I’d always thought that if I’d ever said the words out loud, everything would change.

So I waited.

Waited for my throat to close up and my head to pound, for my knees to go weak, for my chest to seize, for something.

But there was nothing.

Everything felt exactly the same.

Actually, that wasn’t true.

The one thing I felt was a tiny little thrill. A tiny little thrill that I’d said it out loud, and that I’d said it to Landon of all people, Landon who’d kept this secret from me about my sister, who’d always seemed so control, who always had the upper hand.

I watched as his eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing slightly.

“What are you talking about?” If he was shocked by my revelation, he didn’t show it. In fact, his face was impassive, that same cold arrogance and I-don’t-give-a-fuck expression that seemed to come so easily to him. He was acting as if nothing I could say would shock him, but I knew it was just an act – how the hell could he not be shocked by me saying I killed my parents? It was infuriating.

“Let me out of this room,” I demanded, raising my chin into the air defiantly. There was something sinister about being in here now, about being in this place that was filled with whips and chains and cuffs and things I didn’t understand, things I craved and despised at the same time.

“I can’t do that.” His eyes raked over my body, and for a moment, I was afraid (hoping?) he was going to tie me up again, spank me and fuck me until I was raw. I could see it in his eyes, the desire there, the way any time I talked back or went against him, he wanted (needed?) to have me.

“I’m not talking about anything in here.”

Landon studied me for a long moment, as if weighing his options, then apparently decided I was serious. “I can let you out of this room. But you have to promise you won’t try to leave the house.”

“You said I could leave whenever I wanted.”

“I said you could leave with me whenever you wanted.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms over my chest, hating the way my body was responding to the stern tone in his voice, hating how my nipples had turned into two hard gumdrops at the sight of him standing there, tall and broad and strong, ordering me around. “I won’t try to leave. But you have to turn my phone back on.”

He shook his head. “Your phone is done, Aven. It’s been deactivated.”

“Well, reactivate it.”

“The chip –”

“I don’t care! Just get me a phone.”

“I will get you a new one.”

“Fine. Then I won’t try to leave.” Above us, on the domed ceiling, the snow was kicking up again, swirling and drifting, and the wind howled around the stone turret that made up the walls.

I shivered, even thought it wasn’t cold in here.

“Come,” he said, and took my hand.

* * *

Back in the kitchen, he poured me a glass of water from a frosted crystal pitcher that sat in the refrigerator. Slices of lime and cucumber floated in the clear liquid, and when I took a drink it tasted pure and fresh.

Landon leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. He was still shirtless, wearing just the navy silk pajama pants, his feet bare, dark stubble dusting his cheeks. The muscles of his biceps flexed, and the cords in his shoulder muscles stood out as he moved. I felt that familiar warmth fill my core, and I took another sip of the cool water.

“Talk.”

I narrowed my eyes and slid my glass back and forth across the island. “What do you want to know?”

Landon leveled me with his gaze, and I averted my own gaze. “I’m assuming that when you say you killed your parents, you’re not talking about the kind of killing that involves a knife or a gun.”

“What, you don’t take me for a psycho?”

“No,” he said softly. “I don’t.”

“I was joking.”

“Lame time for a joke, Ms. Courtland.”

The way he was looking at me was disarming. I tried to remember the words he’d whispered to me back up in that room. What had they been, exactly? “I think I’m falling…”

Had he about to say he was falling in love with me? That would have made no sense. He barely knew me. And I barely knew him. So then how I was I about to tell him my biggest secret, the one I’d never even spoken out loud to myself, much less told another person? And why did I secretly want it so badly to be true, that he loved me? Why did the words “Me too” want to form so badly on my lips?

“You don’t know me,” I said, curling my hands around the coolness of the glass in front of me. “You have no idea if I’m a psycho or not.”

“Aven.”

I licked my lips. “I’ll tell you,” I said. “But you have to tell me something, too.”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Do you want to know or not?” It had never occurred to me that he wouldn’t, that maybe he just didn’t care.

He moved to where I was sitting, turning the stool I was sitting at around and pulling my torso flush against his.

His eyes were hooded, his jaw tight.

I reached up and ran my fingers over his face, feeling the contours, the lines of his cheekbones, the roughness of his stubble. His hands slid up my legs, his fingers kneading the soft flesh that padded my hips. I felt his cock twitch in his pants, and I let out a breath.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Why did you take the blame for Conner? Why would you do something like that?”

“You first.”

I swallowed, and Landon pressed his forehead against mine. I could feel his heart beating, or maybe it was mine -- I couldn’t tell where one of us ended and the other began.

I licked my lip and took a breath. “We were at our lake house,” I said. “It was winter, well, spring, I guess.” I closed my eyes, and I could almost feel the way the air had been, that first hint of warmth, the sun slanting across the sky at a different angle, the first signs of longer days and warmer nights. “My dad wanted to take the boat out. Usually he went ice fishing, but he… he had a boat, a small one. A canoe, really. So he and my mom and my aunt, they went out.”

My heart started beating faster, and I paused.

Landon pulled me closer to him, and somehow, inexplicably, I was turned on, my core pulsing against his cock, the thin material of our pants the only thing that separated us.

He tilted my chin up and brushed his lips over my closed eyes. “And then what?”

“I stayed back at the cabin. I was reading a book, and I…I heard my aunt come running up the driveway. She was screaming for me to call 911. My dad’s boat had hit the edge of some ice that was still on the lake, and when it hit, my mom got thrown over. She hit her head on the ice, and she slipped into the water. My dad was trying to get to her, but… they both drowned.”

Silence filled the kitchen. Landon had been rubbing circles on my back, and his hand went still.

My core still pulsed, something about this moment making me want him. I wasn’t sure if it was because he’d primed my body so well, or if I was just that I was that fucked up, but suddenly, I craved him, wanted him to pull my pants down just enough so that he could slip inside of me, could make me forget the painful memories I’d done my best to bury.

“So how is that your fault?”

I’d told the story before – the story about what happened to my parents. Very rarely, but I’d told it. I’d never said the next part out loud, though, not to anyone, not even Violet.

“The night before my parents died, I’d been out on the boat,” I said. “I wasn’t supposed to be. Violet and I weren’t allowed to take it out without an adult. But there were these girls from school I’d wanted to impress, girls I wanted to be friends with. So we waited until our parents were asleep, and we snuck out.” I swallowed. “We took the boat out to this island, you know, in the middle of the lake, and they called these boys over to meet us. They were older, richer.” I squeezed my eyes shut and my lungs seized. I could still remember the scent of the campfire, the way I sat huddled on a log, feeling out of place.

The girls were from the other side of the lake, the rich side, the side where the houses rose far into the sky, not like the tiny shacks on my side, with their windblown shutters and crumbling steps.

Landon’s hand moved up my back slowly, the pressure he was putting on my skin becoming harder.

“They only invited me because I brought them beer.” I remembered that, too, the taste of the Miller Lite I’d swiped from the refrigerator, the sour taste that burned my throat after one sip.

Landon’s hands pulled at me, his hands moving up the back of my neck and tangling in my hair.

“We had a bonfire, and some of the guys, they were drunk, and they….” I closed my eyes. “They burned the life jackets that were stored in the boat.”

Landon went still, his hands not moving anymore. His torso was still pressed against mine, the heat from his body radiating off of him and onto me.

“So the next day, when my parents went out, when my mom fell overboard, when everything happened… “ I fumbled for the words, not wanting to say ‘drowned’ again. “The two of them, they didn’t have a chance. There weren’t any life jackets. And it was my fault.”

Landon stayed still, quiet, and I closed my eyes, hot tears prickling at them, as I waited for the reaction I’d always imagined would come when I told someone my secret, waited for him to tell me I was fucked up, a bad daughter, a bad person.

He held me close for a long moment, still not moving, and then finally, he pulled away.

I searched his face carefully, watching him for any sign of what he was thinking. His eyes burned, and he took in a breath through his nose. He pulled me close to him again, pressing me against his expansive chest. I thought he murmured my name into my hair, but I wasn’t sure, and a second later, he released me.

I looked at him again, still trying to glean a sense of what he was feeling. But his features, as was common, showed no sign of what he was thinking.

There wasn’t anger, sadness, or compassion. There was nothing.

“Your parents went on the boat with no life jackets.” If his face was devoid of emotion, his tone wasn’t. There was something there, something biting – spite? Blame?

“Yes. There weren’t any life jackets, because I’d…. I’d let them burn.”

“No.” He walked back around the island and opened what looked like a built-in cabinet, but what turned out to be a minibar, the kind of thing that you’d usually only find in a hotel. He pulled out a tiny bottle of something amber and poured it into a tumbler, then downed it in one swallow, no ice, nothing. “What I mean is that they went on the boat without putting life jackets on.”

“Yes.”

Landon shrugged, poured another shot, and downed it again. “So then it was their own fault.”

His words were a dagger to my heart, and the tears that had been pricking the back of my eyes threatened to overflow. “It wasn’t their fault, Landon,” I said. “It was my fault.”

“You were a child.”

“A teenager. One who knew better.”

He shrugged. “Sorry, but you go out on a boat without a life jacket...” He trailed off and poured himself another drink.

“You go out on a boat without a life jacket and what?” I demanded.

He stayed silent.

“No, really, what were you going to say, Landon?” Anger burned in my veins. Of all the ways he could have responded, I’d never considered this one. I’d thought it would have gone one of two ways – either he would act like I was a bad person, or he would have comforted me and told me it wasn’t my fault.

But now he was blaming my parents, acting almost like he thought they’d gotten what they deserved.

“They should have been wearing life preservers.” His tone was matter-of-fact, like it was obvious, like we weren’t talking about a mistake that had killed the two people closest to me, but like something a lot less important, like forgetting a bag of apples at the grocery store.

“They weren’t wearing life preservers because I took them out of the boat. And I took them out of the boat so I could impress some dumb kids.” Did he not get it? Had he not been listening?

“No, Aven, they weren’t wearing life preservers because they were careless. They should have checked for them as soon as they got on the boat. They didn’t do their due diligence.” He poured himself another finger of bourbon, but kept it there on the counter.

“They weren’t careless.” I bit the inside of my cheek hard, resisting the urge to scream out loud. “You know, I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I’m sitting here, arguing with you, trying to convince you that it was my fault.”

“I can’t believe you’re sitting here trying to convince me it’s your fault either. Because it wasn’t your fault. You will never convince me of that. So if that’s your intention…” He trailed off again, as if the conversation was over, and downed the bourbon. He was in full business mode now, as if he were standing in a boardroom, going over financial figures or closing a deal.

“My intention was to tell you something, something that I’d never --” I trailed off. He didn’t deserve to know, didn’t deserve to know that he was the only person I’d ever said this to.

But by the look on his face, I could tell he already knew.

“Aven.”

I didn’t want his pity, didn’t want him to stand there and try to take back what he said just because he felt sorry for me.

“Why are you so desperate to take the blame for this?” he asked, his tone making it clear that if I were afraid he was going to feel sorry for me, I’d been mistaken. There was no trace of pity or emotion in his voice. “Is that why you want me to punish you? So that you can feel as if you’re finally getting what you deserve?”

“Fuck you,” I spit.

“Because if that’s why, we can stop right now. It was your parents’ responsibility to –”

“Stop saying that!” I got up from the stool and began to pace back and forth. I resisted the urge to put my hands to my ears, as if that would stop him from saying things I didn’t want to hear.

“Stop saying what? The truth?” He came to me and grabbed my wrists, his thumbs putting pressure right on my pulse points, my body flushing. “That it was your parents fault for going out on a boat and not checking for life jackets? Any good fisherman knows that you always wear life jackets, Aven. Or at least check if they’re in the fucking boat. Your father should have known better.”

“It wasn’t my dad’s fault,” I said bitterly. I yanked my wrists out of his hands.“ And honestly, I shouldn’t be taking ethics lessons from you, not after the secret you kept from me.”

“The secret Violet kept from you.”

“Semantics,” I said. “But that’s always what you do, isn’t it, Landon? Semantics and walls and when it gets too hard, you control me, you punish me. You can’t control everything, Landon. It’s impossible. And when you finally figure that out, I’m not going to feel sorry for you.”

He looked at me, his eyes blazing at my disobedience, and he opened his mouth to say something, and then he changed his mind. He took a step toward me, but I moved back.

“Don’t touch me.”

A wounded look flashed across his face, but I didn’t care.

“I want my phone back.”

He looked at me for a long moment, and I let myself believe he was going to take me in his strong arms, that he was going to pull me against his chest, tell me everything was okay, that it was just an accident what happened to my parents, that it was no one’s fault.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This wasn’t a fairytale.

This was real life.

And in real life, things like that didn’t happen. At least, not to me.

So in real life, Landon sighed, left the room and returned a few moments later with a phone. It was brand new, still in the box, and he slid it across the island to me. On top was the SIM card from my other phone. “You can call and text Violet and Emma.”

“What are you talking about?” I unboxed the phone, a shiny brand new black smartphone. It was the kind of phone I would have coveted in the past, the latest version, the newest technology, the fastest specs and biggest memory. The kind of phone I wouldn’t have been able to afford, even if I’d been allowed to make monthly payments.

“Your phone can only call or text Emma or Violet.”

“No.” I shook my head and set the phone back on the island. “No. Fix it.”

“Until I know you’re, that’s all I’m willing to allow.”

“Until you know I’m safe? That’s all you’re willing to allow?” I shook my head. “Listen to yourself.”

But I knew it was no use.

I grabbed the phone, then stalked out of the kitchen.

I grabbed my sister’s coat from where it had fallen near the door, shoved my arms into it.

“Where are you going?” Landon asked from behind me, always there, always following.

“I’m going for a walk. Do not follow me.”

I walked out the door, out of one storm and into another.

* * *

Okay, so calling it the weather outside a storm may have been an overstatement.

It wasn’t a storm, at least not the kind that was common on the East Coat, the kind that blanketed the ground with snow, the kind that made it impossible to drive or see more than a few feet in front of you, the kind that we’d encountered on the drive here.

This was the aftermath of the blizzard, the swollen flakes falling slowly, almost lazily, landing languidly on the piles of snow that were already on the ground.

I walked down the driveway, listening for the sound of Landon coming after me, waiting for him to follow me.

But after a second, it became apparent that he wasn’t.

I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved.

I paced around the long, circular driveway. Now that I was outside, I was realizing it would be hard to go for a walk. The snow covered every surface.

But then I saw that the main road we’d taken to get here had been plowed at least somewhat recently, and that, along with the tire tracks left by Landon and Conner’s cars had made it passable.

I walked a little ways down the road, slowly, trudging through the snow, the soft wind biting at my cheeks.

I found a pair of gloves and a hat inside the pockets of Violet’s jacket, and I put them on. Still, I wasn’t dressed for the snow, and soon my sneakers were soaked through.

I sat down on a log, pulled out my new phone, and called Emma.

She answered on the first ring.

“It’s me,” I said. “I got a new number.”

“Jesus, I’ve been so worried.” I heard the sound of typing in the background, muted voices, a computer booting up.

“Where are you?”

“At a job interview,” she said. “Second interview with Stitch Me Up, you know that fashion delivery service? They need someone to be an assistant to one of their designers. Of course, I won’t do anything important, it’s just admin work, but-”She stopped. “But who the hell cares where I am, where are you?”

“Vermont. Some secret Sheer brothers mansion that looks like a castle you’d see in a Disney cartoon.” As if to prove to myself that I was still here, I glanced behind me. Sure enough, the Sheer castle rose up into the sky. I realized that if I’d been nervous about getting lost out here in the woods, there was no reason for it. It would be nearly impossible, since you could always see the house in the distance, giving you a point of reference.

“Did you find Violet?” Emma asked.

“Yes.”

“Was she with Conner?”

“Yes.”

“And?” Emma sounded breathless, waiting for me to tell her what was going on.

“And… it turns out her and Conner may be brother and sister.”

“What?”

I filled her in as quickly as I could, leaving out the part about how I’d told Landon about the life jackets, but telling her pretty much everything else – how Violet had taken off with Conner, how Landon and I had hooked up (leaving out the BDSM part), how confused I was about everything.

After my rambling stream-of-consciousness rant, there was silence on the other end of the line.

“Wow,” she said.

“Wow?” I tipped my sneaker into the snow, digging down, not caring that my toes were going tingly and numb. “What does wow mean?”

She hesitated. “Well…I mean, do you want me to be supportive, and just tell you what I think you want to hear, or do you want my honest opinion?

“Your honest opinion.”

“You have to let this go, Aven. Violet left with him. She took off with Conner. She’s an adult. She can make her own decisions, and she’s making it pretty clear what those decisions are.” She paused, waiting to see if I was going to contradict her, but I didn’t. “You need to come back to New York. You have a life here. You need to find a job, you can’t be taking days off running around looking for your sister. She’s safe. These are her choices, not yours. You’re not responsible for her.”

“But what if –”

“What if nothing. Whatever you’re about to say, it would be her choice. Do you understand that?”

I nodded.

“Aven?”

“I’m nodding.”

In the background, I heard someone calling Emma’s name. “I have to go. I’m getting called in.”

“Good luck,” I said, standing up and dusting the snow off the back of my pants. “You’re going to do great.

“Aven?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a good sister.”

I smiled. “And you’re a good friend.”

* * *

When I got back to the house ten minutes later, the front door was locked. I picked up the knocker, letting it fall heavily against the door, but inside, the house seemed silent and still. Panic squeezed at my stomach. Had Landon just left me here?

No. His car was still in the driveway, and besides, I would have seen him leaving.

I pressed my finger to the keypad, not expecting anything to happen, but to my surprise, it turned green.

“Welcome, Ms. Courtland,” the soothing robotic woman’s voice said, and then there was a beep, and the door unlocked. Landon must have programmed my fingerprint into the door. If this was his way of trying to apologize, some billionaire’s way of making me feel like I mattered, he could forget it.

I walked through the foyer to the kitchen, but there was no sign of him. I called his name, but there was no answer.

I was about to head back to the foyer and head up one of the long staircases that led to the second floor, thinking he was perhaps up there, but before I could, I spotted him.

Outside, through the windows, standing on a long porch that wrapped around the back of the house.

He was in front of the railing, his back to me. He wore nothing at all except for the silk pajama pants he’d had on when I’d left him, the darkness of the material stark against the white and gray mountains that provided the backdrop.

He was shirtless, his feet bare.

As I got closer, I realized he was talking, and as I got closer still, I realized he was on his phone, on a video call.

I cracked the door.

I was spying, I knew it.

Landon obviously wouldn’t have come outside wearing almost nothing when it had to be, like, twenty degrees out if he had wanted me to hear what he was talking about.

No, he’d come out here so I wouldn’t hear.

“…I told you I was.” His voice was low, even, stern. He shifted and turned just slightly to the right and I held my breath as a bit of his profile came into view, along with his left hand, which was holding his phone.

On the screen, a man’s image came into focus. He was older, gray hair and a sun-weathered face. I recognized him instantly from photos I’d seen online. Landon’s father.

“Yes, you told me you were, but it doesn’t seem as if you are,” the older Sheer said. “Your brother – ”

“Is capable of making his own goddamn decisions,” Landon said.

“Conner is special, Landon. He doesn’t think the way other people do. You know that.” Unlike Landon, his father’s voice rose, filled with emotion. Anger. Distaste. And something else, something that slithered under the surface, something almost threatening.

Landon stayed quiet.

“And where is the girl?” his father demanded, and my stomach twisted, thinking he was talking about me. But a second later, it became clear he wasn’t.

“I told you. He took her with him.”

Violet.

“Find them, Landon. And take care of it.”

The line went dead, and a second later, Landon pulled back and threw his phone over the railing and into the snow.

I gasped, and he turned to see me standing there.

His eyes met mine, burning holes through me as he walked inside.

“You’re freezing.” His eyes raked up my body, and he made no mention of the conversation I’d just heard, or the fight we’d had.

“Says the man with no shirt on,” I shot back.

“Go upstairs and take a shower. First room on the right. There are clothes in the closet. I’ll make us dinner.”

I bit my lip, wondering if I should bring up what I’d just heard. But what did it matter? Apparently Landon’s father wanted Conner and Violet broken up just as much as I did. But like Emma had said, Conner and Violet were adults. And I was done meddling in their business.

I would do what Landon said, I decided. I would go upstairs and take a shower. But if he thought that he was going to get away with not talking about our fight, he was very, very wrong.

* * *

The room upstairs was a normal bedroom with a queen-sized bed and tasteful art on the walls – nothing like the torture room Landon had taken me to earlier.

I took a hot shower and dressed in some of the clothes I found in the chocked-full closet -- a soft white button-up shirt and a pair of jeans whose price tag let me know they cost more than my rent.

There was nothing but lingerie in the drawers, push-up bras and thongs, and I put those on too, wondering if these things had been chosen just for me, or if they were always here for whatever other women Landon brought here, a faceless parade of supermodels and pop stars, heiresses and it-girls.

When I got downstairs, there was a fire roaring in the fireplace, and Landon was setting two bowls down on the table.

Both were filled with something that smelled delicious. Stew, filled with carrots and potatoes and chunks of beef so tender they fell apart under my spoon.

A loaf of crusty ciabatta bread has been sliced thick and slathered with butter, and a piece of it sat next to my plate.

“Your phone is most definitely broken,” I said, looking out the window to where he’d thrown it. “And I don’t think shoving it in a bag of rice is going to help.”

“Eat your dinner,” he growled.

I dug in, mostly because it smelled delicious and I was starving, not because I wanted to please him. Still, my body betrayed me, my core tightening with that now-familiar heat, the heat that made it clear that what Landon Sheer wanted, he got.

I shifted on my seat away from him, and he glanced at me.

“Something wrong?”

“Besides the fact that you were a total ass to me? Nope.” I took another spoonful of stew.

“Your hair is wet.”

“Wow, you can see!” I said sarcastically. “Of course it’s wet. I just got out of the shower.” I scowled at the bowl of stew in front of me, wondering if he’d made it himself. He didn’t seem like the type of man who’d made his own meals, but it didn’t taste frozen.

“You shouldn’t leave your hair wet,” he said. “You were out in the cold.” His hand tightened around his spoon. “I should have never let you leave.”

“You didn’t let me do anything,” I said. I took another bite of stew, trying to calm my racing heart and recalibrate. The last thing I needed was to get into another argument with him. “You were a dick, and so I left.”

“Finish your food.”

I put my spoon down. “I’m not hungry. I want to talk.”

His hand tightened again, and I saw the rawness on his knuckles, still there from where he’d been using the heavy bag.

“Jesus, Aven,” he growled. “Always so fucking defiant.” Then he stood up and leaned down, slid his hands under my knees, and picked me up in one smooth movement.

The breath slid out of me quickly, my chest tightening. He was so strong, his arms huge, his chest so expansive, that suddenly, I felt small. His eyes met mine, the hunger swirling there almost palpable, and I swallowed as warm desire filled my belly.

For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me, but then he began heading toward the stairs.

“Put me down!” I said. “Where are you taking me?”

“You obviously have no idea how to take care of yourself,” he said. “So I’m going to have to do it for you.”

He brought me into the room I’d just been in, carried me through it and into the bathroom, then set me down on the counter.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

He opened a cabinet and pulled out a hair dryer, plugged it in.

“This is ridiculous,” I said, sliding off the counter. “You’re not going to dry my hair for me.”

But he was on me like a flash, his body pushing me back against the counter behind me, his hips pinning me in. “I can make his much worse,” he growled. “And I’m in just the mood to do so.”

His tone had no trace of anger. It was stern and low, but very matter-of-fact. The marks he’d left on my ass over the past few days, with his hand, his belt, his whip, flamed and burned at his words.

I knew he was right.

He could and would make it worse.

“Fine,” I said. “But I want an apology for the things you said to me.”

He reached down and grabbed my hips, put me back onto the counter like I was a naughty child who didn’t want to listen to her parents.

He pushed my legs apart with his body, making sure I was trap and couldn’t get down.

“I’m waiting,” I said impatiently.

His jaw tightened, his eyes hooding. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you.” He reached over and grabbed a brush from a drawer that sat under the counter. It was brand new. He pulled off the price tag and then reached up, began to brush my hair.

I shivered.

Something in the air had shifted between us – I could feel it. It was the intimacy of the gesture of him brushing my hair, but it was something else. Something indefinable.

“You shouldn’t brush wet hair,” I said. “It’s not good for it.”

“Dammit it, Aven, just shut your mouth for once and relax.”

I did as he said, letting him brush my hair, letting him take control, and it felt so good, being touched like this, that when he picked up the hair dryer, tested the heat against his palm, and then began to dry my hair, I didn’t try to stop him.

Instead, I closed my eyes and let go.

When he was done, Landon set the dryer down but didn’t move away.

I opened my eyes. He was standing there, in front of me, still shirtless, and I tried to resist the urge to reach out and run my hands over his bare chest. But I couldn’t. Even though he was pressed into me, so close, I wanted – needed -- more.

So I ran my hands over the corded muscles in his shoulders, the chiseled lines of his pecs. His skin was flawless, smooth, and I shivered.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave the house,” he said.

“Again, you didn’t let me do anything. And what you shouldn’t have done was say those things about my parents.”

He grabbed my wrists, the gesture now becoming familiar, the light pressure he exerted sending a dart of heat right to my pussy.

“They were all true,” he said. “It was your parents’ responsibility to make sure that they were safe. But at the end of the day, Aven, it wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t yours, either. It was no one’s fault. It was just one of those things. One of those terrible things that happen, with no real reason or blame.”

My eyes filled with tears. They were the words I’d wanted to hear for as long as I could remember. “See, then why didn’t you say it that way before? Why did you have to be such an ass?”

He was still holding my wrists, and the pressure intensified. When he finally released me, he guided my hands to the edge of the counter.

“Hold onto the counter and don’t let go,” he instructed.

I gripped the counter, willing to play along for a minute.

But when his hands reached for the shirt I was wearing, when his fingers went right for the top button, I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “We need to talk about this.”

“We are talking about this.”

“Landon.”

He sighed. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

There was a pause, and then he reached up and scrubbed at his face with his hands. “I’m not good with emotions.”

“Ya think?” I tried to keep my voice light, to make a joke, but his hands found my hips, his grip holding onto me so tightly it hurt.

He didn’t say anything, and I saw the pain reflected on his face, and I so badly wanted to reach up and touch his face, to pull him into my arms, to tell him whatever it was that had made him the way he was okay, but I was afraid if I did that, he would shut down completely.

“Tell me,” I said simply. “Tell me what made you this way.”

“Your parents,” he said. “They meant a lot to you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“They were nice to you.”

“Yes.” My eyes filled with tears. My parents were the kindest people. They may not have had the ability to give Violet and I fancy clothes or extravagant vacations, but we never wanted for anything, and I couldn’t remember a time -- even when Violet and I were driving them crazy -- that either one of them had ever uttered a cruel word.

“Well, that wasn’t my experience.” Landon’s hands released my hips and moved back to my shirt. He pushed my hair back and his hands rose to the first button. He released it from its hole, and I shivered.

“What was your experience?” I asked.

“I wasn’t the favorite.”

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. Conner was the golden child.” He reached down and slipped the next button through its hole, then the next. The shirt I was wearing loosened and slipped down my shoulders, and Landon ran his hands over my bare skin, skating over my collarbone, his thumbs brushing over my throat. I bit back the moan that threatened to escape my lips, wanting so badly for him to keep talking.

“And you were…?”

“Ignored.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over the hollow of my throat. Goosebumps bloomed over my body. “My father made it very clear that the only value I had was to protect Conner. And if I didn’t, there were consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?”

“The kind you don’t want to know about.”

I closed my eyes. “Yes, I do.”

“Whatever you’re imagining, princess, it was worse.” He gave a rueful laugh as he continued to unbutton my shirt, until finally, it was completely open, exposing my red satin push-up bra and the swell of the top of my breasts. His hands slipped inside, his fingers skating over the small of my back. “It’s why I’m so fucked up, angel. It’s why I need to punish you.”

The pain in his eyes made my chest catch.

I could see how difficult this was for him, that even though his voice sounded strong, almost glib at certain times, he was tortured by talking about this.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “Whatever happened to you. Just like what you said about my parents’ accident.” He turned away from me slightly, averting his eyes, but I took my hands off the counter and pulled his chin back, made him look at me, then kissed him on the mouth, my tongue tracing his lips, exploring.

Hungrily, he began to kiss me back, slowly taking control of the kiss. Talking about these things had awakened something in him, that feral part of him that needed to dominate.

He reached up and grabbed the nape of my neck.

“No.” I pulled back and shook my head. “I want you,” I whispered. “I want you, but I ….” My body was pulsing, the desire to fall to my knees intense and overwhelming. But I wanted to know him more, wanted to keep him talking about these things.

“Can we go into the bedroom?” I said, hoping that some distance, some normalcy, would make him more willing to talk. And yet at the same time, I knew that him dominating me, touching me, was in some way helping him to talk. It was a fine line, one that needed to be handled delicately.

“Please?” I whispered, tracing his cheek with my finger.

Landon sighed, then moaned in frustration, a guttural sound that started deep in his throat. For a moment, I thought he was going to refuse, thought he was going to turn me over and fuck me right here against the bathroom sink. But then he picked me up and took me to the bedroom.

* * *

One look at the bed made me realize it wasn’t going to work – it had a slatted bedframe (perfect for handcuffs) and two nightstands on each side that stared back at me innocently, but were probably filled with things like ropes and clamps and blindfolds.

So I led him downstairs, to where the fire was still roaring in the fireplace, crackling and snapping.

Landon dumped another log on top, and I shivered.

“You’re still cold.” His lips formed a thin line of disapproval, and I knew he was still thinking about how he shouldn’t have let me out.

“I’m fine.”

“Come.” He led me to the couch and we laid down, and he reached behind him and pulled a blanket down over us. The couch was oversized and soft, with just enough room for both of us to lie comfortably.

We laid there for a moment.

My shirt was still open, our chests pressed together.

Landon pulled back and looked at me.

“Do you really think that’s why I let you punish me?” I asked. “Because I want to blame myself for my parents?”

He paused.

“It’s fine,” I coaxed. “I want you to be honest with me.”

“I think that there are things that happen to us, things we bury, that make us want to do things we normally wouldn’t do.” As he spoke, he tugged my shirt off gently, pulling it slowly down over my shoulders.

“God, you are beautiful,” he murmured, and then he kissed me, his tongue tasting every part of my mouth, coaxing my lips open.

When he finally pulled back, I was breathless, hungry for more, the tornado of my own desire starting to overtake me. But I wasn’t ready to give myself to him, not yet.

There was one thing I needed to know.

One more thing I needed to ask him.

“What were you going to say upstairs?” I asked boldly. “Earlier, when we were in…” Somehow torture room didn’t seem appropriate to say out loud. “…that room.”

“When?” His hands cupped my breasts through my bra, his thumbs brushing over the raised peaks of my nipples.

“When you said you thought you were falling… and then you trailed off.”

Landon’s body stiffened. “It was nothing.” He started to move off the couch, but I grabbed his arm, pulling him back toward me. He stopped, but didn’t lie back down.

“Landon.”

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

“For you to let me in,” I whispered.

His breathing deepened, and I let go of his arm. My grip was useless anyway, it wasn’t like I was keeping him there – he was much stronger than I was.

But when he turned to look at me, I pulled him back down onto the couch.

Then I reached behind me and unhooked my bra, letting my breasts bob free.

“Jesus Christ, Aven,” he moaned, drinking me in with his eyes. “You are so god damn beautiful.”

I arched my back, offering myself to him, and he sucked a nipple into his mouth, the warm cave of his mouth sucking and licking, his tongue tracing around my nipple while his hand hefted my other breast.

The warmth that had been pulsing between my thighs burst into red-hot flames.

He kissed and sucked, moving back and forth between each breast, his movements becoming more intense.

I opened my eyes and watched his lips, watched the sensitive tissue of my nipple being sucked into his mouth, watching it pull. I groaned and my noise egged him on.

The visual of him with my tit in his my mouth was almost enough to send me over the edge.

I placed my hand on his stomach, lingering on the defined ridge of his abs, trailing over his six-pack before sliding down further, over his pubic hair to his hard cock.

My hand curved around the hard steel of his shaft, and I squeezed.

“Aven,” he moaned. “Jesus.”

He reached for my wrist, wanting to control, but I wanted him to let go, at least a little bit.

“No.” I shook my head. “No. Let me.” I began to stroke him slowly, and he groaned. I removed my hand, my eyes locking on his as I licked my palm, getting it slick, and then slid it back down to his dick.

I slid it up and down his shaft slowly, over the head and then back down.

“You’re driving me crazy, angel,” he murmured against my neck, his breath hot on my skin.

“Tell me what you were going to say,” I said, coaxing it out of him as I stroked him up and down.

He moaned, a guttural sound from deep in his throat, and then his hand was on my stomach, moving down into my pants, under my panties, his fingers finding my folds and sliding up inside of my pussy.

I gasped at the intrusion.

“Still so tight,” he murmured.

I swallowed, trying to hold onto my own desire, to not let it overcome me. But he was a force, in all ways.

We fell into a rhythm, stroking each other, my hand around his cock, his fingers buried in my pussy.

“Tell me,” I whispered and I kissed him, sucking his lower lip between mine. He responded by deepening our kiss, his tongue tracing over my lips before plunging into my mouth, warm and wet and good.

I summoned every ounce of my self-control and pulled back.

“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me what you were going to say, and I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.”

His fingers moved deeper inside of me, pushing almost all the way in, his thumb strumming my clit.

“Please,” I said. “Please, I need to know.”

He kissed me again, and when he pulled back and looked at me, he used his free hand to brush my hair off my face as we continued to stroke each other. Staring at him was electric, the force between us so strong I couldn’t fathom how it couldn’t be real.

“Say it,” I whispered. “Please, Landon, I need to hear you say it.”

“I’m falling in love with you,” he said, and his fingers plunged even deeper inside of my pussy.

I cried out as he began to finger fuck me, his movements becoming more and more intense, hungrier, more frantic.

“I’m falling in love with you too,” I said, and that set him off even more.

We were stroking frantically now, hungry for each other to come.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled. “For me to fuck you with my fingers until you screamed?”

“Yes.”

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, sir.”

His cock pulsed in my hand and then exploded, without warning, all over my fingers, sticky cum coating my skin. I pulled my hand out and licked him off my fingers.

“Jesus,” he growled, and then he was off the couch, yanking off my pants and panties, shucking his own pants until he was naked.

His cock was still hard, and getting harder, as if he still needed me.

He flipped me over on the couch, hard, my ass in the air.

He grabbed me by the back of my knees, and forced my legs up until I was kneeling on the couch, sideways, my head facing toward the arm.

He grabbed my panties and used them to tie wrists together, so tie that I knew there would be marks.

“You love this, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, sir.”

His hand spanked my ass, hard. “Yes, sir, what?”

“Yes, sir, I love this.” I licked my lip, wondering if he wanted more. “I love being used by you.”

He made a sound of approval, and then spread me from behind. His mouth was down there then, tasting me, licking, spreading my folds, his tongue lapping the button of my clit. “God, you taste good,” he murmured, and then he was eating me deeper, harder. He moaned, and the vibrations almost sent me rocketing over the edge into orgasm.

“Please,” I begged. “Please, Landon.”

“Please, what?”

But I didn’t answer fast enough, and he slapped my ass again, open-palmed and hard. Pain blazed through me and my cheeks flamed.

“Please, I want to come,” I pleaded.

“Not until I fuck you, baby. I’m going to fuck you hard. And rough. And I’m going to spank you while I do it.”

I moaned and wriggled around on the couch.

His hand grabbed the nape of my neck, under my hair, and pushed me down, my cheek pressing painfully against the arm of the couch.

And then he slid his hard dock into my pussy in one smooth stroke, filling me.

“Fuck, that little cunt is tight even when you’re soaking wet,” he groaned.

Pain pulsed through my body in short little spurts – pain from where he’d hit me, pain from the thickness of his cock stretching my tight pussy.

“Landon,” I moaned.

His hand was still on the back of my neck, and he held me down tightly against the couch as he began to fuck me, really fuck me, hard and fast and rough. His cock was rock hard even though he’d just come, and he barreled it into me, pulling all the way out and then pushing all the way back in, forcing me to get used to him all over again with every thrust.

He fucked me hard, my nipples brushing against the fabric of the couch, and then, right before I was going to lose it, right before I was going to come, he pulled out and flipped me over, laying his body down on top of mine as he slid back into me.

“Aven,” he murmured. “God, Aven.”

And then he was staring into my eyes, the two of us coming at the same time, the pulses of my pussy clenching and pulling at him, taking him inside of me, feeling him fill me with his seed.

The whole time his gorgeous blue eyes were locked on mine, and when we’d both been sated, he stayed inside of me, stroking my hair and murmuring my name, until we both fell asleep.

* * *

We slept until 2 in the morning, when we woke, starving.

Landon made scrambled eggs, maple bacon and sourdough toast, and we ate it on the floor in front of the fire. The snow had stopped, and now everything outside was still. It was the way I felt too – like something had changed between the two of us, like something had finally stilled.

“Is it okay?” Landon asked.

I nodded, trying not to look like a pig as I shoveled food into my mouth. I’d loved watching him cook, the deft way he moved around the kitchen, the confidence with which he did everything leaving me in awe of him. “Can’t you tell by the way I’m shoving food into my mouth?”

He smiled, a rare sight, and I loved it. “I’m glad you like it.”

I forced myself to slow down, chewed and swallowed. “I want you to take me back to New York in the morning.” I held my breath, waiting for his I told you so, but he just stared at me.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” I nodded and popped the last bite of sourdough toast he’d into my mouth. “Violet is….” I was going to say safe, but I changed my mind. “Violet has made her decision, and it’s time for me to get back to my life.”

Landon nodded. He looked like he was going to say something, but instead, he took a piece of his own toast off his plate and slid it onto mine. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“I’m not sure how gallant that is of you,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Seeing as how you have half the loaf on your plate.”

“Five slices isn’t half a loaf,” he said seriously. “I would have assumed someone with such a a high GPA would have known something that. Didn’t they teach math where you went to school?”

“How much is half a loaf then, Mr. CEO?”

“Eight slices, if you’re talking about a standard loaf.”

“That sounds like bullshit,” I said. “Unless… wait, is this one of those questions they ask in job interviews to try to throw you off? Like when they say, ‘if you were a road sign, what would you be and why?’”

“Is that what you think I ask in interviews?”

“Yes, definitely,” I said. I could just imagine him sitting behind some huge desk, intimidating in his perfect suit, asking some poor scared interviewee how many slices were in a loaf of bread. I pulled my shoulders back and did an impression of his voice. “Ms. Courtland, how many pieces of bread are in a loaf? Taking into consideration it’s made in the USA, with standard density flour and –”

He reached for me, grabbed my foot and began to tickle me, but I moved out of his grasp.

I loved that he was being silly, and I giggled and snatched a piece of bacon off his plate. He growled and grabbed me again, nuzzled my neck.

“Don’t mess with my bacon, Aven,” he said. “Or there will be consequences.”

“Oh, yeah?” I said. I reached over and took another piece off his plate, then stood up and began taunting him with it. “Come and get it.”

He reached me before I got to the kitchen island, but I popped the bacon into my mouth before he could get it.

“Delicious,” I declared.

He grabbed me around the waist, laughing.

“This was fun,” I said. “I like seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, not all buttoned-up. Relaxed.”

It was as if hearing me say it made him realize it was true. And suddenly, the air between us changed. It went from light and silly stupid to suddenly tense and heavy.

Landon’s jaw clenched into that familiar line, and before I could say anything else, he’d released my waist.

“It’s late,” he said. “It’s time to go to bed.”

“But we slept all night,” I protested, not willing to let this go yet, this easiness that had developed between us.

“You’ll need your rest for the trip tomorrow.”

“It’s a two hour drive,” I said, rolling my eyes.

But he was already gathering up our plates and putting them in the sink.

He led me up to the bedroom we’d been in earlier, but he didn’t stay. Instead, he told me had to work, shut the door, and disappeared.

* * *

In the morning, Landon’s mood was the same.

He wordlessly handed me a shiny silver tumbler of coffee as he locked up the house.

There was still no sign of Conner and Violet, and neither Landon nor I mentioned them as we drove back through Vermont to New York. As we made our way through Connecticut, the snow began to melt, the trees becoming further and further apart as nature turned to pavement.

Landon was silent, driving quickly but carefully, making sure to stay just at the speed limit.

The satellite radio was turned to the finance channel, and the anchor prattled on about the markets and the price of oil.

I needed to check my email, but my phone still wasn’t working for anything except calls and texts to Violet and Emma.

I wanted to ask Landon about it, but he was back in billionaire mode, all signs of the easy demeanor he’d had last night gone.

Even his clothes were different, his jeans now replaced by a pair of black slacks and a black button-up shirt. He wore black Italian leather shoes on his feet and a shiny black diamond-encrusted watch on his wrist.

As we got closer to the city, he still hadn’t said a word, and I began to feel panic bubbling inside of me.

Was this it?

We’d made a deal – a deal that if I did everything he said, he would take me to find my sister.

And now that deal was over.

But did that mean we were as well?

When we pulled up in front of my apartment, Landon guided the car into park.

He opened the door and came around to my side, opened the door for me. The city sounds assaulted my senses, feeling like an intrusion after the stillness we’d had in Vermont.

I stepped out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said. “And, um, for everything.”

He nodded.

“Landon,” I said. “So, what … I mean, what now?” I hated myself for asking it, but I had to.

“I’ll call you.”

“You’ll call me?” I repeated incredulously. He’d said he was falling in love with me, and now he was saying he’d call me?

“Yes, Aven. I will call you. That is a normal form of communication when one is parting.”

“How are you going to call me when my phone can only call Emma or Violet?” I shot back.

“Your phone, of course, can make and receive calls from me.”

He turned to go, but I grabbed his hand.

“Landon.”

He turned around, his eyes locking on mine, and for a moment, I saw it there, the way he’d looked at me last night, the hungry emotion in his eyes he got when his guard was down.

I felt like it was a watershed moment for us, that whatever I said would determine whether or not I ever saw him again.

So I said what I felt.

“I love you.”

The side of his mouth quirked up into a smile, one so brief I wasn’t sure if I’d actually seen it, and just like that, it was gone, his face impassive.

“Good bye, Ms. Courtland.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

When I got into my apartment, Emma was standing in the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist. On the counter in front of her was a tangle of baking equipment – mixing bowls, spoons, bags of flour, containers of sprinkles and frosting.

“Tell me you aren’t baking,” I said when I saw her.

“I’m not baking,” she said. “What I’m doing is making a mess.” She blew her bangs out of her face, then wiped her hands on her apron and came running to me, enveloping me in a hug. “You’re home, you’re home, you’re home!”

“I’m home,” I said warily.

“Uh-oh,” she said, pulling back and studying my face. “That bad?”

I filled her in on everything to do with Landon --all of it except the domination. How last night had been so perfect, how he’d told me he was falling in love with me, how I’d told him I loved him back.

“Wow,” she said when I was done.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” I picked up a spoon and dragged it through the bowl of batter she was making. I didn’t care about salmonella. I didn’t care about anything.

“For telling him you loved him?”

“For all of it.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I think he’s older than you, and he should have known better.” She took the spoon out of my hand and licked it, then made a face. “That tastes way too sweet. Does that taste too sweet to you?”

“No, I like it.” I took the spoon back. “You mean he should have known better than to get involved with me?” I asked.

“Should have known better than to lead you on.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Aven.”

“No, it’s fine. As much as I would have loved it if you’d told me that there was a chance, I need to hear the truth.”

“Men like that are used to getting anything they want, and they’re unscrupulous about it. They’ll say and do whatever takes.” She shrugged. “That’s how it is in business, and it morphs over into their personal lives. It’s not your fault.” The timer on the oven dinged, and she reached in and pulled out a cookie sheet filled with what looked like a bunch of tiny burnt hamburgers. “Dammit,” she said.

“What are those?” I asked, looking over her shoulder.

“Snicker doodles. Or, they’re supposed to be.” She sighed and began trying to pry the burnt cookies off the tray with a spatula. “I have a job interview tomorrow, and the woman who’s interviewing me mentioned in an online interview that she loved snicker doodles. So I thought I could show up with some that were homemade.”

“Forget it,” I said, taking the spatula out of her hand and dropping it into the sink. “We’re going out.”

“What?”

“We’re going out.”

“Okay!” Emma clapped her hands. “Where are we going?”

“I don’t know. A club. A bar. Somewhere where I can get drunk and forget my troubles.”

“You don’t get drunk.”

“Okay, somewhere where I can get buzzed.”

“Will you wear my red dress? The one you say makes you look like a street walker?”

“Sure.”

* * *

Over the next three days, I became a cliché.

I spent my days lying in bed, eating ice cream, surfing the internet, filling out job applications, and waiting for Landon to call.

But he didn’t.

Not even once.

My phone, the one he gave me, was working fine. Not only that, he must have reactivated it, since it could make calls to anyone and everyone I wanted, allowed me onto the internet, to play music, whatever. Landon must have turned it back on. But even that felt like some kind of betrayal, like he didn’t care enough anymore to even worry about my phone.

At night, Emma and I went out and flirted with boys, got them to buy us drinks. Well, Emma did most of the flirting, and usually got stuck with whatever guy was leftover, the less-cute friend.

Not that it mattered

Now that I’d been with Landon, any other guy seemed boring, drab, and I wondered if what Landon said was true, that I wanted to be with him because he punished me, that it had something to do with me wanting to blame myself for what happened to my parents.

It had been three days since I’d heard from him, and three nights of Emma and I going out to the bars, when it happened.

It was midnight, and we were climbing the stairs to our apartment, Emma totally drunk. She’d lost her shoes somewhere along the way, and her arm was slung around me as I brought her inside.

“This is so fun,” she said. “Isn’t this fun? We don’t need jobsss. All we need is to have fun. We’re too pretty to work.”

“We need to have jobs,” I told her warily. “If for nothing else than the medical insurance that you’re going to need to treat whatever it is you picked up out there on the sidewalk.”

She thought this was hilarious. “Trichamanosis!” she crowed. “Trick a whatever!” She flopped down onto the couch, giggling.

I was getting her a glass of water when my phone rang. My heart stopped.

Landon.

He was the only one who would be calling this late.

I rummaged through my bag for my phone.

But it wasn’t Landon.

It was Violet.

Besides a text I’d sent her when I got back to New York, giving her my new number and telling her I’d left Vermont, I hadn’t tried to contact her. She’d written me back saying she loved me, but I’d been giving her space.

“Violet?”

But there was only static on the other end of the line, muddled with the sounds of the city.

“Violet?” I said louder. “Is that you? Can you hear me?”

A second later, the intercom buzzed, and I could hear it through the phone as well as in person.

Violet.

She must have been here, downstairs.

I buzzed her up immediately.

“That’sss very dangerous,” Emma singsonged from the couch. “Letting someone in without knowing who it is. Last time you had a visitor here it didn’t go so well.” She took a sip of her water and made a face. “Do we have any vodka?”

But I wasn’t paying attention to her.

I was at the door of my apartment, opening it.

And there was Violet.

Already standing on the landing, in front of my apartment door.

When I saw her, I tried not to recoil in horror.

Her lip was split, her eye purple and almost swollen shut.

“Oh my God!” I rushed to her, helping her into the front hallway. Her body felt tiny and light as I began guiding her toward the living room. “Violet, what happened?”’

But before she could answer, Violet collapsed, her knees going out under her as her body sprawled on the floor and her eyes rolled back into her head…