So, Sterling is a chick magnet. I’ll have to thank Evie for that little bonus. I shrug. “It’s no big deal. I just feed him and let him hang out.”

“I want to kill those fuckers that hurt him.” Her voice is laced with hatred, and I like it. She’s a spunky little thing beneath all that sadness. There’s still hope for her, but I wonder what she would do to me if she knew who I was.

I head for the kitchen and take out two bottles of water that Evie has left in the refrigerator, along with a shit-ton of other food for me. Tabitha follows me, still holding the cat.

I grin and offer the water to her. “He can walk, ya know,” I tell her. Her face reddens, and she gently puts the cat back down on the floor and watches him prance across the room. Straightening, she wipes at her eyes and looks around.

“Can I use your bathroom and wash my face? I’m kind of a mess.”

I step closer to her and she doesn’t back away from me. “I like messes,” I say, my gaze traveling from her pouty lips up to her eyes. I push a strand of hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear, my finger lightly touching her flushed cheek. She sucks in a breath but doesn’t break eye contact. “The bathroom’s down the hall.” I say.

I step back and she practically runs down the hall, away from me.

I should take her home. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but this part of me always seems to win because there’s just more bad in me than there is good. Besides, being bad is way more fun.

She comes out after a few minutes, her hair brushed and the dark stains of mascara cleaned off her face. “Sorry I looked so bad …” Her voice trails off.

“Grief isn’t pretty.”

She shakes her head. “No … it’s not.”

I put my water bottle down and move closer to her, leaning my hip against the kitchen counter. “Why did you come here with me?”

She tilts her head a little and bites her lip. “To forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Just …” She looks off out the window at the lake. “Everything.” Tears start to fall down her cheeks. “Him … me … the pain. All of it.” She chokes and wipes at her eyes. “I feel like it’s killing me. I feel like I want to die, and I don’t know how to make it stop. I’ve never been this way, ever.”

I think back to her social media statuses, how happy and whimsical she was before the accident, and what a shame it is that her light has been snuffed.

“I’m scared of the thoughts I have. I have so much hatred for the person who caused the accident. It’s not fair that he lived and my husband didn’t. I feel alone, like no one is really understanding me. They just want me back how I was …” She coughs and takes a sip of water. “I’m not that person anymore and I’m tired of trying to be. I’m just … exhausted. I don’t want to think, or do, or anything anymore. I want it all to stop. I want a reset button.”

I did this. This beautiful, pixie-like girl doesn’t smile anymore because of my bad mistakes. I can’t change the accident, or bring back Katie, Renee, or Nick, but I can fix Tabitha. I can flip her all-the-fuck back around again. I know this without a doubt because I know myself, and I know pain, and I know pleasure, and I know how to unfuck and refuck and fix fuck, and it starts with breaking her down, gaining her trust, and renewing her.

I don’t know shit about love and romance, but I know that true submission goes far deeper than love. It gives more; it takes more. Love is fragile and can be destroyed. Submission is strong and only strengthens with time. Love leaves people weak and devastated, as she is now. Submission heals and awakens. Submission is love on fucking steroids. Men like me have a radar for women that need to submit, and she’s silently screaming for it just as much as I’ve been silently begging to give it. I hope I’m not wrong, but my gut tells me I’m right.

I lift her chin and force her to look up at me. “You probably won’t believe me, but I understand more than you know. I know exactly how you feel.” I take a deep breath and search her eyes. “I can help you, if you want me to. I could help you forget. I can help you out of this bad head space you’re in. But you’d have to trust me.” I sound like a crazy douche, but I can’t pick the right words for what I’m trying to say. I silently curse myself for being verbally challenged.

“I don’t even know you.” Her voice shakes but there’s no hint of fear. She’s still too numb for that.

“Sometimes, we can’t trust what we do know, and we have to trust what we don’t.”

“You really think you could possibly help me? I’ve already talked to a therapist and she’s useless as shit. I feel like she’s … like she’s analyzing me. Judging me. I stopped going.”

“I’m not a fucking therapist. But I know how to make it stop.”

She licks her lips, the glimpse of her pink tongue making my cock twitch. “I’m all yours then,” she says breathlessly. “Make me forget. Make me want to live again. I’ve tried everything else.”

I waste no time accepting that challenge and bring both my hands up to the sides of her face to hold her still as I take her lips with mine. I kiss her, feather soft, barely touching her lips, tasting her breath, lingering close to her and lightly running my tongue along her bottom lip, and she quivers and shivers beneath my touch. She gasps but opens her mouth for my tongue to explore hers. Her small hands clutch tightly at the sides of my shirt, hanging on to me.

After a few moments I pull away, and she sways on her feet. I put my hands on her waist to steady her. I’m enjoying the effect I have on her immensely. It’s exactly what I wanted.

“You okay?” I ask, studying her face.

“Yeah …” She brings her hand up slowly and touches my hair, as if she’s petting a wild zoo animal. “Your hair is so shiny and pretty.” She says it so softly, mostly to herself, then tugs my hair, trying to bring my head back down to her for another kiss. Oh, this little girl has some spark in her. I grab her hand and flash her an evil grin.

“Tell me what you want, darlin’.”

She shakes her head and tries to pull her hand out of mine but I hold onto her. “Say it.” It’s a gentle command for me to gauge her willingness to give.

“More of that,” she whispers, and another tear slowly slides down her cheek. She brushes it away with her finger, her cheeks reddening. “I’m sorry … I cry a lot lately …”

I lean my head down and rest my forehead against hers. “Don’t apologize. Even the sky cries.”

I close my eyes and inhale the vanilla scent of her shampoo for a few moments and then lift her up, wrapping her legs around my waist and kissing her long and deep; my hands on her ass, holding her body tight against mine. She circles her arms around my neck as I carry her down the hallway to my bedroom, kicking the door shut behind me. Sterling hasn’t been around any sex activities yet, and I don’t want to find out if he’s going to try to get in on the action or start a purr-fest.

I drop her on the bed and fall on top of her, trying not to crush her. She’s the smallest chick I’ve ever fucked and my mind is racing with ideas of what I can do with someone this short and light. That can wait, though. Today will be for her because she needs to get it out of her system.

I expect her to lie there, frozen, but she’s in a frenzy, pulling at my shirt, trying to get it off me. I sit on top of her and let her tug it up over my head. Her hands still and her eyes widen as she takes me in, her focus wandering over the colorful tattoos that span my huge arms and chest. I know that my looks are most likely a shock to her, and she’s probably not used to a huge muscular man with long blue-black hair covered in tattoos crawling all over her. By the time I’m done with her, she’ll have little memory of any men before me. She’ll be Vandal-ized for life.

I capture her hands in mine and pin them over her head on the mattress, slowly sliding my body down hers until my lips meet hers again. I kiss her hungrily, demanding her breath. I move my mouth down her neck, sucking and biting her delicate flesh, marking each inch I touch with lust. I want to see the evidence of fucking her when we’re done. I grab the fabric of her thin blouse and rip it down the middle with a quick, well-practiced tear, exposing a purple bra stretched over her breasts. I glide my tongue between her soft mounds, my hands squeezing her through the satin material. I flick my tongue over her nipple, wetting the thin fabric that covers her.

Leaning up off of her a bit, I reach down and pull the small knife from my ankle strap and flick the blade out of its case with a quick snap of my wrist. Her eyes go wide with fear and her breath quickens as she watches me bring the blade closer to her. I slide the blade between her breasts, under the small piece of material, and yank the blade up quickly, slicing the bra in half. The two pieces of fabric fall to each side, exposing her breasts. I close the blade and toss the knife to the floor. Her tits are small in my hands, but firm and round, her nipples pressing against my palms as I gently squeeze and caress them.

I kiss her lips roughly. “You’re beautiful,” I growl before I drag my tongue from her lips, down to suck one of those taut little buds into my mouth while I tease the other in my hand, twisting the nipple between my thumb and forefinger. Her body writhes beneath me; her hands finally realize they’re free and she tangles them in my hair as I feast on her breasts until she starts to moan.

I slowly stand and move to the end of the bed, watching her intently as she watches me. I grab one of her feet and pull off one shoe, then the other. She’s chewing on her lower lip as she watches me, fighting an inner battle. Part of her wants to stop me, and part of her wants to go over the edge to escape the pain and grief.

I reach for her waist and yank her jeans and panties down in one quick pull, and throw them to the floor. I drink her in for a moment: naked, small and pale on my dark comforter, and just so breathtaking. She looks like a little fallen angel. A long, jagged scar runs down her side, and a few more are on her legs. Of course these are from the accident. My mistakes engraved in her perfect little body forever.