The midsummer night air is thick and heavy, even in the dark. It feels like every second I’m without distraction, and even some with, I’m overcome by the immediate onslaught of my self-indulgent inner conflict. I’m sick of it. I fish the tangled knot of my old-fashioned earbuds out of my jeans pocket and blast some cheery pop. Baby and I walk the darkened streets of Buffalo Creek in our own little bubble, the dog with her tail wagging high, me bobbing along to the electronic music. I don’t feel the need to glance over my shoulder, to stay along the lighted sidewalks for safety. I know Navur has eyes on me, even when I can’t feel it. What used to terrify me now brings me an odd sense of comfort. My stalker has already become my protector in my mind. What the hell is wrong with me?

  No. I shake my head violently, as if to physically shake the haunting thoughts out of my head. Baby looks up at me, perplexed.

  “It’s okay, girl,” I murmur to her, unable to hear my own voice over the music blasting in my ears. The assurance seems to soothe her.

  If only I could soothe myself as easily.

  The next day, we fly out to Vegas. I get about as much warning as I did the first time around: a vague text, and about an hour to pack. My parents are both out—book club, perhaps—so I leave a quick note and a promise to call later.

  Again, the trip takes a matter of seconds. I cling to Navur’s thick arm as he leads me from the windy rooftop of our hotel down to our suite. The sleek interior is paired with enormous windows, revealing the city below us. I’ve never been to Vegas before, but the famous flashy skyline feels familiar. I can’t wait to see it lit up at night.

  “I usually just cover the City,” I admit, stepping back from the gorgeous view before the height starts to spook me. “I’m excited to try some new places.”

  “Excellent,” Navur says, draping his jacket over a chair and rolling up his sleeves, watching me watch him. “We’ll probably make a few more visits to Manhattan before our time is over, but we can still fit in plenty of travel. Any requests?”

  “I’ll go anywhere,” I say honestly. I’m fairly low maintenance. As a result of having barely left West Virginia for the first eighteen years of my life, and then barely leaving New York for the next decade, I’m easy to please when it comes to travel destinations. “As long as the food is good.”

  “I can work with that,” Navur says with a soft smile, closing the distance between us and scooping me up against him.

  “Oh,” I say, but before I can follow up that unnecessary statement, he leans down and presses his lips against mine.

  The kiss is tender, his warm lips playing with mine for a moment, a tease of tongue, and then he pulls away. I stand there mutely as he walks away, lost in the unexpectedness of the moment. It was almost… sweet? Romantic? Definitely not what I signed up for when I agreed to be his sex toy for a month.

  “Have you ever been gambling before?” Navur asks, poking his head out of the bedroom door.

  “No,” I say, picking up the confused pieces of myself and heading towards him. “Never.”

  “Good,” he says, moving aside so I can join him in the bedroom. “It’s a game for the reckless. Unless…”

  “Unless?” I repeat when he trails off, pulling out a small duffel from our pile of luggage.

  “Unless you play with only spare change,” he says with a self-satisfied grin, upturning the duffel. Stacks of bills pour onto the bed, and I automatically reach for one. Crisp hundreds, held together in tight bands. There must be a couple dozen of these, certainly more money than I’ve ever seen in my life, not at once, and maybe not even in all my twenty-eight years put together.

  “Holy fuck,” I breathe, throwing the stack in my hands back onto the pile on my bed, as if that much wealth would burn me.

  “It’s all yours,” Navur says, clearly relishing the utter shock on my face. “To play with today. What happens in Vegas, right?”

  “Navur, that’s crazy,” I say, taking a step back from the bed for safe measure. “I don’t need this. You don’t have to—”

  “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do,” the big K insists, pressing his palm against my cheek for a moment, then pulling away. “Come on now. If you get ready fast, we’ll have time to blow this all before dinner.”

  “I… I don’t even have anything to wear,” I protest uselessly, struggling to wrap my mind around what he’s proposing, although even a year or two wouldn’t be enough time for this insanity to sink in.

  “Not to worry,” Navur says, clearly ten steps ahead of me at any given moment. “I had something prepared for you, it should be in the closet.”

  My feet carry me to the closet of their own accord, my hands pushing the doors open warily. Inside are a dozen Vegas-approved dresses, ranging from a tight-and-tiny scarlet silk number, to a blindingly sequined, prom-like mermaid dress. I don’t have to check the labels to know that they’ll each fit me flawlessly, or that the name on every tag will make me gasp.

  I’ve always been quietly obsessed with fashion. I even dreamed of being a runway model at one point, before my height maxed out at 5’2” and I learned how impractical this dream was. Other than the annual spiral into the September Issue, or the occasional self-indulgent stroll through Saks, I thought I’d mostly outgrown that old flame. Now, however, running my fingers over a crushed velvet sleeve I know instinctively to be Givenchy, it all comes flooding back at once, moving through me like a religious awakening.

  “Holy fuck, huh?” Navur says for me, and I can hear the grin in his voice even with my back turned to him. He’s having fun, playing with me like this, tossing treats at his little pet. But right now, I don’t even care what his intentions are with such extravagant, unnecessary gifts. Can I be bought so easily? Hell yeah.

  An hour later, I’ve selected a Dolce & Gabbana a-line dress, with a zebra-print pattern in shiny gold and silver jacquard. It’s not as flashy as some of the other options, but still definitely enough to make me feel like I’m getting the full Vegas experience. Checking my makeup in the mirror one more time, I slip on the accompanying stilettos and turn to my K with a giddy smile.

  “Let’s go!”

  The outing that ensues is unforgettable, although the endless supply of champagne certainly puts up a good fight against my memory. We play blackjack, craps, roulette, and anything that requires little to no skill on my part. With a handful of the highest chips in one hand, and the tuxedoed K on my arm, people bend to me in ways I’ve never experienced before. More money, more problems my ass. Crowds part, doors open, and booze flows freely. The drunker I get, the easier the charade becomes. This is normal, I tell myself. This is fine. I didn’t just lose the equivalent of a year’s rent with one poor roll of the dice, only to immediately double down on the next turn. I didn’t just say “hit me” on a fifteen only because the blind rush of a risk makes my skin tingle. This isn’t an outlandish way to kill an afternoon.

  I’ve probably lost half of Navur’s money by the time he leads me out of the casino and into the waiting limo. I can’t tell anymore. I’m tipsy on my feet, skyscraping stilettos teetering dangerously.

  Dinner is a blur. Somehow, my wine glass is never not full, and I’m stuffing my face with a five star meal just as sloppily as a college student gorging themselves on cold pizza after a frat party. Am I expected to write about this tomorrow? Fuck.

  On the drive home, Navur opens the sunroof, and I thrust myself out it like a diver gasping for air. The night breeze is cool and arid, a far cry from the humidity back East. I close my eyes and let my hair whip around me, feeling like the queen of the world even as the fresh air sobers me up. This is it, I realize, a wave of bittersweet melancholy washing over me. This is as good as it gets, and I’ll have to spend the rest of my life knowing that the best days of my life were bestowed upon me by a creature essentially blackmailing me for my body, a creature I will never see again after our thirty days are up. A creature who ties my heart up in knots, a man I impossibly loathe and desperately want all at once.

  I feel the limo slow to a stop, and open my eyes. We’re back at the hotel. My heart begins to beat faster, as it always does at the impending apprehension of what a night with my tormentor will bring. This time, however, my adrenaline isn’t brought on my panic or fear. This time, all I feel is a rush of excitement.

  I let Navur lead me to the elevator, not waiting until we arrive at our suite. He’s on me as soon as the thick metal doors slide shut, his mouth on mine and hands pawing all over my body until a pleasant ding announces our destination. I’m breathless, still hesitant to take as much as is being taken, but my greedy desire easily overpowers my shyness.

  We tumble into the bedroom, and I feel a tiny breath of relief as we fall onto the soft bed, lights still off. This is my comfort zone. This I can handle.

  I should have known better than to think that I could ever be in my comfort zone with a K. In a moment, he has me flipped over onto my stomach, and pulled back onto my knees. I begin to crawl up onto all fours, but then he has both my wrists in one hand, and is wrapping something soft and silky around them.

  Oh no. My pulse is spiking through the roof, and I instinctively try to pull away from my aggressor, but I’m now tightly bound to the bedpost, silk burning on my wrists when I fight too hard. Shit. This isn’t what I wanted, what I’ve ever wanted. I twist to try and face Navur, but he firmly holds me down, with my ass perkily jutting into the air. Again, I’m overcome with a sensation that I know should be fear, that I desperately wish was panic, instead of the illogical truth: I’m absurdly excited to see what happens next, inconceivably turned on by this dangerous pseudo-stranger.

  It hasn’t even been a week, and he’s already ruined me.

  My breath goes ragged as Navur runs a finger down my slit. I can hear him inhaling sharply when he feels how wet I already am, my folds soaked at the mere thought of him. He’s deliriously gentle, stroking me slowly, teasingly, as if we have all the time in the world. As if he can’t feel me pushing against him, greedy, shamelessly begging with my body for more, for everything I know he has to offer.

  And then, just when I can feel my climax building… he hits me.

  He spanks my ass, not gently, not playfully, but hard. Hard enough to make me cry out loudly, not in pleasure, but in pain. Before I can pull away, give him a piece of my mind, his deft fingers return to my delicate center, his soft lips placing gentle, apologetic kisses on the spot he just struck. I relax into his touch, not having realized how I had tensed up at his spanking. Oh, yes, I can feel it coming over me, I can almost taste the orgasm about to—

  Smack. Navur hits me again, harder this time. I gasp, more confused than anything. Again, he works my clit with one hand, rubbing my stinging ass softly with the other. Then he hits me again, and this time the sound that bursts from me isn’t a pained cry, or even a surprised gasp. It’s a wanton moan. I try to swallow it back, perplexed by my own reaction, fighting the feeling that is spreading through my body. Yes, it still hurts. My tender flesh burns where he’s struck me. But at the same time, the violent sensation stirs something wicked and unexpected at the deepest core of me, a dark pleasure stronger than anything I’ve felt before. I don’t want to feel this way, not when a man is hitting me, but the primal part of me arches back greedily into the next spanking.

  “You like this, huh?” Navur growls into my ear, and I can hear the smirk on his voice. “I knew there was a dirty little slut in there, just waiting to be freed.”

  “I’m not—” I protest, my words melting into a gasp when he strikes again, fingers still fast on my clit. “I don’t… I don’t…”

  I want to say that I don’t want this, that I don’t like this, but I can’t lie, can’t even try to pretend that this isn’t tearing me apart in the best way. Instead, the truth floats out on a ragged moan, breathy and hungry with desire.

  “I don’t want you to stop.”

  The K eagerly complies, massaging my tender clit gently, as his big palm slaps against my burning ass over and over. Smack. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire, erotic energy flashing through my body at hyperspeed. Smack. The orgasm that seems to have been building for hours finally erupts, an explosion of sensation so strong that I swear my vision goes white for a second. My mouth falls open in a soundless scream, my body writhing through its release, wrists jerking at their restraints.

  I’m panting into the pillow when I feel his hands on me again, gentle this time, holding my ass in place as he guides his thick cock to my entrance. Even after the strongest orgasm of my life, my pussy still swallows him greedily, and I can hear him groan in satisfaction as he spears me. He pulls back slowly, teasing my sensitive inner channel, then thrusts in again punishingly. My bound hands claw at the mattress, my body impossibly turned on already, greedy for more, more, more.

  I want—

  I cut myself off, refusing to let myself voice such a desire even in my own head. But Navur somehow senses my thoughts, returning his hands to my ass, massaging the sore spot.

  “What do you want, little one?” he asks in a vicious purr. “Tell me.”

  I can’t. I won’t. I remain stoically silent, aside from the uncontrollable moans that he incites as he continues to pound into me.

  Unexpectedly, he stops, freezing with just the tip of his cock at my entrance, palm just barely touching my ass.

  “You have to ask for it, Noelle,” Navur says, voice quiet but stern. “What do you want?”

  “I—” I can’t believe he’s trying to make me beg for it. I won’t say it. I don’t need it. My mind is set, but my body is unconvinced, pressing back desperately against his hard body as my pussy clenches around nothing. Still, he holds me stubbornly in place, refusing to let me just take what I want. “I…”

  “Hit or stay?” Navur asks, and I can tell from his voice that he knows he’s already won. I can’t fight the greedy desire growing within me, can’t deny the twisted weakness he’s sowing in me.

  “Hit me,” I whisper, and he complies, spearing me deeply as he slaps my ass. I moan loudly, and I don’t know which action is turning me on more.

  Navur pulls out, freezing again tantalizingly out of reach. “Hit or stay?”

  I squeeze my eyes closed, shutting down the part of my brain that still wants to fight this, that still thinks I have any chance against the K’s dark wiles.

  “Hit me,” I say, this time louder, though my voice still wavers.

  Again, Navur does as I ask. Again, he sparks something unfamiliar and forbidden within me. Again, he refuses to continue until he’s successfully tortured a demand out of me.

  “Hit or stay?”

  “Hit me,” I repeat, voice cracking with desire. I’m begging for it, begging for his abuse, begging for what I know is both the poison and the antidote all at once.

  Navur pounds into me ruthlessly, and I arch back into every punishing strike greedily, until we’re both climaxing as one, bodies violently twisted together.

  We collapse onto the bed, my body completely drained in every capacity. Navur unties me and curves his big body around me, scooping my limp limbs against his solid frame. He trails soft kisses along my neck, massaging my bruised ass gently.

  This is my K: rough and demanding in one moment, tender and kind in the next. He’s a bad idea, a dangerous risk, everything I should know better than. But I can’t help it. His pull is too strong, the draw between us magnetic in all its toxicity.

  I can never have him, not for real.

  But I also know that after he’s gone, I can never again have anyone else.

  He’s twisted me inside out, and turned me into a wicked, broken woman I don’t even recognize.

  Shockingly, I don’t wake up the next morning with the worst hangover of my life—not that I wouldn’t deserve it.

  I wipe a hand over my bleary eyes and try to sit up, immediately yelping at a dull pain on my buttocks and collapsing back down. All at once, the end of the night rushes back to me.

  Hit me. Hit me. Hit me.

  Fuck. I can’t believe I let him do that. I can’t believe I asked for it. My hand instinctively reaches for my phone, but I stop myself. I can’t call Ari with my regular smart phone, even if there was a chance she might pick up.

  At a loss for friends to confide in, I grit my teeth and roll my sore body out of bed, and make a beeline for the bathroom. Flipping the light switch, I turn my back to the mirror and peek over my shoulder. Fuck. There’s a distinct, blazing-red hand print on my left ass cheek. I twist to the other side, and see a matching set, although the second is a bit pinker. I can’t resist touching my fingertips to the marks, tracing the constellations woven by tiny burst blood vessels. This is definitely going to bruise.

  I take a quick shower, relishing in the way the warm steam soothes my sore muscles. Wrapped up in a fluffy hotel robe, I hunt down Navur.

  “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he greets in that rolling bass of his. I squint out at the bright daylight streaming in through the windows. Did I really sleep that late?

  The K is seated in the little breakfast nook, with a cup of tea and a half-eaten croissant in front of him. I go to join him, then wince slightly at the sting when I begin to bend my body into a sitting position, and straighten quickly.

  “Um,” I begin, blushing already, tugging at the knot in my belt nervously. “Can I ask you a favor?”

  “Ask away,” Navur says, setting aside the thin K tablet he was looking at and glancing up at me expectantly, making my blush deepen.

  “Do you have one of those K shiner things?” I ask, blurting out my request. “I have some, um… areas that could use some healing.”

  “Are you hurt, little one?” Navur asks, rising and closing the distance between us.

 

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