F ive weeks pass .

Five long, long weeks of awkward tension between me and Bentley. Five long weeks of almost only email communication—safe and generic, because he doesn’t have to look at me if he just types out his demands. Five long weeks of feeling like a total fool, like I did something wrong during our last encounter. Like I pushed him away .

That night when we had sex, when I lost my virginity…it was the most amazing night of my life. I never experienced passion like that before—hell, I didn’t even dream that was possible. For my body to feel the things it felt. And Bentley brought me right there so easily; he touched me in ways that aroused me and alleviated my fears. Took me out of my head, out of my worries, and he was right there with me every second. He knew my body, played me like a finely tuned instrument. Like a master painter works a canvas .

I was so turned on, so aching for him .

It seemed impossible that he wasn’t feeling something strong for me, too. How could all that passion have been just on my side of things ?

Then afterward, he got cold and withdrew from me. And I’m left feeling hurt, rejected, and wondering what the hell I did wrong. Maybe he was horrified that I was a virgin? Maybe I just wasn’t good enough ?

But…it sure as hell seemed like I was fine when we were having sex. He was hard for me, his breathing ragged, his body tense. I may be inexperienced, but I know when a man is aroused. He was .

Janelle texted me the next night to ask how the flirting experiment went. I kept it generic and said that I followed through on our plan, and it seemed like he had interest , too .

Interest. Hah. It sure looked like he was interested…until afterward. Then he froze up again and that was it .

Five weeks .

A couple of times during this gap, I’ve been tempted to stomp into his office and demand he talks to me. Tell me why he pulled away. Was it because I was a virgin—did he belatedly decide that was too much to deal with? Was he afraid I’d say something to HR ?

I was the one who first came on to him, though. He’d have as much cause to go to HR as I would, if not more. The first week or so, I waited with baited breath to see if I’d get a call telling me I’ve been canned. But nothing .

So I’ve held out for weeks, pretending like nothing happened. Pretending like every time I see his desk, I’m not remembering what we did there. It’s almost like it really never happened .

Sometimes I think perhaps I dreamt the whole thing …

The ache I felt the next day has been long gone, as well .

Slowly, other people in the office begin to warm to me, which is the only relief I get in the tension of my work day. We start to joke around in the break room, and I bring boxes of donuts every Friday for the rest of the staff, which earns me a lot of appreciation .

Admittedly a shameful attempt to buy affection, but it works .

I start doing lunch breaks with my coworkers—Kim to start, but then it spreads into group lunches. Like today. I’m currently at a nearby café, sitting with Kim and other admin in the office, who are drinking coffee like it’s a lifeline and chattering about their workloads .

“I swear, I’m never gonna get caught up on the P&L spreadsheet,” Kim bemoans. She’s the admin for the adult romance imprint, which publishes the highest number of novels of any of the imprints under Strongwell Ink. “It’s constant tweaking because no one ever gets me the right numbers .”

I give her a sympathetic nod. “If you need help, let me know .”

Kim’s smile is kind. “I know Mr. Strongwell keeps you busy. It’s okay. But thank you for the offer .”

I finish my turkey croissant sandwich and try to ignore the sense of dread I feel about going back to the office. It’s been like this for too long now…me simultaneously wanting to avoid and be near him, and him running as far away from me as he can. It’s mortifying .

I should have more pride. I shouldn’t want him, not after the way he froze me out .

But I can’t help remembering the wounded look in his eyes the first time I met him. The way he sank into me when we had sex, like he’d found something he’d been missing. I know I didn’t imagine it .

Bentley is a tortured man. But what is torturing him, I don’t know .

We eventually toss our trash and make our way back outside the cafe. Avenue of the Americas is bustling with crowds, as always. We flash our badges to the security guards as we enter the building, and then head upstairs. Strongwell Ink takes up almost a dozen floors of the high-rise it’s in. It’s almost not enough room for us—books overflow in the hallways, which I find kind of amazing .

I’ve done so much reading since working here, learning more about our products, our brand. Curled up in my bed under the covers, delving into the books we publish. It helps me feel more a part of the company .

I go back to my desk and work more on the spreadsheets I promised to have on Bentley’s desk by the end of the day. He’s interested in my mathematical perspective. So I pour myself into the work and try to pretend I’m not filled with angst. Fortunately I’m able to sink my focus into it .

At least I’m in my zone, doing what I’m most comfortable with. Something I feel strong doing. Something I’m useful with--numbers. Numbers are consistent, they don’t change from one moment to the next, don’t disappoint you with unexpected outcomes .

Numbers I can handle .

The rest of the day passes by as I get the spreadsheet ready for presentation. Bentley has to present it to the investors tomorrow, and I know he’ll expect it to be perfect. I won’t fail to deliver. At the very least, he won’t be able to argue about my math .

By four o’clock, my stomach is in knots about the thought of seeing him. I’ve had so few rare glances of Bentley lately, that I feel removed from my job in a weird way. Almost like I’m not really here, working for him .

Which is awful, because after that night we had together, I wanted so much more. More of that sensual, wicked pleasure. More of the way he made me alive .

I print out the spreadsheet and knock on his door. I could have emailed it to him, but fuck it. I’m going to make him face me. I’m tired of pretending like nothing happened .

“Come in,” he says in that usual rumbling tone, and I open the door .

My stomach is a mass of butterflies. I step in like everything is normal and hand him the spreadsheet. “Here it is.” But instead of leaving, I just stand there, waiting for him to read it over .

He raises a brow but doesn’t say anything, his eyes barely glancing my way. Scours the document with his ever-ready pen present. He makes a few notations on the document. “Here,” he says, thrusting it back at me .

I take the paper from him but don’t move. Instead I just stare at him .

Moments pass in silence until he finally looks at me. “Yes?” he finally says .

“What is going on?” I blurt out .

To his credit, his face doesn’t change. He just keeps that placid expression. He must be a hell of a poker player. “What do you mean?” he says coolly .

I can’t help it. My cheeks burn with frustration. It’s hard enough that I’m having to act like nothing happened. Even more when he tries to fake it too. “You know what I mean. Your behavior is different with me. Since…” I swallow. “Since that night,” I finish delicately .

Bentley draws in a slow breath, then exhales. Only his chest moves. “I changed .”

I blink. “What does that mean ?”

“What happened between us…it was a one-time thing and it could never be more,” he says .

I roll his words around in my head. So, it was just a one-off, is what he’s saying. He never intended anything else. I don’t know what to make of this. Was I a fool for thinking that maybe his desire extended beyond that ?

“Why?” I demand. I don’t know if it’s pride making me ask it, or if I’m pushing aside my pride to ask. But I need answers, and he’s the only one who can give them to me .

Bentley’s gaze drifts over my shoulder. His face grows hard. “Because my needs are far too complicated for someone like you. We’re better off just being professional. I shouldn’t have done that in the first place .”

“You mean take my virginity,” I state .

The words echo between us in a long stretch of silence .

To his credit, he finally looks over at me, emotion in his eyes. “You don’t understand. You could never understand .”

“Of course I don’t,” I counter. “What is it you think you want, and why are you so sure I can’t provide it?” I pause, remembering how it felt to be perched on his desk, mere feet from where I am now. Him thrusting inside me. “I’m fairly certain you…” I make myself continue. “You enjoyed the way I provided for you .”

His nostrils flare, and I’m certain I’m starting to break through his hard shell. “You have no idea what someone like me wants .”

“So tell me,” I demand. “Because you can’t get what you want if you don’t speak up .”

“I need to control you,” he finally blurts out. His words are clipped. “I need to control you, do things that are well beyond what I’ve shown you so far.” He stands and looks at me, his eyes hard, hungry. “I’ve kept myself in check as best as I can, but there’s only so much I can fucking do. I’m not capable of having a regular, typical romance, Samantha. If we were to continue, you’d need to give yourself over to my every whim.” His voice drops but he never looks away. “Give yourself to my every desire and command. You’d have to be willing to take punishment when I’m displeased with your efforts, as well as accepts the rewards I’d dole out at my discretion .”

His words shock me. Shock and arouse me. I don’t know what to make of this. I’ve never had someone speak this way to me before, tell me such intense things. Could he really want all of that with me ?

I’m so confused. Conflicted. My emotions are rioting in my chest. On the one hand, I know this relationship would be headed for disaster should we decide to pursue it. It cannot possibly end well. Bentley is my boss. He’s rich, older, emotionally unavailable. And apparently he has some kinky sexual tastes I don’t fully understand yet. For me to get involved with a man like him would be to repeat history, only to do it in even worse circumstances .

Having a sexual relationship with him would be like admitting total defeat—that I learned nothing after the interlude with Dr. Archer. From my past mistakes. It would prove that I’m reckless, a loser, a total joke…and if my parents ever found out, they would be destroyed .

They’d never believe in me again .

And yet …

I want him so badly .

I want this man. More than I fear failure .

So I’m faced with a decision. Walk away, or step up to the plate .

“I’ll do it,” I find myself saying. My heart is in my throat, but I continue. “I’m willing to play by your rules .”

Bentley grows quiet, just eyeing me. Like he isn’t sure what to think of what I just said. Does he believe me ?

I want him to. But I’m also finding a backbone in me, one that says I have to be strong. This man requires more than someone who is docile. I can sense that about him. He doesn’t want that submissiveness just weakly given .

No, he needs it from someone who makes him take it .

The thought of him taking that from me makes me get instantly wet. Him walking up to me, gripping me, forcing me to kneel to him .

A part of me would want to give that to him .

But an even bigger part wants him to take it from me .

Bentley gets up from his desk and walks around to stand in front of me. We’re inches apart, his eyes peering down into mine relentlessly. I can feel the heat pouring from his body. “Do you know what you’re offering to me ?”

I don’t back down. I don’t know why, but I need this. With him. He makes me feel something I’ve never felt before, and I crave the chance to explore it. Logic be damned. “I’m offering you all of myself. To do everything you ask. But are you going to run away again?” I challenge .

The chuckle he gives is so dark, it sends goose bumps skittering across my flesh. “Just remember, Doll, that you were told. You can never say I didn’t warn you about me .”