Losing this.
The shiny silver doors slide open.
My shoes tap the floor. Simple black wedges. Not the cheap ones I bought for work. A designer brand Paloma selected.
More expensive than the rest of my outfit.
More expensive than anything I bought before this.
The tap echoes around the narrow hallway. The dozen steps feel like a thousand.
My heartbeat echoes between my ears.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
There. I stop at his door.
This is it. My last chance to back out.
I search my head for some bit of sense. Enough to convince me to turn around, walk into the elevator, take the subway back to my apartment.
But I'm out of sense.
My body is too tuned to this.
It's been so long since I've really given it what it wants. I can't stop now.
I knock.
Ty makes me wait. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
A minute.
Two.
Finally, he opens the door.
He's standing there, tall and proud and strong.
An angel in the soft blue light.
A devil in a designer suit.
A madman or a monster, maybe.
My monster.
"You're late." His voice is sharp. Curt.
"I know."
His eyes meet mine. He pauses. Gives me a chance to explain, expand, ask for mercy.
I don't.
He continues. "Come in. Close the door behind you."
I step inside. Push the door closed.
The slam echoes around the wide, open room.
It's the same apartment as last time.
The same soft leather couch. The same sliding glass door. The same hard dining table.
The same hallway leading to his bedroom.
He moves into the kitchen. Fills two glasses with water. Brings one to me.
My fingers brush his as I take it.
My body catches fire. That's how turned on I am.
That's how badly I need him.
I might come just from the sound of his voice.
I'm not sure that's possible, but right now, it feels like it.
"Drink," he says.
"Water?"
"Yes. You're going to need your stamina."
Fuck. I take a long sip. Then another. Another.
He watches me finish the glass. Takes it. Places both—my empty one, his half-drank one—on the kitchen counter.
"Do you know why you're here?" he asks.
"We're engaged."
"Yes." He chuckles, breaking character. "Why you're here tonight?"
"So you can fuck me."
"So I can have my way with you," he corrects.
My body whines. This has to end with him fucking me. I need him inside me. In a way I've never needed anything.
He must know that.
He closes the distance between us, wraps his arm around my waist, pulls me into a soft, slow kiss.
"It might be tender." His fingertips trace the waistband of my jeans. His other hand goes to my hair. He pulls me into a hard, fast kiss, and releases me with a sigh. "It might be rough." He brings his palm to my ass. Pulls me closer. So I can feel his hard-on. "It might be nothing."
"But—"
"You're mine. To use however I see fit."
Fuck.
"Go to the bedroom. Now."
"If I don't?"
"I won't fuck you." His voice is hard. Rough.
He means that.
Whatever else happens here, he means that.
"Which bedroom?" I ask.
"Ours."
"Ours?"
"You know which bedroom I mean, Indigo." His voice drops an octave. "Go. Now. Or I'm not going to fuck you."
Our bedroom.
It steals every ounce of my attention.
He thinks of it as ours.
God, I want something that's ours.
Even if it's our place to fuck. Especially because it's our place to fuck.
This is where we make sense.
Perfect sense.
I turn. Move down the hall.
His bedroom door is open.
Floor clear, walls bare, sheets tucked.
The exact same, except for the leather handcuffs on the bed.
My breath leaves my body. I try to hold on to some amount of conscious thought.
This is—
I'm daring him to punish me. I don't know what it will look like.
I don't even care.
He knows what I want.
He'll give me what I want.
I try to take deep breaths. I try to keep my feet glued to the ground.
His footsteps move closer.
Closer.
He steps into the room. Takes off his suit jacket. Lays it on the dresser.
Then the tie.
He lays it on top of his jacket.
His gaze flits to the mirror. The closet wall. Like so many closet walls.
Like mine.
Not just a place to check an outfit.
A way to watch.
He turns to me. Takes another step toward me, so there are five feet between us.
It's five feet too many, but I know better than to test him.
"Did you follow my instructions?" He stares into my eyes. Waiting. Offering me the next move.
This is it.
It's already in motion, but this is really it.
The match that sets this whole place ablaze.
"No." I push the words from my lips.
"No?" He moves closer. Until there's a foot between us.
"No," I say it again. Firmer. Surer.
"Would you like to elaborate?" He steps toward me.
I back up.
Again, he moves closer.
Again, I back up.
Again.
Until I hit the bed. Until I have to look at him. "No."
His pupils dilate. His posture shifts. The last bits of softness fade.
He pushes me onto the bed.
Hard.
Like he means it.
The mattress is soft enough to take the impact. Still, I bounce, land on it again.
He pins me, his knee against my thigh. "Don't move."
"Or?"
His breath catches. He likes this game as much as I do. He wants to push back. "You have no idea how brutal I can be."
I shake my head.
"Don't move," he says it again. Firmer. Harder.
I watch as he rolls his sleeves to his elbows. The left. Then the right.
Light falls over his strong arms. Casts highlights over his dark skin. His tattoos.
The geometric rose.
The ouroboros.
The Latin quote.
vincit qui se vincit
He conquers who conquers himself.
Is there anything more Ty than that?
He releases his leg. Shoots me a look that dares me to defy him. But still, I stay in place as he moves to the dresser, gathers his tie, tosses it on the bed.
"Sit up," he orders.
I do.
He sits next to me.
His hand goes to my cheek. He pulls me into a hard, fast kiss.
His teeth scrape my bottom lip.
His other hand finds my thigh.
He presses his palm against me. Over my jeans.
Fuck. The hint of pressure is enough to wind the knot inside me. I'm already so close, so on edge.
"Ty," I groan as I pull back.
He responds by rubbing me over my jeans. Harder. Harder.
Hard enough it hurts.
It winds me so quickly.
Tighter and tighter and—
He pulls his hand away.
I nearly buckle from the release. "Please."