I want all of him.

His words light something in me that’s half ache and half need. Push away all the dark that came before. Taking me to this place where it’s just him and me. Safe.

He wants me.

And he’s mine. All I have to do is take him.

I pull on his shoulders to bring him up to me and catch him in a hard kiss. His tongue fills my mouth and his intensity coils as he holds himself above me, forcing those shoulder muscles and biceps taut. I run my hand over tense arms and down the long length of his back. He’s so wide and broad. So composed.

I reach for the top hem of his pants, tugging his button open, rubbing him through the fabric.

“That feels incredible.” One of his elbows bends, and he leans to the side a bit. Maybe he’s not as composed as he seems, and I suddenly want to take him apart. Undo him. He rolls to the side to remove his pants and then tugs me on top of him. I straddle him, letting my hands and lips explore him, kissing along that thin necklace and across his jaw. We both slip into a world that seems to be made of needy hands and hard kisses and the heat from our skin, all hanging around the thought of what’s coming next. And I want that so desperately. Like, now.

“Dean,” I whisper, and he mumbles some response that’s not fully a word, but he twists toward a drawer and comes back with a condom. He’s still kissing me, as if he can’t bear even the few seconds apart. He presses the condom into my hand, and I sit up, straddling his thighs, and tear the package open. I’m about to smooth it on him, when I stop for a second.

His blue eyes are on me, hazy with desire. His lips slightly parted as if he’s about to ask a question. That fluid network of muscles below, chest down to abs, and the long, solid length of his penis. I wrap my hand around him, smoothing up and down, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment, before focusing back on me. His hips move, as if he’s aching to feel me. He watches me as I roll on the condom, his gaze hotter with every movement. Then his hands settle on my hips, and I lower myself on him, stretching and filling, slowly.

He arches up. Another quick eye flutter before he’s focused on me. His gaze appraising as I start to slowly rock. It lingers on my breasts and falls down to my stomach. His hands move to cup my ass, and then his jaw clenches hard.

“Fuck, baby.” He’s pressed against the mattress, his entire body clenched underneath me. Restrained and waiting—like he was with his hands against the wall. I have a quick image of him bound, but it comes and goes effortlessly, flitting around my mind, and then I’m focused back on him as he is.

He clenches my hips. “Stop for a second.”

I slow, feeling him twitching inside of me. He lets out a strangled breath and looks up to the ceiling, and it’s all I can do to keep from moving.

“You’re too perfect.” He squeezes out the words, his fingers digging into me. “The most beautiful ass I’ve ever seen. And… okay, going to think about those eight bellybuttons instead.” He takes a few more deep breaths. “Although, apparently that turns me on too.”

I laugh, leaning down so that I can kiss his neck, which moves us again, and he lets out a groan, but then he nods, his hands moving my hips up and down slowly. But I don’t give him the time to take another breath. I move, setting a fast rhythm that gets another curse from him, and that just makes me push him harder. But he responds, moving with me, encouraging me. I ride him—fast and hard, and I’m so full with him. The thought sends curls of pure pleasure spiraling out from my core.

“I want…” I lick my lips, my mouth dry. I keep grinding, taking him so deeply. There’s nothing else in the world except the feeling of him inside of me.

“Tell me, baby.” His voice is strained, as taut as the rest of him. “Tell me what you want.”

“I…” The words fail me. But him wanting to know creates this recoil, like letting loose a spring. I let myself fall into a kind of frenzy, forgetting to restrain myself. Warmth builds over all of me. I moan as the pleasure starts to take me, and he thrusts up, hard. Keeping right there with me. It pulls more moans from me, and then sounds I’ve never felt free enough to make before. Ones that keep building in intensity.

He lets out a low growl. This low, rattling need that I want to hear again. And then I sail over the edge, gripping onto him. Quivering and shaking and holding on to him. I let him guide our rhythm for three more deep thrusts before he stills. I lie on top of him, still full with him, and we breathe and feel the soft rock of the boat.

“Holy fuck.” His hands still grip my ass, like he doesn’t want me to move. “Is the world still out there?”

“No.” I smile into his chest.

“Thank God for that.” He draws loops on my hip with his finger, our skin slick with sweat. “Although you didn’t get to telling me what you want.”

“It felt like you already knew.” I twitch when his finger loops a ticklish spot.

“Well, you were sending some pretty clear signals.”

My heart deflates when he moves out from underneath me, crossing to the bathroom, but then he’s back, those muscles flexing and releasing so fluidly as he slides into bed next to me. Even better—he hands me a small paper cup of water.

“Trying to hydrate me?”

He takes the cup after I drink it and sets it on the bedside table. “I’ve decided to try and keep you alive. Especially if there’s no world out there.” He tucks behind me, spooning me. “Seems prudent. And I’d hate to have you die before we get to the you-tying-me-up thing.”

My heart stammers to a stop. But when I turn to look at his face, there’s nothing but friendly teasing in his raised eyebrow and half smile. Then it falls.

“I wouldn’t mind if the world did disappear for a while.” His hand slides down my side, tickling a little, and then settles on my thigh. “Especially after today.”

I turn so that I’m facing him, our bodies inches from each other. Sweat dries on my skin, and when I touch his shoulder, it’s cool.

“Is that why you wanted to circumnavigate?” I bite my lip, trying not to think about what that means. So much is trying to keep us apart: our past, our present, our future. “Did you want to disappear for a while?”

“No.” His forehead wrinkles, his fingers lazily drawing an eight on my thigh. “Maybe? I don’t know. I didn’t feel like I had much to disappear from before. It was more like I wanted to go somewhere.” He tugs his necklace off, dropping it in my hand. “That’s why I got this. It’s just some Indonesian coin, but it makes me think of places far away.”

I run my fingers over the smooth, cold edge of the coin. “And now?”

He rises up to his elbow, looking down at me. Blue eyes intense and focused. “And now I’ve got the charter and my father.” He says the last part tightly, and I shiver. He sighs. “I don’t want to deal with that asshole. But the charter…”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to do it.”

“Is it?” he asks roughly. “What happens, then? Sebastian doesn’t want to deal with it. My father can’t. What happens to the Heroine if I don’t do it?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “What would your mother have wanted?”

He turns, rolling so that he’s on his back. “She loved this boat.”

“Didn’t she love you too?” I study the side of his face, the tension creating a knot in his jaw. “Would she have wanted you to feel so tied down like this?”

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “And there’s no way to ask her anymore.” He takes the coin from me and drops it on the side table, then lays next to me again. But he stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Then he snaps to life, turning his head toward me. “Stay?”

I shake my head. “Probably not a good idea. I have to get up early, and I’ll wake you.”

“I can handle that.” He rolls so he’s on his side next to me. His bicep flexes as his hand smooths across my stomach and around the edge of my navel. “How early are we talking?”

“I have to be at the bakery at four.”

“That’s nothing.”

“And I need to text my brother.”

He raises both eyebrows. “Your brother.”

“He got into town yesterday. He’s staying at my apartment.” I sit up and slide down to the end of the bed, leaning over the edge to grab my jeans and pull my phone from the pocket.

Dean crosses his hands behind his head, watching me.

I sit up. My bare ass was probably bobbing in the air as I reached for my phone.

He clears his throat, adjusting himself under the sheet. “All of those are perfectly acceptable conditions for staying the night.”

I crawl back up and poke him in the shoulder. “And I’m hungry.”

He sits up. “That’s something I can take care of. It’s another part of my keeping-you-alive-so-you-can-tie-me-up-later plan.”

“There’s a plan?”

“Hell, yes.” His lopsided grin is adorable. And a bit mischievous.

My shift at the bakery goes swiftly, everything running on its usual schedule. Bread, cupcakes, Ms. Joanna for her baguette, Benny unlocking the backdoor, and stepping in with an apron in his hand. We exchange awkward pleasantries and move straight to discussing the food order for the quickly approaching Kites & Cupcakes Festival. Then I fill my coffee and slip away, glancing toward the empty place where the Heroine usually sits. Dean said he had another full day this morning when he walked me to the bakery.

That’s right—walked me to the bakery. At 3:45 this morning. It would be a lie to say I hadn’t thought of him every second during my shift.

When I get home, Anthony takes the box of cupcakes I extend to him and dives in.

“These are amazing,” he says around a mouthful. I brought him a sampling of the bakery’s new savory cupcake line. Although I’m not sure he’s actually tasting them as much as inhaling them. He looks rough—bloodshot eyes and smelling like liquor, and I’m sure he spent most of the night at Mitch’s.

I sit across from him while he eats, pulling out a notebook where I started my letter before. I smooth the paper flat and take a deep breath.

Anthony studies me over the box and the notebook. “So tell me about this boyfriend of yours.”

I shake my head. “You really want to know?”

He shrugs. “Kinda. What’s his name?”

“I, um…” My stomach twists—hard. I tell myself that it shouldn’t, but it does.

And I’ve got Anthony’s full attention now.

“Dean Archer,” I say, because there’s no getting around it.

He doesn’t react like I expect him to. Not that I know what I expected him to do—yell that I’m crazy? That it’s wrong?

All he says is, “That’s interesting.” Then he takes another cupcake, but he chews thoughtfully. “You know, I had a girlfriend once. Not like just a girl I fucked. Like a real, true girlfriend. Or at least, that’s what I wanted her to be.”

I look up from my blank page. “Recently?”

“Before. Around the time that your boyfriend’s father was with us.”

I shudder, memories flashing before I can keep them at bay.

“Her name was Melissa,” he continues. “That’s who I was with when Mom left you alone with Charles. I’d walked her to the park, and we sat on the swings and talked, and then I twisted my swing so that I could kiss her.”

“I didn’t know,” I say quietly. I’d always wondered where Anthony was that day. This isn’t what I would have guessed. How different would his life have been if he’d had more experiences like that? If he didn’t reduce his relationships to girls he fucked versus one girlfriend he kissed on some swings. “I hope you find something like that again, Anthony.”

He finishes the last bite and tosses the cupcake foil into the box. “I didn’t kiss her. I left her there. Found you standing over Mom’s latest a few minutes later. And then everything changed.” He toys with the edge of the now-empty cupcake box. “What was I supposed to do? Bring her to whatever home we were squatting in and introduce her to Mom? Tell her not to worry about the man handcuffed to the mattress?” He pushes the box away from him.

“She’s not here anymore.” I’m not sure what else to say.

His head snaps up. “She will be.”

“I don’t believe that.” I tap my pen against the paper. “I can’t believe it. I can’t keep living my life like she’s going to jump out from around the next corner.”

He pushes back from the table. “You can’t deny the possibility. And what are you going to do? Bring your boyfriend over for a family dinner? Introduce him to the woman who kidnapped his father? You’re left with the exact same choice I was on that swing with Melissa.”

I shake my head emphatically. “She’s not getting out. And even if she does, I’m an adult now. I can make my own choices.” I take a breath and start the letter. The first sentence falling easily.

My name is Ella, and my mother is Mira Jacobs—a woman convicted of kidnapping and attempted murder.

I start to write another, and that one’s easier too. It’s like telling Dean has snapped everything into perspective. What’s part of the past. And what’s part of the present.

Anthony snorts and takes out his orange candy tin. “You can’t actually believe that. It doesn’t matter what choices you make, it matters what choices she makes.”

“You don’t think… she would do something? To Dean?” My fingers tremble as I clutch the pen.

“You’re right that she might not get out,” he says. “And I really hope that’s the way this plays. But if you’re wrong, she’s going to come back here, and who the fuck knows what she’s going to do? Do you know? Cuz I certainly don’t.”