By the time Cross is done with me, I’m boneless and teetering on the edge of sleep. He lays me gently on his bed, tucking blankets around me. They smell deliciously of him.

“Sleep, sweetheart.”

I do. Mercifully, I don’t dream. No nightmares, nothing. When I wake, it’s to soft, masculine voices in the living area of the loft. Rolling over, I grab my phone off the nightstand to check the time. It reads 10:47 a.m. Thanks to the heavy blackout curtains, I missed the sun rising and most of the morning.

Though I only slept a little over five hours, I’m alert and refreshed. Even when in the past I’ve caved and popped a sleeping pill, it’s rare for me to experience rest free from any dreams. Is this how normal people feel in the morning? I don’t remember anymore.

Stretching lazily, I focus on the voices. Cross and… Liam Rourke. Their tones are low, but bits and pieces hit my ears.

“…security feeds caught him leaving right after…”

“…staying in the city?”

“…LAX this morning. Missed him.”

There’s a long pause, then Cross mutters, “What the hell is she hiding?”

Sitting up fast, I clutch the blanket to my chest. Last night comes back in a vicious surge. You haven’t been forgotten. The Old Man says hello. Delayed fear makes an appearance, shooting chills down my body.

Stupid. So stupid to think he’d let me go, let me live free of his influence. His evil. Of course he knows where I am, where I live, work. He probably has my phone tapped, my bank accounts watched.

What does he want from me? Better yet, what do I have left to give him?

He’s already taken everything.

“You’re up. Did we wake you?”

Cross leans on the doorjamb, arms crossed over his bare chest. Low-slung pajama pants hug his lean hips and show off his inhumanly-cut physique. Normally, the visual treat has a notable effect on my lady parts. Not this time. He told me once I wear every emotion on my face, but when I look at him now, I’m blank. Empty. He sees nothing because I am nothing.

“It’s all right.” I swing my legs off the bed. “Mind if I shower before heading home?”

His eyes narrow. “That’s fine. How are you feeling?”

I smile. “Good. Great, actually. Thanks for, um…”

He smirks. “Three orgasms?”

“Yep! Slept like a log.”

“Good. I forgot to ask—how did Nathan like his gift?”

“He loved it. Thanks again for the hook-up.” Dragging the blanket with me, I edge toward the bathroom. “Is Liam still here?”

Cross watches me with predatory focus as I shuffle across the room. “He just left.”

I nod. “Okay, well…” I’m almost there.

“London.”

“Yes?”

“While I can respect your need for privacy, our conversation from last night isn’t over. When I said you were mine, I meant it. I will find out what you’re hiding from me.”

My shell cracks. Staring into his dark eyes, my conviction wavers. Maybe I can trust him. Maybe he can help me. Then I remember—the last person who tried to help me is dead. The possibility of Cross suffering the same fate has my walls closing high and tight.

“It’s none of your business, Dominic. I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need your help. Or Liam’s.”

He doesn’t react to my use of his name other than to take a step into the bedroom. “Then you won’t care that we discovered the identity of the man who accosted you last night and have a good idea who he’s working for.”

I shrug. “None of that means anything to me.”

“You’re getting better at lying, I’ll give you that.” His voice is mild, in sharp contrast to the ferocity in his eyes. “I certainly won’t beat the truth out of you, but I bet I could fuck it out.”

“Ha! Funny man. I didn’t realize your cock was truth serum. Is that something you learned in the army?”

His smile dims. “I was a Navy SEAL, actually. Do you want to see my dog tags? Hear about my last mission? Know how many people died on my watch? See the scar where I almost lost my leg and my life? I’ll warn you, though, you’ll have to get up close and personal with my dick if you want to check it out.”

Appropriately chastised, I say, “No. I believe you.”

Another step toward me; no trace left of lightness or humor in his bearing. “You don’t want to know anything about me. You might start to care, and that’s not an option, is it? You’ve been burned, I get it. So have I.”

He’s close now, all that bronzed skin scattering my thoughts, battering my walls.

“But what I don’t understand,” he continues, “is how you give me your body like a sacrificial offering for my darkest desires, how you fall apart so perfectly for me, and still somehow keep most of yourself locked away.”

“I—”

“Don’t bother,” he says on a sigh. “Last night, when you acted jealous, I thought…” He shakes his head, gaze lowering to the floor. “I knew this was a mistake. I should have listened to my gut. You’d think I would’ve learned that when it comes to women I want, they’re always liars.”

This is it. The moment I either walk away or tell him everything. I didn’t think it would come so soon, had selfishly hoped we could stay as we were—Dom and part-time submissive. Sadist and his glutton for pain. The thought of losing him now, so suddenly, takes my breath away. I want to run, I want to fall… I don’t know what I want anymore.

“Dominic,” I whisper. “You don’t understand. I’m not… not right. Most days I don’t even feel alive—that I’m still breathing isn’t a relief. It’s a curse. I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t know you even…”

“Cared about you?” His head lifts, a sour smile on his lips. “Christ, London, the only reason I haven’t fucked you is I’m afraid I won’t be able to get enough. Tell me you don’t feel anything when I dominate you. That it’s just scratching an itch, and you’re just a pain-slut looking for a good time.”

Even though the moniker isn’t said with any judgment, I suck in a breath, my stomach clenching. “You’re right. That’s what I am.”

He moves too fast for my eyes to track. One second we’re several feet apart, in the next my back hits the wall by the bathroom and his fingers encircle my throat. He isn’t squeezing, but his grip is firm enough that I know he’s in control. Despite the parallels to last night’s assault, in every way that matters this is different. My head knows it. And my body’s reaction?

Damning.

“You want me to believe that any Dom could touch you like this and you’d react the same? Your pupils just blew. I can smell you, London. I know just how wet you are right now. Know exactly how you’d taste on my tongue. If I ordered you to display right now, you’d do it. Not because you want pain, but because I’m the one giving it.”

He’s right, and I would. God help me, I’d drop to my knees right now if he told me to.

“Please,” I whisper, “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

Have feelings for you.

Trust you.

Need you.

I give him the only safe fact. “I can’t tell you the truth, and I can’t tell you why. I’m sorry.”

His fingers gentle, feathering my skin as he retreats back a step. For a pregnant moment, his gaze takes in my features. Then he nods and leaves the room.

When I’m showered and wearing the spare set of clothes I keep at the loft, I walk out of the bedroom. The space is empty—he’s gone, and I have the sinking feeling he’s not coming back. My gaze stalls on the dining table. Breath shallow in my chest, I walk toward what he left for me.

Our contract, torn cleanly down the middle. A note rests over the breach, and I lift it with numb fingers.

Blinking away the sheen of tears, I whisper, “Good for you, sir.”