“Say it, Sloane.” He leans back and the cane comes again—fireworks detonating through my body. Wave after wave of pain, surging and pulsing through me, riding high on my heartbeat. My throat tightens.

“Sloane. Say it.”

“Yes. I do. I…I like it.”

The cane comes again. This time I can’t stop myself from screaming. “What was that, Sloane?” Zeth asks, hissing through his teeth.

“Eight! That was an eight!”

I hear the sound of something clattering across the other side of the room, and then Zeth is slamming himself into me, his cock thrusting deep and hard and fast.

“Fuck, Sloane. Your ass is so red. I want to spank it.”

“Please. Please.” That’s all I can get out. I want him to spank it. I want to feel throbbing, stinging, smarting ache charge through me as he slams himself inside me, over and over again.

“Shit.” Zeth uses his palm on me. A loud crack fills the room as his hand connects, the pain less bright than with the cane but still enough to make me scream.

Every muscle in my body is locked tight and singing with sensation as Zeth fucks me. He fucks me so hard I can literally feel my orgasm building with each and every thrust, the tension hitting me like a punch to the gut. Over, and over, and over, and then…

“I can’t—oh, fffffffuck. Zeth, I can’t—”

Zeth covers my body with his own, still pounding himself into me. He reaches up my body and takes a hold of my nipple, and he pinches, hard. At the same time, I feel his teeth bite down into the skin of my shoulder, sending a wall of raw energy slamming through me.

I scream. I scream violently as I come, my throat feeling like it’s being torn to shreds. I don’t scream his name, or ask him to stop. It’s just sound, splintering out of me—the purest of releases.

Zeth roars as he comes, too. Up until now he’s been holding his own body weight, but he goes boneless as he climaxes, his arms and legs quitting on him. The result is instant and bone crushing. We both go down, him on top of me.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he apologizes, gulping in air. He shifts slightly, dragging himself to the side. It clearly costs him energy he doesn’t have when he reaches up and unties the blindfold from around my eyes. We’re face to face, then, staring at each other, noses only a couple of inches apart. His cheeks are slightly red from exertion, his lips parted. He looks so freaking angelic—dark hair tousled everywhere—that it’s almost hard to believe he’s the little deviant that just flayed my ass raw. I start laughing first. Zeth joins me a second later. He kisses me roughly, pretending to growl.

“Oh my god, woman. You’re not supposed to burst out laughing after something like that,” he tells me, mastering his face into a fake stern expression. “That’s it. You are in so much trouble now.”

We climb up onto the bed and Sloane passes out without a word. I don’t, though. I lie there staring at the ceiling, fighting the desire to close my own eyes. I’m fucking tired, but I can’t let myself go to sleep. I just can’t. I’ve been dreaming about my mother recently, the beach and the boardwalk—but there’s nothing to say I won’t dream the other dream tonight. Nothing to say I won’t freak out and try and strangle my girl to death if I wake up and she’s lying beside me. I can’t risk that. I lie still a little longer, enjoying the slow draw of her breathing in the darkness, her hand resting lightly on top of my stomach, her head resting on my shoulder, dark hair spilling out behind her onto the plumped up pillows, and I know I have to go.

The problem is I really want to fucking stay.

She barely stirs as I slide out from underneath her. In the kitchen, I make myself a coffee with a healthy shot of Jack instead of milk. I feel like shit. I’ve never wanted to sleep in the same bed as a woman before. It’s a brutal shock to the system, this urge to hold her against me all night, to protect her. Worse, because I’m the one she’d need protecting from. Is this what our life will be like? Having sex and then me ducking out on her every single night, having to creep out of a warm bed so I can go and lock myself away? That doesn’t sit well with me. Not fucking well at all.

I finish the coffee, and then I make myself another one, this time without the Jack. As soon as the caffeine kicks in, I throw some clothes on and head over to Michael’s room. He answers the door on the third knock. His instant appearance surprises me.

“Whoa. Going somewhere?” He looks like he is. With his black suit and crisp white shirt, it’s either that or he’s prepped and ready for the Duchess’s funeral already. Michael treats me to one of his rare, broad smiles.

“Oh, just planning on seeing a friend.”

He’s going to go screw someone. In all the time I’ve known him, Michael has never offered up any information about women—he’s been so tight lipped, I’ve often wondered if he bats for the other team—but I know he goes off to have a little fun of his own every once in a while. I don’t think I’d trust him if he didn’t.

“Right. Okay, well…” I’m not the kind of man to come between another and his fuck buddy. I begin to back away from the door.

“You okay? You need something?” Michael asks. “Everything’s set for the morning.”

“Yeah, no. Everything’s fine. I just...” I am the most awkward person on the face of the planet. I try to turn and make it back behind door A, but a hand lands on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.