He smiles at me, that mega-watt beautiful smile that had me on the first date.

I have no idea why he summoned me here, but I’m done with sitting in the corner and waiting for Quinn to decide what we’re going to do, or allowing his mood to dictate my life. Rody dropped me off at a bar and put me in the hands of a man who was happy to supply me with alcohol. It seems that was the perfect situation to get under Quinn’s skin.

I stifle another chuckle as I think of his face when he found me at the bar with Marcus. The romantic side of me, the one that has blasted to the forefront of my brain with every sip of Bellini, is enjoying the respite and indulging in this version of a date. Although I can see that Quinn is less than impressed.  

“So, how was your day?” I prompt, serious about making this an actual date.

“Complicated.”

“Complicated good, or complicated bad?”

“A little of both. More of the good, perhaps.” He shows me that smile again, and I struggle to stop my stomach flipping over at how good he looks. And the more he smiles, the better. The man I first met is showing his face more and more frequently.

“Here you are.” A woman delivers two large mugs of coffee to the table and doesn’t hide the sexy grin she offers to Quinn. I shake my head at her lame attempt to win his attention, not that he appears to look.

“If you don’t want to talk about your day, how about you explain those dice?”

A frown creases his brow. The more he resists telling me, the more I want to know. As if it’s a secret puzzle piece to Quinn that will help unlock another part of him.

“What do you want to know?”

He’s stalling, but I’m not going to let that stop me. I pick up the bucket of black coffee and take a small sip, hoping my willingness to play along will encourage his loose tongue. The thought of loose tongues has me smiling before I’ve thought. I cough, trying to organise my inappropriate mind fog. “Why do you have them? What do they mean to you?”

He pulls them from his pocket, as if needing to check that they’re still there.

“Two steaks, with red wine and shallots.” Marcus interrupts us. I’d love to be annoyed at the intrusion just as I’m getting somewhere, but I can’t. I’m starving.

“Thank you, Marcus.” I give him a warm smile of thanks, but it seems as though my being friendly to any member of the opposite sex annoys Quinn. As I look at him, he’s staring daggers at Marcus, the v between his eyes deeper than ever. “You can stop looking like that. I was being polite. Marcus has been nothing more than a gentleman, which is more than I can say for you most of the time.” His sudden smirk is disarmingly sexy, killing any element of bite I had in my comment.

“If I’d known alcohol was the key to bringing you out of your shell, I would have plied you with the stuff earlier.”

I sink my fork into the succulent steak and begin to cut, shaking my head. “Well, it worked for you the first time, didn’t it?” I counter, before taking a mouthful.

“If you’re not careful, that’s exactly what will happen here. Gentleman be damned.”

“Not until I get to the bottom of those dice.” He halts his knife and fork for a beat before continuing. “I mean it, Quinn. You’ve opened up to me before. Is this so hard to do?”

“No, you’re the only fucking person I’ve talked to about any of this shit. It’s strange, considering talking to someone. It isn’t something I do.”

“There’s nothing strange about it. You just open your mouth and let the words fall free. You might feel better afterwards?” He looks confused, the meat hovering around his mouth before he bites into it and leans back in his chair.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I think you carry a burden around with you. Like a type of armour against the world you work in. I want to know more about the man beneath it.” I move my hand to cover his, and for a split second, he lets me. Our eyes meet and lock together. A chaos of thoughts and feelings mix in our eyes as we stare at each other, and I long for him to give me another little piece of him. “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

The last sentence causes a shift from our moment, his hand pulling away from mine before I can keep it there.

“Whatever burden you think I might carry is nothing to do with you,” he mutters, looking back to his food.

The silence continues for a while as we eat, making the air uncomfortable, and I hate the feeling. It makes me edgy again, fearful of what’s coming next. He was coming back to me, that man I first met, and now he’s gone and I don’t know how to reach him when he closes down on me like this.

My eating becomes more of a nibble, and I try to meet his eyes occasionally. He barely responds, certainly not with conversation, but eventually a smile begins to creep across his features. It’s small, boyish even, making me smile in reply as I slice through my steak.

“You keep coming for me, don’t you?” I raise my bowed head, looking at him from beneath my lashes. “Ballsy, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m just trying to understand you,” I reply, looking back at my vegetables and smirking at some kind of near breakthrough.

“Why?”

“Because we’re—” His knife and fork clatter to the plate suddenly, almost making me jump out of my skin. He smirks.

“I prefer jumpy. It suits you.”

I smile at that, for some reason happy with the thought as I close my own cutlery and lean back on the chair.

“I’d say you enjoy both, Quinn.”

He pulls in a long breath and stares, his eyes never flickering away from me. They’re the type of eyes that would have made me look away before. I still might sometimes, but not at this moment. We need this. I need this. I need it to make sense of the feelings forming in my heart and what I’m starting to think of as us.

“Sometimes it wasn’t easy,” he says.

“What?”

He chuckles, his smile widening. “You ever done anything wrong?”

I frown a little, not understanding the question.

“No, I don’t suppose you have, have you? Never hurt someone. Never had a run-in with the law. Never had to beat a man to get information out of him. Torture him.”

My eyes glance around, worried someone can hear him. He snorts, dismissing my concerns as irrelevant. “You think you’re not surrounded by men who’ve done worse?” I shake my head, suddenly understanding what he’s saying as I glance again at the people around us. “None of us are born this way, Emily. We’re made. Formed.”

I nod and blow out a breath, waiting for more and trying to hold my head up regardless of the topic. Any snippet of information, good or bad, is a way of getting inside his head. It’s about him opening up and letting me in.

“It wasn’t easy at first. Some things were harder to do. The dice helped me choose. Still do.”

“So the numbers…”

“Not the numbers, the fall of fate.”

“You’re saying that you...” I stall my mouth, barely able to get the words about murder and torture out. “That you do what you do based on a pair of dice because you can’t make a decision on right and wrong?” He snarls and drops his eyes, shaking his head.

“Right or wrong for whom, Emily?”

“For humanity.”

He smiles at me so broadly my insides flutter, hardly able to contain my infatuation with his handsome features.

“And there are those innocent eyes again. Cute.”

The condescension in his tone makes me glare, unable to stop his comment making me feel belittled in this room. It’s not like I grew up in this like he did. I don’t know how it all works, or why. It’s all horrific as far as I can tell.

“Calm your ass down,” he says, still smiling at me. “I’m just saying that my sense of humanity is my family alone, nothing more. Threatening them, or me, is like taking a chance with fate, Emily.” He gets the pair of dice out of his pocket again and lays them in the middle of the table, a pair of sixes upwards. “I guess it all became like gambling to me. Serious threats are easy to deal with at the table. Someone pulls a gun, you pull one back and defend yourself, but the minor ones, the ones you have to make decisions about, guard against future threats based on? They’re harder to determine.”

I don’t understand, but then I’m no gambler. A point proved by my useless attempt in his casino. I frown and cross my arms, annoyed with my own naive view on the topic.

“Sometimes, I just had to let fate decide the right route forward. Give me a steer through my own indecision.” He shrugs his shoulders. “You want an answer, there it is.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You run what you do, and you do what you do, based on fate?”

“Not all the time,” he says, getting up. I follow his movements, willing the conversation to continue, while hoping he doesn’t give more than I can take. “If you’d been in my office two hours ago you’d understand that. I’m going to get another drink. Wait here.”

He walks across to the bar. The woman who delivered our coffee is only too happy to serve him immediately. She’s all fake boobs and inch-thick makeup. From here, it looks like she applied it with a trowel.

I stand and march over to join him. If he’s getting another drink, I want one, too.

“Hey, so, what are you ordering?” After the conversation we just had, I need to change the subject and move it to safer territory.

Quinn looks at me, his eyes drawing together at my question. “A shot. You’ve had enough already.”

“Really? Since when did you get to decide what and how much I get to drink?” I lean against the bar and wait for his answer.

“Be careful, Emily.”

“Oh, come on, Quinn. You brought me to a bar. I can have a drink.”

The woman behind the bar comes back with a glass filled with clear liquid and places it in front of Quinn. The look she gives me leaves no room for misinterpretation. Her nose scrunches up as she looks down at me.

“I’ll take that, thank you.” I swipe the glass before Quinn gets a chance to grab it and raise it to my lips, tipping my head back and downing the liquid. The alcohol burns down my throat, and my eyes start to water. I swallow down the choke that threatens to burst from my mouth.

My heart pounds in my chest as I turn to look at Quinn, the heat from the shot now burning through my body and filling me with confidence that I’ve never known. I tilt my head at Quinn and wait for his response, my stomach turning with nerves at what he might think of my bold move.

“Out.” Quinn turns to the woman. “Everyone out of the bar. Now.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, I’m not—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence. You will, and you’ll fucking do it now. Go get Marcus.” He stares her down, and she backs away, a quiver to her lip.

Not even a minute goes by as I stare into his eyes, some inner confidence spurring me on, before Marcus arrives at the side of him.

“Quinn?” he asks, a smile on his face as he turns to me.

“I want everyone out, and the bar secure in two minutes.”

Marcus nods and parts the crowds easily, somehow managing to begin clearing the room with little more than a few whispered words in people’s ears. Heels clatter and a few male voices grumble, their baritone echoing back to me as they leave, but before I know it I’m staring into a room alone with Quinn.

I back up against the bar as Quinn turns his predatory eyes to mine. The Dutch courage from the alcohol evaporates in an instant.

“What’s the matter, Em? You look a little nervous.” He lifts his brow, a playfulness about him while still being his usual dangerously alluring self.

“No. You’ve just proved that, like always, you get what you want.”

“And right now, I want you.”

My eyes flash around the room. “We’re… in a bar.”

“I don’t fucking care. I wanted your ass before I even got here. All your sass has made my dick even harder.”

I flush at his words, but inside I’m gleaming. It was a risk to act the way I have tonight—letting my guard down—but it seems we both benefit if we just act like two normal people who met under regular circumstances.

“I want to fuck you wearing only those boots.”

I look down at the boots he bought me that are a death trap to wear. He’s serious, though. He stands in front of me, and his fingers work to loosen his clothes. First his jacket, then his tie. Each layer is removed with precision and purpose.

After everything we’ve been through, there’s no hope of being able to pretend that I’m not affected by him. The intent in his eyes is crystal clear. His voice has dropped to that sexy baritone that dances across my skin.

I’m helpless to divert my eyes, and I keep them riveted to his slow striptease. He’s undone the buttons of his shirt revealing a glimpse of his chiselled chest. He’s a devastatingly handsome man who’s turned me into a crazed woman. My life was simple and solid before I met Quinn Cane. Now it’s anything but.

“Your turn, Em. And don’t pretend not to be turned on by me. I can see it in those eyes.”

I don’t flinch and summon my courage to do as I’m asked. I have less to remove than Quinn, and set about unzipping the pretty lace top and sliding the skirt over my hips.

“If you want the boots on, I can’t take off my tights.” I go for playful to mask my self-consciousness. I’m standing with my boobs on display, wearing barely a thing in a bar.

“A simple scrap of material won’t stop me getting at your cunt.” He walks to me, fists the material over my thigh and tears it. The tights disintegrate in his hands as he pulls the material from my skin. “Better. Now you look as dirty as I know you are.”

He seizes me, melding our lips together as his warm body presses against mine. His hands lock us together, but I don’t feel the need to run or fight. I sink into the growing anticipation of his touch, the inevitability is something I can’t deny.

Quinn cradles my head, controlling the depth of our kiss. He sets the pace, leading me down a lust-fuelled path that I want to explore. My eagerness surprises me. He’s made me more comfortable in my skin, forcing me to accept my body for what it is. I may not be model perfect, but what I have has captured Quinn.

He can’t keep his hands from my breasts, and he rubs his palm over my nipple, sending pulses to my clit.

“Never hide these from me,” he pants.

I nod, still in awe of my reaction to his handling.

His lips move south, travelling down my throat and along my collarbone. It tickles, and I can’t hide the little giggle that escapes. I give in to Quinn and let him have me. It’s the first date all over again. He takes command of me in a way that no one ever has, and it’s just what my body has craved all these years. He’s made me feel sexy and wanton, amongst other emotions.

“Feel how hard my dick is for you.” He moves my hand down between our bodies and I wrap my fingers around him through his trousers. “For you, Emily.” He groans, and his satisfaction spurs me on to be bolder. My fingers reach for his zip so I can grip him tighter, and he reacts in kind, biting down on my nipple, sending spasms of pleasure through my body.

“You like me rough, don’t you? Like me talking dirty?” His hands grip tighter, firing me up into a frenzy of need for him. “Fuck, I can’t get enough of your pussy. Bend over the bar. I’m not waiting for this.”

He releases me, and I angle myself, leaning against the bar, my bum in the air.”

“Those boots look fucking delicious. But that ass. Em, it’s mine. I’m going to take you, and soon. You’ll be begging for me.” My mind races, but he focuses my thoughts by running a finger through my wetness. I close my eyes, wishing I could keep hold of this feeling. My pulse quickens, and my skin flushes.

He slides his palms up and down my spine, warming my body further. It’s as if his touch calms a part of my psyche that he already owns. The palms press firmly into my flesh, and I moan in pleasure.

“You gonna shout for me? Take this dick and moan out my name?” I nod, knowing I will as he pushes my legs apart. They stretch wider, wanting to give him all the access he needs. Like this, open for him to use, the boots don’t bother me but enhance how naughty I feel. That and his dirty mouth and I’m ready to beg for anything.

He doesn’t hold back. The jangle of his belt reaches my ears before I feel the material of his trousers against my skin. His cock slides between my lips, plunging home before I’m ready. I wince at the intrusion, but his rhythm doesn’t let me draw breath. My body relaxes as his hands travel over the curves of my hips, anchoring me to him. Each jolt rocks me forward.

It builds a delicious pleasure inside my gut, and I long for it to burst free.

Suddenly, Quinn withdraws, confusing me as to his change of heart. But before I can protest, he’s pulling me to a nearby sofa and dragging me on top of his lap. He grabs my hip, pushing me into position and then lowers me down on his shaft, filling me completely.

“Now I can watch those innocent eyes as you come all over my cock.” He smiles before lifting my boob to his mouth. He sucks the nipple, making my pussy contract. My hips flex forward, grinding down on him. My clit screams for attention, and on shaky legs, I raise up a few inches and slam back down ensuring I give attention to all my hotspots.

“That’s my dirty girl.” Quinn lounges back, giving me free access to his chiselled stomach. I rest my hands on his shoulders and begin to move with more confidence.

Heat races through my body, the tightening of my muscles not far behind. Before Quinn, I didn’t know an orgasm could be so devastating. I rock faster and faster, chasing the bliss I know will come.

He holds my hips as my body’s movements grow wilder, keeping us together. Our eyes find one another and lock me in place. Every slide of passion registers in our eyes, displaying the true emotion behind the act as we chase the climax we both now crave.

“Yes, oh, God… Quinn.”

“Fuck me. Keep fucking me, Em.”

“Yes… oh…” My mouth gasps for air as my nerves explode, my climax ripping my body apart.

“Jesus, woman,” he snarls, pulling my mouth to his.

I can’t breathe, and our tongues duel as we both flood each other with orgasms. It’s furious and desperate, our bodies churning against each other, sweat dripping from our skin as we chase our sensations, until eventually it’s still and quiet again, calm.

I’m aware of Quinn, but can’t keep my body upright. I collapse onto his chest with a satisfaction I’ve only just learned about seeping through my heart.

We don’t move right away. I expect to be dismissed the moment Quinn has used me, but tonight feels… different. Like something has morphed, closer to that first night. I don’t feel like his dirty debt. Used, yes. But there’s something there that wasn’t before. Our invisible connection tying us closer maybe.

Of course, I must be suffering from some kind of mental breakdown. I’ve done things with Quinn no one in their sane mind would. How could I introduce him to my parents knowing he kept me in a basement for days tied to a chair and forced me to watch a gang rape?

He runs his mouth along the side of my neck, intensifying the sense of closeness and making me yearn for something that’s not real.

“You’re humming.”

“Am I? Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like it,” he muses. It breaks the moment, though, and I climb off of him, embarrassed that I have no control over myself. “I think we should get dressed.”

Emotion constricts my throat as I busy myself with finding the garments I happily removed for Quinn.  

He doesn’t respond but watches me as I walk to the bar, naked apart from the boots. His eyes are on me the entire time, the gentle hum from my senses telling me he’s still watching.

I pull the top back on, covering myself, and slip the skirt back over my hips. He stands and sets about doing his shirt up and I hand him his tie. He grabs my hand and pulls me into his chest. I burrow my head against him, suddenly overwhelmed from this evening. His arms reach around and hold me close as I feel the gentle press of his lips against my head.

Each day he grows more and more confusing than the last. I don’t recognise myself anymore. How can I with how I behave with him?

Do I prefer the softer side of him? The one I can justify my behaviour for. Or would I rather he be the monster I first saw, so I can claim my actions were in self-defence. A survival need. I shouldn’t even be here. I should still be trying to get away, running from this whole thing, and yet I’m here enjoying all this.

Once more, tears threaten my eyes. Is it right that I have feelings for Quinn? Are they true feelings, or a figment of my warped mind?

“Time to take you home, Em.”

His deep dark voice is now a comfort. He kisses my head one final time and winds his fingers between mine before moving to fetch his jacket.

He doesn’t let go of my hand as we make our way down to the car, and I cling to the meaning I hope is behind his small gesture.