It’s a gorgeous March day. The afternoon sun sparkles on the river. The trees are green, a few of them even starting to bud.

It’s truly a beautiful view.

None of that, however, compares to Jezebel.

We’re in my living room, and she’s at the window that opens onto the balcony and overlooks the scenic river view. But it’s the woman who truly takes my breath away.

She’s already taken off her boots, but now I want to do away with the rest of her clothing, and I step up behind her, determined to make that happen. “Close your eyes,” I say, and I’m gratified when she does. “Arms up.” Once again, she complies, and her willingness to trust me is as much of a turn-on as her soft skin and delicious scent.

I grab the hem of her shirt and pull it up over her head. She makes a little whimpering sound, but doesn’t object.

“Next the jeans,” I say, as I peel the bra off of her and toss it aside. “Take them off for me. Underwear, too.”

The windows are slightly tinted in defense against the sun, and at this time of day, there’s a bit of a reflection. She looks up, then meets my eyes in the glass. I wait for her to protest, but she says nothing. She just unbuttons her fly, then wriggles out of the jeans, her underwear slipping down with the denim.

Then she stands there, looking out at this wild section of Austin, her hands at her side, her legs slightly parted.

I’m standing behind her, but in the window, I can see that her nipples are tight, and she’s biting on her lower lip.

“This excites you,” I say, and when she nods, I exhale with relief. Because damned if it doesn’t turn me on, too.

“This is my favorite view,” I say. “Not the city. Not the trees. Not the river. But you standing in front of me, your skin glowing, your body reflected in the window. Because honestly, how could anything be more lovely?”

“Liar,” she says, her mouth curving into a smile. “Nice words, but they're a lie. How can this be your favorite if you’ve never seen it before?”

I step up behind her and cup her breasts, then slide one hand down between her thighs. She’s wet—so damn wet—and all I can think is mine.

“I’ve seen it before. Not specifically, but the idea of it. The idea of you. An innocent beauty standing right in front of me, naked and wanting me.” I move the hand on her breast up to her forehead so that I can bend her head backwards, elongating her neck. She draws in a shaky breath, but doesn’t move. “Tell me you want me.”

“Yes. So much.”

I release her, and she sighs, but stays like that, leaning backwards against me, so that I’m supporting her weight and she’s trusting me to keep her upright.

One of my hands is still between her legs, and I tease and stroke her until she’s writhing against me, hot and ready. “Take off your clothes,” she demands.

“Anything the lady wants,” I say, as I hurry to strip.

“Do you mean it?”

I tilt my head, wondering what she has in mind. “Try me.”

She slides into my arms, kicking away the last of my clothes, then captures me in a white hot kiss that both surprises and excites me. “Jez, baby,” I say, when I pull away, gasping for breath. But she’s not giving me a break. Her hand slides between our bodies and she strokes me, making me even harder than I could have imagined, and sending a wild heat coursing through me.

“Now,” I say. “Dammit, Jez, I need to be inside you now.”

“What floor are we on?” There’s a frantic note to her query.

“The twenty-seventh.”

“Can anyone see in?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“The window,” she begs. “Please, take me by the window.”

Hell, yes, I will.

“Hands on the glass,” I order. “Bend over.”

She does, and the view is so hot, I almost come right then. But I want to be inside her. I want to be with her. Her. Not just sex, but Jez. And as I move behind her—as I slide my cock deep inside her hot, wet, pussy—as I claim her once and for all—I can’t help but wonder what that means.

But right now, I’m too fired up too care. Too lost in passion. Too lost in the waves of pleasure rippling over me.

Most of all, I’m too lost in Jez.

And when she explodes in my arms—when she cries my name and shakes so hard her legs give out—I feel like the most powerful man on the earth.

We’ve sunk down to the carpet, and I rouse myself long enough to clean us up and get robes. Then I open the door and lead her onto the balcony, settling her on the oversized chaise lounge before I go back inside for two glasses of bourbon.

I’m tending her—and that’s a far cry from my usual routine.

But it feels right. Good, even.

And when she smiles up at me as I hand her a glass, it also feels remarkably like home.

“I love this,” she says, before I can think too hard about these errant, semi-domestic thoughts skittering through my mind. “Way up in the sky with a balcony. It’s like living in the city, but still getting away.”

“It is,” I say. “I’d like to have a house one day, but only if it has that getaway quality. And that would mean a pretty big yard. And I don’t have the time to deal with it.”

“You could hire someone.”

I shake my head. “Not the same. There’s something primal and personal about a yard. What?” I say, catching her look of surprise.

“It’s just that I’ve always felt that way. I want a garden, and I don’t have one for the same reasons. No time to deal with it and I don’t want someone else tending what’s mine.”

I nod, thinking how much we have in common, and how unexpected that is.

She sighs, and takes a sip of the bourbon. “This has been a great few days,” she says. “And to be honest, I haven’t had a lot of fun lately,” she says. “So thank you.”

“Because of the scandal?”

“Yeah. But even before that.”

I turn toward her, remembering our conversation last night. “You’re living a shadow life.”

She bristles. “I love my sister.”

“I’m not saying you don’t. But you need to live your own life. What happens when she’s ready to manage her own career?”

“This isn’t your problem.” Her words are sharp, and painfully true.

Painful because I want to help. I want to pull her into my arms, hold her close, and help her figure it all out.

And damned if I know where I made that left turn, but I did. And now I’m careening toward something with this woman that I don’t fully understand. All I know is that it feels right—and that I’m not ready to put on the brakes.

“It is my problem,” I tell her. “I don’t know why or how or if you’ll let me help. But dammit, Jez, you got under my skin. And I can’t walk away. Not now. Not without trying.”

Her lips press tight together and she holds her eyes wide, obviously fighting tears. But then she pushes out of the chair and hurries inside.

I give her a moment, then follow. She’s in the kitchen, the faucet running, her hands clutching the countertop.

“Hey.” I put my hand on her shoulder, resisting the urge to turn her around and pull her into my arms, even though that’s exactly where I want her to be. “Talk to me.”

“I’ve got this,” she says, more to the sink than to me. “I do,” she adds, turning to face me. “It’s just that sometimes I wish I could hand it all off to someone else. That I could just let go and back away. You know?”

“I do,” I say. I take her hand. “Come with me.”

She eyes me curiously, but she doesn’t protest when I lead her into my bedroom.

“I can’t help with Del,” I say. “At least not without some research and a few dozen phone calls. But about you handing it off to someone else … about that, I have a few ideas.”

I watch her face. The flicker of interest. The hint of nervousness. “What do you have in mind?” she finally asks.

“Do you trust me?”

“I—”

She hesitates, and in that moment of silence it feels like the ground has fallen out from under me. And fuck, I want to kick myself, because I should not have fallen this hard, this fast. I know better than that.

But what the hell, right? Because all that’s going on here is a multi-night stand. And in a few days, she’s heading back to LA, and I’ll hop back onto 2Nite, and my life will return to stasis.

In the meantime, I have Jez.

And when she nods and says, “Of course I trust you,” everything seems sane again.

“Sit on the bed,” I order, and when she complies, I go my dresser.

“What exactly are you doing?” Her voice is amused, but wary.

“Forcing you to give everything over to someone else. Close your eyes. Now,” I add, when she hesitates.

She narrows her eyes, but then she complies—and then yelps a little when I put a sleep mask on her, then tighten it to ensure she can’t peek.

“Pierce, I don’t—”

“Hush. You’re giving yourself over. You’re letting go. You’re putting me in charge. That’s the deal. And I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

She licks her lips, and I hold my breath, afraid she’s going to balk. But then she nods.

“Good. Now lay back and put your arms above your head, wrists together.” I’m certain she’s going to protest again, so I’m surprised when she complies without argument.

I get on the bed beside her, then bind her wrists with an old tie. The headboard has a shelf on it, and since I don’t have a better option, I unplug my alarm clock and thread the extension cord though the loop of the tie, effectively binding her wrists near the headboard.

“Pierce…”

“Yes, baby?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I guess I just wanted to know you’d answer.”

“Always. Now relax. Just breathe.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Sweetheart, I’m going to make you come.”

“Oh.”

I smile, seeing the way her body tightens just from the suggestion, and then I settle in to thoroughly explore this woman. I brush kisses over every inch of her. I oil my hands and massage her breasts. I suck on her tits. I kiss my way up her legs. And I tell her throughout all of it how absolutely fucking beautiful she is.

I lose myself in her pleasure. In watching the way her skin contracts at a touch. In judging the pattern of her breathing. I want to know everything, and I lose myself in the reality of Jezebel.

And only when she is writhing and whimpering, begging for my touch, do I gently slip my fingers between her legs, then hold her still when she tries to grind against me. “Oh, no. That’s for me to do,” I say, and then I make it my mission to take her to the absolute height of passion.

And since she actually screams when she comes, I think that I did a damn good job.

I hold her body as it shakes in the last throes of the orgasm, then very gently I take off the mask and untie her hands.

Immediately, she curls up against me, then sighs deeply. “That was incredible.”

“The orgasm or letting go?”

“That’s a trick question,” she says, opening her eyes. “I came so hard because I let go.”

“Listen to you,” I tease. “My star pupil.”

She reaches out to smack my chest, but I grab her hand and kiss it. “If you can do it in bed,” I say, “you can do it in life.”

“Have an earth shattering orgasm?”

“Surrender some control.”

I think I’ve proved my point, but she just shakes her head, then props herself up on one elbow. “You’re forgetting one thing. I trust you.”