The blonde lifts a hand and drags her nails down Zeth’s side, groping for his cock. He shies back, an irritated look on his face, and then slaps her ass so hard it even makes my eyes water. She cries out again, this time louder and filled with pain.

“Not for you,” he growls. He looks back down at me and, fuck, I want him. “Only for her. Only when she begs for it.”

The woman doesn’t seem to mind that Zeth is entirely off limits. She buries her face deeper between my thighs and sucks at my clit, making my legs tremble with pleasure. It feels incredible, but it’s not what I’m desperate for. I am desperate for him. I know what I have to do to get what I want, and I’ve made my peace with it.

He wants me to beg…I’ll beg.

He wants me to plead…I will.

Because right now he knows he’s got me wrapped around his little finger…and it’s right where I want to be. I’m sick. I’m deluded. I’m lost. I’m his.

“Zeth…” The words are like an omen, a bell tolling, sealing my fate. “I want you. Just you. Please…make me yours.”

She begs me. She begs, and I see the moment she gives herself over to me. It’s a goddamn beautiful moment. Her tits are heaving, her eyes wide, her lips bruised and pouting, just waiting to be kissed. I surprise myself by almost breaking my rule and leaning down to do it—I haven’t kissed a woman on the mouth in…well, ever. So long that I can’t remember the face of whoever it was that last had the pleasure. It’s just too intimate. I already came so fucking close back in the hospital that I scared the shit out of myself. I know I’m reckless around this girl; I just have no idea why.

As soon as Sloane says the words, I’m shoving Blondie off her and unfastening her ankles. The guy continues to pound away on the woman, both lost in the moment, but Sloane is very much aware of what’s happening. I pick her up and carry her naked body out of the room, and when her arms lace around my neck, clinging onto me, my heart starts thumping in my chest. It’s like it’s been lying dormant in my chest, gathering dust the past thirty-three years and this is the very first time it’s properly beating. The sensation is worrying. I don’t know what to do with it, other than hide from it. The corridor is all lights and groups of people rubbing up against each other. Sloane sees and buries her face into my chest, like she’s worried I’m taking her out here to offer her around. Sure, I’ve done that before, but that’s not happening with this girl. She’s mine. I carry her to a door opposite, one that always, always, always remains locked—this is the first time I’ve ever allowed anyone else inside. I punch in the code for the security pad—handy when you don’t have pockets for keys—and the door swings open, and then we’re inside. This is the room I sleep in when there aren’t countless people fucking on every surface and countertop.

Once I have her inside, things move a little quicker than I might have hoped. If Sloane were some other plaything I was toying with, I’d spend hours drawing this out and teasing them, but I just…I can’t.

Scaring the living shit out of her? I’m scaring the living shit out of myself with the way I’m behaving. For starters I don’t even tie her up, and that’s like a prerequisite for me, but there’s something about having her arms wrapped around my neck that drives me insane. I throw her down onto my bed in the dark, and I do what I’ve been dying to do since she walked through the door in that little black dress with her medical bag in her hand. I spin her naked body over and draw her hips up to me, grabbing her hands and securing them behind her back. I sink my dick into her so deep she fights for breath.

“Fuck, Zeth!” She screams my name, head turned to one side, pressed into the mattress as I slam myself into her body. I swear to all that is good in this world it’s like music to my fucking ears.

There’s no holding back after that. I do it. I do her. I fuck her so hard that my ears start ringing. I didn’t even know that was a thing. The scent rolling off her is pure sex, pure want, so heady and intoxicating that I have to dig my fingers into her body to stop from coming too soon. I feel like howling when I do let go, allowing us both to climax. Instead I roar, a charge of sound that rips its way out of my chest like a bullet from a gun. Except I’m not the gun. I’m the victim. It feels like I’ve been shot all over again as I lay panting over her body. The whole moment is like an out-of-body experience and she’s the only thing keeping me from floating to the ceiling. I let her up and fall back onto the bed, staring up into the darkness in shock.

She rolls onto her side, exhaling in that sated way that tells me I really hit the nail on the head.

And I’m so angry I could choke.

What the fuck?

I wake up in a bed and it’s not mine. I curl my toes and flex my fingers, reaching my arms up over my head in the most satisfying stretch ever. My whole body hums, like I went really hard at the gym yesterday, but I know I didn’t. I was at the hospital all day and then I—

Oh.

No.

I freeze in the bed, suddenly remembering where the hell I am. His place. His bed. His sweat all over my body. And…and ohmygod. Some random woman’s sweat, too. What the…what the hell was I thinking? I sit bolt upright, ready to lay into the man who’s put me in this position—along with many others last night—but he’s not there. I’m alone in a bed in a strangely sterile, empty room, weak sunlight pouring through the windows, and Zeth is nowhere to be seen.