There are only four blocks between my subway exit and the apartment. Today, they feel like four miles. It's not quite freezing, but the wind is heavy enough to send a chill through my wool coat. My boots are leaking. My jeans are soaked.

None of that matters when I see Blake. He's standing in the lobby, hands in his suit pockets, shoulders pulled back, hard expression on his face.

He softens when I step into the door. His eyes find mine. I can't help but smile. I can't help but throw myself into his arms. I'm sure my boots are dirtying his perfect grey suit, but I don't care.

Blake runs his fingers through my hair. "How was it?"

"Manageable. Good thing I had such an excellent physics tutor." I press my lips into his. Mmm. He tastes like vanilla. "I think I passed. Maybe even got a B."

"I'm sure it's an A. I'm proud of you."

I plant my legs on the floor. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Yes."

"You're ditching work for me?"

"We have something to discuss." His voice is heavy. Which means bad news.

I hate bad news.

I stop to admire the giant Christmas tree in the lobby. It's been here a few weeks, but I've been too focused on school to take a decent mental picture. It would look amazing in a comic panel— the image of untouchable, elegant decadence.

Even three feet away, I can smell the pine needles. I move closer, run my fingers over the soft red tinsel. This tree is huge. Ridiculous even. It’s thirty feet tall and utterly flawless.

But not in that Beyonce kind of way.

In a lifeless, belongs in a magazine and not reality kind of way.

I imagine drawing it. I'd have to give it an entire page. I'd have to find a way to capture its majesty and its lack of soul all at once.

Blake runs his fingers over my chin. "Kat."

I turn back to him, examine the expression in his eyes. He's fighting something. "What's wrong?"

"We'll talk in the penthouse." Blake nods a hello/goodbye to the guard. His grip tightens around my wrist as he pulls me to the elevators.

It's rougher than usual. I know better than to ask. Blake isn't closed off when we're alone. But in public, he's a wall of steel.

Inside, the penthouse is as sparse as always. It’s free of holiday cheer. If it weren't for the bleak white sky bleeding in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, it could be June.

Okay, that's not quite true. The trees in the park are barren, brown and gray instead of vibrant green, and all the people on the street are wearing heavy coats.

I kick off my boots and hang my coat on the rack. Blake sets my backpack next to the couch. That's where I sit when I draw. And he hates when my stuff is on the couch. He must know how much I want to sketch the scenery.

"Coffee?" he asks.

"Sure."

I watch as he fixes two cups and hands one to me.

The drink warms my fingers. Sweet, rich, vanilla. Like his lips. "I know it's cutting it a little close, but I was thinking we could get a Christmas tree tomorrow. Or even today. It's only noon. We have time to go to the lot on Fifty-Ninth or to grab a plastic tree at Target."

His expression hardens. He turns to the window, steps into the soft glow. Winter light is beautiful. I need to immortalize him. To capture the highlights and shadows and all the hurt in his eyes.

I move closer. Run my fingertips over his cheek. He leans into my touch, letting out a long, heavy breath. Not quite a sigh but close.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

His eyes stay on the window. "I don't celebrate Christmas." He takes a long sip of his coffee, breaking my touch. "Your sister will be here tomorrow. Celebrate here or use the company jet to take her to Aruba. I'll be at the office until the twenty-sixth."

I play with my giant engagement ring. It's hard, expensive, elegant. Like his apartment. Like his company. Like him. "Are you going to explain?"

His facade cracks. Hurt spreads over his face. His lip corners turn down. His eyebrows screw in frustration. For once, his posture isn't strong and impervious.

My voice gets soft. "You can run away if you want, but I need to know why."

“There are too many ugly memories.”

I nod. Blake hasn't had an easy life. His father was a horrible, abusive man. Blake had to keep everything together for his mom and his sister, even when he was a little boy. "So you disappear into work?"

He nods.

"Every year?"

Again, he nods.

"And you waited until the twenty-second to drop this on me?"

"School comes first."

I don't know whether I want to hug him or slap him. He really does want my schoolwork to come first. Even before him. Even when he needs me desperately.

My fingers curl into fists. The anger is winning. "So, what, you're totally bailing on Christmas?"

Blake is stone even as he turns to face me. "Celebrate however you want. I won't get in your way."

"I want to celebrate with you."

His voice wavers. "I'm sorry, Kat."

Fuck this. I'm not going to let Blake lock me out. Not over something this important. "No." I press my heel into the hardwood. Only, it's a sock and the floor is just waxed. I slip, landing on my hands and knees.

Blake looks down at me. He smiles, endeared by either my clumsiness or my rejection.

I look up at him. "When is the last time you did anything to celebrate?"

His expression hardens.

"Ten years? More?"

He nods.

"Maybe you'll like it now. If you give it a chance."

He kneels, offering to help me up. I grab his hand but use it to pull him onto the floor with me.

He doesn't resist. And there's my untouchable CEO fiancé, sitting cross-legged on the floor in a three-thousand-dollar suit. Anyone else would look silly. Somehow, Blake still looks in control.

I meet his gaze. "Maybe happy memories can replace the old ones."

He brushes my hair behind my ear. It’s soft. Sweet.

He wants this too. It's only a matter of helping him realize it.

"I love you," I whisper. "Let me help you."

"It can't be helped."

It can't be helped. Not I can't be helped. So he's not totally hopeless.

I press my fingertips against his. The intimacy of it sends a shiver down my spine. I drink in the high of skin on skin, safe and overwhelming all at once.

I intertwine my fingers with his and stare back at him. "No."

He stares back, totally unreadable. "Not many people tell me no."

"In a few months, I'm going to be your wife. And I'm not going to give up on spending the holidays with you without a fight." I press my free hand against his thigh and use it as leverage to shift onto his lap. "We'll make a deal."

Everything in his demeanor changes. Any hint of pain fades away. It's replaced by a perfect poker face. His posture straightens. His eyes turn to steel. "What are your terms?"

Crap. He’s an intimidating negotiator. I swallow hard. I wrap my legs around him, pressing my crotch against his. It's a cheap move, sure, but this is too important for sportsmanship. "This year, we try Christmas my way. If you hate it, we never have to celebrate again."

He doesn't flinch. "That could be sixty years. Seventy even."

"That's how much it means to me." I pull my sweater over my head and toss it on the ground. Another cheap trick, but I don’t care. I try out my best Blake Sterling look of intimidation. "And how confident I am."

I slide my free hand around his neck. He's warm, even with his expression as cold as the air outside.

I run my fingers through his hair. "Do you trust me?"

"Trust won't solve this."

"But you do."

He nods. "With my life."

"What if…" I bite my lip, suddenly shy at my unconventional addendum. I channel his negotiation skills. Time to close this deal. "If it gets to be too much, you can get back in control with me."

He runs his fingertip along my chin, tilting me so we're eye to eye. I hold his gaze. He's not hurt and closed off anymore. He's intrigued.

"I'll be yours, completely yours, and you can do whatever you want with me," I say. "Wherever we are."

He presses his lips into my neck. It's enough to send heat between my legs. His teeth brush against my skin. Soft, then hard, then so hard I yelp.

Oh God, how I want that mouth on me, how I want him to peel off these thick winter clothes.

"You are mine, Kat." He bites me harder. His hands go to the waist of my jeans. His fingers toy with the button. "Wherever I want, however I want, whenever I want." He looks into my eyes. "Don't pretend that isn't what you need."

My cheeks flush. "It is."

"You need me in control."

I nod.

"You need to submit to all of my demands."

He unbuttons my jeans. His hand goes to my ass. He pushes me up so he can tug my jeans to my thighs.

Blake runs his hands over the sides of my cotton panties. His touch is electric. It's been nearly a week since we've had sex. Longer since he's had me tied up and merciless. I’ve done nothing but study for the last two weeks.

My sex clenches. He's right. I love it when he's in control. And I need it now.

His hands stay on my hips. "What is it you're offering?"

Then his hands are on my ass. He brings my body toward his, so my sex is only inches from his lips. The panties are in the way, but they're no match for Blake's determination.

"You can use me," I say. "If that's what you need to feel better. If that's the only way you can get through how much it hurts."

His exhale is warm against my skin.

"Please." I take a deep breath, cultivating all my bravery. "I want to help you through this even if it's on my knees."

"I'm not going to use you." He drags his fingertips over the waistband of my panties. His voice gets rough. "Have I ever?"

"No. But…" I lean into his touch. "You can have a blank check. Whatever you want."

His fingers trail over the panties, lower and lower, until they're pressing the cotton fabric against my clit.

"Not until we agree on this."

My body is not on the same page. It's surging with pleasure, begging me to collapse in Blake's arms so he can throw me on the couch.

"If it's too much, we can stop, cease all holiday festivities, and take you someplace where we can be alone. Where you can be in control." I stare at him, certain I'm going to melt under the weight of his gaze.

He says nothing.

"What do you think?" I ask. "Are you willing to try?"

I hold my breath waiting for his answer.