Tristan leads me through the front door of his house, which is a modern style mansion surrounded by beautiful hills and trees. I’ve never been one to be impressed much by material things, but even I can’t stop myself from gawking when he closes the front door behind me and the lights automatically spark to life across the huge space inside. Every inch of the house just screams expensive, from the priceless looking antiques and art pieces covering the walls and sat up in the corners of the house to the luxurious rugs and marble floors. There’s even a massive window along the living room that looks out over a giant tank of water that I think is an aquarium big enough to fit a shark at first. When I look more closely, I realize the water is actually a pool that must be accessible from upstairs.

“Wow,” I say. A stubborn part of me was planning on saying nothing about how nice his house was for fear of feeding his already impressive ego, but the word slips out of me as effortlessly as a breath of air.

He makes a sound that seems to say, yeah, I know. But I’m interested when I don’t sense any pride from him. He must know this place is ridiculously luxurious, but I’d have expected him to gloat over it and want to give me a tour. Instead he just motions for me to sit on the couch in front of the fireplace.

He takes a seat across from me and leans forward with his hands clasped together. “Before I take this any further, I need to explain my expectations.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Expectations?”

“Yes,” he says. There’s an odd expression on his face—almost a detached look, like he’s forcing himself to remain businesslike. When I think back on my few interactions with him, I realize he has definitely wavered between a kind of flirty and fiery personality and a cold, indifferent personality. The only explanation I can think of is that he’s having to force one of them. But which one is real, and which is just the one he thinks he needs to show me?

A chill runs through me at the possibility that the real Tristan Rivers is the cold, detached man I’m seeing right now. I came back to his house alone—even though I did secretly text Jamie to send a search party if she didn’t get another text from me by midnight—and the idea that he could be hiding his real personality from me raises all sorts of uncomfortable and frightening questions.

I still don’t even know why I’m taking a risk like this when I know my history. Guy after guy, relationship after relationship, they all end the same. They leave disappointed and I take a long, hard look in the mirror to try to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. Plenty of people have had tragedy in their past while still being able to live normal lives in the present, so why is it that I can’t seem to move on?

“What expectations?” I say after he remains silent for several moments.

“I can give you an experience like you’ve never had,” he says. There’s no hint of boastfulness in his voice, just a cold confidence as if he’s explaining to me that the sky is blue on a sunny day. “To do that, I need your complete submission. Just for tonight. I need you to give up everything you think you know about yourself.”

Words of protest rise up in my throat and die before they reach my tongue. As much as I want to interrupt him and tell him how crazy all of this is—or even to tell him I’m a virgin and that giving me an experience I’ve never had is probably a lot less complicated than he seems to think—but I’m mesmerized. Despite the calm in his voice, there’s something practically molten burning behind his eyes as he speaks. The clean lines of his face and his suit are at odds with the fiery need I can sense just behind his mask of calm.

“Assuming I wanted what you’re offering, why would I trust you that much?” I ask.

“You already trusted me enough to come back to my place alone. You let me spend a million dollars for this date. And I can practically smell your hunger for me, treasure.”

I clear my throat and cross my legs unconsciously. It’s only then that I notice the slight throb between my legs and the warm, tingling sensation fluttering around between my legs and in my lower belly. The hints of flirtation that he lets slip through his cold exterior keep catching me by surprise. If he was laying it on as thick as most men do, I could put up a wall to it and ward him off. But he’s picking at my defenses like an expert, waiting until I let my guard down and slipping in expertly placed words that threaten to unravel me syllable by syllable.

“You’ve made a lot of assumptions,” I say carefully.

“Have I?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. I don’t have to fake my annoyance. Just because he’s right, it doesn’t mean he has to rub it in my face. “Why should I be willing to give myself to a stranger? What makes you think I’m so desperate for sex that I’d whore myself out like this? What even makes you so sure I want to sleep with you?”

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in the sound. “I’ve made most of my fortune from my ability to read people, treasure. And so far, I’ve been able to read you like a book. Where should I start? Maybe the fact that you’re a virgin? Or should I start with how you’ve probably never had a relationship last more than a few weeks? What is it? Do you cut them loose because your virginity is too precious for any of them? Or maybe it’s that your father never thought you were good enough and—”

My hand flashes out, slapping against his cheek hard enough to turn his head to the side. I’m standing in the space between the couches, hand extended and chest heaving before I even realize I got up to slap him. “Fuck. You.” I say shakily. I grab my purse and head for the door, already planning to never spare another thought for this pretentious asshole again as long as I live.

He grabs me by the arm before I make it to the door.

“Stop,” he says firmly. “Stop,” he says again, but more softly this time.

Something in his tone makes me turn to face him. I push back the tears that are threatening to come because I don’t want him to know how much his words stung. He was way off base with the “precious virginity” thing, but about my dad? Having a stranger understand me better than I understand myself stings. It makes me pissed at him and myself all at the same time. On top of losing my chance of adopting Braden? I just want to go home and forget this entire disaster.

“I shouldn’t have said any of that,” he says.

“No,” I say. Anger cuts through my voice no matter how hard I try to press it back down. “Where should I start? You’re the privileged guy who thinks if everyone worked as hard as him they could live in a mansion like this too. You probably don’t think you rode your good looks to easy business deals and promotions. You think your cock is some kind of national treasure that women should have to bow down and thank you for, don’t you? And you probably find tragic virgins like me because you get off on how bad they want to fuck you. Well here’s a newsflash for you, Mr. Read-Me-Like-a-Book, you can go fuck yourself tonight. Because I’ve had a really shitty day, and I’m not bowing down or begging for shit.”

I can’t read the way he’s watching me, but his grip on my arm is tightening. His eyes search my face until the frown creasing his brows turns to something like surprise. “I was wrong about you,” he says. “But you’re wrong about me, too.”

“Let me go,” I say.

“Fine.” He lets me go and just before I can turn the doorknob to leave, I hear a click from the lock. When I turn around, he’s holding some kind of remote.

He takes two long strides toward me, forcing me back until I bump against the wall.

“I like you,” he says quietly. His hand reaches for my chin and I slap it away.

I expect him to lash out and swing at me like my dad would have, but instead his lips just spread into an amused grin.

“You can hate me if you want, but my offer still stands. Do you want to be a virgin forever?”

“You’re disgusting,” I say with as much venom as I can muster, but there’s a strange shift taking place inside my chest. All the anger and outrage I feel toward him is swirling with my undeniable desire. I might hate this man. I might hate that he thinks he understands me. But there’s something behind all the outer appearances, something deeper that makes me feel connected to him.

And what he’s offering? He’s offering me a chance to rid myself of what has felt like a curse. I could lose my virginity and not have to worry about whether the guy is husband or father material. It could be as simple as scratching an itch. Just a checkmark on a piece of paper and I could be on my way.

“If wanting you is disgusting, then maybe I am.” He reaches to touch my chin again.

I feel paralyzed. I itch to slap at him again and resist. I want to fight and claw and I want him to take me. I don’t want to give myself to him, I want him to steal me. My stomach turns at the realization, but there it is. If he takes me, I can still hate him. I can still walk out of here pissed at the world and maintain the status quo. It can be simple.

His rough fingertips graze my chin. “What will it be, treasure? I can unlock the doors and let you walk, or you can let me give you what your body wants. Fuck what your brain wants.”

“Fuck you,” I say again, though the conviction is absent from my voice.

He grins. “I don’t think you’re understanding your choices. You either tell me to unlock the door and I let you go, or you’re telling me you want me to take you—one way or another.”

I understand perfectly, asshole. I press my palms into his chest, which doesn’t even make him budge.

“Last chance.” He holds the keys out to me.

I knock them from his hands and then try to push past him, not caring where I’m trying to go. All I know is he’s going to take me. He’s going to fuck me. It’s reckless and it’s self-destructive, but right now in the tangle of emotions I feel, destroying myself doesn’t feel like such a bad idea.

He catches me outside my arms, pinning them to my side and walking me to the couch. I struggle against him, but I’m only struggling because it feels good to fight. This blend of hatred and surrender feels good. There’s so few things left in my life that feel good. He shoves me down to the couch where I land on the pillows and immediately struggle to get back to my feet.

Tristan is on top of me in a moment, pinning me down by my shoulder. His face is amused as he looms over me. “Normally I’d give you two safe words. One for when we’re nearing your limit and one for when you want me to stop. But you? All you get is red. It’s all or nothing, treasure. Say red and it all stops. Otherwise, you’re mine. Do you understand?”

I nod, even though my heart is pounding so hard it feels like it could give out any moment. My breath is caught in my throat and a pleasant but frightening warmth is flooding through every cell in my body. Is this what it feels like to really want it? God. Is this what I’ve been missing from pushing men away before it came to sex? It feels like something dangerous is waking up inside me bit by bit, like every breath from his perfect lips and every touch of his calloused fingers stokes the flame. Whatever it is, I’ve suppressed it for my whole life, but I don’t think I could stop it now even if I wanted to. I just want to let him take me. I want his touch, his taste. I want everything he can offer me. I want the sensations to blast away all my worries until all that’s left is the here and now, even if I never see him again after tonight. One night. One experience. Maybe that’s all I need.

He bends his neck until his lips brush my ear with every word, until his words slide sensually into my body like a caressing touch. “Let go. I’m going to take you, dominate you, fuck you.” He punctuates the last phrase with a hard kiss that he follows with a quick nip of his teeth on my earlobe.

I gasp at the pleasure and slight pain, back arching and chest pressing up into him. I can’t help from squirming and pushing against him, as if my mind and body are at war. My body wants this so badly it hurts, but my brain isn’t ready to submit. My hands still seek for leverage against his hard body, pressing and twisting without conviction.

“This ends one way,” he says gruffly. “Your choice is how we get there.”

I turn my head to frown up at him, not understanding.

He grips my chin, forcing me to hold his gaze. “This ends with your submission. Your choice is whether you want to give it to me or make me wrestle it from you.”

His words coax the flames in me to even greater heights. I’ve never let a man touch or talk to me like this, but everything about it feels right. I always figured my sexual tastes would be vanilla and tame, but maybe suppressing that side of myself for so long caused some twisted desires to blossom in the darkest corners of my mind.

“You’re just going to take me here on the couch?” I ask defiantly. I don’t know where the bravery to speak to him like this is coming from, especially, when he has me pinned, but the words spill out of me like I’m possessed. “All your talk of the night of my life and the best you can do is throw me on the couch?”

He pushes against me to straddle me with bent knees and an almost angry look on his face. Tristan loosens his tie with one hand, slinging it free of his neck before he takes me roughly by the wrists and presses them above my head. I struggle weakly against him but he secures the tie around my wrists with ease. He rips his belt free next and ties it around my ankles, pinning my legs together. Once he has me where he wants me, he moves off the couch to stand beside me.

“Get on your knees for me, treasure. Move,” he snaps impatiently when I don’t respond right away.

As much as I’m tempted to defy him more just to see how far he’ll take this, I can’t seem to stop myself from obeying. There’s an air of command in his voice that moves me as surely as two strong hands until I’m on my knees with my ass in the air until my dress is tight against my skin and hiked up so high he can probably see my panties. I should be embarrassed to be so exposed, but the way he’s looking at me makes it impossible to feel anything but sexy.

Tristan rubs his thumb across his lip before reaching to undo the buttons of his shirt. The last of my defiance drips away with every bit of skin he reveals. Button after button pops away to show me his flawless, tattooed torso and perfectly sculpted muscles. He tosses his shirt to the side and walks close to put his hands on me.

I shudder against his touch, feeling so small and fragile in his powerful hands. He slides them down my hips and pulls a hand back to spank me on the ass hard enough to make me gasp.

“You’ve tested my patience, treasure,” he says. “I was going to make this easy for you, but you couldn’t stop from tempting me, could you?”

“Just do what you have to do,” I say through gritted teeth.

He chuckles. “So eager.” He kneels down until we’re eye to eye. “I’m going to fuck you in ways you never imagined. Then I’m going to cut you loose. But you knew that already, didn’t you? I don’t do girlfriends. I’ll never be the guy you get your white picket fence with. I’m just an asshole who knows how to fuck you out of your mind. That’s not going to stop you from letting me take you how I want you, is it? Because you may be a virgin, but you’re ready to be my dirty slut for the night.”

My lips pull back in something close to a snarl. As much as I want to prove him wrong just to spite him, I know I won’t. He’s offering me an escape and he knows it. I can live without restraint for this one night. I can enjoy it and I can move on. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.

He laughs softly when I don’t respond, confirming his suspicion. “Good.” He puts his finger under my chin and tilts my head slowly up until I’m looking into his eyes. “You’re in another world with me, Stephanie. What we do here doesn’t touch the outside world. You can let go of your inhibitions. You can rest assured knowing what happens between us will stay between us for as long as you wish it. So don’t hold back on me. I’ll know if you do.”

He stands suddenly and grips the open back of my dress. He yanks on the shoulder straps, snapping them before he pulls the dress down with a surprising delicacy, like he’s unwrapping a present and wants to cherish every moment.

I arch my back and close my eyes, feeling sexier and more precious than I’ve ever felt, as crazy as that is. I let this man call me a slut and degrade me, but it’s almost as if he really can read my body like a book. He throws out cautious, testing words and watches me like a hawk for my response. Any time his words or touch have an effect on me, he ramps up the intensity and follows my cues.

I suck in a breath when he pulls the dress down past my ass, leaving me wearing nothing but a bunched up dress around my knees, a white thong, and a matching bra. I thought I’d feel exposed and awkward my first time, but he makes me feel like some kind of exotic creature—something beautiful, dangerous, and delicate all at once. I feel possessed. After all the women’s rights arguments I’ve had, now I find myself getting wet because I feel like property. Insanity.

The way I’m kneeling on the couch has me elevated slightly, so that Tristan is able to have easy access to my entire body and explore my bare flesh with his eyes and hands. He doesn’t grope me like a desperate high schooler, though. He mixes soft, almost feather-like touches with a hard, massaging kind of force that nearly buckles my elbows and sends my face into the armrest. He makes tingling heat explode down my spine and pool between my legs only to follow it with cold chills that flow from my shoulders to my fingertips.

Before long, my eyes are closed and my neck is arched back. His fingertips and palms are like magic on my skin. I don’t even realize he’s undoing my bra until he tugs it down to where his tie is wrapped around my wrists and leaves it to dangle.

I laugh softly. “One minute, I was ready to slap you, and now…”

“No talking,” he says firmly, hands still moving across me, savoring every curve and crease. “You had your chance to leave, treasure. You stayed. That means for tonight and tonight alone, I’m your Dom and you will submit to me. It means you won’t speak unless I ask you to. You won’t cum until I let you.”

I bite my lip to hold in the words that threaten to come. Jesus. His voice drips with so much command and confidence that I almost can’t even imagine trying to defy him. I can’t imaging wanting to. Not with the way he already has my body on fire. Though a reckless part of me has to push his buttons, to know how far he’ll take this.

“Or what?” I ask.

His hands pause for the first time. He doesn’t speak right away, which gives me more time than I like to anticipate his response—verbal or otherwise.

“Normally, I would explain,” he says finally. “But with you? I think you’re going to need more than an explanation. You need discipline.” He walks away suddenly, disappearing around a wall and leaving me to wait in total confusion.

I already regret pushing him because the absence of his touch feels like punishment enough. Right now, all he would’ve had to say was that he’d take his hands off me and I would’ve said and done anything he wanted.

When he comes back, he’s carrying a briefcase. My eyes widen and my hands clench tight on the fabric on the couch. What did I get myself into?