I wake up spread-eagled on top of my comforter, my eyes gritty and my throat parched. My phone is still in my purse. It’s 12:37 p.m. and I have two text messages. There’s one from Hugo at 11 a.m. apologizing for getting so worked up and asking if we can go for coffee. Then another one an hour later asking if he can at least stop by and pick up his stuff. Nothing from Adler. My heart sinks. Why do I feel like this? I should be relieved to be free of this fucked-up situation that totally isn’t what I want from life. But I want him. I want him to finish what he started last night. Because just the thought of him hard, wanting me, is enough to wake me up inside.

I stretch and roll over with a groan. Then I call Hugo.

We meet at 1.30pm in a café around the corner from my place.

“I’m buying you breakfast to apologize, kid,” he says.

“Okay,” I say and pick the biggest, greasiest thing they have on the menu.

“I know I shouldn’t have assumed. It was a real Neanderthal, guy thing to do,” he says once we’re drinking our coffees.

“I guess I shouldn’t have led you on by letting you share my bed. But by the time I asked Dom if you could stay, the living room was already booked out.”

“I know it was. And I know you were only being nice. You could’ve told me there was no space, but you probably wanted to save me the expense of a hotel.”

“I did.”

“One-fifty a night at the Holiday Inn. Wooh. That was something.” He raises an eyebrow, and we both laugh. His eyes turn serious again. “Rea, when I saw you kissing that guy last night, it really hurt. And it hurt because I realized you’d never kissed me like that before. Like you wanted me more than anything. Like you were hungry for me.”

I press my lips together. “You always made me feel so comfortable. So safe. Like I could goof around and wear a ratty old shirt, and it wouldn’t matter. And I was happy with our sex life. I had no complaints at all. But I’ve discovered that I need something else. Maybe I don’t need it for very long, but I have to try.”

“Well, you’d better not count on me waiting around until you’re done.” He’s saying it in a jokey way, and it makes me sad. “We’ll always be friends, Reagan. I’m looking forward to hanging out with you. And I promise not to crack onto you again. Okay?”

“Okay.” We clasp hands across the table.

After he’s gone, the Sunday blues hit me with full force. I walk aimlessly along the bay. My heart aches every time I think about Hugo. I can’t explain to myself why he’s not the one for me. He’s perfect in so many ways. There’s nothing I don’t like about him. I wish so much that things were different. But weird as it is, having sex with Adler twice has taught me that I need real passion in my life. And Hugo has never woken me up inside like Adler does. I groan. Not that Adler is the one for me either. He just wants to dominate me, mark his territory, take what he wants. And leave me in pieces without a backward glance.

I end up walking for hours, tracing the almost deserted streets of the downtown and warehouse districts. It feels like a lonely place today, and the thought of work tomorrow sits heavy in my stomach. It’s been dark for a while by the time I turn back and find the nearest metro station.

I’m just coming through the door of the apartment when Adler calls me. I hesitate for half a dozen rings, then answer. It’s startling to hear his deep, well-spoken voice on the phone for the first time ever.

“Reagan, I’m sorry for how things played out last night.”

“It wasn’t good.”

He gives a kind of long, tortured groan. “I realize that I haven’t been very fair to you. I know this kind of arrangement is new to you, and I should’ve been more open with you and explained what I’m looking for in this relationship. I know you’ve got every reason to think I’m not very involved. But it’s not the case. I’m serious about making you my long-term submissive.”

He falls silent, but I don’t reply. Two phrases, “relationship” and “long-term submissive,” are bouncing off each other in my brain.

“Are you free for dinner tonight? I’d like to cook for you, at my place, and explain everything to you,” he continues.

“Ummm,” I say slowly, stalling as long as possible. I’m intrigued. While sense is telling me I should put an end to this right now, every other part of me is responding to him, to that sexy voice, which sounds a little less assured than usual. “Yes, I’m free,” I find myself saying.

“Great.” There’s genuine relief in his tone. “Is eight okay?”

“Yup. Eight is fine.”

“Feel free to spend the night, of course. I’ll send a car for you at seven-forty.”

* * *

I shower and deliberate over my closet, eventually picking out a knitted dress, black, patterned wool pantyhose and flat knee-length boots. I have no idea what to expect from tonight, and I don’t want to turn up dressed up like a gift and make it too easy for him.

The Uber turns up on time, and I watch the route out the window, curious about where we’re going. We pull up in Belmont Hill, an upscale neighborhood, in front of a rambling redbrick house. Not what I was expecting. It must be divided into apartments. As I get out of the car, he’s there, opening the front door, waiting for me. He’s wearing a white V-neck T-shirt and black pants. He watches me walk along the path and up some steps and then pulls me close and kisses me. Against my will, there’s a little fizz of pleasure in my belly, but I hold myself stiff, and don’t let myself fall into the hot, dizzying press of his lips.

“Thank you for coming,” he says.

I shrug. “I had nothing else to do tonight.”

He takes my overnight bag from me and puts it down. “Shall I give you a tour?”

“Yes.”

He shows me around the entire house. Inside, it’s very tastefully decorated in a rustic chic style, bare boards on the floor, some painted in baby blue and white stripes. Vintage rugs, comfy, well-loved leather couches. A huge bookcase covers one wall of the living room. The kitchen has black and white tiles and teal-colored fittings made of distressed wood. There are lots of photos of an elegant older woman with laughter etched into the lines of her face.

“Your grandma?”

“Yes,” he says, and light flickers into his eyes before disappearing again. There’s one photo of her, taken maybe twenty years earlier than the others, her hair much darker. She’s sitting on a stoop with a little blond boy on her lap, and they’re grinning at each other. It has to be Adler, but something stops me from asking him about it, a sense that it would be like intruding on a private moment.

“Nice place,” I say instead.

“I inherited it from my grandmother. I used to love spending time here as a kid. I’ve tried to preserve her style as much as possible while giving it a contemporary feel.”

“You’ve done a great job.”

“Thanks,” he says, seeming genuinely pleased.

Upstairs there are three bedrooms—one master, a beautiful, luxurious room with carefully matched antiques and a king-size, cast-iron bed, a charming guest room, and what’s clearly a bondage room. There are hooks and bars on the walls, a huge black lacquered cupboard, and prints on the walls that remind me of the ones in the hotel.

“I’ll give you a tour of this room later,” he says, “but we should eat now. I’m sure you’re hungry?”

I smile, reminded of the time he ordered an antipasti platter for me in the hotel.

Downstairs, I sit at an island in the kitchen, and he pours me a glass of red wine.

“I was planning on making squash and sage ravioli. Is that okay?” he asks. He’s actually making it; he has a pasta machine.

“Are you kidding? No-one has made me pasta before.” I watch in fascination as he gets to work, those big, strong hands moving deftly and skillfully. He makes a cream sauce to go with it, and it’s not long before it’s all ready and we sit down to eat. It’s delicious. Fancy-restaurant-quality delicious. I compliment it lavishly and again, there’s that flicker of pride. He likes doing things well and being appreciated for them.

“I should’ve been better at communicating with you,” he begins, once we’ve finished eating. “When I met you at the Sexpo, I was very curious about you. And after we played the first time, I knew you were the one I’d been looking for a long time, and I wanted to have a long-term situation with you. Which is why I sent you some rules. I thought that was enough. And I’ve always hated to have prosaic conversations about sex. It seems to take the fun out of things. But I appreciate that you’re not used to this world.”

“Not at all,” I reply. “I’m used to dating and having boyfriends. That’s my experience.”

He reaches for my hand across the table. “The truth is, I don’t date. I travel a lot for work. I don’t have time for a twenty-four-seven relationship. And more than that, I don’t want one. It’s not my thing. But what I do want is to have a sub for an ongoing sexual adventure. And I want that sub to be you. You’re an incredible woman, Reagan. I’ve never met anyone so beautiful and strong, and yet capable of such genuine submission.”

I’m quiet for a long time. “I just don’t think this is me. I’ve enjoyed what we’ve done so far. A lot. And it has woken me up in ways I never expected. But I want a boyfriend. I like doing all that couply stuff.”

He jerks back a couple of inches, as if I’ve disappointed him. “I get that, I do. But, seriously, what’s the rush? You’re only at the beginning of your journey. Wouldn’t it be a shame to throw it away now?” Those caramel eyes are burning into mine, and I can’t tear my gaze away. It would be a shame if I never saw that beautiful face again, felt those muscular arms holding me so tight.

“Why be conventional? There’s lots of time to settle down and get married,” he continues, his voice low and hypnotic. “I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want to do, but I know you want it. I can feel how much you need it every time I touch you.”

I take a sip of my wine, try to break the tension. “So, how do you imagine this working out?”

“I think we need to set some ground rules.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, we agree to have sex exclusively with each other.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you want?”

“Absolutely. I need to have an intimate connection with my submissive.” Fleetingly, the expression in his eyes is so unguarded that I find myself believing him. I try to absorb his words. He won’t be mine, but he won’t be anybody else’s either. Which is almost like him being mine. I’ll have exclusive access to that delicious body, those lips. Every time he has sex, it’ll be with me.

“What other ground rules?” I say.

“We meet regularly. Say, three times a week.”

“Okay.” That’s kind of like having a boyfriend.

“We treat each other respectfully at all times.”

I let off a little snort. “Yup. I’m down with that.”

He squeezes my hand again. “I hate for this to seem like a business arrangement. Apart from our sexual connection, I like you a lot, Reagan. I couldn’t have sex with you if I didn’t. And I might want to hang out, cook for you from time to time. I’m just not a guy to hold hands in the street and go for long walks on the beach.”

“I think I understand,” I say slowly. But I’m not sure I do.

“And if you’re not happy at any point, then just tell me, okay? I’m not into mind games, and your happiness is important to me.”

I nod, and he raises my hand to his lips and kisses it. “We’re just at the beginning of a long and exhilarating adventure, Reagan.”

I draw a deep breath, surprised when it catches in my throat. In a way I like the formality. I like the idea that I don’t have to worry about whether he’s into me or not. All the worries that usually plague me when I start dating a guy seem inconsequential. But at the same time, there’ll be so much missing.

“I’ll give it a try,” I say.

He gives me one of his dazzling smiles, like the sun glimmering on the surface of a lake. “Shall we go upstairs?”