"Joy, it's time to get up!" Eric's voice wakes me. I think. I open my eyes a crack, but the sky outside is still pitch black so I might just be dreaming.

"Joy, wake up," he says again. "It's time to go."

Time to go. The words penetrate my sleepiness like a bullet might flesh, dissipating it in an instant until I'm wide awake.

"I don't want to go home," I protest, sitting up in bed.

His gaze lingers on my naked breasts, making my nipples tingle and harden.

"Yeah, me neither," he says in a faraway sort of voice that is, for once, completely bereft of a mocking undertone. "But I have a lot of work to get through today. Get dressed. You can shower at the apartment."

He tosses my dress onto the bed and leaves the room. Presumably to get dressed too.

So all is OK. If he wants me to shower at his apartment he probably won't fly me back home today. I guess. I hope.

He only brought the dress, not my bra or panties, so I go into the living room in search of them. The sight of my panties on the arm rest of the sofa wakes a pleasant, warm sensation deep in my belly, though the forceful, angry way he took me last night, and how much I enjoyed it is messing with my mind. I'm not a slut. The few times I've imagined making love, it was always slow and sensual, never rough and hard. But I loved it rough. Even the spanking before. So maybe I'm wrong about not being a slut. Or maybe that shouldn't even be an issue.

My panties are still wet from last night, but I slip them on anyway. I'm just fastening the last of the buttons on my dress when Eric walks in through the glass doors, wearing just his khakis, his chest wide, muscular and mesmerizing.

"Ready?" he asks, pulling on his polo shirt and tucking it into his pants. Despite the fact that a few patches of sand are clinging to his pants from leaving them on the beach all night, and that his shirt is wrinkled in places, he looks polished, prim and proper. He always looks so put together. But I don't think he is. Not deep down. That realization dawned on me out of nowhere, and my desire to fix it, to make him feel better, takes my breath away.

"Well, you clearly didn't get enough sleep last night," he mutters, making sure the glass door is bolted shut. "Or maybe you're just not a morning person."

"I am, usually," I mutter, smiling and finally managing to look away from him.

I follow him out of the house in silence, careful of where I'm stepping since it's still completely dark outside. He reaches the car first, is holding the passenger door open for me, the light spilling out from the interior making it easier to see.

"Thank you," I mutter as I slip into the car.

"Why, you're welcome," he says in a tone that's more surprised than mocking. Then he slams the door shut.

"You're very well mannered," he says as he gets in too and starts the engine. "I could get used to that."

For some reason that pleases me very much, deep in my chest.

"I'd like to come back here sometime," I say. "During the day preferably. I've never actually been to the beach."

"Never?" he says, his eyes resting on my face for a second before they turn back to the road. "But can you swim?"

I nod. "Yes, I can swim."

"We'll come back soon."

He's not sending me home!

"Hell, I'd live here full time, if I could," he adds after a few minutes of silence. "But the commute every morning would be a nightmare. I really should've bought something closer to the city."

I don't know how to reply, so I stay silent. Dawn is breaking, the sky turning lighter by the second. The sea is to our left, slowly turning from black to grey, finally blue. We pass no houses, no structures, no other cars.

"Wow, we really were in the middle of nowhere," I mutter as we finally reach the outskirts of a small town.

"It’s how I like it,” he says, chuckling. “Were you scared?"

"A little," I admit. "At first."

He laughs.

"I suppose now you'll tell me I wasn't nearly scared enough," I continue, hastily adding, "But I'm really not scared of you."

He looks at me, his eyes two very deep dark pools I want to swim in. "Wouldn't you rather just go back home and forget all about this? The money your father's getting for his land is enough to buy a really nice new place."

"I love my home," I counter, in my mind seeing the row of sunflowers by the kitchen window turning towards the sun rising on the horizon. "But, I want to stay here. With you."

"Because you made a deal?"

He's no longer looking at me. And I don't know how to answer his question. It's also because I made a deal. I want to help Dad save his land. But it's more than that. It's this feeling that I'm needed here. That he needs me. And I him. That I belong. But I don't know how to put all that into words, and I don't think he'll believe me if I try.

"Your father's a real asshole," he mutters after awhile.

"No, he's not!"

"Yes, he is. He traded you, exchanged you for a thing. You should be worth more to him than a piece of dried up land." Cool, destructive anger is brimming just beneath his words. But I'll never believe that of my father. I made the decision to come with Eric. Dad didn’t want me to.

"I volunteered for this," I mutter.

He frowns at me, but doesn't press the issue. A good thing too, because his words just opened up the geyser of sadness I've been trying so hard to keep buried since I got here. Now I want to cry, or scream, or maybe both.

Because Eric is right. My father traded me to save a house and a plot of land. He didn't even put up much of a fight. But I also know he couldn't have put up a fight. Because he's a broken man. And he's decided that keeping his land is worth more to him than his life. I've tried and tried to convince him otherwise, but he wouldn't budge. And I'm sort of grateful for it now, because if he had, I'd never have met Eric.

We're on the highway, and I concentrate on the scenery whizzing by so I don't have to make sense of my rushing, conflicted emotions.