“I don’t have the key,” I repeated to the doorman. “Look at me. You know me. I’ve never needed a key. I’ve been coming in and out of Lloyd’s co-op for five years and I haven’t raped or killed anyone.”

The doorman knew me. He also knew Lloyd had died and had admitted Diana was in her father’s apartment.

“Tell me what you’re checking for and I’ll look for it,” he said.

“My wife. Please. She’s not answering the phone, and I know she’s upset.”

He didn’t know I’d signed and sent the divorce papers. He didn’t know I hadn’t seen Diana in days or that I’d given up on us. But he knew I wasn’t going away, so he unlocked the little cabinet behind the lobby desk and took a key off the hook.

I followed him to the elevator and up to the front entrance with the plant in the hall.

He knocked, waited forever, knocked again, waited an eternity, then shrugged. “Sorry, Mr. Steinbeck, but I can’t open it if—”

“The back way. She could be in the kitchen.”

He looked at me with narrowed eyes. “I have to get back to the lobby.”

“If she’s hurt herself and you didn’t open the door, I’ll do worse than sue you.”

“Fine.”

We walked down the hall, around the corner, and through the door to the back stairwell. We heard a muffled, high-pitched squeal.

“The teapot,” I said, knocking before he had a chance to raise a goddamn objection.

No answer.

“Open this door,” I said. “At the very least, the stove’s on.”

He opened the door, revealing a kitchen washed in twilight, the blue flame of a gas burner, and a violently whistling teapot that rattled. It must be almost empty. I reached for the knob. That was when I saw her.

She was no more than a shape under the window, barely visible in the darkening room. Knees to chest, back to the wall, arms around legs.

“Adam?” Her voice was soft in disbelief.

“Ma’am?” the doorman said. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Get the fuck out.” She said it softly, but with conviction.

He left, snapping the door closed. I crouched to see her. She was cast in twilight shadows. Blocks away, a car alarm went off. A crosstown bus ground the brakes with a deep grumble a New Yorker would barely hear unless they were trying to listen to their wife’s soul cry out.

“Can I turn a light on?” I said.

“No.”

“Were you going to leave the teapot on there all night?”

“I meant to get it. Did you go to the wake?”

I sat on the floor with my back to the stove and one leg bent. “Packed. Wall-to-wall people.”

“I should have gone.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She played with her fingers in the dark, worrying at corners that weren’t there. “They’d all wait for me to cry, and I can’t. I don’t want anyone to see.”

“See what? That you’re not crying?”

“They’ll think I’m a monster.”

“Everyone knows how much you loved him. They’d think you had superior self-control.”

“That’s me. Self-control girl.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to finish making the tea?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“I’m making you tea.” I got up on a hand and a knee. “I don’t even care if you drink it.”

After standing and straightening my jacket, I put the teapot under the faucet. When it was full and the sound of the water left us in the semi-silence of New York, I heard her whisper.

“Get out.” Her voice had a flat conviction, almost dominant in its command.

“I’m going to stay here and take care of you,” I said, flipping on the burner. “You don’t have to like it. I’m staying. You’ve gone through too much alone already.” I shifted the teapot as if it would make a difference. “You had no support in Montauk. None when you got home. Maybe Lloyd was here when you got the signed divorce papers. I don’t know. What I do know is I’m depleted. If I had to face something like this right now, I’d have nothing left.”

She sat on the floor, unmoving, staring into the middle distance.

“You need me,” I said, “and you’re taking everything I can give you.”

She blinked. No more. Watching the teapot had the expected effect, so I kicked off my shoes by the back door and sat in front of her. I took her bare foot in my hands and rubbed it, digging my thumbs into the soft part. She groaned and woke up a little. I dug harder, pushing out the tension, letting her know I was there. She flinched from the pain but came around, making eye contact in the dark room.

“I love you, Diana.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Tough.”

The teapot hissed. Her head moved so slightly I could barely perceive her saying no, as if I’d misunderstood.

“I want you to hurt me,” she said.

I dug my thumbs in harder. She didn’t resist or react.

“Take it from me.” She pulled back her foot.

“What do you mean?”

“What you did to Serena. Give it to me. Take it. Make everything hurt. Make me do things.”

The teapot whistled, and my dick swelled.

“Do you know what you’re asking?”

“Yes. I’ll say pinochle if I have to. But no means yes.”

I stood and turned off the burner. I hadn’t gotten a cup or a teabag. I hadn’t made a plan or a list of limits. We hadn’t had a cold, honest discussion to protect us from each other.

“It’ll work out better this time,” she said from below me.

“No.” I had to put my foot down. She was in no condition to give up her will so completely.

“Do you know why you scratch an itch?” she said, getting on her feet.

“It’s still no.”

“Because an itch is pain.” She peeled off her T-shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the streetlights on her nipples cast long shadows across her breasts. “A scratch is greater pain. It drowns the itch out.”

“Diana. What you’re asking for takes hours of negotiating and talking.”

I didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to turn on the lights. I wanted to give her what she asked for, and though a part of me cried against it, I couldn’t help but play the scene in my mind. Her body was so beautiful in the soft light, her skin satin, waiting to be marked. I could destroy her utterly and put her back together.

“I trust you.” Her voice was a velvet blanket I wanted to rip into a scream.

“Do you?” I reached for a hard nipple and pulled it.

Her eyes fluttered closed when she gasped. She couldn’t have known how bad it could get. She couldn’t have foreseen it. “Yes.”

But I could play it out. I could give her what she needed. But I couldn’t.

“Please,” she implored. “Make me.”

I could.

I twisted her nipple until she grimaced. I ached for more, and I was going to get it. I took a deep breath of acceptance. I was a sadist, and a masochist was asking to be hurt. I loved her with every bone in my body, and if giving her what she needed broke that love, I could at least give her what she needed.

As if she knew I’d come to a decision, she pulled away and pushed me aside, dodging to get to the door.

The first move was the hardest because it set the tone, and without preparation or discussion, I was playing it by ear.

I took her by the throat before she got past me and pushed her against the refrigerator. She clutched my arm.

“This what you want?”

“Fuck you,” she spit.

“No, huntress. Fuck you.” I stuck my free hand down her sweat pants. She was soaked.

She fought me. She fought hard, twisting and punching. So hard I wondered if this was what she wanted. Wrestling her to the floor, I got her on her stomach and put my knee between her shoulder blades, gasping for breath. I pulled my erection out but left my pants on.

“What’s your name?”

“Diana. Get off me.”

I grabbed a handful of hair and jerked her head back so I could see her. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight-fuck-you.”

I held her hair, moved my knee, and got her pants off. She hit me so hard I saw stars. She made it two steps before I got hold of her wrist and threw her over the kitchen table.

“Self-defense advice,” I snarled. “Don’t end up on your stomach.”

She growled and twisted. I had control of her for a moment, but I knew I’d let her get away again. It was how I exerted control and how she surrendered it.

I could do this.

I could keep it safe. I could be the master. I could play the game. I had no rules, no contracts, no list of hard limits, but I knew her. I knew her better than I knew any other human being. All I had to do was trust that.

I jammed my hand between her legs, sinking three fingers in her. “You’re so fucking wet. I could just fuck you right now like a nice guy. Just fuck your cunt sore and make you come. But that wasn’t what you wanted, was it?”

A rack of cooking supplies sat by the fridge. A bottle of oil was stuck sideways between soy sauce and salt. I grabbed it and opened it with my teeth, spitting out the cap. I dumped it onto her lower back, letting plenty fall into the crack of her ass. She’d need it.

“We could have done this nice. But have it your way.”

Two of my wet fingers drove into her ass. She held back a scream. I pushed her face into the table, stretching her ass. I didn’t have plugs or tools. I didn’t have time or cooperation. This wouldn’t be painless, but it wouldn’t be without pleasure either.

“No!” she said.

But no meant yes, and though I thought I’d stop when she said it, I didn’t. I trusted her and myself.

“You’re taking it. All of it. I’m going to tear you apart.”

She rocked back and forth violently, kicking and flailing.

I let her go before driving her to the floor. She crawled out of the kitchen. I snapped up a towel, throwing it around my neck.

I found her in the dining room with her back to the table. The front door was steps to the right, but she backed away in the other direction.

“Get on your knees and I’ll take it easy on you.” One step forward.

“No.”

One step back.

A horn honked outside. She got distracted, and I lunged. Her foot slipped on a bead of oil on the floor. I caught her and drove her to her knees at the same time, pushing her face on my erection. When she opened her mouth to scream, I shoved my cock in it. Her face went beet red as I pushed down her throat. Her hair was a mess. Her fingernails dug into my thighs. When she looked up at me, her eyes were webbed with red and she was so close to utter submission, I almost came in her mouth.

She gulped air when I pulled out. Before she could get away, I was on her, twisting her onto her side. I put my forearm on her head to keep her still. Her leg flailed over my shoulder. With my other hand, I put my dick at her ass. Held her still. She bucked. This was going to rip her up if she didn’t stay still.

I could feel her heaving for breath under me.

“Get off me,” she gasped. “Fuck.”

I’d stopped to think too long. She was getting restless. I needed more control, and I wasn’t continuing without it. I snapped off my belt and buckled it around her neck as she cursed at me.

Grabbing her ankle, I stood and dragged her across the dining room floor. Her free foot kicked.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight. Let me go.”

She grappled with the belt, but the buckle was in the back and she didn’t have enough time to undo it before I got her into her childhood room. It had been stripped of posters and photos. The full-size bed with the white wood head and footboard was dressed in a white, pink, and blue duvet I hoped she wasn’t too attached to.

Closing the door behind us, I got my hand around the front of the circle of the belt and put our faces close together. “Be good.”

“No.”

I let her go and pulled an extension cord out of the wall. The next five minutes were spent tying her hands together. She was slippery and strong, but I was stronger. I got her on the bed and bound her hands to the headboard, above her head. I could turn her front or back while keeping her more or less still.

I got off the bed and undressed while she watched, lying on her back.

“You’ve got to calm down,” I said, pulling her ankles apart. “You might even like it.”

“I won’t relax. I won’t let you.”

The fire in her eyes said otherwise, and I had to trust that. I put my knees on her thighs, keeping her motionless with my weight.

This wasn’t about getting my dick in her ass. It never had been. This was about taking her so low she could let go of her pain, and it would take more than a fight against penetration. When I leaned over her, she turned her head. With one hand, I took her by the cheeks and made her face me.

She wasn’t close enough. She was physically drained, but her guard was still up emotionally. I had to break her. We had no map for this. No list to check off.

I had to trust myself to know what she needed.

I had to trust she’d tell me if it was going wrong.

“So we’re clear,” I said. “I want this to hurt. Every time you cry, my dick gets hard.”

I put my fingers in her mouth, down deep with my clean hand until she made gurgling sounds. I removed them, and I slapped her cheek. Not hard. Just enough to hurt her feelings.

Her eyes got wide with shock.

“You like that? It’s what you wanted.”

Before she could answer, I slapped the other cheek a little harder.

Her eyes welled up with tears. Her chin shuddered. I did it again, and tears flowed.

That was it. The train pulled out of the station and we were on it, speeding toward her breaking point. I got off her thighs and turned her onto her stomach. She didn’t have a hell of a lot of fight in her. I slapped her bottom so hard my hand hurt.

I didn’t need to torment her with cruel words. I didn’t need to make her tell me to go fuck myself again, but I needed to finish this with her.

I put my fingers in her ass and stretched it. She was still lubricated enough. It would hurt for a minute, but if I took it slow, she’d be fine.

The head of my dick stretched her. She screamed into the pillow and resisted. I held her still and slowly, inch by inch, took her ass.

The extension cord slid down the vertical bed railing. I pulled her hair back but fucked her gently.

“Up on your knees,” I said, slapping her ass.

She did as she was told because she was breaking and she knew it. I could feel her falling apart. Falling into me. Opening like a flower. After the second stroke, she was released from pain and she pushed her hips back into me.

Turning her on her side, I bent her leg on my shoulder. Her face was so puffy and tear-streaked, I didn’t recognize it. I reached between her legs and rubbed her clit. She made a vowel sound that was half surrender and half battle-cry.

“I can’t! I can’t come like this.”

“You can.” I leaned into her face. “You can, and you will.”

It wasn’t long before she bucked and stiffened under me. When she came, her ass clenched around my cock over and over until I exploded inside her.

When I pulled out, she cried harder than I thought possible.

I needed to get us into a bath. I needed to clean up. I needed to feed her. I needed to check every inch of her body to make sure she was unharmed. But once I untied her and she put her arms and legs around me, she wouldn’t let go. She wept long and loud from the floor of her heart to the ceiling of her soul. Not one ounce of sadness was left unpacked.

When I tried to let go of her, she clung harder.

I gave up and held her as tightly as I could, rocking back and forth. The scene finished and I had nothing to add to what I’d done. I was all right. I’d kept it under control and given her what she needed. I knew her. I loved her. Through the entire thing, I’d loved her, and it was the love that kept me from breaking along with her.

I was safe and sane, giving her a gentle, guided ride back to the reality of her power.