I stand in front of the door to the small office with a pounding heart. I made it as far as the parking lot outside before some stupid, stupid part of me dragged me back inside. I barely noticed the strange looks from the employees.

It’s just sex. That’s what he’s offering me, not a commitment. And I’m not in high school anymore. If I want to have casual sex, then I can have casual sex, right? I don’t have to worry about all the gossip that will follow or what people will think. This is what single, grown women do. Right?

“Oh God,” I whisper, shaking my hands nervously. I’m pacing back and forth outside the door, wondering how close to five minutes I’ve already come. Would he really just walk right past me if the five minutes were up? Even if he saw me outside the door?

Somehow I think he would.

Enzo is cut from a different fabric than any man I’ve ever met. There’s a quiet power to him, like he’s so overflowing with calm confidence that it drips from him.

It would just be sex; I remind myself. Only sex. Penis in the you-know-where. Easy peasy.

I reach out and put my hand on the doorknob, taking in deep breath after deep breath, like I’m about to jump into an ice-cold bath.

I pull my hand back and wince, trying again to shake off my nerves.

“Dammit,” I mutter to myself, yanking the door open and hurrying inside before I have a chance to change my mind. I close the door and press my back to it, wincing, as if I’ve just entered a bear’s den. The air even feels thick here.

Hot.

Heavy.

Sexual energy permeates the air so thick that I can feel it wrapping around us, drawing our bodies closer.

Enzo stands up from the edge of a small desk, eyes intense. Something passes over his face I can’t quite place—regret? Sadness? But as quickly as it comes, it’s gone, replaced by only a look of pure hunger, like he’s been starving his whole life and I’m the first morsel of food he’s ever seen.

“Small place,” I say. My voice comes out as a squeak, little more than a choked whisper.

He says nothing, still fixing me with those green eyes. Most men are uncomfortable in silence, but Enzo seems to breathe it in. Revel in it.

He doesn’t need to speak when his eyes speak volumes. Hunger. Lust. Desire. It’s all written so clearly there.

I clear my throat, shifting on my feet as I wish for an ounce of his confidence. “I don’t really know how this—” I start.

He swallows me up, moving toward me in a single stride that gives me no choice but to back up until I bump against the door. He plants his hand beside my head. His entire body is tense, poised, so full of potential energy that I can feel it buzzing through the air between us, making my hairs stand on end.

He’s so close. So strong. So different. He’s not one of the directionless boy-men I wasted my time with in college. He’s a man with purpose and strength. He’s a real man in every sense of the word, and being tangled up with him feels so right it hurts.

His cologne smells earthy and subtle, but I can’t breathe in enough of it. I press my thighs together to suppress the ache there. I want this so badly, even if it terrifies me. Just once. Just once I can let my walls down and do something crazy and reckless.

He puts a rough finger to the side of my face, eyes studying the path it follows like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “I told you,” he rasps. “If you came here, you are mine.”

I swallow hard. My knees feel like jelly from the waves of chills his touch is sending through me.

“Mine,” he growls. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I breathe. I’m surprised at the warmth that floods through me when I hear the words come from my mouth. I’ve prided myself on independence all my life, but the dirty thrill of handing the keys over to a stranger pulses through me like adrenaline. It’s wrong. It’s filthy. But God, does it feel good.

He lets his thumb linger on my lower lip, dragging it slowly so that my lip rolls down with his touch and flips back up with a soft sound. I can see the barely controlled desire in his eyes. He wants to dive in and take me in his arms now, but he’s waiting. Why is he waiting?

He’s forcing himself to go slowly for a reason.

He steps back to sit down in the chair by the desk with his feet planted wide and his fingers resting on his chin. “Take everything off.”

I stand still, back still pressed against the wall where I can feel the memory of his heavy body pinning me there. His words bounce around my brain, but can't manage to sink in.

“Undress,” he growls.

The hint of anger in his tone moves me to action. I reach for the hem of my dress, hesitating. My idea of a sexual encounter before this was full of self-conscious shyness and doubt, of fumbling hands and awkward, and quick passionless climaxes.

Enzo has barely put his hands on me and I already feel… I feel alive. Wanted. Owned. I don’t feel as self-conscious as I think I should, even when I’m about to pull my dress off and bare myself in full view for him.

“Here?” I ask.

His only response is the faintest narrowing of his eyes.

I swallow down the last of my reservations. With closed eyes and a pounding heart, I yank my dress up over my head. It might not be the sexiest striptease in the world, but I’m taking my clothes off for a guy who is almost a total stranger in a restaurant. He’s going to have to take what he can get.

It doesn't look like he's planning on complaining though. His gaze wanders up from my toes, passing over every little imperfection as if he sees a work of art instead of… me. His clear appreciation emboldens me. A little. It makes me feel like a prize being presented to him. It makes me feel sexy and unique. Most of all, it makes me feel like his possession. Like he's appraising something that's his, and he's pleased with what he sees. Five minutes ago, I'd have imagined that thought would send a stab of indignation through me, but it's impossible to feel anything except hot, pulsing exultation from letting myself be taken and claimed by him.

“There it is,” I say nervously. “I’m undressed.” I give him a cheesy smile and nod to my dress on the floor. “Get it? Un… Yeah. Okay," I sigh, reaching for my bra. My mouth, unfortunately, has a habit of running when my brain is occupied, and when it does, it's like a driverless car, careening into obvious corners and exploding into a fiery, embarrassing ruin.

He leans forward just barely when I unhook my bra, ignoring my awkwardness. My impulse is to cover myself, but I force a little confidence I’m not sure I feel and let it fall to the ground. The corner of his mouth twitches in the faintest of grins.

I thank heaven that I considered the vague possibility of sex when I got ready this evening because I spent some time in the shower preparing. So when I pull my panties down, I’m shaven and feeling as sexy as I possibly can, given the circumstances.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. There’s nowhere to hide in the small room. No corner that isn’t lit by the unforgiving fluorescent lights, but I’m carried forward by momentum, by the sense that I’ve already stepped over some kind of precipice and now there’s nothing left to do but enjoy the fall, heedless of what will happen when I reach the ground.

He stands. The tension is broken, like a thick layer of glass shattering in an instant to let the warm rush of water to come pouring through.

He moves against me in a rush. My body thumps against the door again, so loud I'm sure people from the restaurant heard, but he doesn't care. I'm his world right now, and he's mine. I can feel it in the way his hands squeeze almost too tight and move almost too quickly like he's on the verge of losing control.

He hastily strips his tie and rips a few of the buttons of his shirt open, but can’t seem to bother taking the time to undress more. I’m given only the tantalizing view of his chest covered in intricate black tattoos. He falls to his knees, surprising me but not giving me time to react before he lifts first one, then my other leg over his shoulders, causing me to slip down until he’s bearing my weight, my back pinned against the door, and the insides of my thighs pressed against his ears and his face and… His mouth.

The first moan spills out of me before I’ve even comprehended what’s happening. His tongue laps at me, lips kissing and teasing me in my most tender place until I could scream. I bite down hard on my lip so that only a shuddering release of breath stutters out of me. I expected him to shove himself roughly inside me and cum too fast, but this? I think back to all the barely contained lust he has shown for me since he led me inside the restaurant, and the first thing he wanted to do was eat me out? I may have finally settled the question of whether the perfect man exists.

My pleasure is escalating at a pace I can’t keep up with, like a huge boulder at the top of an ever-steepening hill, gaining speed and momentum at a rate that feels both out of control and mesmerizing.

“You taste so fucking sweet. I knew you would,” he says, pausing only long enough to speak but not moving his mouth away from me so the vibrations of his words ripple through me.

I gasp, squeezing my legs tighter around his head involuntarily. I can’t believe I’m doing something like this. I want to believe it though. I want to believe this is happening and this is me, a version of myself that isn’t afraid to grab an opportunity when it presents itself, no matter how crazy or wild it might be.

He ducks out from under my legs, holding me up by the waist like I weigh nothing so I don’t fall from the sudden change of position. The loss of his mouth between my legs comes over me like a cold, unexpected rush of wind. A few minutes. A few moments. That was all it took and I can already feel myself wrapped around his finger—or tongue—so tightly that I know he has me exactly where he wants me. Frustratingly, it’s exactly where he seemed to know he’d have me from the start.

He pulls my hip forcefully, turning me so my ass faces him and my face is pressed against the door. His body is against mine, hard erection pressing into my back. "Regret coming in here yet?" he asks in my ear, breath hot against my skin.

“No,” I say. It’s true, too. I don’t regret it. I’m surprised I came in. The regret though? I expect that will settle in around tomorrow morning, once my body isn’t firing off every long-dormant chemical in its arsenal to turn me sex-blind.

“You will,” he says.

There’s a twisting of his mouth that confuses me at first. He seems to feel some sort of disappointment. For me? Or is it for himself? He doesn’t give me time to decide, because the sound of him stripping off his belt snaps me directly into the moment. I expect to hear it clank to the floor, but instead he grips me roughly by the wrists and pins my hands against the wall above my head. He uses his other hand to wrap the belt around my wrists.

“W-what are you doing?” I stammer, even though Cassie’s warning about his sexual tastes is still fresh in my mind. I was starting to think she had been wrong. I half-resist him, tugging away and trying to free myself without any real sense of what I’m fighting against. I came in here willingly, didn’t I? He warned me that I would be his, whatever that means. But why is he tying my— “Ow,” I say. “That’s too tight.”

I almost expect him to yank even harder, cutting off the blood to my wrists, but to my surprise, he carefully loosens the belt, inspecting my skin quickly for any sign of damage before returning to restraining me.

“I can’t have you going anywhere,” he says, as if that’s a perfectly normal explanation for tying me with his belt.

My core is actually throbbing with every heartbeat, so full of heat and so wet that I’m sure I’ve never been anywhere near this aroused in my entire life. It’s so much easier to ignore all the warnings signs and shut away all the reasons this could be a terrible idea. With his rough hands against me and his hot breath on my neck… It’s so damn easy.