I didn’t begin to worry until it was nearly one in the morning.

I knew Zoe was out for the evening, and I expected her to be out late. I’d had the torturous pleasure of watching her get ready for the party her company was throwing for the Fourth of July.

“See? See?” She thrust her high heels in my face. “I told you I would need all these shoes!”

I tried to grab her wrist before she managed to take out my eye with a stiletto. My reaction time was already delayed from the effect of coming into my room and finding her perky little ass sticking up as she reached under my bed.

The ivory linen dress she wore clung to all her curves. Her body bent like an inchworm as she pulled out her “shoe case.” When she popped back up, she was like a white flag being waved before my sexual frustration.

I come in peace!

Ha! If only. I hadn’t “come in peace” since Zoe moved into my life. Oh, I’d come. I’d come in the shower and in my bed late at night. But chasing peace along with my orgasm had been fruitless. She was driving me crazy, and the worst part was that I didn’t think she knew it. Her innocence and naïveté was charming—until it wasn’t.

Earlier that evening, she’d gone back and forth from the den to my closet to the bathroom, deciding on what to wear, putting on makeup, doing all the girly things that girls do before going out. I’d had girlfriends before. I knew what they did, and I was smart enough to get out of the way. I planted myself on the couch and pretended to watch Stranger Things.

She’d clipped her reddish gold hair up on her head before getting in the shower, and it was threatening to tumble down onto her shoulders when she appeared in the doorway between the living room and my bedroom. The towel she wore looked like it was threatening to tumble, too.

Not going to lie—I loved Zoe in a towel. Catching her in one had become a daily challenge, like walking ten thousand steps—although, in New York, the latter was pretty easy.

“Problem?” I asked mildly, my eyes studiously on the TV instead of her half-naked body.

“Should I wear red, white or blue?”

“Wear all three.”

“I can’t. For one thing, red looks terrible with my hair, my blue dress is too, well, worky, and my white sundress is too…” She trailed off, and I glanced over to see her biting her lip. Fuck, she was dangerous.

“Too what?”

“Summery.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s the Fourth of July.” She blushed when my gaze roamed over her body. “Wear the white.”

“Really?” Frowning, she disappeared back into my closet.

“If you need help picking out your underwear, I’m here for you!” I called out.

“Pervert!”

Baby, you have no idea. I grinned as I thought of her sleeping in the same room as my toys. She’d teasingly called me Mister Grey when she found them. God, it was bad enough that Plastic Surgeon Perry had picked that stupid book for the Billionaire Book Club. That itself was one reason he was no longer a member.

I wasn’t a sadist. I didn’t get off on inflicting pain, nor did I want to be on the receiving end. But I had rules. If you didn’t follow the rules, you got punished. It was that simple.

The equally simple fact was that there was something about Zoe that made me ache to spank her. I wanted to see her creamy ass flush, wanted to see the blood rush to the surface of her skin with a prickling heat. I wanted to hear her cry out then turn her head to glare at me with that impudence I was beginning to crave from her.

Like right now, as I sat on the couch waiting for her to come home, I really, really wanted to tan her tight little rear. Like Christian Grey, my palms itched with the desire. The clock said 1:07.

I’d gone out myself, to a client’s party on a rooftop deck I’d procured for them in Brooklyn, near the river. The view was great, even if I couldn’t tell which boat Zoe’s company party was on. After a few drinks and some fireworks, I’d made my way home on a train crammed with simmering, tired people—basically your poor, your hungry, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free on an uptown train.

When I got in the door, the apartment was preternaturally silent. Usually Zoe was there when I got home, whenever that happened to be. I hadn’t realized how used to her presence I’d become until she wasn’t there. Even tonight, though past midnight, I was surprised not to see her, hear her, smell her perfume.

There was no message from her when I checked my phone when I’d gotten out of the subway. Now time ticked on, and I was getting ticked off.

I leaned back on the couch, my eyes glazing over as the next episode of some lawyer show auto-played. My bare feet were up on the glass coffee table, my arms crossed over my bare chest. Only my lower body and my increasing anxiety were covered up—for the moment.

I’d drifted into a Netflix fugue when I heard voices and fumbling at the door.

Fuck!”

I nearly put my heel through my coffee table when I jerked awake. Something soft thumped against the door, followed by a low, masculine laugh. I stomped to the door and swung it open. Zoe almost fell in.

“Whoa!” Her male companion caught her around the waist, and she squeaked as the back of her head hit his shoulder. She wriggled around in his arms and put her finger to her lips.

“Shhhh!”

The bushy-haired guy in skinny jeans met my gaze across the threshold. His reddened eyes—what had the little shit been smoking?—widened. “Whoa,” he repeated.

Zoe dissolved into a fit of giggles. I didn’t think she’d seen me, or she might not have been so mirthful. Her linen dress was wrinkled, her shoes missing and her eyes and cheeks bright. I backed up and moved to the darkened kitchen, not sure I could control myself seeing her like this—loose and tipsy and flirty. When she squealed again, I turned back to see her “friend” had hauled her up bridal style in his arms and carried her through the door.

“Where’s your bed?” he asked her.

Her hand flailed out. “The Den of Iniquity,” she directed, “is that way.”

He began to maneuver around the furniture, stumbling a little under her weight, when I reappeared out of the shadows.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.

He stopped in his tracks, then Zoe’s legs nearly took out my floor lamp as he whirled around with her in his arms.

“Putting her to bed.” He managed to look me in the eye and didn’t stutter, but that’s all the credit I was about to give him.

“The fuck you are.” I stalked toward them, my arms outstretched in demand.

Zoe’s head wobbled as she noticed me. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right,” I snapped, eyeing her friend. “Give her to me.”

His hands slipped over her hip as he tried to adjust her, and his grip left a red mark on her bare upper arm. Fury and jealousy bubbled up in me, like a bottle of soda shaken too hard.

I’d been told before that the more I felt, the less I showed on the outside. At that moment, I must have appeared like a fucking robot.

“I’ll just put her—”

“Give. Her. To me.” I couldn’t make it any clearer.

Zoe sighed. “Sorry, Tom. I’m his.”

I startled, blinking in surprise at her simple words. Whatever had been coiling inside my chest suddenly unwound, and I felt like my head had popped off and was bobbing around like a jack in the box.

Tom looked down at her nervously, his arms shaking a little as he righted her to her feet. “Shit, Zoe, you didn’t say anything about a boyfriend.”

“Roommate,” I clarified, still trying to recover my equilibrium.

She rolled her eyes while making a flicking motion toward me with her fingers. “’S’my brother,” she mumbled.

And just like that, my bouncing head was shoved back in the box and the lid clamped shut over it. But her words still echoed in my head. “Sorry, I’m his, I’m his, I’m his.”

The relief on Tom’s face vanished, along with his buzz. “Look, man, I’m sorry—” When I met his gaze, it was with the guilty understanding that I knew how he’d been hoping to end the evening, and he knew that I knew.

The blazed hipster looked like he was about to shit his pants at the idea that his date’s big brother was about to kill him.

I reached for Zoe, knowing that if I was holding her then I wouldn’t be able to throw him through my coffee table. I also just needed to touch her, needed her safe in my arms. My hand around her wrist, I tugged her to me. She spun over as though we were on a dance floor, her elbows up and caged by mine as her back pressed against my bare chest.

“Nathan, he’s just a f—”

“Quiet.” I felt the urge to hold up my hand, but both of them were full of her luscious, quivering body. She froze briefly, stiffening in my arms. I stifled a groan, my body reacting in completely predictable but nonetheless inappropriate ways to her nearness.

She wriggled, trying to get out of my hold. My arms tightened, and I pressed my hips forward against the curve of her ass. Her gasp was loud, startling both myself and Tom.

“Nathan,” she stage-whispered, “do you have fireworks in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” She fell into titters at her own joke, while Tom’s wide eyes met mine.

“Uh, I’d better get going…” Tom averted his gaze and made a beeline for the door.

Fuck, who knew what kind of gossip he might spread at her office?

I squeezed my eyes shut, loosening my hold on Zoe. When I was fairly sure she wouldn’t flee or fall, I opened them. Tom opened the door to the hallway.

“Thanks for getting her home safely, man,” I said gruffly. He turned back to nod at me before shutting the door behind him.

Zoe and I were suspended in silence after he left, frozen together in an intimate pose like a Rodin sculpture. Her chest moved up and down with her breath, the line of her collarbone shifting and her neck flexing as she swallowed.

The sweetness of her perfume had faded, mixing with her sweat and possibly tequila. I wanted to lick the salt off her skin, then sip and suck every part of her until I was drunk.

She cleared her throat nervously. “Uh…”

“Bedtime for bad little girls,” I announced. Then I bent down and hauled her over my shoulder in a fireman carry. Hopefully she wouldn’t puke on me.

She poked the back of my thighs in protest. “Nathan! Put me down!”

I silenced her with one swift, sharp smack to her ass. And it felt fucking amazing. My palm tingled, my whole body vibrating with need. She gasped, but stilled and sagged in submission.

Adjusting my hold on her, I ran my hands up the backs of her thighs until she gasped again. Then she moaned. Navigating carefully, I carried her to my bedroom and tossed her on the bed.

“You are in big trouble, young lady.”