I stare at him dazedly. Run his words back through my mind.

“I would help you forget about your life. Your many debts. Your painful voids. I would make you whole while you were here with me.” He leans closer, crowding me. All I can see is him. All I can feel is his body in between my legs.

“Do you know what a submissive is, Red?”

I nod. “But I don’t know that I’m one of those.”

He pulls his pants off and peels his boxer-briefs down. His cock juts up. It’s beautiful. So thick and long. “You want to touch this, don’t you?”

I swallow. Am I so obvious?

“I know because I can read you. I can spot a sub, Red. A beautiful sub is more precious than gold to someone like me. I could give you everything. Things you might not even know you want. I can give you what you need. Right now, I think you need to feel me in your hand. So come here—touch me.”

He sinks down to the rug and widens his knees just slightly, so I have an unobstructed view of his magnificent cock and balls. His eyes follow me as I crab-crawl toward him. When I’m close enough to sink down in between his legs, I can’t resist. He’s right. I want to touch him. Badly. I want to make him feel the way he made me feel.

I reach slowly down toward him. I close my fingers around his velvet shaft and rub my palm over his head. He leans back on his arms, his eyes sharp, drinking me in, his cock growing longer, thicker, harder under my fingers. I can feel his eyes on me even as I look down so I can grip him more tightly, glide my hand up and down.

I surprise myself by leaning over and sucking the head of him into my mouth. I’m hoping to surprise him, too, but his hips don’t jerk. His legs don’t move. He doesn’t even seem to breathe despite how very hard he is. I suck him in a little deeper, ease him out, and look up at him. He’s got his head leaned back, baring his smooth, tanned throat. I want to bite it—so I do. I climb up his prone body to bite him near his collar bone. My other hand keeps a tight grip on his shaft.

I lean back down and trace my tongue around him, moving slowly from base to head. Now his legs tighten, and I love it. His cock hardens; it stiffens so much I’m not sure I can fit it down my throat.

“Take me, Red. I want you to take me in your mouth.”

I nod. I open wide and lower my mouth over his head, making it my goal to take in as much of him as I can handle. I don’t make it within three inches of his base, but when I have most of him, I gently cup his balls and stroke my other hand at the bottom of his shaft.

He groans, reaching out to tangle his fingers in my damp hair.

He puts his other hand on my shoulder and rocks further into my mouth.

“Take all of me,” he says as I pull him deeper.

I suck my cheeks, and am rewarded when he groans. I swirl my tongue around his head and lick down his shaft, then take him all back into my mouth again. I stroke his balls, and he grits, “Fuck. Keep doing that.”

My hand tickles under his balls. He lays—more like falls—down on his back and props his arms behind his head. His chest looks huge. His hands form fists.

His eyes slit open. He looks slightly dazed. Relaxed, but still sharp. Focused on me.

“You want to see me lose control, Red?”

I nod.

“Slide a finger inside.”

“Inside…?” I look down at his taut balls, imagining what’s behind them as my eyes widen. A guy like Race—I’m surprised that he would go for that.

“Don’t be shy, Red. I can take it.”

I’m shaking a little as I push his heavy sac out of my hand’s path, but I do it. As I tickle the area between his dick and ass, he exhales slowly.

I find my mark. He grunts as I push my index finger into him and groans as I slide deeper. His cock stiffens and swells until he’s panting. I can’t deny I’m getting wet, too. “Slide it in and out, Red.” He sounds hoarse, unraveled.

I slide my finger in and out and am stunned to see wetness pearling on the head of him.

He groans, a rough, dry sound, and I bend down to lick the moisture off. His hands lock on my shoulders. “Red.” I slide my finger slightly out, then work it in. He sucks a breath in. “Jesus, Red.”

“Am I…doing it right?”

He nods, his eyes on me slightly unfocused. “Suck me again.”

I search his face for evidence that he’s being honest—that I’m really doing okay. I slide my hand underneath his tightening, and for the first time in my life, I can’t wait to suck cock.

I want to hear him moan.

I open as wide as I can and glide down almost to his base. If I concentrate, I can coordinate my movements: sucking my cheeks in to stimulate his head, tightening my lips around his shaft, gliding my tongue here and there. Rolling the top of my hand under his heavy sac and moving in and out of him with my finger.

His hands come down on my head. He pulls my hair. “Red. Fuck.”

I can tell he’s almost there because his ass lifts off the ground and he thrusts into my mouth. A few seconds later, he jerks forcefully away from me. My first thought is he was about to come, but in a heartbeat, he’s got me on my back. He’s spreading my thighs and parting my slick lips and pushing into me.

I gasp as he fills me so deliciously.

“Fuck Red. Fuck.”

He lays his chest over mine, and his weight pins me to the floor. He pumps frenziedly, holding roughly to my hips, paying no heed to my reactions as he uses my body. I shut my eyes as little wails escape my lips because it feels so good.

He thrusts so hard I slide across the floor.

“Wrap your legs around me, Red.”

I obey. He thrusts once more, his eyes squeezed shut. Then they pop open. “Come for me, Red. Come.”

And I do. I come and come and come.

And when I’m done, it’s back into the bath. He gets in with me, settling me atop his lap. He faces me away from him and presses his mouth against my throat.

“Did you like what we just did?” he rumbles.

“I like it all.”

“How did you like doing what you did to me?”

I turn my head so I can look into his eyes. Why is he asking me these things? What does he want me to say? “I liked pleasuring you,” I confess—an almost whisper.

“You know what I liked the most?”

I shake my head.

“Even with your finger in my asshole—even when you have me totally prone—you look to me for instructions.”

Did I really? God, I guess I kind of did.

“And when I changed the course of things, when I fucked you, you liked it. Didn’t you? You liked giving up control.”

I bite my lip. I can’t believe I did. I’m usually on top of things. Organized, successful. Isn’t that who I’ve always been? But he’s right. He’s totally right. When I’m with him, all of that just seems to fade away. Along with my anxieties.

“Don’t look so troubled. I like control. I’m good at it.” He kisses my neck, tickling me with his short beard. Still, he’s surprisingly gentle. He wraps one arm around me and pulls me against his chest. He cups my breast and tweaks the nipple with his thumb and forefinger. Toying with me. Making me feel breathless again.

“Tell me that you’ll stay. Let me fuck you like this every day. One week. That’s all we need.”

My heart speeds up, just thinking of it.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Come to my place,” he says. “You can sleep on it.”

He traces a finger down my back, and I can almost relax under his touch and just go with it. I can’t make decisions like that, though. I have to use my brain. I turn around, my ass bumping into his dick. I don’t miss the look of pleasure that flits across his face.

“Why are we going to your place?”

“You’re allergic to cats.”

“How do you know?”

“Your eyes are red and puffy.”

I draw my hand out of the water, press my finger gently around them. “You’re observant.”

“One of my strengths.”

“What are your weaknesses?” I ask, marveling again at how attractive he is.

His lips curl up and he says, “I’m afraid that you are, Red.”

* * *

I don’t push her. If she stays, I don’t want her to feel pushed. It’s not an offer I planned on making, but that was before I pulled her out of the ocean. Saw her smooth body, marred by goosebumps. Carried her here and washed her hair. I want her. I can’t deny it. I’m tired of being alone. I know she wouldn’t stay forever, but for a while, I’d like to see where I can take her. A woman this well-suited for me is hard to find, especially when you live on an island.

She walks in front of me on the path to my cabin. It’s intentional. I want to see her move. She may leave tomorrow and I want to be sure I see as much of her as I can.

As I walk, I think how fucking weird it is, having her here. I’m anxious as we approach my house. As if she can see me in the angles, in the wood. As if she is privy to all the thoughts running through my head when I made it. That’s how my critics are. They think they know me—but they don’t. They would never guess my true identity.

We reach the cabin—a two-story, cedar structure topped with wood shingles and surrounded by a rose garden—she throws her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, it’s beautiful.”

I want to turn her away. I want to put her in the boat and send her off. I swallow and say, “thank you.”

“You built it yourself.”

“I did.”

“And the roses?”

“Mine,” I say.

“Holy shit, you’ve got a major green thumb.”

I wiggle my brows, because it’s weird, getting compliments on a place I built so I’d never have to share it with anyone, never have to hear this kind of feedback.

I lead her around to the front of the house, up two stairs, and to the door, sandwiched between two rocking chairs I also made.

I can feel the heat of her body behind me as I turn the key. I step inside, and she’s right on me. She can see the glass roof in my room. The stack of Paris Reviews beside my couch. The sleek granite counter in my tiny kitchen: one of the only perks of “home” I imported. I hope I’ve put up all the paint and canvas, but there’re probably smudges here and there. I don’t mind it—like the smell—so I don’t notice.

She steps in and glances around. My eyes follow hers: the smooth stone I use for a coffee table in the little living area; the Bose sound system where I play music on a first-gen iPod. I see her take in the little kitchen area, done in smooth gray stone; the leather mat in front of the sink.

She looks through the open doorway, in the direction of my bedroom and bathroom, the tilts her head back, her long hair curling down around her waist. “Did you paint recently?”

I work the muscles of my throat. “Yes.”

“What part?”

I can’t say “walls.” The walls are wood.

“Varnish on the walls of the bathroom,” I lie. She’s an out-of-work art critic, but still, she may not know.

I lead her through the doorway, into my room: a wood-walled, glass-roofed haven that, like the den and kitchen, is tall enough to be two stories, even though it’s not. I watch her gaze roll up the wall. Can see it in her mouth how she appreciates the glass ceiling.

“I bet that’s beautiful at night.”

It is. I grit my teeth, wondering why the fuck her comments on my house feel so damn personal. I’ve always liked my privacy, but I guess years living here have made me worse. I nod at the bed. It’s a queen and folds out from the wall, right next to a little wood-burning stove I use in December and January. It’s covered with a thick suede duvet, which stretches atop silk sheets. I guess they’re another import, and just now I’m glad of it. Red’s beautiful body deserves nothing less.

“That’s yours. As long as you’re here, you’ll sleep in my bed.”

I watch her face carefully, searching for a clue about her decision, but she’s not giving away anything.

I walk further into the bedroom, past my desk and the sheet that divides my closet from the bedroom. “Here’s the bathroom.” I open the door beside my closet, revealing a claw-footed tub, a toilet, and a sink. “Pretty basic.”

She nods.

For a long moment, she just looks at me, and I look back at her. It’s me who tugs my gaze away, because I’m feeling…I don’t know. Fucking shy or something.

“Have a seat,” I say. “The bed won’t bite.”

She smirks, but doesn’t speak, just sits. She crosses her legs and leans back on her arms and watches quietly as I push the half-wall dividing the den-kitchen from the bedroom-bathroom area into the wall, opening the whole space the way I prefer. I make her buttered bread and black tea with honey while she watches like a little hawk.

I walk it over to her, surprised by how good it feels to place the tray in front of her. “I like it hot. Feel free to let it cool and add stevia.”

Her smile lights up her face. “Oooh, a health nut, are you?”

I shrug.

Despite how…drawn to her I feel, maybe I shouldn’t have asked her to stay. I’m uneasy with her here. Uneasy with her…lightness. She’s got some darkness in there somewhere, but it’s not who she is. Most of her is light as air. She’s a good person. Very innocent.

I let go of the tray and take a step back. “You want more, I’ll get you something else.”

She nods, then tucks her hair behind her ear. “Thank you for this. And everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

I get a blanket and a pillow from my closet and put them on the couch, turn to find her peeling back the covers on my bed. I have to admit, she looks good there. Really fucking good.

“I’m going to get a shower. Make yourself at home.”

“If you insist.” She smiles. “Do you know where I can find some cell service?” She holds out a phone, and I press my lips together. “You can try outside. Due west of the house, by that little grove of pine saplings.” I turn away, then turn back toward her. “Be careful,” I warn. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I will.”

I walk into the bathroom, run the water, and call my cousin, who doubles as my manager. He answers on the first ring, which is a bad sign.

“Hey man. Thanks for calling back.”

“Yep. What’s up?”

“Well,” his tenor voice says, “It’s not good. Our man says her family is still gunning for you. Maybe more than they were. They’ve got a contact within the Justice Department now. They’re trying to get a government track on you. Seeing if they can dig up some credit cards. Deeds. That kind of thing. Find out where you are.”

Fuck. “Can you block that? Can ‘our guy?’”

“We’re working on it… Are you doing anything new since Ms. O’Malley passed? Still planning to try to stay on the island?”

“Of course.”

“You seen anybody lately? Workmen? Service people? Anybody who might recognize your face?”

I think of Red. Then I shake my head. She doesn’t recognize me. It’s the only thing that’s made my dalliance with her possible.

“Why?”

“Just saying…don’t. With all that’s going on, you might want to lay low for a while.” He laughs. “Lower.”

“Might.” I exhale slowly. “How’s my business?” I usually don’t ask questions, but something about having Red here makes me want to be sure my shit’s on lockdown.

“Some little paper in Boston says you’re from the northeast coast. Something about the color schemes resembling winter. And yet another critic thinks you’re hiding things.”

I snort. I guess they’re not all idiots.

We shoot the shit a few more minutes. After hanging up, I walk out of the bathroom without realizing I never even wet my hair. I’ve lost my edge for lying. Living mostly alone, among a bunch of animals, has a way of making a person trust more.

The last thought I have before walking out my front door in search of Red is that maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe I could loosen up a little. Stop being so goddamned edgy. Bitter.

With Red here, almost anything seems possible.