“Yes,” I say, choosing the word to send a message. I’m making my choice, and trusting him is that choice.

“Be clear, Ella. I’m going to push tonight. Not the way I’m capable of pushing you, but you won’t argue with me on that.” He tightens his grip around my hands. “You will not win that war. Now you say ‘yes.’ ”

“Yes,” I whisper, the absoluteness in him too intense to fight.

“That time will come, and I’m not ready yet to find out how you’ll react. Not because of some man in your past. Because of me. Because right now, I don’t deserve that kind of trust.”

“Kayden—”

He kisses me, fingers twining roughly, erotically in my hair, and I taste the demons of his past, the inner war he battles but will not fully allow me to fight with him. I lean into him, trying to feel him close, but he is quick to deny me that touch, and almost as if he is punishing me for trying, he tears his mouth from mine, leaving me panting for the more that is now out of reach.

He moves behind me, the thick ridge of his erection nestling between my thighs, pressing into the silky wet heat of my sex, teasing me with how easily he could be inside me. And I want him inside me. His hands caress up and down my sides, leaving me cold where he is not touching and hot where he is. I arch into him, my breasts thrusting in the air, a silent plea for his hands, but I am granted only a side brush, a light tease of fingers on my pebbled nipples. A soft brush of fingers on my clit never fully realized.

“Kayden,” I whisper, squeezing my thighs around his shaft, the need for everything when he gives me so little pure torture I can do nothing to resolve.

“Lean forward,” he urges, a command in his voice. “Elbows on the rug.” He doesn’t give me time to digest the order, pressing me forward, hand flattening on my back, the position thrusting my backside into the air, leaving me vulnerable and exposed, but there is no time to think of what might happen. He cups my backside, caressing me over and over, and his words play in my mind. I will tease you. Bite you. Spank you. As if he is in my head, his palm lifts and comes back down with a fast smack that is not painful, but shocking, and has me yelping and trying to sit up. But that hand of his is back on my spine, holding me down.

“Trust,” he says. “Do I have it or not?”

I bite my bottom lip, willing my heart rate to calm. He hasn’t hurt me. Not even close, and I whisper, “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

He smacks the other cheek. Not a spanking. No pain. Just a slight sting that delivers an erotic thrill and the promise of so much more, if not now, soon. Too soon. Not soon enough. My sex clenches fiercely and I want the hidden part of him he still denies, but I know he will not give it to me tonight. He will not rush this and as much as I want to change that, there is safety, there is trust I can give him, in knowing he is being cautious with me.

His hands drag up and down my sides, and then finally, his body curves around mine, and he is hot and hard between my thighs, sliding the head of his cock along the slick line of my sex. “I need—”

“I know what you need,” he promises, but he does not give it to me. He slides his shaft back and forth, the nerve endings he is touching lighting up like the fire burning in front of me. I sink lower into the rug, weaker with need, and finally, finally, he presses into me, driving deep and fast, his cock finding the farthest part of me and staying there. He isn’t moving, and I am panting to the point I can barely breathe when finally he pulls back and thrusts hard into me. And oh God, that one hard pump and already I am on the edge of orgasm. Another thrust and I push against him, his only reply his hand bracing my hips, his cock nudging left, right, deeper, before he starts a fast, hard pumping rhythm. I lose time. I lose the room. The rug. The silk at my hands. I climb that peak of pleasure and tip over far too fast, all but collapsing as my body clenches around him. His hand flattens on my belly, holding me up, and then he is shaking, shattering with me, the deep, guttural sound he makes a sexy, erotic charge that ripples through me.

I shut my eyes, riding his pleasure with him, sighing with the way he slowly relaxes against me, his fingers softening at my hips, and then he folds himself around me, holding me in the most intimate of ways. “You okay?” he murmurs near my ear.

My lips curve at what is becoming our little question to each other. “Yes. Are you okay?”

He laughs, low and sexy. I really love his laugh. I think I can really love this man. “You’re naked,” he says. “Of course I’m okay. Let me get rid of this condom and I’ll untie you.”

He pulls out of me and I gasp, which earns me another one of those sexy laughs. “The feeling’s mutual,” he says of my reaction.

A smile on my lips, I sit up, my eyes lifting to the fireplace, and I don’t know why, but I see the past in those flames. I flash back to the club. I am there, living it again, afraid. So afraid.

He shoves me to my knees and I try to get up, but he holds me while the woman in leather ties me up, stretching one arm to the side and roping it, then the other. I fight. I fight as hard as I can but he, he holds me down and then I am bound, a prisoner, and he moves away. I hear her speak to him. “How badly do you want her bruised?”

He squats in front of me, caressing my lips, and I try to bite him. Fury radiates off him and he stands. “Don’t leave scars.”

I blink the fireplace back into view. “Kayden! Kayden!” I try to free my hands, but I’m shaking so hard I can’t get them free. “Untie me. Untie me now! Please! Now!”

Kayden kneels in front of me, ripping away the silk in a flash. “Sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He cups my face. “I would never—”

I grab his arms. “It’s not you. We . . . we are good. He . . . he tied me up. He had me whipped. That’s what woke me up yesterday, but I didn’t want to tell you, and—”

“He fucking beat you? Tell me it’s Niccolo and I will go there, beat him, and kill him, tonight.”

“I still don’t know. And you don’t get to beat him and kill him—I do. Do you hear me? I do! And now I’ve made it so you can’t be you with me. Tie me back up. Tie me back up now.”

He takes us down on the rug, pulling me close, his legs twined with mine. “I’m not tying you back up.”

“Kayden—”

“No.” His tone is absolute. “Fuck, Ella. I teased you with a possible spanking, and now you tell me he beat you? I should never have let this happen tonight, when you just remembered your father’s death.”

“I’m right. You’re going to be afraid with me.”

“No. I’m not, but the timing of this was wrong.” He strokes my hair behind my ear, his voice softening. “We will get by this and we will be okay together. I promise you.” He molds me to him, into the cocoon of his body. “Tell me about dancing.”

I blink at the sudden change of topic. “Dancing?”

“Yes. I want to hear about dancing. I want to know about what you love. Who you are. What you want from life.”

My fingers tease a loose silky strand of his light brown hair, tears prickling my eyes. “You’re amazing, Kayden Wilkens.”

“The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.” He kisses my knuckles. “Now. Tell me. You danced. You dance.”

Tension uncurls inside me, replaced by an image of my mother smiling as she watches me dance, both of us in ballet slippers, a piece of the past coming back to me. “My mom was a dance teacher, and I took it seriously enough to audition for either a big production or an elite school. I think it was a school. It was important to me and to her. Her gift to me was dance. My father’s was the ability to protect myself. I’m eager to see if I remember dancing as well as I remember shooting a gun.”

“A woman who can dance and shoot. Sexy, sweetheart.”