Thu-thump. Thu-thump. The beat was like her own, their pulses almost in sync.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Callie. Never for a moment think you aren’t unique. I want you here with me. Not just in my bed.” He tugged gently on a loose strand of her hair, the act seeming to sooth him.

“Really? I thought this was all about the bet to sleep with me.” She was too afraid to believe she meant something to him. All she’d ever wanted from Fenn was to be loved, to mean something. But she hadn’t and it had nearly killed her. Yet…the idea of meaning something to Wes, it felt infinitely more powerful, more dangerous. She shivered at the thought. If this was Wes not in love, what would he be like when he did fall? It would be frightening as hell.

“You need an escape,” he explained. “I need contentment. You make me content. I hope that I help you escape. When I made the bet, I wanted to give you a reason to get over Fenn, and yes, I want desperately to take you to my bed, but I knew you needed time. So I gave you a fighting chance, a purpose to strengthen your resistance. If you won, you’d get a way to live your dreams at art school. Either way, I win, darling. And no matter what, you will still end up in my bed. It’s just a matter of when, not if.”

She winced at his belief that she would just jump into his bed, but he’d been right about her need to fight. The bet had made her feel strong, powerful, and the desire to win so she could have a shot at art school with a good recommendation had given her a determination. Now, though, the bet didn’t seem to matter, not when it came to sleeping with him because over the last several days she realized how much she wanted to be with him.

“How do we do this?” she asked. “Do you want me to be a submissive? Is that what you want to happen?” The idea frightened her. She didn’t want anyone controlling her life.

Wes breathed deeply and met her gaze. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes.” She stared back.

“If I told you to kneel at my feet in nothing but a collar and await my orders each day…” He spoke softly and the image he painted made her stomach clench in the worst way.

He nodded. “No. I can see that’s not something that would interest you.” He paused a beat, then continued. “If, after a day of doing whatever you wish, I capture you and tie you to my bed and torture you with pleasure at my command and mine alone…”

This time she couldn’t help it. Her body heated with awareness, and she wriggled in his hold. He didn’t release her or look away but continued.

“If I took a light flogger to your skin, warming it but never burning or stinging it, if I blindfolded you and kept you helpless and stimulated you to orgasm after orgasm, how would you feel?”

She started trembling all over again, every cell of her body aware of him and his words and desiring what he said to happen.

A slow smile touched his lips.

“Callie, your eyes are dilated and your cheeks are flushed. You are not a full-time submissive, but parts of you need domination and to be controlled, but only in the bedroom.”

When she parted her lips ready to protest, he silenced her with a fingertip. “It doesn’t mean you’re weak or that you have no power. It means the opposite. You are strong in your ability to trust me as a dominant to give you the pleasure you need. Someone like me can give it to you. We’ll start slow. Relationships between dominants and submissives must be built slowly and carefully if both parties wish to reach fulfillment. Do you understand?”

She nodded. It was a lot to take in, but she’d read BDSM romance novels and knew a little of what to expect. It was intimidating. Really intimidating.

“The most important part of doing this is setting limits. If I do anything that worries you or makes you feel too uncomfortable you say the word ‘yellow.’ That means we slow down and we talk about it. If you’re still not ready, then we stop. And if I’m ever doing something that truly frightens you, you say the word ‘red.’ That is an immediate stop. We don’t even have to talk about why it’s a limit for you.” He brushed a kiss over her lips and she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Red and yellow. She could handle that. She would have to trust that he would respect her decision if she had to use those words. It dawned on her then just how much trust she would have to give him in order for this to work.

“Today we’ll spend some time exploring Paris. Anything you want to see, we’ll see.” He kept stroking her, pressing soothing kisses on her skin that sent frissons of pleasure through her. In his arms she felt safe and secure, almost content herself.

“Did you have enough to eat?” He reached for her plate and her stomach grumbled in response.

“Thanks.” She took the plate and finished the last of her omelet and biscuits. Only after she was done did he eat the rest of his food and then he turned the TV to a news station. She shifted in his lap and her bottom singed with pain, but to her shock that zing of pain made her clit throb. Did pain turn her on?

Wes massaged her neck and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Pain and pleasure are often a fine line. That’s why it’s important to have safe words.”

A very fine line indeed.

After she set her plate down, she got off his lap. “I’ll go shower.” Her legs shook a little and her bottom burned from his spanking, but she wasn’t going to show any more weakness, not when she’d shown so much already. The sound of his soft chuckling didn’t help her self-esteem one bit as she left the room.

*  *  *

Wes watched Callie flee. She was always running and more often than not she was running from him. He’d pushed too far too fast again, but her words had drawn out a dominant’s anger in him. She thought she was a quick fuck and nothing more? It was an insult to both of them. He’d never worked so hard in his life to take his time with a woman because it was the right thing to do and she deserved it. It was as close to romantic as he got.

He leaned forward and covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes. For the first time in his life, he was feeling some measure of peace. Because of her. But there was so much more to it than that. He felt excited again, watching her fall in love with Paris as he had done all those years ago. The look on her face as she’d touched the sphinx, the way she’d handled Dimitri’s subtle flirts at Fouquet’s. She was coming into her own. A fierce, powerful artist who would take the world by storm if the right person guided her. And he was going to be that person.

A little chuckle escaped him as he bent to collect the plates. She had cooked for him. A little rustic meal of omelets and biscuits. In Paris, the land of fine cuisine. And it had rocked him to the core. To wake to the smell of something mouthwatering and to come downstairs and find her covered in flour and adorably fuckable. He had lost his mind. No woman he’d ever been with had cooked for him. It was always a chef or a restaurant.

The women he’d dated in the past had expected that of him, and likely didn’t know how to boil water themselves. But Callie had been cooking for years. She had to in order to feed two grown men working on the ranch. She was a fighter, his little cowgirl. And he planned to reward her for her sweetness. That simple act had meant so much more to him than he’d ever let on. And it turned him on, too. Bad. He’d come in his jeans just from dry-humping her sweet luscious ass. That had been a first for him.

There hadn’t been a moment in his life since he’d left high school when he hadn’t had total control over his body’s responses around a woman. Living in the BDSM lifestyle had taught him how to use that control to bring a submissive to pleasure. If a dominant reached his fulfillment before his submissive because he had no control it hurt the sub. Subs deserved to have a dominant who had control.