I spent all of Sunday afternoon crying, and now it’s Monday, Valentine’s Day, and I’m alone with very unwelcome images popping into my head every few minutes. The obnoxious Lark with the cute rosebud nipples. The beautiful Callie. I’m sure Lark used to be his sub. And now they’re best friends, having a laugh at the conveyer belt of innocent girls who throw themselves at him, begging to be corrupted. I used to believe he was amazingly perceptive, correctly guessing that I had a kink I wasn’t aware of. But I’m coming to think he tries that line on every girl You need a man whose breath in your ear is enough to make you yield all control. That all women take one look at those molten caramel eyes and fall to their knees, ready to do his bidding. It was pure chance that he happened to be right about me. And when he’s not having nasty sex, he’s going on vacation with movie stars. Because, of course, he has a regular girlfriend. Probably a long-distance relationship, which explains why he’s away so much. Guys as hot as Adler don’t end up with girls like me. They marry girls who look like Callie.

I can’t do this anymore. It’s tearing me apart, and it’s not me. I don’t do relationship angst; I never have. I hate feeling nervous and on edge. I’ve never understood girls who sacrifice themselves to the whims of guys in the misguided hope that it’ll make the guys love them. But that was exactly what I did Saturday. The recollection knots in my stomach until I want to be sick. But it wasn’t your fault, another part of my brain tells me. It was his. You’d never played in public before, so of course you felt pressured. He should’ve taken better care of you.

Hugo isn’t doing anything tonight, and I badly want to call him up and invite him for a beer. But I suspect I’ll end up doing something I regret. Instead, I drink wine and watch movies. I’m not even a fan of V-day. Hugo and I never made a big deal of it when we were together. But today it’s a bitter reminder that the man I’ve fallen for will never be my boyfriend. Being with Adler was like being shown the most beautiful, incredible thing in the world, and just as I reach out to take it, a barrier comes crashing down in front of me, telling me It’s not for you.

I’m done here. I need to go back to when boyfriends were friends and I could ask them anything. I’ve got to take this for what it was, a great experience, and just let go.

I’m dozing in front of Netflix when I get a message alert. My heart jumps pathetically as I open it.

How are you? I hope the bruises I gave you are healing well. Things are hectic here. I’ll write more soon, Adler xx

I throw the phone down on the bed. What kind of pointless message is that? How are you? It doesn’t even deserve a reply. I delete the text, then I delete him as a contact.

* * *

It turns out to be a shitty week. We fail to win a pitch that Jeremy said was in the bag, and I get the sense that he blames me for it. I was pushing him to go with an idea I had, and it looks like it cost us the account. When I arrive on Tuesday, I see him heading into a meeting with Ellen, one of the other execs, and my stomach turns over. He’s cast me off, just like that. Now I’m no longer working with him, I end up being given a lot of crappy little jobs, and no-one seems to be happy with my work or how fast I’m doing it. By Wednesday evening I’m virtually in tears as I leave the office. Pretty ironic, really—I’ve ended up with a dominant, uncompromising man at the center of both my personal and professional life, and it sucks ass. Not that Adler has ever been as ruthless toward me as Jeremy though. No, he’s generally been very kind and considerate when he hasn’t been dominating me. Which is even worse, because it’s left my heart wide open to being torn apart.

Adler messages me during the evening, asking how my week’s going, detailing how much he misses my body. I can’t bring myself to reply. I know it’s wrong. I’ve never been that person who avoids messages and creates unnecessary complications. But I just can’t do it. I want to cut off all thoughts of him.

Monica calls me late in the evening, and I finally give in to the tears that I’ve been trying to hold back.

“Oh, Rea! I hate to hear you like this. This isn’t the girl I know. What’s that town done to you?” she says as I tell her everything.

“I know. And that’s what I hate the most. I’ve managed to have healthy relationships this whole time. And then I try something I have a lot of misgivings about, and it fucks me up.”

“Come home this weekend. I can swap my shifts, and we can spend the whole time together.”

“Yes, I will. Thank you, Mon,” I snuffle.

* * *

Things don’t improve in the office on Thursday or Friday. Jeremy has pointedly ignored me on several occasions. Very cautiously, I ask one of the junior copywriters about him while bumming a cigarette out in the alley.

“Yeah, he gets very precious about things. He’s an insane perfectionist, and if anything goes wrong, his brain literally malfunctions. Sit tight. He’ll be fine in a couple of weeks,” he says. I guess I should be reassured by this, but I’m not.

I leave at five p.m. on Friday, pick up a hire car, and drive home. When I start to see the signs for Springfield, my heart lifts. I go straight to Monica’s. I haven’t told my family I’m back because I don’t want to get roped into all kinds of stuff, deal with all the questions and noise and constant chaos. As much as I love my parents and Cara and the boys, I need sanity and time to reflect right now. Monica greets me at the door with a big hug, and the world immediately feels a little better.

“Tonight we’re going to stay home and get pizza and drink wine and talk lots,” she informs me.

“I love you, Mon.”

“I love you too, honey. And I promise, by the end of the weekend, we’re going to have you back to normal again.”

She’s the best. The best friend a girl could have. And I love her no-nonsense style. We grew up together, supporting each other, endlessly teasing each other, and it taught us not to whine when we had a problem, but to deal with it head-on. As I walk into Monica’s place, I’m shocked. I forgot how much space there was here. Her living room is at least twice the size of mine.

By the time we’ve finished eating pizza, we’ve agreed that I need to message Adler and tell him that I want to end our arrangement. Monica helps me with it.

I’m sorry that I didn’t reply to your messages this week. The truth is that the ball made me realize that I can’t continue seeing you, and that hasn’t been an easy thing for me to acknowledge. I’ve enjoyed our time together a lot, and it’s been an important journey for me. However, this lifestyle isn’t what I want for myself in the long term. I’m more conventional than you, Adler, and I do want to have a regular boyfriend. I think you’re a great guy, and you’ve often surprised me with your kindness and generosity—which is far more than I would have expected from our arrangement. I wish you all the best for the future. Reagan.

My fingers are shaking as I hit send. This is it. I’ll never see that beautiful man again. Never hear him call my name, take possession of my body. It hurts. But I know it hurts less than the alternative—which is that he’ll break my heart a little more every time I see him.

“You’ll be fine, girl,” Monica says, squeezing my shoulders. “Let’s get you signed up to some dating apps, and you’ll have a boyfriend before you know it.”

“I’m not ready,” I protest. “I know what I felt for him wasn’t real love, but it was so intense I need some time to get over it.”

“Of course, you do. But there’s no reason to get lonely either. Go have some fun. Or you’ll spend those evenings that you used to be with him moping by yourself.”

In the following days, we go to all our old, favorite places. I feel complete in a way that I haven’t for a long time.

“There’s a job going at the food co-op for an advertising director,” Monica says casually on Saturday afternoon. “I’ve seen the spec. Seems like it’s very hands-on, and you’d have the freedom to do whatever you wanted pretty much.”

“Is that so?” I reply, stirring my cappuccino.

“Why don’t you come home, Rea? All your friends are here. There are some great guys around here. You won’t have to work for some asshole corporation. You’ll get to do what you love without being judged all the time.”

I get a little jolt in my stomach. Could I do this? Right now, it feels like heaven.

“And don’t go thinking that it’d make you a failure. You’ve tried big-city life and figured out it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Come back and be happy.”

“I don’t know. I’m sure I’m too junior for a job like that.”

“Rea, are you kidding? This is the co-op. They’re totally non-hierarchical. If you show them your work and your qualifications, they’ll jump at the chance to employ you.”

Okay,” I say slowly. “Maybe you could pass on my résumé and see what they think about it.”

Monica claps her hands together. “Consider it done.” Then she pinches my cheeks. “I’d so love to have you back home again!”

When I leave on Sunday afternoon, I feel soft and a little drowsy from the comfort of the past two days. There’s a lurch of sadness as I hug Monica goodbye.

“Look after yourself. And I hope to see you very soon,” she says.

When I think of home, I always imagine it in the coziness of the early evening, I think, as I get back on the highway. Shopping in stores where everyone knows you, planning a fun evening with close friends. Happy times stretching ahead.

Adler didn’t reply to my message. He took me at my word and didn’t want to try to change my mind. Good. I block his number, aware that there’s still a tiny part of me waiting for a message, and I want this to be the end of it.

* * *

During the week, I catch up with Hugo twice. He’s still dating his workmate, and the tension between us has gone. I’m very relieved and glad we can be friends now. We have beers on Tuesday and go see a gig on Thursday.

Work is a little better. One of the other directors has given me some work, and I’m busy again. But my heart’s not really in it. I keep thinking of the job at the co-op, wondering if I’ll be happy in the long term. I’m starting to feel like I would. Monica calls, saying they want to meet me next week. Excitedly, I book Monday off work and decide to go back to Springfield on Saturday.

On Friday, I have to stay late at work, and it’s almost seven p.m. by the time I leave. All I want to do is go home, take a bath, and have an early night. I’m not paying much attention to my surroundings, and the BMW parked outside the office building barely registers. But suddenly Adler is emerging from the driver’s side door then striding toward me. The world tilts on its axis.

“Reagan! Are you okay? I’ve been trying to call you, but your phone keeps going to voicemail.” He stops two feet in front of me and there’s something new in his eyes—something anxious and pained.

“Adler.” I run a hand across my forehead. “What are you doing here? Did you not get the message I sent you?”

“Yes, I did. And I called as soon as I could.”

“But-but why?” I’m tired and startled and confused all at once.

“We need to talk—”

“I said all I had to say in the message. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve had a lot of fun with you, but it’s been getting harder and harder to deal with—” My voice catches, and I break off. I don’t want to tell Adler that I have feelings for him, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that yet another sub has fallen for him. He reaches for my hand, and I pull it away reflexively.

“Reagan, please.” He looks more gorgeous than ever, but I can’t stand the sight of him.

I bite down on my tongue to stop myself from bursting into tears. “Adler, just let me alone. Go find yourself another sub.” I turn around and start walking fast in the direction of the metro.

I don’t hear any steps behind me, and I’m glad. But a minute later, he’s streaking past me, coat flying behind him. He lands in front of me, but I keep walking, so he’s forced to walk backward. “I don’t want another sub.”

My pace slows. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

He stops dead, and I walk smack-bang into him. His arms go around my waist to stop me from falling. Those big, strong hands that have both caressed and hurt me so many times. His face is working, as if he’s wrestling with a difficult thought. “I want to be with you.”

“What?”

“I said I want to have a relationship with you.”

I shake my head from side to side. “Is this some game? Are you trying to get me to continue being your sub because no one has refused you before? You said you don’t do relationships.”

“It’s not a game. And yes, I didn’t do relationships. I never have.” He hesitates, as if he’s afraid of what he’s about to say. “But I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” His eyes are vulnerable, and his smooth manner and unshakable confidence are gone.

“I don’t understand—what do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve fallen for you, Reagan.”

My mouth opens and closes several times. “Fallen for me when? Last time I saw you, you were the same as ever. Except you hit me like you hated me. And you’ve just been away for two weeks without telling me where you were. I’m sorry, but I’m not seeing it, Adler.”

That look I saw before at the ball, where his face kind of crumpled, is back, but this time it stays fixed to his face. He sighs, blowing out a long curl of condensed air. “I don’t blame you at all. I know this probably seems crazy and inconsistent. But I’ve got a lot to explain, and I hope that when I do, things will make a lot more sense. Will you give me a chance to speak to you?”

I raise my hands and drop them again while conflicting thoughts push me in different directions. It was so hard to turn my back on him that a big part of me doesn’t want to go back, doesn’t want to risk opening myself even the tiniest bit to him.

“Please. I know you must be tired from work. But come for a drink. I think at the least, you’ll feel better if I explain. And then if you still don’t want to have anything to do with me, I’ll respect that.”

I think it’s the change in him that sways me. He hardly seems like the same person as the cock-sure guy who stepped into my life at the Sexpo and talked me into becoming his submissive. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go have a beer.”

He breaks into a dazzling grin, and we walk back to his car.

During the journey, he reaches for my hand. I don’t pull away, but I don’t grasp his fingers either.

“I’ve missed you a lot,” he tells me.

“You have?” I mumble, aware that I’m acting like a robot, but I think I might be in shock.

“So much. I couldn’t stop thinking about you these past weeks.”

Instead of replying, I gaze out of the window as we pass through the bright lights of the downtown area, at the bars that are filling up with the post-work crowd.

“I know I’ve probably freaked you out a little,” he probes.

I turn my head back to him and take in his perfect profile. “That’s an understatement,” I say.

Soon, we pull up outside The Black Heart and head down the narrow metal staircase. We sit at the same table as before. Again, I’m struck by how different he is. He looks almost anguished.

“For the past two weeks I’ve been with my sister,” he begins in a halting tone once we’ve ordered beers. “She’s been going through a very rough time. She recently lost her six-month-old baby to sudden infant death syndrome, and her husband has left her, too. It tore them apart.”

“Wow. I’m so sorry.”

“Callie is a great person, so full of life, and it’s been so hard to see her like this.” Callie. The beautiful girl with the chestnut hair not so different from his own. Of course she’s his sister.

“Callie and I went on a road trip from California to Georgia. It’s something we’ve always wanted to do since we were kids. I think it did her some good, and I was very happy that I got to spend time with her. We talked a lot on the road, and I think it brought us closer together again.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say, and he throws me a look of gratitude.

“But I missed you a lot. I missed your smell, your touch. Your snarky comments and your jokes. I missed the way you really laugh when I say something funny. Every beautiful thing I saw on the trip, I wished you were there to see it, too. But I was too chickenshit to tell you. And that’s why I sent you a lame message saying that I missed your body. Which I did, of course. But I really missed you. The whole of you.”

I’m desperate to cut in, ask questions, but I sense that I need to give him time. He’s getting through his beer fast, and I figure he’s not used to discussing his emotions.

“I mentioned you to Callie, more than once, and she gave me one of her ‘I’m ready to talk when you are’ looks. Which is when I realised you’re the first girl I’ve ever talked about. Then I got your message, and your words destroyed me. I wanted to fly back right away. If I’d been with anyone other than my sister, I would have. She’s the most precious person to me in the world, aside from you.

“Since then I’ve been in a mess. My no-relationship rule has done me well over the years. But I haven’t met anyone who’s seriously tested it. You’re different. Before we even had sex, when we were sitting right here in the bar, I felt like there was something unique about you. I hoped I’d get to see enough of it by playing with you, exploring your desires. But then at the ball—” He stops.

“No, that’s not it. I’m not being totally honest, with either you or myself. Long before the ball, I realized that I was falling for you. And it made me deeply uncomfortable. I didn’t want to acknowledge it to myself. So the more I felt for you, the more harshly I dominated you. I thought I’d be able to keep my feelings in check. But the ball was where things came to a head. I thought you’d disappeared with some other guys, and I totally lost it. I felt something that I’d never experienced in my adult life before. I wanted you all to myself. And that scared the hell out of me. As much as it shames me to admit it, I think I created the scene to punish you for being so perfect, to make you hate me. I’m very sorry for the way I treated you. I whipped you way too hard. I hit you in anger, and I’d promised myself I’d never do that. But please believe me, Reagan. I watched for your signal before every single stroke. I wouldn’t have hit you without your permission.”

My lips purse as the events of the ball rush through my mind again, and there’s still a filament of anger glowing deep inside me. “So tying Lark up was also a way to distance me?”

He blinks as if that was the last thing he expected me to say. “No. Not at all. Why—?”

“Adler, she’s crazy about you. I know she used to be your sub.”

His forehead furrows. “No. Not at all. Lark and I have never been any more than friends.”

I roll my eyes. “So when I was recovering from you beating the hell out of me, she came over to tell me you always get bored of your subs.”

His face darkens. “She said what?”

“Yup. She was trying to hurt me.”

His eyes are full of confusion. “She’s with someone else. Happily.”

“I don’t think you understand the effect you have on women.”

“I’m very sorry if she upset you and for tying her up. And most of all, I’m sorry for hitting you too hard. I hated having to leave you the next day, when all I wanted was to hold you in my arms and make it better.”

The server comes to ask if we want another beer, and there’s a welcome intermission while we order.

“What I don’t understand—most of all—is why you’d deny your feelings for me,” I say slowly. “So you didn’t do relationships, but then you meet someone who makes you feel differently. Surely that’s a reason for happiness?”

He sips his beer, avoids looking at me. “I’ve always thought I was fundamentally screwed up. I got involved in BDSM a few years ago, and I told myself that was enough for me. Having play partners would satisfy all my needs. And working a lot meant I didn’t have time to get lonely.”

“But why? Why? I’ve met screwed-up people before. And you don’t seem anything like that. You’re a very cool, very personable guy. What is it?” He stares at me for a long moment, and I feel like there’s an avalanche coming.

“My parents aren’t real parents. I haven’t seen my dad for ten years, and I meet my mom very occasionally for coffee when she’s in town. I barely know either of them, and I’ve never called them mom and dad. They’re very successful in their fields, but they weren’t interested in looking after their kids. Callie and I got sent off to live with this person or that person. Distant relatives and friends of friends. During the road trip, we figured out that I only lived with them for a total of four years of my life, and Callie, less than two. My grandma was the one person who truly loved us, but she had a chronic illness, and she couldn’t take care of us full-time. And then we got dumped in a super-strict religious boarding school in Switzerland that we both hated. Callie ended up with anxiety issues that she’s still dealing with, while I—” He breaks off, looks around the room.

“You misbehaved.”

“Yup. I was very wild and disobedient. But the school was run by monks, and they believed in corporal punishment, so I used to get beaten. A lot.”

“And that’s where the BDSM thing started?”

He smirks. “Doesn’t take a psychiatrist to figure it out, does it? My first sexual fantasies involved making someone else suffer in exactly the same way that I suffered. And then there was one monk who liked me. I mean, liked me liked me. He was always inventing reasons to discipline me. But I knew what he really wanted. Then one night he dragged me out of bed on some pretext and tried to take advantage of me in his office. At that point I was getting big. I was playing rugby a lot, packing on a lot of muscle. I think he underestimated how quickly I’d shot up. He wound up with a broken nose and arm, and I got expelled.

“After that my grandma intervened and Callie and I finished high school in New England. The kids thought I was cool because I’d been to school in Europe, and I fitted in there. It was almost like Switzerland had never happened.” He spins his glass around on the table. “I think—no, I know—it’s given me a lot of trust issues. When I left high school, I made a conscious decision to turn my heart into a fortress so no-one could hurt me again.”

There’s so much pain in his eyes that I can hardly stand it. I long to take his face in my hands and kiss it away. “This all makes perfect sense,” I say gently. “First your parents abandoned you, and then you got abused at school. You must have felt like there was no safe place in the world. I’m surprised you don’t have much worse issues.”

He shrugs. “My adult life has been happy. Socially, work-wise, sex-wise. But I’ve never trusted anyone, except for my grandma and Callie. No-one ever touched my heart. I’ve never been in love, never said I love you to anyone.” He, pauses, stares down into his beer, then lifts his eyes to mine with an effort, like someone preparing to have their photo taken in bright sunlight. “Until now.”

I swallow hard. I feel on edge, almost nervous, my pulse beating fast, and adrenaline prickling in my stomach. “So you’re telling me you want to go on having this BDSM relationship with me because you love me?”

He reaches across the table and clasps my hand. “No. If there’s one thing that my sister’s tragedy has taught me, it’s that life is short. Her husband left her for the dumbest reasons. And I’ve realized that I can’t keep clinging to my rules while you slip through my fingers. I’m telling you I want to be your boyfriend. I want to go on weekend trips with you, snuggle on the sofa, go to the movies, go out for dinner, meet your friends.”

“But…what about your need for kink? What if you get bored and decide you need somebody new?”

He shakes his head, almost sadly. “I’ve never been the kind of guy who’s always running after someone new. Most of my previous liaisons have ended because of a mismatch in expectations and—”

“You mean, the girl fell for you and you didn’t reciprocate?”

An embarrassed smile flickers at the edges of his lips. “I’m just saying I hope you reciprocate.”

My heart pounds as he leans forward to kiss me. But I pull back at the last moment. The deep breath I take is ragged, my throat constricted. “I do, Adler. But I can’t have this twenty-four-seven dom-sub relationship. It’s fun as a game. A lot of fun. But I’ve always had relationships that are equal, and I don’t want my boyfriend to be in control of me. I mean, it even feels weird talking to you like this now. I feel like we’re out of character, and I shouldn’t be speaking so openly.”

“Reagan, I haven’t been in control of you.”

I give a burst of laughter. “That’s not how it’s seemed from my end, at all.”

He gives me a long look, his eyes burning with intensity. “You’ve got to understand that the secret of BDSM is that the submissive is the one with all the power.”

I frown. “How do you mean?”

“They’re the ones who absorb all the energy, who make the dominants work endlessly to satisfy them.”

I swallow hard. “I don’t get it. The whole time we’ve been having sex, I’ve been obeying your every demand because I knew I didn’t have a choice.”

“But did you like it?”

A flood of recollections rushes through my mind, and my clit jolts. “I loved it. I loved not having to make any decisions.”

“Exactly. Everything was done for you. Every scene was set up to give you maximum enjoyment. I studied you carefully to figure out what your kinks were, what would speak to your deepest needs. From the first time I undressed you and observed how uncomfortable, but aroused, you were at being naked in front of a stranger, I figured out you had exhibitionist tendencies. From the moment I shaved you, I figured out you’d enjoy playing a lot with anal sex. I learned you liked to respond to orders, rather than being physically forced. That you preferred discipline to pain. Discovering each of these things was beautiful and precious to me, and every day I fell in love with you a little more. You probably think you’ve been my slave the whole time, but you’ve actually been a princess, with your every need and whim attended to.”

My face heats up, and I look down at the table. Is this true? Did I really have all the power that whole time?

“Think about it. Were any of your needs not met by me? Did you ever have to use the safe word?” I shake my head. No. He never pushed me beyond my tolerance. Except at the ball.

“The truth is I’d happily spend the rest of my days having missionary sex with you. I just wanted you to be happy and fulfilled.”

I allow myself a small smile. “And how about you? Was it all hard work for you?”

“Of course not. A lot of our preferences coincide. But more than that, it was an exciting journey to take with you, and a delight to see how much pleasure you got. The first time I spanked you was a revelation. I could tell that a whole new world had been opened up to you.”

“You’re right.”

“When I first saw you at the Sexpo, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I watched you for a while. The way you were looking at things, questioning them. The intelligence shining in your eyes. That fierce independence. It was so heady.”

There’s a little tingle in my stomach. “So tell me, was that a line you give all the girls?” I demand.

He looks surprised. “Not at all. I could tell there was something missing in your heart. That you hadn’t been sexually fulfilled as you deserved to be.”

He reaches for my hand, and this time I curl my fingers around his lightly. “And that was just the beginning. Every time I saw you, I discovered new, amazing things about you.”

“Such as?”

To my total surprise, his eyes become a little dreamy and unfocused. “You have all these different qualities that fit so harmoniously with each other. You’re so smart and feisty, and you played soccer, you’re creative, you’re beautiful and vulnerable and kind-hearted, but you don’t take any shit. I’ve never met anyone like that before.”

I shrug, fighting off a wave of embarrassment. “I’m just a small-town girl. The girl next door.”

He grins. “That’s the last thing you are. You’re unique.” His fingers close tight around mine. “Reagan, all I want is to be with you. Will you give me a chance?”

“And the BDSM?” I say.

“If you want to keep playing kinky games, so do I, but it stays in the bedroom. We can work out whatever rules you’re comfortable with. Apart from that, we’ll be equals.” My heart’s beating hard and my stomach’s full of butterflies. “Yes, I’ll give you a chance, Adler,” I say slowly.

His lips part in a radiant grin, and he leans over and I melt into a kiss that leaves me tingling all over.