It's a good thing Eric didn't return for lunch, because I messed up the risotto so badly, I had to flush it down the toilet. In the end, I made a pot of chili, because he got all the ingredients, and it's something that can sit.

It's dark out now, almost eight PM, and he's still not back. I'm struggling to stay calm, but inside I'm panicking. What if he never comes back? What if I'll never see him again?

His reaction to my questions scared me a little, sure, but mostly it woke concern, along with my natural inclination to help every one, and everything. I've never wanted to help anyone more than I want to help Eric. He's carrying so much hurt, so much guilt, and he keeps it all buried deep inside, behind impenetrable walls of stone. It's why he works so hard, I'm sure. And it's also why he won't let a woman into his life. But I can change all that. I can shatter those walls. I can help him heal. And I mean to try. And succeed.

I leap off the sofa as the front door finally opens at just before nine, and rush to him, throwing my arms around his waist before he even has the chance to close the door.

"I'm sorry about before," I say, looking up into his face. "I asked too many questions."

He brushes my hair back off my face, and it's a gentle gesture, but there's nothing soft in his face.

"Apologies are overrated, and words are cheap," he says in a low, but cutting tone. "Actions are what I go by."

My heart skips several beats before settling into such a high-speed flutter I'm getting lightheaded. He wants me to make good on my promise now. The one that involves chains and whips. I can read that clearly in the hard lines of his face, his shining but otherwise dead eyes.

"OK," I mutter, answering the unasked question. Because I'm not frightened of him and I want the softness, the care, the happiness I saw in his face last night back. If all that is waiting for me on the other side of pain, I will gladly walk that path.

His hands travel down my cheeks, wrap around my neck. I sigh as he caresses the sensitive skin there, before reaching back and unzipping my dress. He slides it off, and then cups my butt cheeks, squeezing them tight.

"Go to the bedroom," he says, releasing me completely.

I walk there as though in a daze, none of my steps registering. Once I reach it, I sit on the edge of the bed, the silk sheets cool against my bare thighs, my hot skin.

He comes into the bedroom a few moments later, shirtless, yet still wearing his jeans. But that's not the reason I can't take a full breath. He's also carrying a set of handcuffs and a whip. A long slender horsewhip. I can't take my eyes off it.

"What is that for?" I somehow manage to whisper.

"What do you think?"

"You mean to hit me with it?" My back smarts at just the thought of it.

"It's what you agreed to."

I swallow hard and stand up. I did agree to it, and I keep my word. The Eric I love is beyond this hurdle. I will endure any amount of pain to find him.

"I did," I say. "And I will let you whip me, if that's what you want."

My voice is clearly betraying that it's not what I want, but the grin that spreads across his face is telling me he's completely oblivious to that fact.

"Strip," he says and my hands fly to my bra clasp.

Once my panties are off too, he walks closer, running the end of the whip down my neck, across my nipple, all the way to my hip.

"Turn around and grab the bedframe."

I swallow hard and do as he says, the metal of the bedframe cool against my hot, sweaty palms.

"Don't let go now, or I'll tie you down."

I grip the metal harder involuntarily, the threat causing my breath to hitch in my throat painfully.

"How many lashes do you think you can take?" he asks, the amusement clear and harsh in his voice.

He's running the whip down my back, and I don't think I can take any, none at all.

"As many as you want," I say instead.

He chuckles at that, but the sound is cut off by my shriek as the first lash lands across my back.

"Count," he orders. And I somehow manage to gain enough control of my voice to say, "One."

Another follows, lands across my butt, and I count it too, the sharp burning pain extending all the way to my lower back.

The third lash brings tears to my eyes, the fourth makes me start whimpering and I can't stop. I'm sobbing by the fifth, crying by the sixth. I'm still counting, though in a barely audible voice, and I'm not letting go of the bedframe just like he ordered me to do. But I'm at my limit. I can't take any more lashes. I want to take a bath with Eric, go swimming, and eat breakfast side by side, with just our thighs touching. The stinging pain of his lashes is mixing with the burning realization that I can't be the woman he wants me to be, that I can’t be treated this way. Because I don't see the love in this. Can't see it at all.

The tenth lash brings me to my knees, I let go of the bedframe, bury my face in my hands to hide the tears now running freely.

He kneels beside me, the whip still in his hand. But the very air around him is different now. It's no longer cold and hard, but fluttering as though I'm sitting next to a raging fire.

"Ten? Is that all?" he asks, but his voice no longer cuts.

I take my hands away from my face and look at him, ashamed of my tears, but there's nothing I can do about them.

"Why do you want to hurt me?" I ask, his face blurry through my tears, so I can't read his expression.

But there's no mistaking the fact that I don't feel him next to me anymore, even though he's right here.

He gets up without answering and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. And I'd follow him, I would. But I failed him and there's no point. The cool sheets are soothing, but I'd prefer Eric next to me, holding me tight. I'd feel no pain then, I'm sure of it. But that'll never happen again. Because I'm not the woman he desires, I can't give him what he wants. And the tears that realization brings are hot and thick, and they make nothing better.