Seeing the place Lysa lives last night up close made my fists clench. It’s a block-shaped apartment complex that looks more like a fucking prison than a place to call home. I want nothing more than to go up there right now, tell her to pack her bags, and take her home with me. I chuckle at myself though as I’m going up the stairs toward her apartment.

Listen to me. I know I’m probably coming on too strong. No, fuck probably. I’m coming on strong as hell, but it feels like the only speed I have when it comes to Lysa is “fast” and “faster.” I saw the way she looked at the collar the other day, like it was a snake, but one she was tempted to touch. I was an idiot for bringing it up so quickly, but I couldn’t help myself. No woman has ever gotten into my head this this powerfully. She’s the only thing I can seem to think about--taking her again, holding her, dominating her. I feel like I’m on the verge of losing my shit if I can’t just feel the warmth of her skin soon or the quiet sound of her voice.

I stand outside her door for a second while I double-check that I have everything I need. There’s a bag of clothes in my hand from a specialty shop downtown and another bag full of brand new jewelry. It’s strange, though. My business pursuits mean I have more money than I’ll ever be able to spend in a lifetime, way more, but I’ve never taken any kind of pleasure from spoiling a woman with it until now. Maybe I didn’t think any of them deserved it, or maybe I just thought they would be shallow enough to start craving it. The idea of giving the gifts to Lysa has my skin buzzing with an excited energy. I want her to have something nice. Something to feel sexy and desirable.

Seeing her standing in the lobby two months ago was like being struck by a fucking truck. There was no ignoring it, no forgetting it, and no focusing on anything else. There was my life before that moment and then everything from that moment onward. If I told Jayce about everything I’m feeling on the inside, I know he’d laugh his ass off at me.

I’ve tried distracting myself with work since she came back to keep some distance and give her time to adjust to all this. I’ve tried, and I’ve failed. I’m like a goddamn addict for her, and the only thing that feels right is when she’s by my side.

My muscles tense just thinking about her. Lysa isn’t like any of the women I ever met before her. I’ve met women who played at innocence, or women who were innocent but completely spineless. Lysa has everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything. She’s a rare mixture of self-confidence and shyness, of control and a willingness to submit. She may only see the weakness in herself, but even that draws me to her. I want to lift her up, to show her how much strength lies inside her just waiting to be released.

When I try to imagine what the next few days--hell, even the next few hours--will hold, I can’t figure it out. I have no fucking idea, and that gives me a thrill like I haven’t had in years.

I knock on the door, heart pounding. I grin at feeling myself so nervous, like some kid straight out of high school waiting to pick up a date for prom.

Lysa opens the door and I nearly fall back from the sight of her. Her hair is done up in a messy but elegant bun at the back with curled strands of chocolate brown swirling down to frame her delicate features. Those big, innocent brown eyes look up at me from behind a faint but well-placed slash of mascara. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and leggings, which for some reason has my blood pounding in my ears. Maybe it’s seeing her so done-up and gorgeous while her clothes are so understated. Whatever it is, it’s all I can do not to carry her through the apartment right now until I can find the bedroom.

“Hi,” she says. Her eyes wander over me, taking me in from my hair to my suit and then finally the bags in my hands.

“These are for you,” I say, letting myself into her apartment and closing the door behind me. “For tonight.”

She takes the bags and smiles unsurely before setting them on the table and reaching inside. She pulls out the dress I got her first. It looks like such a small thing, even as she holds it up to inspect the material and the cut. Her eyes dart to me questioningly. “I can see through this,” she says. I can tell from her tone she’s trying not to offend me, which is sweet, but I hope she realizes there’s nothing in this world that is going to stop me from seeing her sexy ass in that dress.

“Just slightly,” I concede. “But the club will be dark. And trust me, you’ll fit in more wearing that.”

“What kind of club is this where I’ll fit in wearing a see-through dress? Is it one of those BDSM clubs you talked about?”

“You’ll see,” I say with a grin.

She gives me an impatient look, but quickly wipes it from her face. She clearly tried to hit the reset switch after last night, judging by how reserved she’s being. Maybe it was something her friends said, or maybe showing her the collar just made her want to take a step back. Either way, her walls are up again, essentially, and I can hardly wait to get through them again.

“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “I mean, I really appreciate this, but it’s, I just don’t know.”

I move to her side, putting a hand on her slender shoulder and rubbing down her arm. I can’t help but breathe in the scent of her shampoo and her soap--flowery and sweet with just the faintest hint of the real smell of her beneath, the smell I remember so well from the night when I was fucking her into submission. My cock twitches with need, but I know it’s not the time. Not quite yet.

“You can trust me,” I say quietly. “I need you to trust me.” That’s what this is all about. I built some trust with her during our date. I probably even built more when I survived an encounter with her mom. But showing her the collar and explaining what I really want probably frightened her enough to take an emotional step back to re-evaluate things. She’s smart, then. I can’t even be upset with her for it.

She idly runs her fingers across the tabletop, breathing rapidly. “It’s not easy for me to trust.”

“Then just give me this much. Wear the dress. Wear the jewelry and the underwear,” I add a little under my breath, but I keep speaking before she has time to protest. “And if you want to leave the club at any point, we’ll leave. No questions asked. All I ask is that you at least step inside first.”

She turns to me with a slightly amused look on her face. “The underwear?”

I run a hand through my hair, feeling a grin pull at the corners of my lips. “The dress is a little bit see-through, so the panties and bra are part of the outfit.”

She snatches the bags up, giving me a dirty look that isn’t without some humor, and walks off to a room near the back. The bedroom, I figure. I have to stop myself from going after her. I know I could get her in that bed if I played my cards right, but I’m not just interested in getting her into bed one more time. I want her to be mine, completely and totally. I want her to call me Master and I want her to think about the ways I’ll bring her to screaming orgasms all day, so that when I finally have her to myself again she’ll practically be begging me for it. And for that, I need to prove to her that she can trust me. Completely.

I check out her place while she’s changing. When I came here last night I was too focused on anything but her and how pissed I was that she didn’t answer my calls to look around. Either way, I have to do something other than standing here and imagining how much I would enjoy following her into the bedroom and helping her out of her clothes.

She’s tidy, for the most part, but I’m amused to see a smattering of discarded socks in front of her couch and an apparent habit of leaving her empty water glasses out. Everything else is spotless, from the floors to the appliances in her kitchen. I look again at the socks and grin. I imagine her coming home from work, slipping out of her shoes at the door, then idly inching her socks off as she relaxes on the couch with a glass of water.

When she’s mine, it’ll be more than her socks that she makes a habit of taking off at the end of the day.

I find a few picture frames on a cabinet by the hall showing her almost exclusively with a woman who has the same large amber eyes--her mom, “Trouble,” if I’m not mistaken, only much younger. In the first picture, Lysa looks like she might only been a freshman or sophomore in high school. I smile down at the picture because she looks so ridiculously innocent and even a little geeky. Her mom looks radiant in the picture, and I can see where Lysa gets her looks. As the pictures progress, Lysa gets older and grows into the sexy woman she is now, but her mother deteriorates much more quickly than I’d expect. I realize she wasn’t that much younger in the first picture, it was just that her illness must have been more serious than I imagined. Cancer, maybe.

The thought makes my stomach sink. I knew Lysa was caring for her mom in some capacity, but I didn’t know to what extent.

I set the picture down and clench my fists. I’m going to fix this. I have enough connections to get her into the best treatment facilities in the world, and I can make it happen practically overnight. I can’t let Lysa lose her mom, not without doing anything I can to help. I don’t know if it’s cancer, heart disease, or something entirely different, but I make a silent vow to make sure she has the best chance of making it money can buy.

I step outside into the hallway before Lysa comes back out from the bedroom. I make a quick call to my assistant, Andrea. As usual, she answers half-way through the first ring. “Yes, Mr. Carlyle?”

“I need you to call in a few favors. There’s a Mrs. Ross staying in one of my hotels. The Beaumont. I want her transferred immediately to Dr. Fairchild’s care. His number is in my list of contacts--just tell him this one makes us even for what happened with that Taiwanese girl of his. He’ll understand.”

“I’m not sure I understand, sir. You want her transferred? What if she doesn’t want to come?”

“Obviously we’re not kidnapping the woman. Look, I don’t have long to talk,” I say when I hear a door close from inside Lysa’s apartment. “Just figure something out. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

I hang up the phone and step back inside.

Lysa waits for me in front of the balcony window. The city lights behind her show me the dark silhouette of her body beneath the thin dress so clearly I can make out every line and curve. I lick my lips and grin. Curve after curve after curve. Goddamn. She grips the top of her arm like she’s trying to fold herself into a small, self-conscious ball. She has a way of tilting her head down like she’s trying to hide, but it’s as if those big eyes of hers defy her body’s impulse to be shy. They follow me as I approach, big and hopeful. It’s addictive, even just having her eyes on me feels like all I could ever need. It makes me want to wrap her into my arms and keep the world away from her, to protect my strong but still-fragile pet.

I move to her, taking her by the shoulders and sucking in a deep breath. She looks down now, so I tilt her chin up until I’ve got her locked on me again.

“You look fucking amazing.” I say. “Everyone is going to want to steal you from me, but they’ll just have to dream, because you’re mine. Aren’t you?”

Her mouth opens wordlessly. I can practically see her thoughts churning. Of course they are. We’ve hooked up and been on one date and I’m telling her I own her. She’d be crazy if she was already throwing herself at my feet, besides, that’d take some of the fun out of it. I decide to spare her the agony of not knowing what to say by kissing her on those pouty lips and sucking her bottom lip into my mouth, where I nibble it lightly with my teeth and then soothe away the sting with the warmth of my tongue.

When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are heavy.

“Come on,” I say. “We’ve got quite the night ahead of us.”