“Thank you,” I say, hanging up and sighing with relief.

Scarlett looks up expectantly. “So it’s done?”

“Yep,” I say. “One credit card completely paid off. Only five to go.”

She laughs, shrugging. “Still. You did that in just over a month. At this rate you’ll be caught up in no time.”

“Yeah, the extra money has really helped. At this rate, the business might do well enough to let me quit at Club Crave.”

“So you’re not liking it?” asks Scarlett.

I sit on a box of vinyl that I haven’t opened yet, studying my fingers. “Why did you leave?” I ask. I haven’t ever asked Scarlett why she left the club. For as long as I’ve known her, she has been a sexually open person. It seemed like an impossibility to offend her sensibilities or catch her by surprise. If anyone could thrive at Club Crave, it is her.

She cringes a little, but hops up on a table and looks thoughtful. “Things got messy.”

I laugh a little. “I can relate to that. What happened?”

“Well, my parents found out, for starters. They always wanted me to be an engineer. When I was in school, teachers kept pushing for me to skip grades because I was a natural at math. All my friends thought I was going to go to college and study some advanced mathematics that would make most people’s heads spin. The truth was it never felt right. Yeah, it came easy to me, but it didn’t excite me. So when I studied graphic art and design instead of math, my parents never really got over it.

“After that, they were a little frosty, but I think they gradually started to accept it. They saw how happy design was making me and learned to live with it. We were never wealthy, and the school I went to didn’t offer scholarships unless they were for the arts. So I was paying it all myself. That was when I got into Club Crave. I met a guy my Sophomore year who was into BDSM and introduced me to it. His parents were ultra wealthy, so he could afford the membership.

“I was offered a position after he and I broke up, and I took it. I worked there for a few months. I met some guys. Some were serious, some were just for fun. I still don’t know who it was, but one of the guys I met knew my dad. An old high school friend who went on to run some mega corporation or something, probably. When my parents found out… It was the final straw for them.”

I shake my head. “Their little engineer was working at a BDSM club and studying design. Yeah. I can see how that was a shocker.”

She laughs. “Yeah. Shocker is an understatement. It was like a nuclear explosion. They started making all these crazy posts on Facebook about me. They dragged me through the mud in front of everyone I’ve ever known. I never really forgave them for that. I tried not to let it, but it ruined BDSM for me. I had so many relatives and old friends messaging me online telling me what a slut I was and how wrong what I was doing was that somewhere along the line it poisoned the fun.”

“Wow,” I say slowly. “I’m sorry, Scarlett. I had no idea.”

She smiles. “That’s one of the things I liked about you.”

I smirk.

“So. I spilled my beans,” she says, sighing and slapping her thighs. “You’re obviously going through something. It’s your turn.”

I suck in a breath through my teeth. I knew the question was coming, and I think I even want to get it all off my chest, but voicing my thoughts makes them feel more real, and I’m afraid of that.

“Um,” I say, fiddling with my fingers and looking down. “You know how when people get addicted to a drug, they keep needing more and more to get the same experience?”

“Yeah…” says Scarlett. “Did one of those assholes get you on something? It’s not heroine, is it?”

The look on her face momentarily breaks me out of my nervousness. I laugh. “God. No. I’m just using it as an example.” The smile fades quickly from my face. “I think I’m having that problem with the sex. It felt so good and so incredible the first time. I didn’t--still don’t--understand why I liked it so much, but I did. It felt dangerous and wrong, but that just turned me on even more, you know?”

Scarlett smiles a little nostalgically. “Trust me, I know.”

“At first just the threat of punishment was almost enough to… er,” I clear my throat. “Yeah. Well, now it’s like I can’t enjoy it unless I’m controlled. And I need him to take it farther every time to still feel dominated. Like I need to be afraid he’s going to actually do permanent damage or something. Anything less just feels like a game.”

Scarlett frowns. “Maybe you need to pull back some. I mean, when I first started college, I could drink one cup of coffee and stay up all night. By Sophomore year, I needed more like eight cups. So I quit for a few weeks and then when I started again it was like it used to be. Maybe you need to just, you know, drink less coffee.”

I purse my lips thoughtfully. “You might be right. Yeah.” I feel a smile spreading across my face. “Yeah… That’s a really good idea.” I stand quickly, crossing the distance between us and hugging her tightly. “Thank you.”

It’s already dark when I’m leaving the office. Scarlett is still inside finishing up a design she’s working on.

The city is relatively calm at this time of the evening, somewhere between when most people go home from work and come back out for the night life. I’m looking down in my purse to fish out my phone something catches my eye. A figure on the other side of the road was motionless, face turned toward me, but as soon as I looked up, he turned away and walked the other direction. I can almost believe I imagined it, but I’m not so sure.

I frown, walking toward my house, but feeling the temptation to call Logan. I don’t want to sound silly. Logan! Please help, I think I saw a guy looking at me! I shove my phone back in my purse and try not to look over my shoulder like I’m paranoid. I last about five seconds before glancing sideways.

My heart starts thumping heavily when I see the same man is now walking my direction. He’s still on the other side of the road, but he’s a lot closer than when I last saw him. Something about him is familiar. He’s wearing a heavy jacket and a hat, but I feel like the way he walks reminds me of someone I know. I just can’t put my finger on who. He’s not quite tall or broad enough to be Logan, though.

I do my best to push it from my mind, which is easier than it should be. I’ve been so fucking confused lately, and I’m not used to the uncertainty. My thoughts go straight to Logan. I think of his hard, gorgeous eyes and the way I feel when they are on me, like there’s nothing in the world more important than to be at the center of his gaze. I think of how good it feels to have his big, strong hands on my body, about how small and fragile he makes me feel.

I know I want to be with him. The truth of that knowledge glows in my chest so powerfully I can almost feel it burning. I just don’t know that I can be what he needs me to be.

I think I know what I need to do to make things work between us, but I’m afraid Logan won’t be okay with it. I’m meeting him for dinner in an hour, which is a rarity. I usually go straight to his playroom and find an excuse to leave shortly after. The fear that he might try to have regular sex outside the room always scares me off.

I turn when I hear a foot scuff on the pavement just behind me. The man in the jacket is reaching for me, arm extended and fingers splayed. My heart explodes in my chest. The moment slows down, his fingers extending toward me with a slow inevitability. I see his face then.

Ronnie. My mom’s boyfriend.

I scream and swat his arm away, turning to run. Three college age guys emerge from a coffee shop just in front of me at the same time. If not for them, we would have been entirely alone on the street. They stop short, taking in the scene quickly and turning angry looks toward Ronnie, who tightens his hood and hurries off in the other direction.

“You okay?” asks one of the guys. He reaches for me and I flinch back.

“Y-yes. Thank you. I need to get home,”

“You sure? We could walk you back if--”

“I’m sure. Thank you. Really. I have to go.”

I adjust the strap of my purse and walk as fast as I comfortably can down the sidewalk, away from the men and from Ronnie. I’m still gasping for breath like I just got done sprinting. What the hell was he doing? My fingers itch to reach for the phone and call Logan. I want to tell him everything. I know he would follow through on the promise he made weeks ago to keep Ronnie in line, but I can’t make myself call. On one hand, Ronnie might have just been drunk and wandering the streets when he saw me. Maybe he just wanted to say hello and I screamed in his face. I wouldn’t blame him for running after that.

On the other hand… The way he turned away when I first saw him and the way he waited until my back was to him to sneak up on me doesn’t sit right. What motivation could he possibly have to want to hurt me? He knows I’m basically broke. He knows my mom would never forgive him if something happened to me. Unless he’s thinking he might be able to get something out of Logan if he used me as leverage.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Ronnie is a scumbag, but I don’t think he would resort to that. I get a sick feeling in my stomach though, and against my better judgment, call my mom.

“Emmaline,” she says through the phone. There’s a faint note of surprise in her voice.

“Hey, mom… I just wanted to make sure things are still okay at home. You know, I mean, between you and, uh…” I trail off, feeling stupid. “Is Ronnie treating you okay? After Logan came, I was worried-”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Her voice sounds strange. Strained and soft. “Are you okay, mom?”

I hear her sniff. There’s a pause as the sounds of her crying come over the phone. Despite everything she’s put me through, I hate hearing her upset. “What did he do to you?” I ask, voice hard.

“It’s not that, honey. It’s just... Look, I did some thinking about everything. I think I’ve asked too much outta you. I was wanting to tell you that, but I didn’t know how to say it. Okay? I haven’t done right by you, Emmaline.”

I stop in my tracks, staring down at the sidewalk while my vision blurs from tears. I want to just take her apology and savor it. I want to accept this at face value, selfishly storing the words away to repeat in my head over and over until some of the pain of betrayal starts to melt away. But I can’t. I see Ronnie’s face and his hand reaching for me and I know something more is going on.

“Mom, what happened?” I ask.

There’s a long pause and I hear a chair creak. “Ronnie and I have always fought, you know that. Sometimes he does take it too far and he gets physical, but it’s only when he has been drinking. I know when to keep my distance and when I can stand my ground. I’ve adapted and learned. It’s just, um,” she says, voice shaking.

It breaks my heart to hear her like this. She has tried to take advantage of me so many times I’ve lost count, but she has always been a survivor and she has always been a fighter. She does what she has to to get by, even if it means trying to get money out of her only daughter. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard her sound vulnerable before, and I don’t like it. It has a protectiveness I haven’t felt in a long time welling up inside me.

“Two nights ago it was really bad. I threatened to call the cops and he told me he’d--” She sniffs and pauses, needing to gather herself before she continues. “He told me he’d “fucking kill my bitch ass” if I dared. I’ve heard worse from him before, but I never believed him before. He was in the kitchen and his hand was resting on this big knife and I actually thought he might do it.”

“I’m going to get you out of that trailer, mom. You can’t stay with him anymore.”

“I can’t just leave. Do you know what he’d do if I left him?”

“I’m worried about what he’s going to do if you stay!” I force myself to breathe more slowly when I realize I’m shouting into my phone on a deserted sidewalk in the middle of the night. The memory of Ronnie and my conversation with my mom gets my feet moving again, more quickly than before. I need to just get inside, where it’s safe.

“I wouldn’t know what to do without him.”

“None of that matters right now. The most important thing is that you get somewhere safe. We can call the police and let them sort the rest out.”

She sighs. “I can’t afford a place on my own, Emmaline. And I couldn’t stay here. You’d have to lend me some money.”

For once, I don’t resent her for trying to get money out of me. I realize with a wave of sadness that my first debt-free credit card is going to go back into the red very soon. “That’s fine. I’ll work something out with you. You should come to my house tonight and we’ll find a place for you tomorrow.”

It takes a little more convincing, but I finally get my mom to agree to stay with me tonight. Once I get inside, I don’t even have the energy to shower. I just collapse on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

I spend a few minutes trying to decide if I should call Logan. It’s not hard to imagine how that might play out. I call Logan. Logan confronts Ronnie. They fight and someone gets hurt. Nothing is resolved.

No. The answer is just to get my mom somewhere safe, call the police in the morning, and hope they can pick Ronnie up and scare him into leaving us alone.

I just hope my mom sticks with her resolution to stay away from him. I know enough about domestic abuse to guess she might have second thoughts. She might even sneak back to him. I’ll do what I can to prevent it. Having my mom back and away from Ronnie’s poisonous influence after so long is a privilege I never thought I’d get, and I’m not ready to let it slip away.

I meet Logan at a place called Cafe de Lorenz. It’s nestled on a small grassy strip of land surrounded by the lake. The lights of the city stretch across the dark waters, broken up by tiny ripples. The faint sound of classical music drifts along the chill evening air and reaches my ears, along with some of the most mouthwatering scents I’ve ever smelled.

Logan says something to his driver before the man pulls away, leaving us arm in arm in front of the restaurant. We cross through a small, but meticulously maintained garden path and enter through a terraced entryway. Logan wears an impeccable suit. His hair is pushed to the side and as usual, a few stubborn strands fall perfectly out of place. He has a few days worth of scruff on his face, too, completing the rugged look he so completely nails.

He’s quiet tonight, and I can’t help feeling the rift between us. Something is broken, and I don’t think either of us knows quite how to fix it. And now I’m holding the burning secret about Ronnie from him, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep it in.

I’m wearing a dress he gave me as a gift. I’ve turned down so many of his gifts I’ve lost count, but he’s persistent, and I don’t want to be rude. It makes me feel good that he wants to give me things so badly, but I couldn’t live with myself if I blindly accepted it all. I have enough trouble not feeling like a prostitute by working at Club Crave. The last thing I need is to start giving myself reasons to think Logan is buying me. I’m having enough trouble sorting through my feelings without that added burden.

The dress has a single, crossover strap. It hugs me in just the right places and does some very flattering things for my figure. I have my hair done up as much as I could manage without much time. I barely had the time to throw some blankets out for my mom to sleep on the couch before I had to throw the dress on and get ready for tonight. My head still feels like it’s ringing from all that has happened, and I’m already fighting the urge to keep it from Logan.

“You look stunning,” he says, sliding his arm comfortably around my waist and leading me through the entrance of the restaurant. A prim man in a suit nods at Logan like he recognizes him and leads us past the line of waiting patrons to a table near the huge windows overlooking the lake.

“Thank you,” I say.

A band plays soft, classic music on a stage set off to one side of the restaurant. There’s a quiet hum of conversation, clinking silverware, and muffled laughter. The entire restaurant is full, but the clientele are the refined type, and apparently that means they aren’t as loud.

Logan pulls my chair out and brushes any dust that might be on the cushion before protectively holding my arm as I take a seat. I like that he takes care of me the way he does. It’s as if he imagines any possible harm that could come to me and does whatever he can to prevent it.

Unless he’s the one with a paddle in his hand.

“What’s that look for?” he asks, sitting down and setting the napkin in his lap.

I clear my throat. “It’s nothing.”

He eyes me skeptically, but the waiter arrives and goes over the wine list, giving me time to gather my thoughts. Planning to hide something from Logan and actually doing it are two entirely different concepts, and I already feel like I might break out in a cold sweat soon, as if he knows I’m holding something back and won’t rest until he knows.

Logan orders us a bottle of something I can’t pronounce and looks at me over the candle burning in the center of our table. “Relax. Please,” he says.

I breathe out. “I’m relaxed.”

He smirks, standing in the middle of the crowded restaurant and moving behind me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and starts massaging me. My cheeks burn red when I notice a few heads turning at his show of impropriety, but it feels so good. It’s not just the massage, it’s his constant desire to claim me as his. No matter who’s watching or how inappropriate it is, Logan never seems to care. All that matters to him is keeping me happy and letting everyone know I’m taken. So why couldn’t I have just kept pretending to make him happy? Why did I have to be so fucking selfish?

“See? You’re already a hell of a lot looser.”

“That’s not what you said last weekend,” I say. A split second later I clap my hand to my mouth, shocked at my own dirtiness.

Logan laughs before leaning close to my ear. “Your shoulders are loose. Your pussy is tight as a fucking glove. And it’s all mine, Kitten.”

My skin prickles with excitement and my core clenches at the sound of his gruff voice in my ear. God. No man has ever been able to trigger my sex drive so effortlessly. It makes me even more frustrated to think how quickly that drive fades if I’m not forced to place my trust in him. If I’m not dominated.

The waiter approaches with our bottle of wine and gives Logan a curious, almost scared glance, as if he’s not sure if he should approach. Logan pulls his hands from my shoulders and steps back toward his seat, gesturing for the waiter to come.

We eye each other over the table as our wine is poured. The water retreats soundlessly, leaving the bottle.

Logan sips his wine. “We need to be open with each other from now on, Emmaline. No more secrets.”

I nod my agreement, hoping he can’t see the strain in my forced smile. “Yes. I agree.”

Something is brewing in that beautiful head of his, and I’m afraid I know what it is. He’s going to call me out. I know I should just tell him. He’s right. If I had just been honest with him from the beginning, maybe things wouldn’t have become so complicated. “I saw--”

“I’ll start,” says Logan. Our words come out at the exact same moment. He narrows his eyes. “You saw?”

I bite my lip. “You said you’d start.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough. But you’re not off the hook. I want you to be open with me so it’s only fair that I’m open with you, too. Like I said, no more secrets.”

“No more secrets,” I echo.

He looks uncharacteristically tense for a moment, running his index finger along the edge of the table cloth, smoothing a wrinkle in the fabric. “The night we met at Club Crave was my first night back on the BDSM scene in years. I had a nasty break up with my ex-wife and she… made it difficult for me to enjoy my old lifestyle.”

I feel a stab of jealousy at the mention of his ex-wife. I know about her, but it’s only from cyber-stalking Logan shortly after meeting him. Lana. A professional ex-wife who lives off her ability to extort money from Logan. Still, hearing him talk about her makes it seem more real.

He continues. “She lied about the nature of our relationship--publically. It took a long time to repair the damage that did to my image, my company, and to be frank, my sex life. I wanted to leave it all behind. And I did, for a long time. But I got tired of letting what she did rule me, so I came back. And I found you.”

I blush at the sincerity he pours into his last sentence. He makes it sound like a profession of love, and my heart is pounding in my chest. “Is it always like this?” I ask. “I mean, before you met your wife, when you were with other submissives. Was it like this?”

He actually laughs, shaking his head. “Not even close. With other girls I needed the roleplay to get off. With you, it’s--” he stops abruptly, clearing his throat. The silence that stretches gives me plenty of time to realize what made him stop talking.

He was about to say he doesn’t need the roleplay to get off when he’s with me. But I still do. He doesn’t want to throw it in my face, but there it is.

He doesn’t need the bells and whistles. So why do I need them? He’s gorgeous, caring, and has just the right amount of edge to keep me interested. He cares for me. He really cares. He has all the right qualities, and still… I want to bury my face in my hands and scream. I thought my worries were behind me when he took me into a private room that first night. I thought it would be simple from then on. I even let myself believe I was having a sort of sexual awakening that might make it easier for me to enjoy vanilla sex.

“I’m trying,” I say. “I want to try. I was thinking maybe we could just, well…” I look around self-consciously at the couples sitting only a few feet from us and lower my voice. I was going to say we could take it slower or take a break, like Scarlett suggested. But saying it out loud feels wrong. Can I really take something so sensually intimate and put an artificial limit on it? “However you want to do it. I’ll do whatever you want, however you want. I’ll be good for you.”

He grins. “It’s not about what I want, Kitten.”

“You’re so good to me,” I say. “I want to make you happy.”

“The feeling is mutual,” he says, grinning.

I look down, smiling and rubbing at a small water spot on the base of my wine glass.

“You haven’t tried the wine,” he says.

I realize how rude I must look when I imagine the price of the wine. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, picking it up. “I just got caught up.”

He just bites his lip, watching as I tilt the glass back and let the smooth red wash over my lips. It’s fruity, light, and airy with a slightly bitter aftertaste. It’s more complex than the cheap wines I’m used to, but I raise my eyebrows appreciatively. “This is really good.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he says. “Now. It’s your turn. You were about to tell me something.”

“Right,” I say, swallowing a little too big of a sip to buy myself time. “I was going to tell you I saw someone. I was leaving work and he was…” I trail off at the look on Logan’s face. All the compassion and kindness has faded and there’s only iron in his features. His eyes are narrowed and as piercing as daggers. I suddenly regret my decision to tell him. He’s not just going to confront Ronnie, he’s going to kill him.

“And?” he asks, voice sharp.

“And it was Ronnie. My mom’s boyfriend.” My voice sounds as quiet as a whisper and I practically cringe while I wait for him to process what I’ve said.

“What did he want? Did he touch you? If he fucking-”

“No. Logan,” I say, trying to get him to lower his voice because people are starting to look at us. “He didn’t touch me. I mean, he was reaching for me, but I screamed and these guys came out. God. This sounds way worse than it was.”

Logan’s jaw flexes. “I warned him. I fucking warned him.”

“Please, Logan. I didn’t want to tell you because I was worried you would do something stupid.” I wince at my choice of words.

Logan’s eyes burn into me. “Stupid? You think it’s stupid to protect you?”

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

His brings his fist down on the table, making our silverware clatter. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to make the message loud and fucking clear to this asshole. You’re mine. He’s going to learn why he should stay away.”

I lower my eyes. There’s no arguing with Logan. The force of his will alone is mind-numbing. When he puts his foot down, it might as well be etched in steel. I just can’t stand the idea of him doing something crazy. What if he actually kills Ronnie? I realize with a sinking dread that I’m going to have to warn Ronnie. I may hate him and what he has done to my mom and now to me, but I don’t want to see him killed. More than that, I don’t want to see Logan ruin his life and career over this by getting sent to prison.