Isobel saw Alexander’s body tense as she flicked the whip in the air. Would she really be able to go through with it? She had based this all on her own likes and dislikes. Gathered her fantasies and experiences, and then simply decided she was going to dominate him, force him to be submissive. She had expected it to be tough. What she hadn’t expected was to be so turned on by it, almost high from the experience.

Satisfying herself in front of Alexander had been a decision born in the heat of the moment. She had come more quickly than ever before, and when Alexander begged to take her, she had been seconds from saying yes, from letting him make love to her on the floor, against the wall, wherever.

She cracked the whip in the air again and saw his muscles tense in preparation. His body was like poetry: tanned, muscular, and glistening with sweat. She was glad she had stopped herself from surrendering too fast, that he had followed her lead, that she had kept control. She knew it was a one-off, that this wasn’t a role she wanted in the future.

But now.

She dragged the whip tails along his back, saw him shudder.

Now she wanted to take all she could.

She raised the whip and brought it down on his buttocks. He jerked but didn’t say a word. Even though it must have hurt.

“Relax,” she ordered. “Breathe.”

Alexander inhaled sharply. She raised the whip and brought it down again, making sure to hit only muscle and fleshy areas. His entire body shook. She paused. He said nothing, just breathed. Was she being too hard? She crouched down, reached a hand beneath him. Ah. He was so big, she couldn’t get her hand all the way around him, warm and wonderfully hard. She leaned over him, bit his ear. He groaned, moved eagerly beneath her, toward her palm. She let go, and he made a growling sound of protest.

She raised the whip again, let it fall. Again. And again, even harder. Still, he said nothing. She wiped her brow.

She couldn’t keep it up much longer. Who would have imagined it was so damn exhausting to whip someone?

She hit him twice more, one on each buttock, really getting into it. She heard a stifled sound.

She stood still, allowed her breathing to calm down, making him wonder. This was what she found hardest herself. Not knowing what would happen. She wanted him to feel it.

“You can get up now,” she said. “Stand up. And kiss me.”

He lay still for a second, as though he was gathering himself.

And then he rose to his full height. Naked and sweaty, his eyes wild, he grabbed her, kissed her hungrily, almost vehemently, pushed a leg between her thighs, made her ride him as he wrapped an arm around her like steel.

“Wait,” she panted, her hands on his chest.

He was about to take over, but this was still her night.

“Isobel,” he groaned against her mouth. His expert fingers caressed her, his talented mouth kissed her, and she yielded. It felt so good, she loved this madness. Being desired, coveted.

“Baby,” he said huskily.

Her eyes narrowed at the arrogant word.

Alexander respected her, she knew that without a doubt. But this was about the balance of power, and she wasn’t prepared to hand it over to him yet. She pushed him away. Gestured toward one of the bedrooms with her head.

“There’s a bed in there. Lie down on your back. One hand by each bedpost. Wait for me.”

He looked about to protest, so she just turned on her heel and left him, went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Jesus, this was intense. It was like trying to keep your balance on a tidal wave. She splashed water onto her face, checked her makeup and hair. She stared at her reflection. Her eyes were enormous, her skin practically glowing. This was a woman she had never met before.

She went out again. Would Alexander have done as she said?

When she pushed open the door to the bedroom, he was actually lying down. Naked and outstretched on the enormous antique bed. His face a mix of frustration, arousal, and uncertainty, and his gaze never left her. But he lay still, as she had told him, completely at her mercy.

“One hand by each post,” she reminded him.

He obeyed, an intent look on his face.

She unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to the floor. If you faked being comfortable with your nakedness, it practically became true, she thought. And the way he stared at her, it was hard to feel anything but flattered.

She climbed up onto the bed and straddled him, positioned herself with her knees below his hips, studied his handsome face, his muscular chest.

She leaned forward, took the silk ribbon she had already tied around the bedposts and looped it around his wrists, one at a time, until he was tied fast. Silk was good in that respect, strong and durable but still easy to loosen. She tied the silk in bows and smiled at how it looked. Alexander sought out her gaze, and she stroked his beautiful, angry face.

“This is difficult for you, I know,” she said soothingly. “But you can do it. Trust me.”

“Let me inside you,” he whispered. “It’ll be so good. I know you want to. You know how much you like it. Come on, Isobel.”

“Yes, I want it,” she said quietly, almost giving in to the fervor in his voice. “But first, I want to do something else. You aren’t in charge here.”

He looked like he was about to explode. His body quivered beneath her, like an animal. “Christ, Isobel. I can’t bear this much longer. Let me do something.”

She clambered from the bed and went to fetch the ice bucket.

“What are you going to do with that?”

She leaned forward and gripped his erection, moved her hand up and down a few times before she let go. He was so close to coming now, she could practically see his orgasm rising up through his body.

“Not yet.” She smiled. She filled a glass with champagne. It was so cold the glass was immediately damp with condensation, but she took some ice cubes from the bucket and dropped them into the glass anyway.

“Ready?” she asked.

His eyes widened. “No,” he bellowed.

She poured the champagne over his stomach and crotch. He swore. She straddled his legs again and licked him, lapped up the liquid, licked his thighs, his stomach, the skin around his trembling erection. She moved her fingers over him until he shook. She caressed him, carefully, so lightly and gently and tantalizingly that he started to pull at his bonds out of frustration. He was angry now, she saw; there was fire in his eyes, fury in his limited movements.

She picked up the whip again. Dragged the soft tails over his erection, saw real fear pass across his gorgeous features. She wouldn’t admit it, but it was arousing to see his fear, to have him in her power.

He was breathing hard, his eyes not leaving the whip, his muscular legs tense.

But of course she hadn’t planned to use it on him like that. Instead she lay down comfortably next to him, her head at the foot end of the bed and her feet by his hips so that he could see all of her. She spread her legs, could see his smoldering gaze fixed on her. She wasn’t even sure she had seen him blink. His arms were stretched, the veins and tendons raised beneath his tanned skin. She laid one of her legs over his, spread herself, half closed her eyes, and began to touch herself.

She sighed gently, moved her hips.

“Isobel.”

Alexander’s voice was pained, the sweat glistened on his chest. His cock trembled against his stomach, mesmerizing, enthralling. It had shrunk with the ice-cold champagne, but now it was big and hard again. She slowly pushed the handle of the whip inside herself. The short grip was hard and ribbed, and actually really arousing. She played with the whip, pushed it in and out, as she touched herself with her other hand. She did this until Alexander pulled so hard against his bonds that the bed shook beneath them.

Isobel came, panting and violently. She pulled out the handle, stood up, filled her champagne glass, and held it to his mouth.

“Drink,” she said.

He craned his head forward and drank, desperate gulps, spilling most of it.

“Good boy,” she said, and leaned forward to kiss his mouth. She bit his lip, licked his neck.

“Untie me now. I’m going crazy.”

Alexander wasn’t a naturally submissive man. Dominating him was a bit like trying to tame an angry bull or a wild horse. It was hard, but it was exciting. Reading the feelings on his face and trying to anticipate his reactions. Seeing his resistance, pushing him to accept her demands. But he had earned what he wanted now. And besides, she was longing for him.

She reached for the colorful packages she had laid out on the nightstand, took a brown one and ripped the foil open. The faint smell of cocoa hit her. She rolled the condom onto him with a steady hand. She would rather have done it with her mouth, had studied YouTube videos of women rolling condoms onto dildos using their mouths, and she had tried it herself. That was why she had bought the flavored kind. But it was difficult, they were so sticky, and she hadn’t felt the least bit sexy, so she made do with her hands. She had tested the flavors and liked the strawberry, hated the mint, and eventually settled on chocolate. The things you did to broaden your mind, she thought, straddling him, gripping his cock and pulling him toward her. His hips strained toward her so hard she almost lost her balance on the bed. She gave him a stern look.

“Lie still.”

“I can’t,” he hissed.

“And stop pulling on the ribbons,” she said sharply. “You’ll hurt yourself. If you can’t do what I say, then …”

She started to move away.

“I will, I will. Come back. Christ, come back, please.”

She kissed his chest, gently bit his gold ring. He lay still. But he was sweaty, his jaw tight, and she realized she had pushed him as far as she could.

“I’m going to undo the ropes now,” she said. “But you can’t move your hands until I say so, okay?”

He nodded.

She untied one. Then the other. She held his gaze. His eyes were almost black, but he lay still just like she told him. She moved over him, adjusted her body. He closed his eyes.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” she murmured. “Do you want to come?”

“God, yes.”

“Not yet.”

She rode him slowly, knew he would want to move more roughly, quickly, knew he was using all of his strength to obey her, to restrain himself.

She paused.

He made a growling sound. But he didn’t move his arms. She put her hands on his shoulders and began to slowly ride him again.

“Now,” was all she said.

She felt the balance of power shift in the blink of an eye, it was like standing on an unsteady block of ice before it swayed and sent her plunging straight down to the bottomless depths. Alexander’s hands moved so quickly she didn’t even see it. One second she was in control, the next he had grabbed her hips, lifted her up slightly, and then brought her back down as he thrust upward so hard that she panted. Ah, but she loved this, when he took over, when all his strength was unleashed.

She allowed herself to be overpowered by his newly liberated energy, just held on as he threw her down onto the bed, rolled on top of her, pushed her hands up above her head, and held her wrists as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He pushed into her and thrust away hard, so deliciously, masterfully hard. He came with a roar, and as the edges of her vision began to dim she came too, as though it was the easiest thing in the world to have yet another orgasm.

He collapsed onto the bed next to her, breathing heavily, groaning into the sheets. He was shaking.

“Are you good?” she asked hesitantly, had never seen him like this.

He answered by violently turning toward her, burying his face into her chest, wrapping his arms around her, and continuing to shake. She stroked his hair gently and waited it out. After a while, he moved a little, wiped his face with the back of his hand. She touched his hair again, felt her heart swell.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice muffled.

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I know how it feels. It’s very powerful.”

He breathed, she could feel his heart pounding away, and they lay in silence. The apartment was high up, so there were no sounds from outside.

“My God,” he eventually said. She could hear from his voice that he had gathered himself together. “I don’t know what to say. That was … intense. Way beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.” He looked at her. “And you were like a fucking wet dream.”

“You seemed a little angry for a while,” she said, studying his face for any sign of regret. But he looked peaceful.

“I probably was. But not really. Never angry. Sorry, my head’s a complete mess.”

“I hadn’t realized how hard it is to be so dominant,” Isobel said, her fingers playing with his hair. “Sometimes I had no idea what to do.”

“It seemed like you were totally in control of everything.”

His voice was steady, and he lay on his back next to her. She lay down on the arm he had stretched out.

“I understand so much more now,” he said after a moment. “It was much harder being in the submissive role than I thought.” He moved and groaned.

“Does it hurt?”

“You’re right, you’re strong,” he said with a laugh. “It hurts even more now.”

“That’s because the endorphins are going. Their function is to mask pain. When they leave the body, that’s when you really feel the pain.” Isobel blushed a little, didn’t know why.

Alexander looked at her, kissed her on the forehead. “How are you? Tell me how it was for you. Was it tough? Fun? And do you know how sexy you were?”

“It felt good. A little strange. Like I exposed myself.”

“Still? Oh, babe, when exactly are you going to start trusting me?”

She didn’t answer. Because Alexander had it all backward. She trusted him, a lot, at least when it came to sex. More than she’d ever trusted anyone else. It felt safe with him. And that was a terrifying feeling. She snuggled closer to him.

He stroked her arm, kissed her gently, mumbled nonsensical phrases about how soft she was, how smooth and sexy and perfect, everything she needed to hear. This tenderness … He was a fantastic lover, she had never doubted that. But he was also a good person, on so many levels. It was getting harder and harder to remember how different they were, and what wildly different things they believed in.

She closed her eyes, just wanted to be here and now, ignore complicated feelings.

It was his turn to smooth her hair.

“That’s so nice,” she mumbled.

“Yeah, you like it when I play with your hair. Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know. That no one else knows.”

She felt his fingers in her hair, deft, tender, and the words came from nowhere: “Sometimes, I’m so tired of fieldwork I just want to curl up and die.” She fell silent, amazed. She hadn’t even realized she felt that way. The words had just come out; she hadn’t consciously thought them.

“Do you mean that?” He sounded curious. “I thought you were practically made for it. And everyone I talk to uses the word legendary at least once whenever they talk about you. Why do you feel that way?”

She had them sometimes, if she was being super honest, second thoughts she normally batted back.

There might be something else for me.

All her life she had adapted to other people’s needs. She had no family of her own, nothing to keep her at home, not even a fixed job. She had placed a value on that, on always being able to leave, had always thought she wanted things that way. But had she really done it for her own sake? She barely dared consider the thought.

“I got taken prisoner once,” she said quietly, touching the golden ring in his nipple, sniffing at his skin. Was it possible to be addicted to the smell of someone? The taste? And what happened if you got addicted and then had to stop? Would life lose color and meaning? Or would the longing pass?

She could feel Alexander stare at her, knew he was shocked. “You never told me. When? Where?”

“Last fall. When I was in Liberia.”

“Jesus. So recently. What happened?”

“It was so quick,” she said slowly, didn’t want to remember how terrified she had been, completely at the kidnappers’ mercy. “I panicked, did everything wrong. They tied me and I was so scared. I was completely terrified—I’d never thought it would happen to me. They took me at a roadblock and drove off.”

“But were you …?”

Alexander fell silent, but she knew what he wanted to know. The thing people always wondered.

“Raped? No. They let me go as soon as they realized I was a doctor. They weren’t interested in me. It was chaos down there, so many different warring groups. It was a mistake.”

But during those hours she had spent with an automatic weapon pointed at her, she hadn’t been particularly strong. She shuddered involuntarily. One of the men had eaten oranges or tangerines and she still couldn’t smell that scent without being reminded of the kidnapping. Alexander’s arm around her tightened, and she curled up to him, reveling in the protective, almost possessive gesture.

“But why didn’t you tell me? It must have affected you.”

“I never talk about it. Only Leila knows. That was why she wanted to send me on the safety course. The strange thing was that when I had to be evacuated from Chad, lots of the fear came back. I don’t know, maybe I’m not cut out for this in the long run.”

“Maybe you want more from life?”

She closed her eyes again. God, she couldn’t talk to him about what she wanted from life. Not yet, not now.

She wanted a family. Children. Was that selfish? Wanting things for herself when she could be out there, making a difference to the world?

“I guess so,” she said. “Did I tell you about Marius?” Children like Marius were one of the many reasons she kept going. Because if she didn’t, then who?

“Yeah, you mentioned him.”

“He lives on the streets. He is only seven or eight, a small child, but he’s homeless, an orphan. Moves from place to place. He disappears sometimes. Other times he comes to the hospital. I met him when I was there last fall. There are plenty of kids I’ve been fond of, but then had to leave without knowing what happened to them. You never get used to it, but you learn to switch off. But for some reason, Marius is special.”

She had given him blood when she was there that fall. They weren’t allowed to do things like that, of course; there were rules. But he had been so ill, so wretched. There were no blood banks—you just asked the relatives if they had considered being donors. But since he was all alone in the world, no one could or would give blood to Marius, and when she realized that she and the boy had the same blood type, the decision had been easy. She had given him hers, and he had gotten better. Her blood literally ran through his veins now.

“He’s named after a Chadian soccer player. When I think of him, I know I have to keep working.”

“I don’t plan to argue with you, not now,” he said, and gave her a tender kiss. “You’re a complicated woman, Doctor Sørensen, and someone should have a serious talk with you. But not now. I’ve never felt as good as I do tonight. Anyway. The future has a way of working itself out.”

Isobel had no desire to end up in a discussion that couldn’t possibly end well either. Because, in contrast to Alexander, she knew that the future didn’t have a tendency to work itself out at all. Just the opposite, actually. Her experience was that after the good times, bad times invariably followed. And it was probably time for that all too soon, because things had been good for so long now.

“Is there anything to eat in this sex nest?”

Isobel nodded. They got up, drank tea and ate sandwiches in the kitchen. Talked about art, about films, and about travel. Then they made love again, calmly and tranquilly this time. In bed, beneath the covers. Deep kisses, soft movements. Cozy and intimate, completely free of kink. Afterward they just lay for a long time, gazing into each other’s eyes, and it didn’t feel even slightly corny. Alexander fell asleep before her, and she lay there awhile, just watching him. He looked different when he slept. Awake, he was always in motion, had such tremendous energy, but now he looked so peaceful. His dark eyebrows and lashes gave character to his golden face. She brushed his forehead with gentle fingers.

She was falling in love with this man. Really falling.

She knew it was stupid, that it was the last thing she had planned to do. But Alexander had a depth and a sensitivity that was impossible to resist. Developing serious feelings for a man notorious for his sexcapades was a quick route to heartache, she knew that, of course; she wasn’t stupid. But she could stop her feelings about as easily as she could stop a particularly virulent virus. Nature wasn’t kind. It was unrelenting and utterly lacking in compassion. You had to let things take their course, when it came to both viruses and love. If you were strong, you would survive without too much damage. Isobel pulled the covers up over them, moved closer to him, and closed her eyes. God, she hoped she was really strong. Because this had the potential to crush her.