It’s a nice day outside, balmy and just warm enough, but not so hot that the pavement feels like it’s going to cook me from below. The kind of day I’d normally enjoy at an outdoor café for lunch with Andy and Celeste. Instead, I’ve been banished from my company, relegated to the backseat, moping around my home while trying to figure out how to fix my trash fire of a life.

I make a beeline for my apartment and ignore another pang of latent, frustrated sexual tension as I cross the threshold and pass the doorman’s desk. Paul is still there, of course, waiting for Zayne to start his shift. Tonight, if I have any reason to leave my building, I’ll have to walk straight past him. Stare at his smug expression, those knowing eyes, that smirk of his, all the while knowing that he helped ruin my life. And worst of all, he won’t even tell me why.

Her.

Some woman is doing this. Some woman connected to him. He says it’s not a current lover, and I believe that, if for no other reason than that he’s right, I’d have seen some evidence of another woman around his place. A toothbrush, possessions lying around, something.

But who else would want to destroy him so badly? A scorned ex? Maybe someone he did something similar to? Did he ever put up revenge porn of another woman?

Or is he a much better liar than I think? Maybe this is all him. Maybe it’s all part of his fucked-up plan to ruin women’s lives. To fuck them senseless, make them fall for him, and then cut them down… Why?

For fun?

I think of the words on the website. Slut. He called me that, but in fun, sexy, possessive tones that made it sound hot as hell. I liked it when he called me that in that setting, when it was just me and him. Is this his real kink, though, getting off on sleeping with women and then humiliating them in public?

There are a lot of screwed up men in this city, after all. I should know. I’ve gone on dates with more than a few of them.

I ball my hands into fists, dig my nails in to keep myself alert as the elevator doors ding open on my floor. There’s something stuck to my door, a note about a package delivery it looks like. I ignore it. No time for that right now. I sweep inside and head straight to my computer. First things first, I need to start doing some damage control.

I check the policies section of the dating app’s website first. There’s nothing about what to do if someone leaks photos sent via the app without your permission, but I write a long email to their contact person anyway, just in case it helps. If nothing else, maybe they can beef up their security in the meantime and help stop this happening to some other poor, innocent girl.

I have to click into Zayne’s profile to send them all the details on what happened, who I sent the photo to and how it was leaked. Doing that sets off a riot of feelings in my gut all over again. Because right there on the cover photo is him, gazing at me with those damn blue eyes, so impossible to tear mine away from. Even pixelated on a screen, he’s hot as hell.

I’d thought, crazy as it seemed, about deleting this app after this weekend. I’d thought, why do I need it? I’ve already found a guy who’s way better than any of the other losers, and it turns out I already knew him in person. I didn’t need this stupid app to help us hook up.

But now? I don’t even know how to feel. A crazy person stole my image from his app, is threatening me, publicly harassing me, and he doesn’t even trust me enough to tell me what’s going on. How can I reconcile that with the guy I thought I was falling for?

My heart sinks into my stomach. I read this all wrong. I misread all the signals. He’s not into this, not the way that I am.

My throat clenches hard as I click away from his profile. But closing the window doesn’t help remove the memories. They surge up again, brought to the surface by the sight of that image all over again. Yesterday, it was only yesterday. It feels like a different era. A completely different life.

We’d finished lunch and we were playing a game at his dining room table. Poker. He was trying to teach me the rules, but I was abysmal. I kept betting on nothing hands, going all in on a pair of twos. So he changed the rules.

“Strip poker now,” he’d said with a grin, gaze fixed hungrily on me.

“Okay,” I agreed, and I didn’t tell him that I already planned to continue sucking. Even more so now.

He dealt another hand, but this time, for once, I had decent cards. I hesitated, double-checking. But no. I was right. I had a good hand. So I placed a bet. Zayne rolled his eyes and matched it.

“You have to fold sometimes,” he pointed out. “You can’t go all-in on every hand and expect me to believe you’ve got something when the last five times you didn’t.”

I shrug and raise again. “Never know,” I said. “The tides could have turned in my favor.”

“Poker isn’t the only thing you need to practice, Clove,” he admonished with a wink. “You need to work on lying, too.”

“But isn’t that what you love about me? My innocent guile?” I raised again, and he matched again, and I could feel the win creeping up on me.

“I suppose. Then again, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe all along you’ve been pretending to be innocent and slow at this game, building me up, so you can sweep in like a shark at the right moment and claim victory once and for all.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Maybe.” His gaze caught mine. Held firm. That smirk of his widened. “So tell you what, Clove. Why don’t we raise the stakes even higher? Why don’t we make this truly interesting?”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked, hands carefully folded around my cards, trying to give nothing away. I had a full house. There was no way he was going to beat me, not this time.

“An hour of obedience,” he replied, one eyebrow lifted. “The winner gets to command the loser to do whatever they want for one full hour. No backing out.”

I shivered. The command in his voice sent a jolt of desire straight through me, all the way to my belly, and through to my tightened pussy. Part of me suddenly wished I had a bad hand. What if I lost? What would he do to me? But the other part wanted, fiercely, to win. To see this sexy, handsome, hunk of a man kneeling before me, at my beck and call. I could make him do whatever I wanted. Make him kneel in front of me and lick me until I came again and again, then make him fuck me right here on top of the table, knocking the cards off around us on the floor… I could make him take me to the shower and wash for me, perform for me, slowly run his hands all over his muscled body, touch himself wherever I wanted him to touch himself… I could drive him mad, the way he’d been slowly driving me mad this whole weekend.

“Deal,” I said, and I hoped my voice didn’t give away my winning hand, the quiver of excitement almost too much to disguise.

Zayne grinned. “So, you accept this raise in stakes?”

“I do,” I replied.

“Good,” he answered. “Consider us both all in, then.” Then it came time for us to reveal our hands. I spread mine on the table with a smirk. His eyes widened, his lips parting for a moment. I resisted the urge to laugh. He really didn’t know what I had up my sleeve.

“You’re getting better at this,” he muttered, a begrudgingly appreciative tone in his voice. But then he lowered his hand and spread his cards in response, grinning.

Royal flush.

Shit.

“You’re impossible,” I groaned.

He laughed. “Admit it, you love it. Now, I believe my hour starts now…” His gaze swept over me.

“Unfair,” I added with a pout.

He lifted an eyebrow, suddenly stern. “Did I say you could speak?”

I snapped my mouth shut, though I continued to glare at him.

He laughed. “Mm, the sore loser look doesn’t suit you. Stand up, Clove.”

I rose from the table, pushing the chair back as I did. His gaze swept down again, over the casual T-shirt and pair of his boxer shorts I’d donned for dinner. We didn’t stand on ceremony that weekend, not with all the stripping we’d been doing whenever possible. His gaze lingered on my top.

“Take off your shirt.”

I stripped it off without a word and dropped it beside the table. I had no bra on, having already lost that in a prior round, so my breasts were immediately exposed, my nipples hardening in the chilly evening air.

He stood up and raised a hand, and I tensed in anticipation of his warm touch. But he didn’t quite touch me, not yet. He let his hand hover an inch from my chest, tracing circles through the air just inches from me.

“Touch your breasts,” he said.

I lifted my hands to cup my breasts from beneath, and squeezed them, massaging them lightly, pressing them together between my palms.

“Harder.”

I clenched my fists around my skin, watched the way my nipples hardened even further at the sensation.

“Now run your hands down your body, slowly.”

I trailed my hands down my sides, as slow as I could, tracing my ribcage, my waist, my hips. I hesitated at the boxer waistband, looked up at Zayne.

“Take those off too,” he said, his voice gone low and dark with lust. I could tell from the hard bulge in his pants that he was enjoying this every bit as much as I was.

I pushed the boxers down slowly, letting them snag on my hipbones before they finally fell to reveal my mound. They dropped to my knees, then my ankles, and I stepped out of them easily.

“Spread your legs,” Zayne said.

I swallowed hard, but obeyed him, standing with my feet shoulder-width apart.

“Arms out, too” he added.

I spread them wide to either side of me, feeling like I was on display.

When he finally touched me, I couldn’t help but jolt with the surprise of it. His warm skin against mine felt like an electric shock, his rough palms grazing my nipples before his hands clenched around my breasts and squeezed, the way I had a moment ago, but harder, rougher. I began to rock in place slightly, unable to help myself, swaying toward him with every rough grope of my breasts.

“Hold still,” he commanded, and it took effort to still myself, to balance on my feet in one position and let him take whatever he wanted from me.

He ran his hands down my back next, stepping closer to do it. He was close enough that the bulge in his boxers grazed my belly, and I sucked in a deep breath at the sudden skim of his cock against my bare, flat stomach. His hands, on the other hand, kept moving, running down the plane of my back, tracing my spine to my ass, which he gripped so hard I was sure he’d leave bruises. He pulled me up against him and crushed his cock against my belly so I was pinned there against him, my arms and legs spread, trying hard to keep my balance, to keep breathing normally, to keep my racing heart from driving me wild, right over the edge.

Fuck, I was soaking wet already.

He slapped my ass as he stepped back, an appreciative grin on his face. “Good girl,” he murmured, stepping aside to walk slowly around me. “Are you enjoying yourself, Clove?” he asked, his voice a whisper at my ear as he paused beside me, and trailed one finger along my outstretched arm, raising goosebumps the whole way along. “You can answer,” he added when I didn’t reply, because I’d learned my lesson about the speaking thing once already.

“Yes,” I breathed, and he chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. Fuck. What was he going to do to me?

I hoped it was anything. Everything. I wanted him to take me, possess me, own me. I wanted him to fuck me until I couldn’t stand up straight anymore.

He dipped a hand between my legs and massaged my thighs, from the outside to the inner thighs, as rough and harshly as he’d massaged my tits moments earlier. I gasped as his fingers grazed the groove where my legs met my hips, then slid higher, higher, until it took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to cry out, to beg him to touch my pussy, finger me, fuck me until I screamed.

Finally, he pushed one finger along my slit, sudden and strong. I could feel him sliding along me, slick with my juices. I felt wetter than I’d ever been before. He must have noticed, because he laughed again, still that low, dark laugh.

“Someone’s hungry for me,” he murmured against my earlobe, lips grazing my skin. “Do you want me to fuck you, Clove?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“How do you want me to fuck you?”

I swallowed. “Hard,” I managed to murmur.

He smirked. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.” Without warning, he spun me around, pulled me off balance until I had my back to the dining room table where we’d been playing. He bent me backwards over it, and I felt the cards sticking to my back, my body slick with sweat and desire, every inch of me trembling. “Do you want me to fuck you right here, like a dirty little slut?” He lifted my knees, then wrapped his hands around my ankles, forced my legs back until my knees bent on either side of my ears, and all I could see looking down was my body curled up in front of him like an offering, free for the taking. The shivers were impossible to resist now, because the cool air was breezing right across my soaked pussy, and his cock was right there, still tight in his boxers, inches away from me, but I could see every inch of him outlined through the thin fabric, pulsing with need the same way I was.

“Yes,” I groaned, my voice hard to control now.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Do you want me to come inside you, little slut?”

My heart skipped. We’d talked about that earlier in the day, the last time we fucked. About how we’d both been recently tested, we were clean, and I was on the pill. I brought it up, unusual for me, because for once, I felt comfortable with a guy. For once, I trusted him, wanted to feel him without a condom between us.

Stupid Clove, I think now, but it doesn’t stop the memory from continuing, pulsing through my mind, unable to stop now. I slide a hand down the front of my jeans, even though I hate myself for it, even though I hate that this memory still turns me on, after everything that’s happened since.

“Come inside me,” I’d whispered, and Zayne dropped his boxers at that. He thrust inside me in one swift motion, so fast that I didn’t have time to brace myself, prepare. I screamed with pleasure, with the force of it, as his cock stretched my pussy wide and speared deep into me.

He planted my feet against his shoulders, kept his hands wrapped around my thighs to pin me in place, and fucked me against the table, his balls slapping my ass with every deep thrust. At this angle, he couldn’t help fucking right along my G-spot, the head of his thick cock scraping right over it every time. I was already on fire, hot from the foreplay, and it didn’t take long before I was shouting his name, writhing against the table.

The orgasm hit me so fast I couldn’t stop it. He kept right on fucking me though, teeth gritted, eyes locked on me. “I didn’t… say… you… could come…” he groaned between thrusts, and my belly tightened, his cock still deep in me, moving hard, fast. “I’m going… to have… to make… you come again,” he added, and I let my head fall back against the table, gasping.

I lost track of time as he pounded inside me. I lost track of everything but the ache in my pussy, the slap of his balls against my ass, the sight whenever I looked down at his glorious cock sliding in and out of my tight pussy, slick with my juices. I came again, moaning this time, my body shaking, my hands gripping Zayne’s forearms tightly. He didn’t even slow down, just kept fucking me at the same pace, eyes locked on mine, full of fierce desire, possessive lust.

I thought he’d finish then, but instead, he released my thigh with one hand and dropped it between my legs.

“Wait—” I gasped, afraid of how sensitive my clit would be.

He smirked and pressed his thumb against my clit, the pressure alone was enough to make my hips buck and sway against the table. “You should have thought of this before you came without my permission,” he murmured, smirking. He circled his thumb and I cried out, pleasure and pain shocking through my system in equal measure.

“Fuck, Zayne,” I managed to gasp.

He laughed between thrusts, his own breath still coming hard. “Come again, Clove.”

“I… can’t…” I whispered, though my hips had begun to move of their own accord, thrusting up against him, grinding his thumb against my clit.

“Yes you can. Come for me.”

My mouth fell open, my eyes unfocused, the pressure intolerable, unstoppable. It was too much, too much pleasure, my body was on fire, I’d never reach the peak.

“Come for me, slut.”

My pussy clenched at that, turned on by his reckless tone, his possessive attitude. He circled his thumb again and I writhed against the table. Fuck, he was right, I was going to come again. I could barely keep my eyes open, barely focus on anything in the room.

“Come. Now.”

I screamed something. Gibberish. Maybe his name mixed in there somewhere, I didn’t know. I was lost in the cloud of pleasure, fire sparking through my veins. I felt my pussy spasm and tighten around his cock, felt him drop his hand to grab my hips with both hands. My body shook, and my vision was clouded with bright spots of color as the orgasm continued to wash over me, through me, take control.

A moment later, Zayne’s hips collided with mine and he let out a guttural growl. I felt warm, hot cum shooting inside me as he groaned and kept thrusting into me, until finally, he leaned against me, exhausted, and I let my legs drop to either side of him and pulled him down against my chest, our sweaty bodies pressed together, cool and hot all at once, his cock still deep inside me, pulsing with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“Fuck,” I’d murmured, but he only laughed and turned to kiss my lips once, softly.

“I want to keep doing this to you forever, Clove,” he’d whispered against my mouth. “I haven’t felt like this for someone so fast in…” He shook his head, met my gaze, his eyes suddenly full of emotion, searing through me. “Ever,” he breathed, and my heart skipped in my chest.

“Neither have I,” I confessed, my voice soft, low. We leaned in, let our foreheads rest together and gazed directly into one another’s eyes for a long, quiet moment. Just drinking this in. Realizing that both of us were feeling the same height of emotion.

Then he’d smiled, a mischievous grin. “My hour isn’t up yet,” he reminded me, and…

I shake my head. This isn’t helping. None of this is. I pull my hands out of my jeans, my clit still swollen and sore, aching for release. But I ignore it, push the fantasy out of my head. I remember what happened next, and I don’t want to think about it. Not right now. Not now that I know who Zayne really is.

A liar, for one thing. A lie by omission is still a lie, and who knows if that’s the only lie he told me?

That night at poker, he said I needed to get better at lying. Maybe he was speaking from experience.

I finish writing the email to the company and hit send. Then I dare a glance at my phone. 27 missed calls, 13 new voicemails, and 122 texts. Ugh.

I scroll straight past all the unfamiliar numbers, ignoring the occasional slurs that I catch glimpses of in them. Slut, whore, cunt.

I scroll past until I reach my text thread with Andy and Celeste. By now it’s almost 5pm, and our workday will be ending. I might not be able to contribute in the office right now, but I can still meet them after work.

Emergency post-work margaritas? I ask, and it doesn’t take long before the two yes’s pour in. Love that about my work besties. I can always count on them for a drink when I really, really need to vent.

I head downstairs again.

Zayne is in the lobby. I spot him even before he turns around, his stance and the familiar slope of his shoulders immediately recognizable. What was I thinking? I ask myself for the millionth time. Getting involved with someone here, someone I’ll never be able to escape.

I try to breeze past, but his voice stops me dead halfway to the door.

“Clove.”

I stop in the middle of the hallway, shoulders hunched. There’s a couple of other people around, so we both, without discussing it, wait for them to clear out. Wait until it’s just me and Zayne alone in the hallway. When I steal a glance at the doors ahead of me, I catch his reflection in them, his gaze fixed on me. He looks so different in uniform. Hotter, somehow, if that’s possible.

“Listen, I’m sorry…”

I laugh, my voice low and bitter. “That’s it?”

“I’m trying to find out what’s going on.”

“But you still don’t want to tell me.” I lock eyes with him in the window. He meets my gaze, the street reflected behind him, making his eyes seem less blue and more stormy-gray right now.

“I… I just need to work out some things…”

I laugh again, just once this time. “Good luck with that.” I storm out without waiting for another word from him. It’ll just be another lie, I’m sure.

That’s all he’s really good at.