“London?”

“Hmm?”

Nate’s frowning face fills my vision. “Damn, sugarplum. I’ve called your name probably ten times. Have you been in bed all day?”

Yawning, I stretch my arms over my head, then halt with a wince. “Ow.”

Nate chuckles knowingly and plops onto the bed near my hip. Sunlight haloes his fair head. “I can’t believe you slept all day with the curtains open. But actually, I can. You look used good. Did he drive you home at least?”

I nod and sit up, groaning at the stiffness in my muscles. “What time is it?”

“Close to three.”

My brain awakes in fits and starts. Images carousel in my mind. Sound and sensation.

Crack. You look so beautiful covered in my marks. Red haze. Two more, kitten. Can you handle it? Too much—yes, sir. More, sir. You were so good, such a good girl. Soft kisses tracing lines of pain over my shoulders, back, down my legs. Hands on my ass as he kneels behind me. His tongue… You taste like heaven, kitten. Now for your reward…

Nate’s fingers snap before my nose. “Earth to London?” His voice is teasing, but his eyes are not. “You’re freaking me out. Come on, out of bed. Show me.”

“I’m okay,” I say but accept his help as I carefully maneuver to standing. I couldn’t bear wearing anything to bed, so Nate’s reaction is immediate.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ, you took a beating.”

I close my eyes and sway.

“Minimal bruising, which is great, but it’s too early to tell how long recovery will be.”

“I’ve always healed fast,” I mumble.

His sigh makes my welts burn. “I need to ask you—did you agree to this?”

“Yes,” I say on a strangled laugh. “And I’d do it again.”

“Uh-oh,” he mutters. “Stay put, I’m going to get my kit from the living room.”

I glance back. “Kit?”

His brows lift. “Survival and recovery kit. You know, for when your Dom beats the shit out of you. At least tell me he gave you decent aftercare.”

Nate’s gaze is sharp and amused. “Rocked your world, did he? Damn, I really wish he liked dick.”

My lips twist with wry humor. “He’s everything they say he is. Even the word cunt sounds good when he says it. How is that even possible?”

Nate explodes in laughter. “Mysteries of kink.” Still chuckling, he leaves the room and returns with a small black case. “Face down on the bed. Let’s get you lubed and drugged.”

I groan. He cackles.

There’s not enough ibuprofen in the world to tackle the full scope of my misery. An afternoon of resting while Nate pampered me, fed me, and eventually helped me shower was challenging enough. I figured working tonight would be hard, but worth it for the chance to see Cross.

So wrong.

“Whoa, you okay?” Another bartender grabs my shoulder as I sway toward a stack of glasses. I can’t prevent a tiny moan as he inadvertently touches the edge of a welt.

I step away from him, nodding spastically. “Good, fine.”

He follows me—what’s his name again—and lays a hand on my forehead. It feels wrong, too slim, too cold. “You don’t look so good. Hey, Jack, I’m going to help London to the back. She needs to sit down.”

“Okay!”

“London?” Steph’s face swims into view. “What’s going on? You sick?”

It’s too loud. Too bright. I can’t find my voice to protest when a heavy male arm comes around my shoulders. My whimper is pitiful, lost beneath music and revelry. I’m guided to the end of the bar, out through the small portal, and toward the back hallway.

A shout somewhere in the club, “Master Cross!” I recognize Nate’s voice, urgent and panicked.

“What the—” mutters my well-meaning captor.

“Release her right fucking now.”

I sag with relief at the dark, edged voice. When I’m released like a leper, my knees buckle, but strong, familiar arms catch me and hoist me up. Miraculously, his embrace avoids all points of pain. He knows exactly where he marked me. The thought is unaccountably soothing. I’m safe.

Steady, long strides carry me away. I tuck my face into his warm chest, breathing him in, relishing in the momentary absence of pain. Like his very presence is morphine. A door opens, music fades. Another door, then stairs. Scent of the loft—leather and spice.

“Dammit, London,” he mutters, “I told you to call me if you couldn’t work tonight. I knew I should have cancelled your shift. What the fuck was I thinking?”

“I missed you.”

The words slip out, divorced from rational thinking. I’m so loopy, I don’t take them back. Cross pauses for a moment, then continues across the loft and into the dark bedroom. Setting me carefully on my feet, he bends to pull back the coverlet.

“Undress. On your stomach.”

It’s more painful getting the dress off than it was getting it on. The only item from my work wardrobe that promised to cover my marks, the dress is high-collared and long-sleeved, made of snug, tensile material. As much as I want to, I don’t ask Cross for help. He probably wouldn’t give it, anyway. I recognize the tone of reprimand. I’m being punished for foolishness.

By the time I’m naked except for underwear, I’m shaking and sweating. My back is aflame, pulsing in time with my heart. Whimpering, I crawl onto the bed and collapse.

Cross sits beside me and opens the drawer in the nightstand, removing a tub of salve and uncapping it. The mild scent of Arnica floats to my nose, stimulating memories of last night.

Now, the man who blew open my universe last night sits frozen on the bed, salve in one hand and his other clenched in the thick hair of his crown.

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” He sounds choked.

“What? No.” I reach for him, laying my palm on the small of his back. He flinches but doesn’t move. “Sir? Dominic. I’m fine, really. Just stupid. I should have called out today.”

He glances back, brow furrowed. “Last night I treated you as I would a seasoned submissive. The blows you took…” He shakes his head helplessly, gaze tracing the welts. “You were so unbelievably perfect—your pain threshold is incredible. I hit the zone fast and forgot how green you are. It’s inexcusable.”

The vulnerability in his voice triggers alarm bells in my head. The earth is shifting, quaking and opening beneath us. Something huge waits in the steaming fissure. Something I don’t think either of us is ready for. I’m sure as hell not.

“No.” My voice is sharp enough to wipe the softness from his expression. “I fractured my arm at summer camp when I was a kid. I thought it was a little bump and a bruise. It barely hurt. The whole thing swelled up like a balloon before anyone thought something might be wrong.”

He’s skeptical. “Is that true?”

“One hundred percent. I’ve always had a high pain tolerance. My older sister is the opposite—cries when she stubs her toe. Total sissy.”

A smile flirts with his lips. “You are definitely no sissy.”

I grin. “I know, right? I’m badass.”

He laughs, the sound rich and warm and utterly intoxicating. It does horrible things to my body, causing my heart to squeeze, my stomach to dance. And I realize my error. In trying to veer the conversation away from the cliff of intimacy, I inadvertently drove us right off the edge.

“You can’t have it both ways, you know,” muses Cross, his smile gone, his keen gaze on my face. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

My breath stills. “Can’t have what?”

“The benefits of a Dom/sub relationship without emotion of any kind. At the very least, we have to be friends for this to work.” His eyes crinkle at the edges. “I can’t handle another boring dinner.”

A short laugh escapes me. “It was bad.”

“So bad.”

“Friends?”

He nods. “Friends who play.” Shifting on the bed, he scoops out a wad of the salve and warms it between his hands.

Tension drains from my body, and with it the majority of my pain. I’m still going to let him massage me, though. He has a magical touch.

At the first gentle touch, I sigh and close my eyes. “I can do friends, Dominic, but that’s it.”

Whack.

“Ow!” I shriek. My efforts to bolt upright are thwarted by a forearm on my now-screaming ass. Grumbling, I relax again. “No calling you by your first name?”

“Good catch.” He’s smiling. “Like my cock, you have to earn it.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling into the pillow.

“Yes, sir.”