When Chris and I leave the little gift shop cathedral, I feel like a different person. Aside from the slight discomfort of my soaked panties and the lingering buzz of heat between my legs from what I just experienced, there’s a lightness in my mind like nothing I’ve ever felt. A burden I wasn’t conscious of slipped away in there, and the weightlessness I feel makes me want to twirl around and smile, but Chris’ form towering beside me is like an anchor that keeps me grounded.

He’s a stormcloud, rugged and frightening but beautiful if you’re brave enough to stand firm in the face of his power, to bear the brunt of everything he has to offer. Getting involved with him is laced with a bottomless pit of danger, like any misstep or loss of control could send you plummeting into his depths where the hopes and dreams of all the others who came before me lay in ruins, but in that fear is a strange exhilaration. With every step I take and don’t fall, I’m closer to an end goal I can’t even see, but curiosity and lust drive me forward, taking step after step into his darkness.

I keep replaying what he said in my mind. This was barely an appetizer. I’m sure he’s exaggerating a little bit, at least, because even fully clothed, what just happened with him was the most intense and mouthwatering sexual experience I’ve ever had. Not that it’s a very long list to compare with. I’m suddenly thankful I already scheduled a few blog posts before we came out here, because I’d be tempted to redact my review of his book as soon as I logged into the site and replace it with a glowing first-hand account of exactly how much he knows what he’s talking about. That would be embarrassing though, especially if my sisters decided to read the post, which they sometimes do.

I do feel guilt for what I just did, but being in another country and so far from my element makes it all feel like the rules aren’t as strict here, like being reckless and wild just fits here.

It’s just part of your story, I tell myself over and over. This will be the story I tell my children someday when they’re old enough, minus the graphic parts, at least. It’ll be my answer when someone asks what the craziest thing I ever did was. Time will pass and soften the edges of the entire experience until it really doesn’t seem so life-shattering, so dangerous. That’s what I keep telling myself, even though right now it feels like everything and anything I’ve ever cared about hangs in the balance of wherever tonight leads.

I’m giving a special, irreplaceable part of myself to this man to do with as he pleases, and maybe, against all odds, it will have meaning. More likely though, I’ll look back on this short period of time and feel nothing but loss because I know I gave away what I can never take back to someone who won’t value what he takes.

Yet, I’m still following him, still walking along at his side and enjoying the sensation like cold fire enveloping me, making my skin tingle all over and my head buzz.

“Where is everyone?” I ask after we’ve walked through the courtyard and up a flight of stone stairs without seeing a single tourist, despite the crowd when we came in.

“I bought the place out for the night,” he says. “Closed for business, so it’s all ours. Our own medieval castle, at least once all the cooks and wait staff leave.”

As if on cue, he opens a tall set of double doors and puts his hand around my back in a simple but possessive gesture that gives me chills. He guides me into a beautiful room, much more intimate than I expected. I was picturing the dining hall to be some kind of airy but stiff room straight out of Game of Thrones, but instead it’s not much bigger than an average family’s dining room, except the walls are carved stone, polished and buffed to a matte finish. The room is at least two or three stories tall, with a stone-carved balcony jutting out from the second floor. Dozens of candles light the space, and a heavy, dark wood table dominates the center of the room.

“Wow,” I say, running my hand along the table and admiring the flowers sitting in a vase at the center. There are plates and table settings laid out for two already and a pair of servers in bow ties and suits waiting at the edge of the room with trays of water and bread.

“Please,” Chris says, pulling out my chair and helping me to sit.

I raise an eyebrow at him. I can still taste the lingering saltiness of his cum in my mouth and now he’s pulling my chair out like a gentleman. It makes what happened between us feel even dirtier, but I’m surprised to find it doesn’t put me off. If anything, it just makes me need to press my thighs together and take a deep breath, because what felt like a full serving of Chris Savage now seems like it was just a nibble. Despite all the logical cells in my brain that are screaming otherwise, deep down, I know I’m not going to be able to walk away from what he’s offering, no matter how many times he tells me he’s going to cut me loose when it’s done. That he’s going to ruin me.

Just enjoy it while it lasts, Lindsey. It’s an experience, not a life-sentence.

“So,” I say to distract myself before I dig too deep into how I feel about everything that’s happening. “Is this the kind of treatment your groupies get? I can see why you built such a reputation.” My tone is light, but I have to admit to feeling a little bitter at the idea. It’s so easy to fall into thinking I’m special to him. Even as he’s saying to my face that I’m just like all the rest. How can I look into those eyes and feel the hunger of his hands without believing this means something to him? It’s a joke though, because I’m probably just woman number twenty who took his bait in the church turned museum, and one of countless women who’s willing to sacrifice my dignity for my own night in his spotlight, and I hate myself for it.

He unfolds his napkin and sets it in his lap with a chuckle. “No. Hell no.”

I narrow my eyes. “So I’m not different from the rest, but you’re treating me different. How does that work?”

He smirks. “It has been a while. Maybe I want my dry spell to end with a little romance.”

“You’re still assuming it’s going to end tonight?” I ask, even though the question feels ridiculous when my panties are still damp from our little engagement a few minutes ago, and I can still vividly remember how amazing it felt to have his erection rubbing between my legs and his mouth on mine.

He doesn't even crack a smile. “If I decide it will, sure. I guess if you’re not willing I could always grab one of the wait staff,” he says, nodding toward one of the girls by the wall.

An irritatingly strong jab of jealousy runs straight through me like a knife, overcoming me with a sudden urge to tip the girl’s tray of water over. Stupid. So, so, so stupid. I don’t want to be one of those crazy women who turns into a competitive, jealous bitch over her man. And Chris isn’t even close to your man, I remind myself.

“If you were going to sleep with one of them so easily, you wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” I say, not liking how much it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself that I really mean so little to him.

“No?” he asks. “I could call her over and give you a demonstration if you—”

“Fine,” I say, clenching my jaw. He wants to play high school games and see how jealous he can make me? Fine. I’m calling his bluff, even if it makes me want to pull my hair out and scream like a child. “Call her over then. Fuck her on the table, maybe. It’ll help spoil my appetite so I don’t have to sit through this dinner with you.”

He glares at me, but there’s a glint of amusement in his smoldering brown eyes. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you? I wonder what else I’ll find when I unwrap you later.”

“So you’re back to me, are you? Maybe that opportunity has passed.”

“Has it?” he asks. “Or would I find those little white panties of yours still soaked? Look me in the eyes and tell me your cunt isn’t throbbing right this second, just aching to be filled up with every inch I have to offer. Tell me.”

I lock eyes with him, willing the words to come out even as my core tightens desperately, craving him just like he says. “I’m thirsty,” I mutter.

He slams his fist down on the table and barks a laugh like some medieval king, looking perfectly at place in a dining hall as grand as this. “Water, please,” he shouts to the servers, who look relieved to be allowed to do their jobs instead of watching what has to be the most awkward argument they’ve ever endured in their careers.

“I’m sorry,” I say to the girl as she pours me water.

She gives me a surprised glance. “Don’t be,” she whispers under her breath. “If you weren’t wet right now, I’d think something was wrong with you.”

I want to cover my face with embarrassment, but I take as calm a sip of water as I can manage. “Good water,” I say.

“I think they make it fresh,” Chris says sipping his and nodding his approval.

“Really?” I ask.

I realize my mistake as soon as I see the smirk on his face. They make it fresh. Really, Lindsey?

I clear my throat and barely resist the urge to slide under the table to hide. But after I fight through the initial nerves and gradually forget the dirty thrill of what we just did before dinner, I start to enjoy myself. I let him talk about the food and what he recommends here, and he listens when I talk about my blog. We spend nearly ten minutes talking about nothing important until for maybe the first time since I’ve met Chris, I actually sink into something close to comfort around him.

The waiters set our food down--shrimp-topped sirloin with a tangy mustard sauce for me and a huge steak for him that’s crusted in some sort of truffle coffee mix.

“My little sister would kill me for passing on the crab cakes,” I say, laughing a little sadly to think of Amelia and Brooke, who are still back home, probably feeling betrayed by me. I can only imagine how this looks to them. I lie to their faces about not having feelings for Chris and then I end up jumping on a private plane with him to Germany without even giving them a full day’s notice. It’s just a few days, I keep telling myself. Besides, they didn’t seem upset with me when I called them, so I should stop assuming they’re secretly mad.

Chris quirks an eyebrow. “She’s a seafood fan?”

I shake my head, smiling at the memory. “Just crab cakes, really. When I got my first check from blogging, I took my sisters out to a nice restaurant. Amelia tried crab cakes for the first time and it was like giving ice cream to a toddler. She went nuts for them. I think she could’ve eaten five servings if we had the money for it.”

Chris looks down at his plate, thinking something that has his forehead creased.

“What?” I ask.

“I was just thinking how frustrating it is that I could solve your money problems. I could write you a check today that would set you up for life, and it wouldn’t mean a thing to me. But you wouldn’t ever let me do that, would you?”

I look down, guilt blossoming inside me. No, I wouldn’t just take his money, but apparently I’d consider using him and tricking him for the check Alec was offering me. I ultimately decided not to go through with it, but it doesn’t excuse me for considering it. Worse, I haven’t told Chris or my sisters about the offer. But that’s going to change. “There’s something I need to tell you,” I say suddenly. “Alec offered me a hundred thousand dollars to get you to write the manuscript.”

Chris’ face clouds with anger, his fists tightening around his knife and fork until his fingers turn white. “When?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“After the morning at your parent’s graves,” I say. “After I tried to get you to write it the first time.” It’s important he believes that. If Chris thinks Alec’s offer came sooner, it would paint our past in an entirely different light--one that would make me look like a shameless con artist.

He laughs slowly, humorlessly, shaking his head and looking down. He sets his knife and fork down, throwing his napkin on his barely eaten steak and fixing me with a glare that could melt steel. “It makes sense now.” The tone of his voice scares me. The lightness that had started to show is entirely gone now, evaporated. I can almost see him moving back behind his walls of anger and hatred before my eyes. “I kept trying to figure out why you seemed so different, why you didn’t seem to care about me or my money. You seemed different because you were the biggest liar yet, that’s all. You were playing me the whole time.”

“Chris,” I say, pleading. “Just please let me explain.”

“Why?” he asks. “So you can make an even bigger ass out of me? Congratulations. You did what so many people wish they could’ve done. You pulled one over on me.” He laughs again, but there’s poison in the sound. “You even made me like you. All this,” he says, gesturing around the room. “It’s embarrassing how excited I was to bring you here. Fuck.” He stands up, walking a few steps away from the table before turning around again, eyes burning with anger. “I’m not even—”

“Chris!” I say, throwing my napkin down and standing so fast my chair screeches against the floor behind me. “Listen. To. Me.”

He clenches his jaw but stays put, mouth closed.

“If all that was true, why would I have just told you about Alec’s offer?”

Pause.

“Because you thought he’d tell me eventually.”

“Why would he? He knows you better than most people do. Would you ever write the manuscript if you knew he was trying to bribe me to make it happen?”

A hint of doubt creeps into Chris’ face. “No,” he says finally.

“You said you wanted everything. Just one night. You wanted complete honesty. Well here it is. He made the offer after we talked at your parents’ graves. After. And yes, I considered it. We barely keep the lights on and Amelia’s trying to go to some beauty school that costs fifty thousand dollars. So I thought about it, and I used it to help convince myself I should give you another chance. But I told him I wasn’t going to do it. It felt wrong, and no matter how many times you told me to fuck off, I couldn’t use you like that. Okay?” I say, feeling my own anger rising that he’d jump to so many conclusions about me. “And no. I wouldn’t take your money, either, because we’re making it with what we have. It’s not worth doing things I’m not proud of to be more financially comfortable.”

The doubt in his face is still there, but just when I think he’s about to apologize, he turns to leave. “This was a mistake. All of it. I’ll have a plane ready for you in the morning to go back to the States.”

My ride back to the hotel is lonely and confusing. To add insult to injury, my body still aches for him. It doesn’t matter how hurt I am that he wouldn’t believe me. He started to wake something in me that I doubt will go dormant again.

I thank the driver he sent to pick me up, and head to my room, thankful I don’t run into Alec in the lobby. The vague threat he made still looms in my mind. It’s hard to think about anything other than how quickly what Chris and I were building crumbled. I’m even more ashamed about what we did together now that he seems ready to cut me off without a thought, and send me home like a guest who overstayed her welcome.

I peek around the corner to my hallway cautiously, not wanting to run into Chris before I make it into the safety of my room. But just as my head sticks around the corner, I see Lydia walking toward me. She stops short, giving me a concerned look.

“Hey,” she says softly. Her tone tells me everything I need to know. She knows Chris is done with me. I’m guessing she just came from his room and got his version of things. I’m guessing she will to want to deck me if she believes his side of what happened.

“Uh, hi,” I say. “I was just going to my room.”

“Listen, Chris is pissed,” she says. “For all his macho bullshit though, he’s got a tender side. I think whatever happened just bruised his pride.”

“He didn’t tell you?” I ask.

She laughs. “No. Chris barely tells me anything. I’ve been trying to get him to let me into his life for a long time now, and it was only when our parents died that he’d even talk to me a little bit.”

“Well, his bruised pride means I’m flying home tomorrow morning. So it was nice to meet you,” I say.

She tilts her head. “He’s sending you home? What the hell happened? I’ve never seen him so into a girl before. I can hardly believe he’d—”

“It’s complicated,” I say, feeling so tired I’ll probably fall asleep before my head hits the pillow. The last thing I want is to try to defend myself to Chris’ sister. Whether I decided I couldn’t take the money from Alec or not, Chris is right to be mad that I even considered it. I just hate that he doesn’t believe that my offer to help finish the manuscript came before Alec ever spoke to me.

“Well, look,” she says. “I may not know my brother as well as I’d like, but I know one thing. Right or wrong, he feels like everybody he’s ever known or cared about eventually turns out to be a liar or a user. If he seems callous, it’s just that he doesn’t want to let anyone else in who might turn around and hurt him again.”

“I find it hard to imagine Chris getting his feelings hurt,” I say.

“I doubt he’d call it that,” she admits. “But he cares more than he lets on. I don’t know what happened between you two, but his first reflex is to push people away. Try not to take anything he said personally. Maybe just talk to him one more time, see if you can get through to him.”

“And what if the thing he’s mad at me for is true? What if he has a right to be mad?”

“Then explain to him that you’re not the first person in the world to make a mistake and he needs to get over it because he cares about you. I know he does.”

I smile a little at that. “I appreciate it, but I have a feeling he won’t want to see me right now.”

“Try him,” she says. “If he’s going to send you away tomorrow morning, you have nothing to lose, right?”

“How about the last of my self-respect?” I ask with a small laugh.

She grins. “Self-respect is overrated. When you’re eighty and retired, do you want to be sitting on a beach somewhere, alone and disappointed with your life, saying, ‘well, at least I still have my self-respect’?”

I blow my hair out of my eyes and try to mentally brace myself for what I’m going to do. I nod my thanks to Lydia, who smiles and heads down the stairs, leaving me to walk what feels like ten miles instead of ten feet to Chris’ door.

I lift my hand to knock, but the door opens before I can.

He’s standing there in just a white undershirt and jeans, hair a mess and eyes hard. He looks straight out of a scene from a movie, sexy, angry and all kinds of bad news. It’s the kind of moment that deserves a picture so people can look back at it years from now and wonder if a man so incredible ever really existed and what it would’ve been like to be the focus of those eyes.

“I heard you two in the hallway,” he says.

I open my mouth to speak but can’t find any words worth saying. How much did he hear? What do I even say to that?

“Get on my bed,” he says.

I have to stare at him for several seconds before I can confirm I heard what I thought I just heard. “Your bed?” I stammer. “Wh—”

“On. My. Bed.”

There’s no arguing with a voice like that, with eyes like that. I’m moving to the bed before there’s time to think of disobeying. I get up on the bed and sit in the center, legs self-consciously crossed so I don’t give him a view up my skirt, even though he’s had plenty of that tonight.

He considers me, pacing side to side while following me with a simmering glare, no words are needed to tell me he’s trying to figure out what to do with me.

What to do with me? Why am I so sure that’s what he’s doing? Why does the thought fill me with dark excitement? I came to his room to apologize or to do something to set things right. I don’t even know what, I never would’ve guessed it was me who’d feel the need to apologize.

All I can do is watch him pace in front of the bed, anger boiling off him like heat.

“You know what pisses me off the most about all this?”

I shake my head.

“Nothing changed. I said what I said after dinner. I sent you away. Told you to get the first plane out of here in the morning. Then I left you there and realized they were just words. Just fucking words.”

He moves closer to me, gripping my chin and looking down into my eyes, jaw clenched. “Why do I still want you?”

“Because you know it’s not true. The things you assumed,” I say. “You know—”

He presses his mouth into mine, pinning me back against the bed and moving on top of me, driving his knee between my legs. I’m swallowed up by him, the scent of him, the feeling of his hard body against mine, and how soft and small his touch makes me feel.

He tastes like sin and smells like sex, like every inch of him was painstakingly crafted to drive me beyond all rational thought and reason. His tongue is hot against mine, teeth tugging at my lip in a way that is so hungry it makes my skin prickle with goosebumps.

His hands are rough, fingertips pressing angry red lines into my skin as he gropes his way up my dress to find my tits and squeeze, sucking in a breath full of satisfaction when he finds the hard points of my nipples.

His knee is a lightning rod for my attention though, drawing my focus to the heat and throbbing sensation between my legs. I rock my hips upward, gripping his firm ass with one hand and his broad back with the other as I use him to pull myself harder and harder into his knee. I’m so desperate for release that I don’t even care what he thinks of me, or the moans that are already spilling from my lips.

I fumble for his belt, pulling it away and throwing it to the ground even as he lifts up my dress. Our bodies are a tangle of hungry hands and heat where our skin collides. He strips away my dress and might as well throw my doubts and fears to the ground along with it, because I’m in too deep to stop now--way too deep.

He’s shirtless now and wears nothing but his underwear, giving me my first in person view of his bare chest and abs. A thin sheen of sweat coats his body, highlighting every curve of his abs and the sharp V of muscle pointing down toward his groin. He’s absolutely mouthwatering. I grip his pecs, running my fingers down the rack of abs and digging my fingertips along his skin, leaving red lines in their wake.

He hisses through his teeth, still fixated on my breasts that are now freed of my bra and completely bare to him.

My eyes wander down to his gray underwear, where I can see the huge outline of his erection pressing against my panties. A warm surge blasts through me to think his cock is so tantalizingly close to my entrance.

“I want you inside me,” I whisper through clenched teeth, fingertips digging into the back of his neck as I pull him down, craving the taste of his mouth again.

“You’re going to get more than you can handle,” he growls. He grips me by the shoulders and flips me over like I weigh nothing, straddling the back of my thighs. I feel him shift slightly and see his boxers fling to the ground beside the bed. He’s apparently in too much of a hurry to take my panties off, because he grips the elastic on one side of them yanking the fabric to the side, exposing my pussy. He pulls them so roughly that I’m sure they will be ruined, but I couldn’t care less.

I expect him to slide himself into me, but instead I feel him push his body back, chest and shoulders weighing my legs down and his big hands gripping my ass. I realize what he’s about to do a moment before I feel the scruff of his beard between my legs. The sensation of his warm, wet lips meeting my sex overwhelms any possible hint of self-consciousness I might have had in this position. I spent the last few hours getting wetter than I ever have in my life I fingered myself for him, came all over my hand and haven’t had a chance to shower, but he’s driving his tongue into me like he’s starving and my pussy is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

It’s sexy in the dirtiest way, and I’m loving every second of it. I can’t help but clenching my thighs tight, squeezing them around his head and arching my hips to push myself against him. He’s not shy about exploring me with his mouth, and his tongue doesn’t just dip into my entrance or flick across my clit--it strays up and to my ass. The first time he licks around the tight ring of my asshole. I tense up, completely mortified and too embarrassed to even think about what that must be like from his end, no matter how good it feels for me. But he shows no sign of hesitation. In fact, he’s gripping me so tight it tells me he’s turned on by what he’s doing and that I have nothing to feel ashamed of.

It’s the strangest, most liberating feeling.

He makes me feel so sexy. He went straight to the most intimate, vulnerable place on my body and is showing me that he’s hungry for me, ready to devour every last inch of me and love every second of it.

I squeeze the sheets so tight my fingers hurt, but I barely feel it. My breathless moans are muffled by the sheets, but sound after sound escapes me. I’ve never been noisy in bed in my life--not that my unfortunate experiences with Ryan were even remotely close to what I’ve already experienced with Chris. Chris’ tongue is sliding between my legs, dipping into my core and curling to caress my walls in a way that has my mouth forming a silent “O” of surprise, demanding my thoughts stay in the present.

He has an uncanny ability to sense when I’m about to cum, because I quickly realize he’s not going to let me until he’s ready. I lose track of how many times he brings me to the brink of orgasm, constantly introducing new tricks to keep me feeling like I’m on the longest rollercoaster on earth. He does something with his tongue that feels like he’s making it swirl while he works his fingers between my legs to rub my clit. He slides his thumb down between my cheeks and works it into my virgin ass, making my entire body tense around him. He even does something with his lips, kind of like he’s humming, but it sends vibrations through his entire tongue and electrifies my core, making me belt out my loudest moan yet.

“Please,” I gasp, turning my head so he can hear me clearly. “Please just fuck me.”