Side by side, we start up the stairs, barely touching when I want us to be touching everywhere. But the higher we climb, the more uncertain I become of what comes next, the memory of him leaving me alone in his bed sharply etched in my mind. Even more so, the certainty that no matter where we lie tonight, he is not a man to be held on to. He will leave. Or I will leave, and I can’t fall for him. But I am, I so am, and I can’t seem to care what kind of danger lies in the path to fully realizing all I can be, and feel, with this man. He halts at the main level, his hand sliding away from mine, a question in his action. Am I coming with him or not? But there is more. Am I afraid? Can I handle who, and what, he is? He is asking me to make the decision. There really is no real question in my mind about where I’m going, and where I want to be this night, and the way he can demand, command, and still offer me freedom seals my desire for this man.

I start walking toward his room and he falls into step with me, my pulse quickening with each inch we travel, until he opens the door and I step inside. He follows, flipping a lock into place and punching a button on the wall beside us. The fireplace across the room flames into life in response, and while the room is cold, my skin heats as he touches me again, leaning me against the door, towering over me.

But, much to my distress, his hands fall away, flattening on the wall on either side of me, signaling that a mindless escape isn’t as close as I’d hoped. “Before we go any further,” he says, “you need to understand exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I told you at the bar. I’m not afraid of The Underground.”

“I’m talking about what I am and what motivates me. I wasn’t ready to tell you what happened five years ago, but you know now, which means you need to understand what it was and what it means to me. What happened to Kevin and Elizabeth was no car accident. It wasn’t an accident at all. It was murder. And make no mistake, if I find out who did it, I will kill them, and it will be with zero remorse. Just like I’ll kill anyone who threatens you with zero remorse. Make sure you can live with that, because I damn sure can.” He pushes off the wall and leaves me standing there as he disappears into the bathroom.

I inhale, barely able to breathe for the intensity of his emotions slamming into me. Yes, he has given me honesty, but I am certain this is driven by the same kind of doubt in him I’d felt walking up the stairs. He is trying to scare me, to push me away. But he has failed. No matter how brutal those words are, they are real. He is real, the wolf who doesn’t bother with the sheep’s clothing I’d first seen at the hospital, and his realness is part of his appeal. I need that. I think he does too, but maybe he needs to know that I come with no demands or expectations for a Happily Ever After I know he can’t give me and I’m not sure I even believe exists anyway. At least not for people like him and me.

The shower comes on and I allow myself no hesitation, crossing to the bathroom where his clothes are piled on the floor and he is hidden behind the stone walls of the stall. I take a deep breath for courage and undress, walking to the glass door. His back is to me and I have a full view of the tattoo between his shoulder blades, counting five skulls, and their meaning shakes me to the core. His mother, father, sister, Kevin, and Elizabeth.

I open the door and his shoulders bunch slightly, telling me he is aware of me, but he doesn’t turn. I step to him and press my hand to the center of those tattoos. “Everyone you’ve lost.”

He reaches around and pulls me in front of him, out of reach of the spray of water, walking me backward until I hit the wall. “Yes. Everyone I’ve lost, and I do not intend to let you become part of that circle. But if you want out, if you want to leave—”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t let me go.”

“Do you want to go?”

The question catches me off guard, but I don’t falter. “No. I don’t.”

“After all you’ve learned today, are you sure about that?”

“If you’re afraid I want more than you can give—”

“I’m afraid I want more than I can, or should, ask of you. But I seem to be incapable of stopping myself.” His gaze sweeps low, a hot caress over my naked body that I feel in all the places I wish he were touching me.

I reach for him and he captures my hand. “When I said I like things a little dirty, that was wrong. I like things a lot dirty.”

My pulse leaps wildly with the promise of dark, sexy things I want to know with this man. “Show me,” I say.

“I need to know I’m not going to scare you.”

I blink up at him, a cold spot in my chest expanding, the realization a blow I did not expect. “You think because he tied me up that I am afraid of your version of dirty? Damn it, Kayden, I told you. If you hold back and treat me like a wilting flower, he wins.”

“Sweetheart, that’s when we’re talking and not fucking. I’m warning that I’m not going to hold back. I won’t hold back. If you say yes to what I ask for, I will take full advantage of what that means.”

“Yes,” I say, sounding breathless, my knees weak and my nipples tight. “My answer is yes.”

His eyes darken, a muscle in his jaw flexing, and I can almost feel him restraining himself, holding back, and I hate it. I hate it so much. I flatten my hand on his chest, damp tendrils of light brown hair teasing my fingers. “I am not his captive. I will not be that and you will not make me that. So let me repeat my answer. Yes.”

His eyes glint hard and he turns me to the face the wall, the way he turned me to face that bedpost last night, and I know he’s testing me, pushing me. “Are you sure about that?” he demands, his erection at my hip, his hand cupping my breast and squeezing it roughly, erotically.

“Yes,” I pant out. “Yes.”

“Let’s define the meaning of yes.” His hand flattens on one of my butt cheeks. “Yes means I won’t just make you want me to own you. While we’re fucking, I will own you.” He steps to my side, at my hip, his shaft resting at the back of my thigh, his hand squeezing my backside. “Own you,” he repeats, his head resting against mine.

“What part of ‘yes’ do you not understand?”

He cups my sex. “And I will tie you up.”

“You said that,” I remind him, frustrated that he feels the need to go there again. “Stop warning me and just do this.”

“Do I get to define what ‘this’ is?”

“As long as you do it now.”

His teeth nip my ear, and I swear I feel it in my sex right where his fingers are pumping and moving. “Let’s see. Should I lick you? Bite you? Spank you?”

Shock rips through me and I try to turn, but his hand flattens on my back, holding me in place. “I thought you wanted it dirty?”

“Spank me? I—”

“Is this where you say no? Because you can always say no.”

“I’ve never—”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh yes,” I say quickly. “Yes, I am quite sure.”

“Good. Then I’ll be the only one you trust that much.” He turns me around again, nestling me in the corner, my wrists shackled over my head where he grips them. “The word yes,” he says, dragging his free hand over my breast, down my body, until it cups my sex again, “has a consequence. You know that, right?”

“What consequence?” I pant out, his fingers pressing inside me, thumb stroking over my clit and sending darts of pleasure straight to my nipples.

“Trust. Complete, absolute trust, and I will demand it in ways you can’t begin to fathom.” He brushes his lips over mine, fingers stroking deeper into my sex, moving back and forth.

“How is that a consequence?”

“It gives me control. It lets me own you, and when I do, I’m going to make sure you want more. Do you want more now?”

“Yes. Oh yes.”