"Yeah."
"Put a ring on it, okay."
"There's more to life than money."
"Yeah. Soccer and hot sex. And you obviously have the latter covered."
My cheeks flush.
"You two fucked. I knew it!" She giggles and she crosses the room. "I'm proud of you."
"Oh my god."
"It was good, yeah?" She releases me. Takes in my expression with a smile. "Yeah. It was."
"Bed. Now."
"Is that what you said to him?"
"Now."
"Or maybe it's what he said to you?"
Fuck. My blush deepens.
It must be obvious, because her face lights up. She claps. Mouths nailed it as she fist-pumps. "I'm proud of you, kid. Keep on… coming."
I try to adopt a maternal stance, but I don't have it in me.
I want to tell her. I want to feel like her older sister and not her mother.
Like before Dad died and I had to take over most of that role.
Before Mom died and I had to take over all of it.
"I will go to bed." Sienna takes another step backward. "But you should know one thing, Indie."
"That you love me?"
"Yeah. And you're already starting to bruise." She winks, turns on her heel, moves to her bedroom. She calls, "good night, sleep tight, don't let the rich guys bite," from her closed door.
This time, I let my blush win. Let the alcohol dissolve my inhibitions. Let my head fill with beautiful mental images of me and Ty.
Tonight.
Three years ago.
All the possibilities of the future.
It might be hell, falling in love with him, trying to unlock the safe around his heart.
But the sex…
That part is heaven.
For the first time in forever, I sleep soundly. No nightmares of Sienna moving to Florida for a full ride. No dreams of overdue electric bills.
Only the hardness of Ty's body, the warmth of his skin, the smell of his cologne.
I wake at peace. Comfortable.
Surprised by gifts in the living room.
Sienna brought them in before she went to school. There's a note from her.
I didn't peek. This time.
Love you.
- Sienna
P.S. You owe me extra details for my self-control.
My lips curl into a smile. Sienna is Sienna. And this is thrilling.
My head fills with ideas. My body buzzes. I shake as I finish my morning routine. I don't make breakfast. I go straight to the white gift boxes.
Three of them. With sleek purple bows and a matching card.
Enjoy your morning. This should help.
I'll pick you up tonight. Eight o'clock.
Wear this.
- Ty
It smells like his cologne. Did he spritz the paper? Or am I that attuned to the smell of his skin?
Tonight.
He's picking me up tonight.
I get more tonight.
It's too far away. I need him now. I need his hands on my skin and his lips on my lips.
I need him groaning my name as he comes.
Will he give me that tonight?
I don't know. I never know what he's going to do. Only that he'll figure out what I want and give it to me.
This is the start.
I peel open the largest box. Find a fancy electric kettle, a ceramic tea set, a bag of the Yunnan Hong Cha I sipped in his office.
He's taking care of me.
It makes my stomach flutter.
It makes my thighs shake.
Is this love or lust or something else entirely? I need it to stay carnal. I need this to be about how much he wants to fuck me.
He's not falling in love with me.
I need to understand that.
I unwrap the next box.
Lingerie. A sheer bodysuit. Soft black mesh with a plunging neckline and a low back.
It's incredibly sexy.
I need to wear it now.
I need to tease him now.
I set up the kettle—we have one already, but Ty's is so much better—move to my room, strip, don the lingerie.
My eyes go to the mirror against the closet door. This is the master bedroom. It was Mom's. Sienna and I shared a room. Now that Mom is gone—
The room is big, by Brooklyn standards. And the mirrored closet wall is its most impressive feature.
Usually, it mocks me. Reminds me I'm trading self-respect for an extra hundred dollars in tips a night.
Right now—
My breath catches in my throat. I don't look gawky or flat. I look like a lingerie model. And knowing Ty sent this, knowing he's picturing me in it—
Fuck.
I pull out my cell. Turn toward the light. Snap a picture. Then another. Another.
There.
I stop on a photo. My reflection, from my nose to my waist. Clearly me. The Latin quote on my shoulder in full view.
My breasts visible through the sheer material.
It's dangerous to send it. But I trust Ty not to share it. And, well—
If he wants to destroy me, he has far easier ways.
There.
I send the picture. No context. Just mesh and bare skin.
The kettle steams. I move into the kitchen, fix the tea, start breakfast. Eggs and toast with plenty of sriracha. I'm an okay cook—Sienna is much better—but I know my eggs. And, really, everything is good covered in hot sauce.
Sunny side-up, scooped onto buttered toast. I bring my plate to the table. Pick up the third box. It's small. The size of two fists.
A sex toy maybe.
More tea.
Some other surprise.
I undo the neat bow. Open the box.
Concealer.
The heavy-duty kind. For covering tattoos, scars, bruises. In two shades, both close to my skin tone.
He sent me concealer. Because I bruise easily. Because he wants to bruise me.
My neck is covered in hickeys.
The other implications make my sex clench.
Rope burns on my ankles. Palm marks on my ass. Bruises on my wrist.
Is that what he's promising? Or is he following up on last night's concern?
I'm not sure.
It's sweet, in an illicit way, him sending me concealer.
And Sienna didn't open it. But what if she had?
I don't want her knowing this.
I don't want her to know how I like it.
And I don't want her to jump to conclusions about Ty. I know my sister. She'll think kinky sex before she thinks domestic violence.
But it's still none of her fucking business.
My cell ringing interrupts me. Fuck. I sent him that picture. Now—
I jump into my room. Answer my phone. "Hello."
"Are you teasing me, baby?" His voice is low and demanding.
My thighs shake. "What do you mean, Mr. Hunt?"
"Do you know what you're doing?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
No. Not at all. "Yes."
"Good."
My sex clenches.
"Are you alone?" he asks.
"Am I alone?"
"It's not a trick question."
Right. He's asking if I'm alone because he wants more pictures. Or he wants to hear me come.
Something in that ballpark.
Something really fucking tantalizing.
"I'm home," I say. "Just me."
"You're hesitating."
"It's nothing."
"It's something."