction.

Her body goes rigid, and she squints her eyes at me.

“It is. And don’t take that holier-than-thou attitude with me. You have no idea of the life I’ve led.” She sounds pissed, but she leans forward, turning her attention back to the action playing out on the TV.

It’s been a while since I’ve had to consider or even give a damn about what others think. I pause, knowing that’s not quite true. The day I lost Savannah was the day I buried all my emotions except two—controlled rage and revenge. They had always been enough until now.

“You’re right, and I apologize. I only want you to know that you can trust me and that the Vipers in this world do not define who you are.”