“No money this time,” Colt says as he shuts and bolts his front door behind us.

The drive to his apartment was quiet. I don’t think either of us spoke a word. He just touched me—holding my hand or stroking my thighs—and I watched him while he drove.

Part of me is offended, and part of me is resolved. I’ve made a decision and I’m sticking with it. “I didn’t expect to be paid,” I inform him with a scowl.

I place my hands on my hips and feel like I’m standing my ground. Not something I want to feel right now at all.

“Good,” he says as he turns back around and loosens the tie at his throat. “That was a one-time deal. From here on out I want you to be here because you want to be here. I won’t pay you for your time…” he tosses his tie to the side. “Or for your body.”

I try very, very hard to swallow back my indignation. I mean, the last time we did this he was paying me for this so I can understand his need to clear this up. But, “If I expected you to pay me, I would have worked out all the details before even agreeing to come here.”

Colt nods his head and my eyes are drawn to his fingers as they quickly and deftly undo the buttons of his shirt. “I want you to want to be here. I have no desire to use money to manipulate you.”

“What was today, then?” Just pops out of my mouth before I realize what I’m saying. But if we’re clearing things up…

He arches a brow as he pulls the tails of his shirt out of his pants. “Are you referring to the clothes and the salon?”

His shirt slides off his tan shoulders and is dropped to the floor. For a moment I’m struck dumb by the sight of his smooth, muscled chest. I swear there’s not a soft part on him. Everything about him, except for his affection, is hard and solid.

“Yes,” I hiss and clear my throat when I realize I’ve taken too long in answering him.

He doesn’t remark on my long pause. No, his hands drop and he works on undoing his belt.

“Investment.”

“Sorry?”

The buckle undone, he yanks the belt out of his pants.

“The clothes and the trip to the salon is my investment in you. I fully expect a profitable return.”

“You do?” I squeak and I’m on fire. Seriously, my damn panties are melting as he unsnaps his pants and they drop to the floor. His thighs are all ropey muscle and I bite the inside of my cheek hard, resisting the urge to keep staring at him. It takes way too much will power to drag my eyes back up.

“Yes, Whitney. I expect much from you.”

I came here with no expectations. What the hell does he think he can get out of me? And why are we having this conversation while he’s naked? It’s so unfair.

“You do?”

“Yes,” he answers, just standing there naked and staring me down. He has no shame. No, he stands tall and proud like some glorious roman gladiator.

“What do you expect from me?”

“For one,” he smirks, “I expect you to remove your clothes.”

“Oh.” When I hesitate, he takes a step forward.

“I’m more than happy to help.”

Double, “Oh.”

It’s like there’s too much awesome happening, my brain has had a meltdown. What should I be doing? I know I should be doing something but he’s naked and he’s obviously aroused. And, oh my god, he’s walking straight for me and I’m paralyzed with desire. I understand being paralyzed by fear, but this?

This is torture.

Last time I had some alcohol and desperation to help me out, this time I’m as sober as can be and feeling every nerve and every fear. Without the money as a shield between us, what am I doing here? I have no obligation or real justification to hide behind this time. I have no excuses for anything I do.

“Whitney,” he says softly, huskily, and reaches for me. “All day I’ve been thinking about your body.” He spins me around in his hands and then I hear the zip of the zipper sliding down my back. “Of what I would do to your body…”

His lips touch my neck, kissing me as he pushes down my dress. I shiver as the fabric whispers, fluttering to the floor. His calloused palms slide down my shoulders then they slide down my arms. My bra is unsnapped, the cups gapping at the front. Tugging it down, I don’t try to stop it as it too drops to the floor.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he growls and then once more I’m spinning. The world is dizzying. Pulling me close, my breasts smash against his bare pecs. He’s so warm, so hard, he feels like stone that was left baking in the sun. His fingers grab me by the face and he pulls my chin up, forcing me to look at him.

I thought his question was merely rhetorical but he asks almost angrily, “Do you?”

I swallow nervously, there’s a huge lump forming in my throat. I’m frightened a little by his anger but I’m also incredibly turned on.

His thighs brush against my thighs and his erection is hard against my tummy. He’s so different than me, so rough and big. So calloused and unpredictable.

“No,” I whisper.

One hand falls from my face. The hand goes to the small of my back and then he’s pulling me into him until I’m flush against his body. He’s so much bigger than me, so much stronger. If he wanted to he could easily hurt me. Could easily break me. I’ve never felt so weak before, so small.

“Do you know you can use your body to get anything you want from me?”

“No,” I breathe. The thought literally never crossed my mind.

“What do you want from me?”

The question confuses me and catches me off guard. All I’ve thought about is what he wants from me.

“What do you want from me?” he repeats, his fingers gripping me tightly. Why is he so angry? Did I do something?

“I want nothing from you.”

He stills and his grip relaxes. For a moment I too begin to relax. And then he calls me a, “Liar.”

“What?” I stiffen with indignation.

His head dips down, his lips pausing a hair away from my lips. “Liar.”

“I don’t want your money,” I snap angrily and try to shake off his grip but once more his fingers tighten around my arms.

“You want something from me.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want anything from you,” I insist.

“Then why are you here?”

Why am I here? Because I want to live. I want to be intimate with someone. I want to feel a human connection. Just for a little bit. But I don’t want to let him in my heart.

“Why are you here, Whitney?” he repeats, his voice softening. He smooths my hair back and his breath against my cheek is sweet and warm. “Why did you come here tonight?”

“Because I want to be with you,” I answer quietly. That’s as much truth I’m willing to give right now.

“Why?” he asks and then nuzzles his way to my throat. I wonder if he can feel the pounding of my pulse.

“Why not?”

“What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Why are you afraid of me?”

I lean back and push at his chest but he doesn’t budge. “What is this? I thought you wanted me here, in your bed. I didn’t realize it would be a damn inquisition.”

“I do want you in my bed,” he rumbles and then kisses me hard on the lips before going on. “Never doubt that. I’m just not used to my women being so skittish. I feel like any moment you’re going to bolt.”

Am I coming off as some frightened animal? I must truly look pathetic.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you.”

“I know that,” I sigh.

“Do you?” he questions, his bright eyes blazing with disbelief. “Show me.”

How? How do I show him I’m not afraid of him? Especially when I truly am. I’m fucking terrified of him, but not that he’s going to beat me up or smack me around or something. I’m terrified that I’m going to grow attached to him. That I’ll be weak to him.

“Dammit,” he curses and then he picks me up. He just grabs me by the hips and lifts me off of the ground like I weigh nothing. Then he throws me over his shoulder like a damn caveman.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I screech and he slaps me lightly on the ass.

“I’m going to show you when it comes to me you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“I really don’t think this is the best way to prove that!”

He laughs. “Perhaps not. But this is the only way I know how to do it.”

He tosses me onto his bed. I shriek as I go flying through the air before I hit the soft mattress.

I glare and try to roll away but he grabs me by the thighs and yanks me down to the edge.

“What the hell, Colt?” I try to move my leg, to kick him in his smug face but he’s too strong.

“Relax. I’m going to show you that you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

It’s my turn to laugh but I’m not laughing because this is fun or amusing, it’s completely ludicrous.

Propping myself up on my elbows I frown down at him as he kneels in front of his bed. “I should go. This was a mistake.”

“No,” he growls and then he’s pushing my thighs open. “You’re not going to leave this bed until I’m done with you.”

“Colt…” I start to protest and his gaze shifts up to me from between my knees.

“No, Whitney. This is where you lean back and trust me.”

Oh, god, what does he have planned? Moving up, he uses his wide shoulders to keep my knees spread. His eyes drop, drinking in the sight of exposed sex.

“What are you going to do?” I ask, breathing so fast the question comes out as a gasp.

“Relax, Whitney. This is where you trust that I’m not going to hurt you.”

I can’t, I want to cry out. Please don’t make me do it, but his head falls forward and his warm tongue drags across my clit.

I jerk, the sensation is so strong every muscle in my body tenses. Then he’s blowing against it. His breath is warm but it’s cool against the wet spot he just left. I both love and hate what he’s doing. At this moment I both love and hate him.

His hands slide under my ass and he lifts me off the bed.

“Colt,” I groan and squirm. His face is all up in there.

“Relax,” he purrs. “Just lean back and let me take care of you.”

I shake my head, stubbornly refusing to do just that. I want to tell him to stop, but if I do, will he stop for good? I’m not ready to go home. I’m not ready to leave him, despite all of this.

Hands still on my butt, he growls and pushes up until I fall back with a pout.

“Why? Why are you doing this? Why does it matter if I trust you?”

He turns his face and I feel the stubble on his jaw scratching against my inner thigh. “Because I want you too.”

I roll my eyes and frown down at his head but he doesn’t see it. He begins planting wet little kisses on my thigh, working his way down to my knee. “And I know how important it is to have a place where you can feel safe.” He lifts my leg and I twitch as he places a kiss behind my knee. “You’re safe with me, Whitney.”

“I certainly don’t feel safe. If anything I feel exposed and vulnerable.”

“You’re safe,” he reassures me and peeks up from between my knees. “If you let me, I will protect you.”

“Why? What do you get out of it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he grins.

When I shake my head, he laughs and his head dips back down. “I get you.”

Get me? Like I’m a prize? I think as his tongue slowly, languidly strokes along my seam, dragging through my folds.

He groans deep in his throat as if he’s enjoying what he’s doing immensely. Lapping me up, he licks me from top to bottom, and I can no longer think. My brain has shut down all processing functions. There is only sensation and what I feel, and I feel warm, intense sensation. I feel like my skin is melting. As his tongue laps me up, I feel all the tenseness and tightness flowing out of me. I’m becoming a moaning, squirming puddle of liquid on his bed.

“You taste so fucking good, Whitney,” Colt groans. “I could do this for days.”

“Don’t stop,” I gasp out, rocking my hips up. “It feels so fucking good.”

I’d let him do this for days, seriously.

He growls and the vibrations do wonderful things to me. Fingers digging into my hips, he tries to keep me still but I can’t stop moving. There’s something incredible building inside me, something too strong for me to contain.

He must sense my impending release. His hands slide down to my thighs to hold them open as I try to crush him in a vice grip between them. My hands claw at his bed, and I swear it sounds like the fabric is ripping. His mouth and tongue press forward, harder, increasing the pressure as he continues to hungrily devour me.

I feel his tongue all over, firmly licking me. He dips inside my entrance then he thrusts back up, flicking my clit. I jerk and moan. How can something feel so good it hurts?

He does it again just to torture me.

“Colt…” I draw out in a low moan. I’m almost there, so close, but I’m not sure what I need.

He must know what I need. He seems to know me better than even I know myself. He focuses all of his attention, all of his tongue’s wonderful energy on my clit. He presses firmly and then, oh god, I feel him sucking on me.

The new pressure is just enough to set me off.

The world goes white and I try to lock my knees. I feel like I’m convulsing, all the little muscles inside of me are squeezing. And all the time, he keeps licking me, keeps enjoying me. He makes all these little noises in the back of his throat like he’s enjoying what I’m doing.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just letting it happen to me. I twitch and jerk helplessly, just letting the pleasure flow through me. Yet there’s this incredible sense of freedom of letting myself be at his mercy. Trusting in his control, trusting him not to hurt me.

When his head finally pops up, his mouth is wet and his grin is glistening. The way he looks at me—with so much affection and so much possession—I feel my tummy flipping.

My chest tightens as he crawls up my body. He’s not doing anything to me but it’s suddenly harder to breathe. The air has thickened.

“Whitney,” he whispers softly as he positions himself above me. “Open for me.”

His knee nudges at my knee and I spread my legs wider to accommodate him. I almost feel like I’m offering myself up as some kind of sacrifice or something.

“That’s a good girl,” he growls as he gets into position. Bracing himself above me on his elbows, his chin drops. “Are you a good girl?” he asks, and fuck, I’d be pissed if he wasn’t so damn sexy and husky the way he says it.

“Yes,” I gasp as I feel the crown of his cock bump against my overly sensitive clit.

“My good girl,” he drawls out and his teeth nip lightly at my bottom lip. “My girl,” he growls and then he’s kissing me hard on the lips.

His tongue penetrates my mouth, firmly thrusting in and claiming me. He’s literally giving me a taste of what’s to come. I try my best to keep up with the kiss but he seems intent on overwhelming me with it.

Suddenly he stops kissing me at the same time his hips thrust forward, impaling me on his cock. I’m so wet, so soft and swollen, there’s no pain, no resistance. There’s just an intense jolt of pleasure radiating from my core and echoing through my limbs.

“Mine,” he says ferociously.

He rears back and thrusts into me again.

He’s so big, so thick, I’m moaning as I stretch around him.

I feel my eyes rolling up in my head but he grabs me by the chin, forcing me to look at him. “Stay here with me.”

His eyes hold my eyes as he pumps his long length in and out of me. He stares deeply into my eyes, and I feel so vulnerable. I feel like he can see all my secrets, all the things I keep buried deep.

But I can’t look away from him because I can see what he sees. The way he looks at me, the way he feels about me… it’s all there for me to see, clear as day.

“Say it,” he demands. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Who is this man? I wonder as I stare up at him with pleasure blurring the edges of my vision. He wants me. He desires me. It’s clear in his eyes, in his face.

He thinks he knows me.

“Say it, dammit,” he grunts, slamming into me. Skin slapping against skin, he quickens his pace.

If I say it, does it make it true? Am I his? Do I want to be his?

Yes.

“Yours,” I moan, grabbing at him.

Giving myself to him.

“Whitney,” he growls, slamming his cock into me so deep our hipbones are connecting.

“I’m yours,” I groan, head falling back and nails raking down his back as he pounds himself harder, deeper.

Something snaps inside of me.

“Mine. You’re mine,” he grunts hotly into my ear, filling me with warmth.

I writhe and twitch beneath him, lost within the pleasure of my release. There’s so much warmth, so much wetness, I feel like all of my bones have melted.

I grip at him, squeezing, milking him as he jerks and trembles above me. The entire time his eyes never leave my face. When he’s done, when the air just seems to go out of him he collapses on top of me. We lay there like that, quiet, catching our breath. After a few minutes I start to wonder if he fell asleep then he rolls over, pulling me with him.

“You’re mine, you said it. Legally, it’s a binding contract,” he murmurs, positioning me until I’m resting on his chest. His hand smooths back my dark, wild hair as I peer up at him wondering what the hell he’s getting at. “You belong to me now, Whitney, and I’m not giving you back.”