Dirty Dark Desire
Author: Alpha, Lacey
Date: 2017-05-22T07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Sex Library; com3; ns; Adult; Suspense; Romance; com1proceess; JeanneP
Description: 0.99 FOR ONE WEEK ONLY! ETHAN She doesn't know me, but I know her. I've witnessed her tears, her smile, her laugh. And now I want a taste. But I'm afraid I'll lose control. It's only a matter of time until the truth destroys us. But for now I'm going to forget, I'm going to lose myself in the body I've craved for months. And when she learns who I am, she's going to run, leaving me to fall into oblivion. The monster inside me lies in wait in the deepest, darkest corners of my mind. And when it wins the war over my body, there's no coming back. ANNALISE He was born into my world from darkness an

MORE BY LACEY ALPHA:

THE DARKER SIDE OF CANE SERIES

The Darker Side of Cane

CANE: The Darker Side of Cane (Jonah's POV)

The Darker Truth of Cane

CANE Volume 2: The Darker Truth of Cane (Jonah's POV)

The Darker Touch of Cane

CANE Volume 3: The Darker Touch of Cane (Jonah's POV)

The Darker Love of Cane

The Darker Shades of Cane

Join my VIP mailing list and I'll personally send you an email reminder as soon as my next book is out:

http://bit.ly/2fIvc2A

For giveaways, sneak peeks, ARCs, freebies like me on FACEBOOK:

https://www.facebook.com/laceyalpha/

Follow me on GOODREADS:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16046055.Lacey_Alpha

Visit my WEBSITE:

http://www.laceyalpha.wordpress.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Dirty Dark Desire is the first book separate to my debut series The Darker Side of Cane. I hope my beautiful fans will enjoy this as much as you have enjoyed my previous books!

I must personally thank Melisa Dare for this one as Clarissa Sinclair would not be the character she is without a discussion we had.

This is for you Dream Team – I couldn't do this without you all!

Melisa Dare, Lisa Boltiador, Mirela Kombic, Irma Elena Sage, Margaret Stephenson-Ritchie, Camilla Thomsen, Christine Raine Jalili, Melissa Boldig, Kriss Theibault, Kris Bookhagen, Fran Reading, Rachel Lynn Miller, Arc Blue, Samantha Livingston, Beth Edwards, Laura Lee, Michelle Poe, Angela Swisher, Jennifer Wong, Elizabeth Jones, and Maria Hunt.

Dirty

Dark

Desire

By

LACEY ALPHA

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Published by Lacey Alpha 2017

Copyright 2017 Lacey Alpha

All rights reserved

Lacey Alpha has asserted her right under the copyright, designs and patents act, 1998, to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

I was in the darkness,
so darkness I became...

ETHAN

The girl stands before me, screaming, fire consuming her body, devouring her Hepburn-pale skin, her cherry-red lips. The last thing that remains are her eyes, scorching into my soul, accusing.

You did this. You did this. You did this!

I wake, sweat pouring down my bare back, the sheets damp.

I roll out of bed, trembling, my fist clamped around the 9mm pistol I had on me that day: army issue, L1171A.

I drop it onto the bed and it bounces once. I should have gotten rid of it.

'Shoulda, woulda, coulda', my dad's favourite phrase chimes in my ear. Funny how some things never leave you. Even if you haven't seen the person who spoke them in nine years.

I walk across the large room, light streaming through the Victorian sash window.

Mid-morning. Spring sunlight. It burns my eyes.

I sit at the desk beneath the pane, glancing down at the road. Londoners mill about, grabbing coffee, taking hurried phone calls, darting left and right through the street. The hum of the morning commute is in the air, car horns beeping, people pissed off about going to work and pissed off over the nasty lives they have to go home to. They don't know anything about real misery.

I bite the inside of my cheek, grating my teeth against the gum, wearing it away until it aches.

Picking up a pen, I flip open my journal.

I saw her again. You. It's the same every time. I have to remind myself of what's real and what's not. You're still here. You're probably on your second cup of tea this morning. You don't like coffee. But sometimes you drink it at that nasty cafe on the corner of Devon Street.

I wonder if you're there now.

I want to go there, to check. But I won't. I know I shouldn't.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

“How did it make you feel? Seeing her like that?” my therapist, Clarissa Sinclair, asks, crossing a leg over her knee. She has a short skirt on today. It's distracting. I don't want to sexualise her but it's difficult when she looks like that. Especially when we're talking about her: Annalise.

“What do you think? I felt like trash.” I scrape a hand through my hair. It's getting overly long again. When did I last cut it? Annalise cut her hair three weeks ago. I didn't like it. It was too short, nearly above her shoulders. But it's growing out again already.

“What ran through your mind when you woke up?”

I tongue at the welt I ripped open in my mouth this morning, the pain giving me some reprieve from the guilt. “I wanted to see her.”

“But you didn't?” she checks, stern for half a second.

She worries, Clarissa does. She has to report any criminal activity on my part to the police. I've had to lie to her. A lot. I need this therapy, that's why I came to her in the first place. After it got out of control, I knew I needed help. But so far, she thinks I've abided to the promises I made on day one.

“No,” I confirm, leaning back in my seat, the casual lie tasting bitter on my tongue.

“I want to propose something to you...” She taps a pen on her bare knee.

Is she doing it on purpose?

“What?” I grunt, pushing my hands down my trouser legs to distract myself.

“I'm in a difficult situation when it comes to you, Ethan.”

I regard her, tilting my head to one side. What is she getting at?

“The girl needs to be informed of your interest in her.”

I shift in my seat, my gut churning. “No. That wouldn't be appropriate.”

“I'm afraid you don't get to decide what's appropriate.” She raises a strawberry-red brow, stern again. I don't think she's supposed to judge me, but I see that she does. Her puddle-green eyes give away everything she thinks. She likes me. She'd like to mess me, I think. I guess it's the allure of the taboo.

I rub my jaw, shifting again. “No, Clarissa. Really. That would make things very difficult for me. We agreed I'd keep five hundred meters from her. And I have.”

I haven't.

“Perhaps we should discuss increasing that, too.” She drums her pen on her knee again. The tapping noise irks me, thrumming in my ears.

I grind my teeth. “But I'm getting better, aren't I?”

“You must stop thinking of this as an illness you can recover from.”

I frown, pain spiking through me. “So I'll always be like this?”

“Yes, Ethan. You'll always be like this.”

I don't think she's supposed to make assumptions like that about me. It gets my back up. She has no right. I know I can get better. I wasn't sick before I was deployed to Iraq. I can be that man again. I have to be.

“I'd like to see another therapist,” I say, staring at her evenly.

Her jaw hardens and that eyebrow lifts again, degrading me. “Are you sure that's a good idea? Another therapist might report your obsession to the police more readily than I would.”

An ache claws at my chest and I know I'm backed into a corner.

She's right. I can't risk being exposed. Much as the woman frustrates me on occasion, she's honoured my confidentiality. And I can't take that for granted.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

Evening.

It's dark, rain pummels the windows. My favourite kind of weather.

No one's outside. No one will see me if I take a walk.

I just want a look. Just to see her, to confirm that her heart still beats. That's all. Maybe it'll keep the nightmares at bay tonight.

I work out for an hour, trying to fight off the urge to go. My therapist advised me against the coping strategy. But it works for me. Clarissa doesn't always know what's best, though she likes to think she does.

When I'm dripping with sweat, I eye myself in the large mirror hanging on the exposed brick wall.

I finger the bullet hole scars: one over my ribs, one in the dip between my abs.

You should be dead. You deserve to be dead.

I'm choked. Smoke fills my nostrils, the putrid smell of burning flesh overwhelming me.

I jerk away from the mirror, snatching a sheet from the bed and tossing it over my reflection.

A word repeats in my ear in a hiss.

Monster, monster, monster.

I drag on a raincoat and head out the door, snatching my keys from the hook.

Five hundred metres. That's how far away Clarissa tells me to keep from her.

I pull up my hood, heading into the rain. It's cool on my skin, the flecks peppering my cheeks.

I begin to jog, the pounding of my feet on the tarmac juddering through my body. The rhythm soothes me as I grow nearer. It's like a drug, moving closer and closer to the moment I'll take that hit.

I remember when I thought this was love. It eased my anxiety for a while. I was just a man in love, what was so wrong with that? But I don't know what love is, according to Clarissa.

Heading up the street, I duck my head as a couple pass me, giggling and kissing each other.

I glance over my shoulder at them. Is that love? Is that what it looks like?

I dart across the road, my shoes splashing through the puddles, headlights catching in the sheet of rain around me.

Through the park, across the street, down the alley. It's as easy as it's always been.

I slip into the darkness of the alley, moving to the rusted old fire escape and raising my hands to pull it down. I'm tall, tall enough to jump and grab it by my fingertips. It takes two goes -it's slippery from the rain.

It screeches, metal on rusted metal; the sound rips to my core. I remember the first time I did this. My pulse pounded in my ears, adrenaline spiking through me. But nothing compared to the moment I saw her.

I'm anxious, hoping she's in. I need to see her. Just for a second.

Climbing the ladder, I ascend to the third floor.

And there she is. Stealing my breath as always.

I crouch low, gazing across the gap between the old tiled roof directly into her living room. She's watching TV, the lights are off so the flickering colours dance over her body. Blue, purple, pink, green.

She's curled up under a blanket, sipping tea. Her hazel hair is scraped into a messy bun, her lips parted, captivated by whatever she's watching.

Pink, white, blue.

My chest compresses as I watch. I stare and stare, absorbing her. She's alive, and real, and safe. And that's all I need to know.

Creep.

I shudder as rain slides beneath my collar, a single icy droplet travelling directly down my spine, growing warmer as my skin heats it.

This isn't love. This is obsession. That's what Clarissa told me. Clarissa with her PhD. She knows me better than I do.

Yellow, red, yellow, red.

I fall backwards, gasping, desperate. I'm there again, seeing the fire, her body burning.

I slip, my shoes unable to grip the wet metal. I reach out at the last second, snatching the railing, the sharp edges digging into my palm.

I grunt, hanging, trying to clamber up.

You should drop. Let go. Three floors. That'd kill you. Or break your back.

I pant, scrambling upwards, forcing the voice away.

And suddenly I'm on my knees, shaken but safe.

ANNALISE

I shouldn't do this. But here I am doing it anyway: watching another romance film. It's The Notebook tonight. Again. I'm a sucker for it. But it's bittersweet, I usually end up in tears or ripped apart by my own loneliness.

You know you're screwed when even your friends stop setting you up. I think my most recent date was sometime last June. Organised by my mother (yeah. That happened). He was cute, nice, had a good job, ticked all the boxes on paper. But where was the spark?

I'm like a broken record, I know. My friends roll their eyes when I say I broke it off with another guy because 'there wasn't a spark'.

But it's only fair, isn't it? I deserve the spark. Didn't they have the spark with their partners? Not like I'd ask them, just in case they didn't.

Maybe it's all these films that's causing the damage. I should write to Disney to complain.

Dear Mr Disney,

You can't go telling little girls their whole lives that a handsome prince will sweep them off their feet if it's not going to happen.

I tuck the blanket higher under my chin, sipping my tea. It's pouring with rain tonight, battering the window. I like the sound, making me feel snug and safe inside my flat. I always leave the curtains open when it rains, I like watching the droplets splatter the pane, dancing across the glass, on winding little journeys as if they have minds of their own.

I pretty much spend all my weekends like this. Since the last of my single friends got a boyfriend I've had to get used to 'alone time'. And I've gotten really good at it. As in, I barely think about it any more. It's only in those odd moments when I'm reminded of my perpetual singledom that it actually hurts.

The triggers aren't predictable either, sometimes it's the sight of a friend's husband tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Other times it's the more trivial stuff: him asking what she'd like for dinner, did she have a good day, that kind of thing. The sort of question no one has ever asked me in a way that said: 'I love you and I care'. Well, not unless you count my parents. Which, at the ripe old age of 28, is pretty bloody sad that they're still the only ones I can honestly say love me unconditionally.

Sometimes I can watch these films with a cold disconnect. But tonight doesn't feel like one of those nights and I'm soon reaching for the tissues, dabbing my eyes.

My chest aches, a knife twisting into my heart.

I'm always going to be alone.

God it's pathetic. I'm not always this sad. But in the privacy of my home, sometimes I just need to come apart. So I'm stronger for another day.

And alright, if I'm really looking at myself under a magnifying glass, this could potentially have something to do with the fact that my friend Kat got engaged today.

She called me from Peru – Peru for idiot's sake! – I want to go to bloody Peru. And I would settle for doing it alone and without coming home with a diamond ring on my finger.

But I beamed at her over Facetime, my gums stretched so wide it hurt. “Congratulations!” I'd screamed- practically breaking my jaw, looking like the Cheshire bloody cat.

It's selfish, I know. I should be happy for her. Phoo, I am happy for her. But Goodness, when you've seen every single friend, acquaintance and high school drug addict get hitched throughout your twenties, it kinda takes a toll on your heart.

I sip my tea, inhaling deeply.

I've got to stop doing this. I should go out. Hang out at bars. 'Meet people'.

It's just harder now. Doing everything by yourself is exhausting. I remember what it was like to get ready for a party with the other single girls at university. It was so much fun.

Urgh. Got to stop complaining. Mum says my prince charming is on his way, he just won't stop to ask for directions. Then she laughs and says, typical men. I've heard that joke a hundred times. It's still not funny.

I pick up my phone, glaring at the Tinder app I downloaded an hour ago, my thumb hovering precariously over it.

Oh goodness. What's become of me?

I chuck it onto the sofa, tucking my feet further beneath me.

Gotta have faith in romance. Like my dad does. He's always had that infallible kind of faith in fate and destiny, all that stuff. I try to be like him. But sometimes it's hard to be.

I finish my tea, placing it on the coffee table.

What's that saying again? The love of your life shows up when you're least expecting it?

Well hey, I'm in my living room in Christmas-themed pyjamas in March sobbing my eyes out. If this isn't least expecting it, I don't know what is.

CLARISSA

“You'll refer to me as Mistress Ginger, understand?”

My new sub is keen, too keen. I want him on his knees, I want him begging. He's never done this before. And I'm not going to go easy on him. His skin is dark and glistening, his chest a perfect untarnished canvas, awaiting the rip of my nails.

“Yes, Mistress.”

He's tethered to the metal frame in my basement, his cock already hard. Some men are too easy to arouse. I adore a challenge and that's why he's in the back of my mind: Ethan. The messed up little stalker. He's definitely a challenge. And I'm in need of one.

I've convinced a therapy client into my basement before. But he had mother issues, easy prey. He wanted me from the moment he stepped into my office. And it was only a matter of time before I grew bored.

“What's your name?” I ask, running a tickler up between my sub's hard pecks. I always start softly, letting them think this is about pleasure, not pain.

“Jeremy.”

I run the tickler down to his cock, circling until he's throbbing.

“You no longer have that name in here. You'll respond to the name Pet, are we clear?” My voice rings high and clear into the cool air of my basement, a feeling of absolute power washing over me. It's the high I crave on a daily basis. The only thing that can provide it, is this.

“Yes, Mistress,” he pants, giving in to my touch.

I remove the tickler, walking to the antique chest and taking out my favourite cane and a pair of nipple clamps.

I return to Pet, surveying him eagerly. My blood pumps with adrenaline. I'm going to bring this man to his knees. I'm going to take what I need from him and give nothing in return.

I slide the clamps onto his hardening nipples, tightening them and glancing up into his eyes.

He winces, sending a wave of satisfaction through me. “Good boy.”

I stroke his length, letting him believe this will be pleasurable. That he's about to get his release from me. But I won't let him climax until I've had my fun. And even then, I might not.

I step away, holding out the metal cane, the handle wrapped in leather.

Whipping my arm through the air, I hit the inside of his thigh, leaving a harsh red mark there.

He groans and I repeat the move on his other thigh, making him hiss between his teeth.

“You're hard for me, Pet. Do you think I'll let you into my body?”

“Yes,” he breathes, his eyes blazing at me, full of lust.

“Wrong answer.” I swing the cane again.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

When the sub has gone home, his body painted with the lick of my tools, I'm left sated. He won't come back. That one was weak. I had him bawling before the end. It's a rush to belittle a man like that, a huge powerful being crushed by my hand.

I am all powerful.

In the shower, I give myself release, running my hands between my legs. I don't need a man for this. There's only one reason I idiot my subs and that's when I can't break them any other way. If they enjoy the pain too much, it's pleasure that ultimately makes them crumble.

I wonder how easy it would be to make Ethan snap. He's already so self-deprecating, it's not his mind I'd need to convince of his weakness. But his body is strong, muscular. He has a fierceness in him I don't think even he sees. I want to claw my way into that strength and tear it down, piece by piece.

ETHAN

It's been troubling me, why Annalise was crying. Ever since I got back to my flat, I've been laying wide awake on my bed thinking about it.

It's incredible witnessing that kind of raw emotion first hand. The kind that isn't meant for anyone else's eyes. And for some reason, it feels important that I've witnessed it.

Creep.

I draw in a deep breath, feeling more relaxed for having seen her. The problem is, I went there to check that she's alright, and now I know that she's not.

There's something lacking in her life and I want to know what it is. A twisted part of me wants to try and give it to her. But how?

Perhaps I'll think of a way to discuss this with Clarissa. I've not felt like this before. I feel...different. Hopeful, even.

Why is that? I'm still the messed-up stalker I was before I went there. Why do I actually feel slightly better?

⊱✿ ✿⊰

Clarissa's wearing red high heels today, matching her crimson hair which is currently pulled into a high ponytail.

“What's on your mind? You seem troubled,” she says, placing a notepad on her thigh. Thankfully, she has trousers on.

“I had a dream.” I shift in my seat.

Clarissa always makes me uncomfortable. There's something so condescending about the way she regards me.

“Go on.” She winds her pen through the air to encourage me.

I tongue the cut in my mouth. It's healing but somehow it's more sore today than it was yesterday. “I had a dream that Annalise was crying, and I wanted to help.”

Clarissa frowns. She doesn't like me using her name. Apparently the use of someone's name increases your attachment to them. And I need to focus on breaking that attachment.

She doesn't call me out on it, though.

“And what do you think that means?” She readies her pen above the page, poised to record whatever assumptions she's going to make about me.

“I don't know. But I feel less guilty now.”

She pauses at that, glancing up, her green eyes swimming with something. Disdain? Amusement? Is she laughing at me?

I clench my fists into balls, grinding my teeth. I had to attend anger management classes after I returned from Iraq. They taught me techniques to cope. Counting to ten, taking slow breaths, the usual trash. But what are you supposed to do when your anger is justified? My therapist should not be looking at me like I'm a big joke. I'm certain of that.

“Less guilty?” she echoes, returning her eyes to the page and writing something down.

I'd give my right arm to see what.

“Yeah.” I shrug, trying to commit to this. I want to understand why I feel different after that encounter.

No. I need to understand. “I'd like to do something that would, you know, help.”

“Do you know what she was crying about, in your dream?” She emphasises the word, making my gut stir uncomfortably. There's something beneath her tone, like she suspects I'm lying.

I shake my head and she softens a little, resting a hand on her knee, leaning toward me. “You can't help her, you do understand that, don't you Ethan?” She looks directly into my eyes. She's telling me, not suggesting. I'm pretty sure she's not supposed to do that.

“I think I could, if I knew how.” I set my jaw. I'm not backing down on this.

Her eyes flip up and down me as she leans slowly back in her chair, a woman in control. “You've been working out again.”

I nod, tonguing my cheek. “It helps.”

“I told you it's ineffective.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You are not qualified to prescribe your own coping mechanisms.”

“If it works, why don't you 'prescribe' it.” I air quote the word, giving her a sneer.

She purses her lips, making a note.

Make all the notes you like, Clarissa, your PhD doesn't make you an expert on me.

“Are you still writing a journal?”

She had me doing that from day one. I have to admit, the technique does help to organise my thoughts. Especially when it comes to dividing dreams from reality. Sometimes the lines are blurry.

I nod in confirmation.

“Bring it with you next time, I'd like to see it.”

I grind my teeth. I don't like the idea of that. Clarissa has all the insight into my head that I'm comfortable with giving her. That journal is unfiltered. Each page a confession, an admission of my darkness. Her reading it would feel like such an invasion of privacy.

I'm hit with a jolt of guilt as I realise that that's exactly what I did to Annalise last night.

That makes up my mind in a wave. Clarissa can read the journal, even if it does cause me anxiety.

It's the least you deserve. Scum.

“Good. Now, tell me more about this dream you had.”

I clear my throat. I'll just tell her how it was in reality. Clarissa's heard worse.

“I went to see her, to...watch her. At her apartment.”

“In the dream?” she confirms, her eyes flaring slightly.

I nod stiffly. “In the dream.”

“And?”

“And she was crying.”

“That's it?” She sounds a bit annoyed but it's beyond me as to why.

“Yeah.” I shrug.

“And how did it make you feel? Intrigued? Excited? Aroused?”

I stand abruptly, anger pulsing through me. ”No!” I demand, my voice louder than I intend.

She looks mildly satisfied by my reaction, jotting down another note.

I want to rip the book from her manicured fingernails.

“But you are sexually attracted to the girl?” She raises the usual, degrading brow.

My shoulders tense. I shut my eyes, trying to find a calm space inside me.

Attracted to her? Heck, she's beautiful. “Of course I'm attracted to her,” I blurt.

“Sit down,” she snips but I don't.

“It's not what you're thinking. It's not- filthy,” I spit through my teeth, my chest burning.

Clarissa regards me with an investigative stare. She doesn't believe me.

Sordid mess-up, her eyes seem to say.

“Do you masturbate over her?” she asks, her tone light like she hasn't just made my insides shrivel.

I shake my head resolutely. “No. I just told you- it's not like that. I lo-” I halt, dropping my eyes, my gut twisting sharply.

“You what? Love her?” she prompts, an almost imperceptible note of mocking in her voice.

I crack my neck, dropping back into my seat. “No. I'm not capable of love,” I repeat her own summation of me in a flat tone.

“It's good to hear you admit that at last, Ethan.” Her tone is mellower now, as if I've pleased her.

I shift again, dropping my eyes. Why does my chest feel like it's being compressed by a tonne of bricks?

“The girl in your dream, have you considered that you were feeling good about her crying, not about helping her?”

I frown heavily, rubbing at my beard. It's thick and itchy as trash. Heck, when did I last shave?

“No. I definitely wanted to help.”

She narrows her eyes on me. “Are you sure?”

I taste my lips, feeling confused.  That's not why I was feeling good, was it? That's messed up.

No, I decide. It wasn't that. “It's because she was sad and I felt I could help,” I insist through gritted teeth.

“Aha,” she says knowingly, placing her pen down. “It seems you're suffering from delusions, Ethan. To justify your obsession with the girl.”

My throat goes dry and I nod. She is the expert, after all. Perhaps she does know what she's talking about.

“It's a very dangerous stance to take,” she continues, making anxiety dance through my body.

Dangerous?

Monster, monster, monster.

“It could be the manifestation of your delusions. An idea that you can offer the girl something she needs. And if you begin to truly believe that, you might permit yourself to visit her.”

My blood chills. Maybe she's right. Maybe that is what I'm doing.

I nod slowly, absorbing her words.

“What can I do?” I ask, desperate for guidance.

Clarissa seems more comfortable at last, now that she has my full attention. “I'd like you to call me if you have this kind of episode again. We'll work through your thought process together. Don't make any rash decisions without speaking to me first.” She produces a card from her black leather handbag, reaching across the space between us.

I take it, thumbing the 6 x 4 white card with her name and number at the heart of it. There's a spiral on the bottom of the C and the S. Clarissa Sinclair.

I tuck it into my jeans' pocket.

She scans me from top to bottom. “I've been thinking, perhaps it's time you sought employment.”

“I have enough money. I don't need a job.” My father was a wealthy businessman. I didn't even know he'd died until a woman turned up on my doorstep a year ago with a letter in her hand. I was the only heir to the fortune of a man who hadn't even bothered to write a will. From the vague explanation I was given, he won the money betting on horses. So I know nothing had changed since I last saw him.

“That isn't the point,” she presses. “It would give you an outlet. Something to focus your obsessive tendencies toward.”

I chew at my cheek, nodding. “Alright,” I grunt. “If you think it will help.”

“I do. However...” She gives me that up and down look again. “You would need to work on your appearance before an interview.”

“Right,” I say vaguely, running a hand into my overly long beard.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

I shaved for the first time in, well, I don't remember. It's strange to see my jaw clean again. I prefer a line of stubble. This is extreme. I had my hair cut, too, so it no longer falls into my eyes. It's clipped in at the sides, longer on the top.

I look...good.

I eye myself in the bathroom mirror. This is how I used to look. When women would throw themselves at me on a Friday night, at a bar with friends.

What happened to me?

I rub my eyes, taking in a breath. Can I be that man again? Self-assured, attractive, witty. Incredulous as it seems now, I actually used to be funny.

That man is gone. You're not him any more. You're all that's left of a train wreck.

My chest constricts.

Shoulda killed yourself in Iraq.

Shoulda coulda woulda.

I gaze blankly at my mouth which is pulled into a taut line. When was the last time I smiled? Really smiled?

I try it for half a second, then grunt at my stupidity, heading back to the bedroom.

I spend an hour hunting for job advertisements online, scrolling through post after post on my iPad. There's nothing I'm good at. Nothing I even want to be good at.

My skills are army-based. What use are they in this life?

After heating a microwave dinner and managing half of it before losing interest, I find myself pulling on some running shorts and a raincoat.

I'll do a lap of the block. Or two. Just to stretch my legs.

The rain sweeps over me as I head onto the street, the glow of street lamps casting the world in a dreary orange.

Once around the block and my heart is pounding. It feels good. I start to forget again.

Monster.

I do another lap and the voice is drowned out by the pounding in my ears, the rush of rain hitting the pavement, a distant whirring of an ambulance siren.

I find myself jogging along the next block, in the direction of her.

I'm only going to the park. I'll run a lap then head back.

I circle it twice, a burning sensation growing beneath my ribcage. It's like there's flames inside my chest, licking my heart.

Two more laps.

Three.

A blood-chilling scream stops me dead, raking harshly against my ear drums.

I gaze around the empty park.

I'm hovering at a three-pronged junction in the path. It's dark, lampposts marking the diagonal route across the centre of the grass. A dark figure stands there, moving, swaying, dance-like.

I squint into the rain, uncertain of what I'm seeing.

My instincts encourage me forward and I quicken my pace to a jog once more.

As I near the figure, I realise it's not one, but two people, struggling against each other. A handbag is discarded at their feet, the zip wide, catching rainwater from the sky.

“Hey!” I shout, using my soldier voice. It always serves to command authority.

I move out of the glare of the nearest lamp, my eyes adjusting to the darkness beyond it.

And my heart stops working.

It's her.

Annalise.

And she's in trouble.

ETHAN

My instincts takeover.

I snatch her arm, simultaneously throwing a hard punch at the guy who has hold of her. He rears away as my knuckles crack against his jaw.

He swears, stumbling backwards, nearly knocked to the ground by the force I used.

I pull Annalise behind me, putting myself between her and her attacker. The guy gains his feet, turning and sprinting off into the night.

I move to follow but slim fingers tighten around my wrist.

“Thank you,” she gasps and I can barely bring myself to turn around, my heart feeling like a lump of solid ice in my chest.

I twist out of her hold, moving toward her bag and picking it up, eyes firmly on the ground. Handing it to her, I avoid her gaze, putting another meter between us. Four hundred and ninety nine left to go...

“You're welcome,” I mutter, dipping my head and moving to leave.

This isn't happening. How can this be happening?

“Wait!” she calls and I have to look at her.

I take in her sopping dark hair, her glittering amber eyes, near-gold beneath the hue of the lamplight. I'm undone, spellbound, enraptured by her like I always am.

“Could you walk me home? I'm just a block away,” she pleads.

I tongue the inside of my cheek.

You're the type of danger she's afraid of, Ethan.

“Please?” she adds, looking rattled, her fringe pasted to her skin from the pouring rain. She's so beautiful, it tugs at my chest. And she's looking right at me, face to face, asking for my help. This is exactly what I felt she wanted from me.

How can I refuse?

“Alright,” I grunt, heading across the park in the direction of her flat.

She hurries to my side and I slow, letting her take the lead.

You shouldn't know where she lives, psycho.

“What's your name?” she asks, her voice trembling.

“Ethan,” I reply without thinking.

Incredible.

I definitely shouldn't have told her my real name.

“You should probably call the police,” I tell her.

I can't do it for her. That would look really great if the police did some digging into who I am. They might discover that I'm in therapy for my obsessive behaviour. Clarissa wouldn't cover for me then.

“When I get home,” she insists, reaching for my arm, moving closer.

I glance down at her wide-eyes. Is she seeking reassurance from me? This is so messed up.

“I'm Annalise,” she says and I nod silently like this is news to me.

I know your name, your surname, your nickname.

Creep.

“What were you doing out here so late?” she asks, her voice softer, seeming slightly more relaxed.

“I was running.” I don't look at her but feel her eyes on me, taking in my face. What if she's seen me before? What if she knows I've been watching her?

I'm eternally grateful that I decided to shave today. I look like a different man. Not the homeless, drunkard I was projecting this morning.

“In the rain?” she questions as we turn onto her road. I'm careful not to guide her, letting her show me the way.

“I like the rain,” I mutter, stealing a glance at her. Her eyes are wide and full of intrigue, water droplets collecting in her eyelashes. A burning sensation grows in my chest the longer I look at those eyes.

She wants to know about the man that saved her. But she's seeing me through rose-tinted glasses. I'm no hero. This is all wrong.

“Me too,” she agrees. “Although, I usually prefer listening to it than being out in it.”

I nod stiffly and she encourages me under the shelter of her porch.

“This is me,” she says, hugging her arms around her body as she ascends the stone steps.

I take a step back, gazing up at her, barely able to believe she's here in front of me.

“Right. See you.”

I move to leave but she gives me a hopeful expression that halts me in my tracks.

“Can I have your number? You know...to say thanks. Maybe I could buy you a coffee?”

“You don't need to thank me.” I shake my head stiffly, stepping away, fighting my urges.

“I'd like to, though.” She drops back down a step, her eyes burning through me, full of light, torturing my soul with how familiar they are to me.

She's clearly not going to let this go.

I could give her a fake number, to get her off my back.

Making the decision, I take a small step closer, dropping my eyes from hers to get some reprieve.

She takes out her phone, breaking into a heavenly smile. It's the sort of smile that could brighten anyone's mood. But it doesn't brighten mine. Because I am in deep trash here.

“Put your number in and I'll drop-call you to give you mine,” she says, passing me her iPhone.

What now, messincredible?

Real number it is, then. I tap it in under my name, passing it back to her, shell-shocked.

She presses call and my phone sounds from my pocket, the melancholy tones of Arsonist's Lullaby by Hozier thrumming through the air.

Oh hell. I don't even know how I set the ringtone. I'd forgotten all about it until now. I don't exactly receive many calls.

Her eyebrows raise. “Bit of a moody ringtone.”

“Yeah.” I run a hand down the back of my neck, feeling awkward as idiot.

“I really can't thank you enough.” She reaches for my hand, her fingers running over my damp skin.

I'm frozen by her warm touch, my throat dry as bone, my heart cliff-diving in my chest.

“It's fine. Forget it.” I move away. “Just...be careful.”

She nods and I'm quite terrified when she blushes.

That's not good.

“Goodnight, Ethan.”

I turn on my heel, hurrying away, quickening my pace to a jog, then a run, then a flat-out sprint.

I'm heaving by the time I arrive home, bile rolling up my throat.

Now what are you going to do, prick?

ANNALISE

Am I high on adrenaline or was that the hottest guy I've ever seen in my life?

I stand on the porch, watching him go for a full ten seconds. My stomach spins wildly, my heart in my throat.

That is what I've been looking for. That feeling.

I wander inside, floating vaguely up the three floors to my flat.

Oh lord. That guy. He had the face of an angel. His jaw alone could cut through butter like a hot knife.

Despite the freezing water clinging to my body, I'm flustered beyond belief.

Incredible. I almost got mugged. That is definitely the more pressing issue here. Not Mister Superhero and his nice jawline.

I blink out of my stupor. Maybe it is the adrenaline. And the fact that I've been spending every evening in with a romantic film all week.

Yes. That's what it is: me looking for the romance story. The fairytale.

As I grab a glass of milk from the fridge, I find myself playing out a scenario in my mind. Me calling Ethan, him agreeing to meet me for a coffee. He asks me out on date after perfect date before we fall in love...later telling the story of how we met. He saved my life! I'd laugh, leaning into him. And he'd put a muscular arm around me, stroking my spine, She's trouble, this one.

I swill the milk in my mouth, frowning at myself.

Right. No more romance films. I'm going insane.

Taking out my phone, I huff as I think about calling the police. I have no description to give, whoever it was didn't actually rob anything and I'm tired.

Shrugging, I tuck my phone into my pocket, heading to the bathroom to shower. And definitely not to think about my sexy saviour under the hot stream of water...

⊱✿ ✿⊰

I'm not going to text him. Definitely not.

He didn't even want to give me his number. And I don't need the rejection.

I brush my hair in the bathroom mirror, trying to fluff it up. It always lies so flat. I release a breath, eyeing my phone on the edge of the sink.

Despite my reservations, I still want to believe in fate and romance and the kind of passion that burns like madfire.

Is it fate that Ethan saved me last night?

I know what my dad would say, he's said it a hundred times.

'Fate can come knocking, darling, but only you can answer the door.'

By that reasoning, I should text Ethan. You don't get lemonade without squeezing some lemons...

I tap out a quick text, figuring the quicker I do it, the less time I'm giving myself to back out of it.

I press send with a little squeak- half fear, half excitement.

Hey, I'd like to buy you that coffee.

Annalise

I don't remember the last time I felt excited over a guy, that's why I know I have to put myself on the line for this one. But I didn't expect the nerves I'd feel over something so trivial as a text.

After an hour of pretending to ignore my phone, it buzzes.

I dive for it on the sofa, finding my mum trying to Facetime me. My stomach sinks.

She and Dad bought a yacht last summer; they've sailed as a hobby for years but finally took the plunge and purchased their own vessel. They've been cruising around the world ever since, currently off the shore of Italy.

I answer, feeing a touch guilty for not having wanted to find her calling. “Hi Mum.”

Her face springs into view, a red scarf concealing her blonde locks. “Annalise! How are you?” She doesn't wait for me to answer, ploughing on, “We're in southern Sardinia. Oh darling, you'd love it. Just your scene. And lots of strapping men about – wealthy-looking too. No doubt one of them would catch your interest.”

Wow. Five seconds before hinting at my singledom, that's got to be a new record.

“How's Dad?” I ask, searching for him in the background.

Mum angles the camera, showing him at the helm, beer in hand. He's topless, his large stomach round and tanned, his silver hair ruffled by the wind. He looks happy, both of them do. I smile genuinely, waving.

“He insists on drinking beer daily, even though I've warned him what it will do to his gut.”

“He's enjoying himself,” I laugh.

Mum rolls her bright blue eyes. I'm unlike her in looks. I have my grandma's hair, my dad's mum. There's a photograph of her around my age at an anti-bra rally in the sixties. I adore that photo, she looks wild and free. She even had the same fringe I have now. Maybe I cut it this way on purpose, subconsciously. I've never considered that before.

“How's the job hunting going? Have you given up on all that mind-reading mumbo jumbo yet?”

I scowl. She always brings this up. “My psychology degree is not mumbo jumbo, Mum. And I actually have an interview for a training position as a therapist this week.”

“Great darling, great.” She's not really listening, her eyes roaming over my hair.

I run a hand through it with a frown, knowing she's looking for flaws.

“Anyway, darling. Better go. I'll send your love to your father. Kisses.” She pats her lips and the feed goes dead.

I'm left with a heavy weight hanging from my heart. Nothing like a pep talk from Mum- not.

The weight releases in a wave as I find a message waiting for me from Ethan.

Costas. 4pm?

A grin tugs at my lips. I send a quick confirmation, checking the time. I've got an hour.

I move to the bathroom, eyeing my hair, tugging at the longer pieces of my fringe that frame my cheeks. I can never get it to sit any differently. I was starting to get used to it, now a quick glance from my mother and I'm feeling self-conscious again.

Phoo. I'm not going to let her affect me like that.

The hairdresser took way too much off the bottom. It's starting to grow out again, how I like it. Dang scissor-happy people. When you say an inch, they take a mile.

ETHAN

Shit. What have I done?

I agreed to meet Annalise. I couldn't resist. She's been in my head ever since I saw her. Idiot, who am I kidding? She's been in my head for months, and now she actually wants to see me.

I dress in a shirt and jeans, grabbing my leather jacket and heading out the door at ten minutes to four.

I'm nervous as I walk to the cafe, my heart nearly strangling me.

I definitely shouldn't be doing this.

I arrive at the cafe before she does, taking in the crowded space and winding my way toward a booth by the window. I sit, glancing anxiously at the entrance, my pulse racing.

When she steps through the door, I feel compelled to stand.

Idiot.

I run a hand through my hair, nodding to her and dropping back into my seat, my neck heating up.

She's stunning in a charcoal grey winter dress, seeming nervous as she approaches, taking her time, weaving through the tables.

She drops into the booth, flashing me a brief smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I echo, leaning back in my seat, my arms rigid as I rest my wrists on the table.

“So...coffee?” She reaches for the menu.

I nod, watching as she picks it up, running her finger down the list.

I expect she'll pick tea.

“I'm more of a tea girl.” She glances at me and I nod, my throat dry.

Freak.

She passes me the menu and her fingers graze mine, sending a rush of heat through me. She runs her thumbs over the tips where mine touched. Did she feel it too?

A waitress arrives and I turn to her. “A tea, and a water.”

“Tap or bottle?” she asks.

“Tap,” I say.

Maybe I should have got a bottle. I'm not trying to be a cheapskate, I have more than enough money for whatever drink I want. But caffeine is a no-go for my anxiety.

The waitress heads away, leaving us in silence.

“Just a water?” Annalise questions after a minute, her eyes assessing. I find it difficult to look at them, my heart licked by flames at the sight.

I shrug.

She frowns and I shift in my seat, trying to think of an explanation. The truth. The bloody truth is all I have.

“I don't drink caffeine.”

“Oh.” She nods, her eyes dropping to my mouth. “Why?”

I clear my throat, shifting again. “I have some...anxiety issues.”

Her eyes widen and I take in their golden amber colour, frightened and drawn to them at once.

“Well...good choice picking tap.”

“Huh?”

“Tap water...bottled water...” Her cheeks redden. “It's all the same.”

I gaze at her, taking in the curve of her slim jaw. “Right.”

“Right.” She drums her fingers on the table.

Incredible. How does this work? I haven't been on a date in...idiot, I don't remember.

This isn't a date, this is you being a creep.

“So...what do you do for work?” she asks, taking in my clothes as if they might hold the answer.

“I don't work.” I realise my admission makes me sound like a complete waste of space.

That's exactly what you are.

She gazes at me, waiting for me to elaborate. I don't have anything more to offer so simply remain silent.

“What do you do?” I ask, despite knowing the answer.

“I'm a psychologist. I applied for a trainee position as a therapist.”

I didn't know she'd applied for a position. And trash, it would be me that picks the therapist-in-training to stalk. Is she psychoanalysing me right now? Like Clarissa?

I don't feel like I do with Clarissa, under scrutiny, more a gentle curiosity. And that's not necessarily anything to do with her being a psychologist. She asked me here, so she probably gives a trash about my life. The thought is both humbling and terrifying. I shouldn't be here at all, let alone giving her details about who I am.

“That sounds interesting,” I remark stiffly.

This is a train wreck.

“I guess...I just really hope I get it. I've worked my whole life for this chance.” She bites her lip, passion blazing in her expression.

“You'll get it,” I say without a doubt, dropping my eyes from hers again. They're so painful to look at, like someone's driving a corkscrew into my heart.

“You think?” she asks in surprise.

I shrug. “You obviously want it enough.”

I look up to find her smiling, her lips the softest of pinks. It breaks me in half and I'm suddenly ten years younger, the weight from my shoulders lifting. A smile tugs at my lips – an actual smile. For a heartbeat, I'm saved, in bliss, doing something as simple as sitting across from a girl I like.

But that's not what's really happening. I've coveted her for months. I'm a pathetic creep who lurks in the shadows, hounding a girl who I have no right to be interested in.

I remember the first time I saw her. She was sitting in a coffee shop two blocks from here, typing on her laptop. I was captivated and petrified at once. She awoke something in me that day, something dangerous and untamed. I watched her for hours until she finally left and I just...followed.

The waitress arrives with our drinks, jolting me back to reality.

She places them down. “Want something with your water?” Her voice is laced with amusement at me.

I turn to her, lifting a brow. “Another earful of sarcasm would be great.”

Annalise laughs, the light, merry sound making my chest expand. The waitress scowls at me and heads away.

“So you don't work but you're...looking?” She lifts a brow, her body language at ease.

My body responds to hers, my shoulders dropping. “I don't know what I want to do. I used to be in the army...I'm not sure what else I'm good at,” I admit.

She tilts her head to the side and her hair dark slides over her shoulder. “A soldier? That makes a lot of sense.”

I suck the inside of my cheek, unsure what she means. “Does it?”

“Yeah, you're all-” she waves at me. “Formal. Plus, you took on that thief yesterday which not everyone would have done.”

“I guess.” I shrug.

She smiles at me, looking intrigued, her mouth slightly open so I can just see the tops of her milky white teeth.

“Are you using your psychology skills on me?” I ask, trying to keep the tone light. It's easier now.

She grins mischievously. “Ever since I got my degree, everyone thinks I'm using Jedi mind tricks on them.”

A grin pulls at my cheeks; it's like she's holding the strings to the sinews in my muscles.

“And are you?”

She rolls her eyes but continues to smile. “No. I'm not a mind reader.”

Thank goodness. Or she would not still be sitting here.

I lean a little closer, drawn in, resting my elbows on the edge of the table. “How does it work, then?”

She leans in too, mimicking me. “I learnt techniques to understand the mind better, that's all. Therapy is just one string of psychology and there's many types of therapist you can be.”

“What type do you want to be?” I'm mesmerised by her mouth, her soft, lulling voice.

“I'd like to specialise in cognitive behavioural therapy, helping people work through problems like depression, grief, post-traumatic stress disorder. That kind of thing.”

I nod slowly, absorbing each of her words. That's the same focus as Clarissa, I think.

“Interesting,” I say, tasting my lips as I eye hers. A dangerous image flickers into my mind of me kissing her, burying my tongue in her mouth.

She blinks several times, taking a sip of her tea and diverting her eyes to it. Her eyelashes cast a shadow beneath her lids, dancing on her skin. Her hands are delicate on the mug, cupping it between both palms. I wonder if she's cold. I long to trace my thumb over her palms, to feel them against my skin.

“So you don't work...do you have any hobbies?” she questions and I hunch my shoulders, giving her an apologetic look.

“Not really.”

“Nothing? What do you do with all your time?”

“Well...I work out.” With a jolt, I think of my journal. “And, I write.”

Her eyebrows lift and she leans in an inch. “What do you write about?” Her voice is a whisper, full of curiosity.

I glance away, shifting awkwardly. Heck, if she knew what I really wrote about, she'd run a hundred miles from me. “It's just a journal.”

She tilts her head to one side. “A journal? About your day...that you spend doing nothing?”

She's joking but I don't smile, feeling uncomfortable.

“It's for my thoughts.” My crazy thoughts.

“Oh,” she says softly, seeming apologetic. “Are you a deep thinker?”

I let out a snort. Deep thinker? That's not quite the term I'd use. But I probably spend more time in my own head than I do with other people. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I'd love to see what you write...” She drops her eyes to her tea, looking thoughtful.

She'd be calling the police in a heartbeat if she did.

I remain silent, studying her, transfixed. “What films do you like?” I ask, thinking of the times I've observed her, sobbing over whatever she's watching, broken apart by it.

What moves this beautiful woman to tears? What makes her ache?

Her cheeks flush a little. “Oh, you know, the usual stuff.”

“Like?” I press, hopeful.

She sighs, her shoulders dropping as her guard comes down. “Don't laugh, okay?”

“I promise.”

“I like romance films.”

“Oh,” I breathe. Romance, that's what she cries about. Is she lonely? As lonely as me?

She dips her head, shy.

I'm enraptured by that expression. “There's nothing to be embarrassed about.”

She tilts her head up, her eyebrows furling. “No?”

I shake my head in confirmation.

She clears her throat, breaking a small smile. “What do you like to watch?”

I shrug. “I don't watch much TV.”

She nods, sipping her tea, finishing it. And I'm pained that our time here is already coming to an end.

“I brought you here to buy you coffee as thanks, but you've given me nothing to buy.”

I sip my water, thinking up a response. “Well, like I said, there's no need to thank me. I wasn't going to stand by and watch you get mugged.”

“I'd like to thank you all the same.”

“Then do.”

“Thank you,” she laughs and I smile again. How does she do it? Bring the light out in me? I feel like I'm being raised from beneath the waves, gazing up at the sunlight playing on the surface.

“You're welcome.”

I take out my wallet to pay.

She shoos me away. “You're not buying – I asked you here, so I'll get it.”

“I'd like to.” I take out a five pound note, fighting to hold her burning gaze. Her eyes narrow on me and I have to glance away, feeling like flames are heating my back.

“Really, I insist.” She reaches across the table, her fingers pushing the note into my fist, her skin grazing mine. It's electric, jolting through to my very core.

I'm overwhelmed by the urge to respond and ever-so-slightly brush my fingers against her knuckles.

I hear her inhale like it's the only sound in the room. Snapping my eyes up, I find her looking at me like I'm everything she's ever wanted. It's unnerving, knowing she's seeing a lie. I've caused this, now I need to fix it.

Tell her what you are, tell her you're a monster.

“Annalise,” her name rolls over my tongue. It feels good to say it; Clarissa never allows me to do so in our sessions. “I appreciate you asking me here, but I shouldn't have come.”

She extracts her hand and I automatically lean after her.

“Oh. Do you have a girlfriend?”

The question takes me by surprise. I shake my head dumbly and her cheeks turn rose pink.

“Okay. I understand,” she murmurs, getting to her feet, evidently thinking I'm not interested in her.

I stand immediately, my throat constricting. I can't let her go, something inside me is fighting to keep near her.

“I didn't mean-” Words fail me.

Don't let her think you're attracted to her, scum.

I blink away the voice.

“You didn't mean..?” She raises a brow, her body language becoming standoffish.

“I think you're resplendent,” I blurt, the truth choking it's way out of my throat. “You blind me.”

She looks taken aback, her hand moving slowly to her breast, resting on her heart. “Ethan...”

My name from her lips is divine. I'm in awe, watching her watching me, both of us frozen in place.

“Walk me home,” she insists and I nod without a thought.

I place the five pound note down and she glances at it, looking like she wants to refuse again. I fix her with a stare and she remains silent.

She moves out of the booth and I follow, just behind her, eyeing the small of her back. I place my hand there, holding the door open for her as we exit.

She moves into me, her hip rubbing mine as we head outside. It's a perfect spring day; the wind is cool but the sky is cloudless and bright, the scent of blossom and pollen hanging in the air.

I drop my hand as she leads the way down the road.

I'm hypnotised by the way her hair bounces on her back, the sunlight picking out tones from deep gold to shining bronze and subtle copper.

We say nothing but I don't feel the need to, her company plenty to occupy me.

By the time we arrive outside her flat, my thoughts are sharp, my heartbeat rising.

I know I shouldn't have come but the second I leave her company, I may never see her again. I won't be able to follow her now that she knows me. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise.

Or perhaps your sordid mind is trying to justify your actions.

Annalise turns, her hair catching in the wind, drawn behind her. “Thank you for paying.”

I nod, already having forgotten I did so.

She moves toward me in a flash, slipping her arms around me, clutching my jacket. The sweet cherry scent of her hair overwhelms my senses. I shut my eyes, folding my arms around her, breathing in deeply.

She goes slack in my arms, her fingers tightening on my body.

I long to feel more of her, every single part.

Running my fingers into her hair, I caress her neck beneath it, trailing my thumb in soft strokes.

Her breath heats my chest through my shirt. She pulls back an inch, glancing up at me beneath her lashes. I'm undone by her expression, seemingly seeing straight into my soul, gazing at the darkness and staying put all the same.

My grip tightens on her and she releases a soft sigh. “Goodbye Ethan.”

“Goodbye,” I echo but neither of us move.

My eyes roam over her mouth and I inch closer, desperate to give into this urge.

“I better not kiss you,” I mutter, telling myself as much as I am her.

“Why?” she whispers, blinking slowly.

Tell her what you are.

My heart beats frantically in my chest. “Because if I do, I don't think I'll be able to stop.”

She tastes her lips, knotting her hands into my shirt. “I don't think I'll want you to stop.”

Kissed by her stalker. This girl deserves better.

“Then we're in trouble, Annalise.” I step closer, pressing her back against the door, my world flipping on its axis. “Because I'm about to stop listening to the voice that's telling me not to.”

A small breath flutters past her lips, her mouth so close to mine I can taste the air that's run across her tongue. And I'm already a slave to her flavour.

I drown the voice in my head and my lips meet hers, hard.

I'm lost, consumed by her, dragged from darkness into light. Her impassioned response sets fire to the deepest regions of my soul, scorching through the endless abyss of my heart.

Her tongue strokes mine, and I succumb to the impossibly good feel of her mouth against me. I want to devour every part of this girl, to taste every last drop.

“Ethan,” she gasps and I press against her, laying my hands flat on the door, crushing her.

To be wanted by this woman is bliss. But for me it's more than want, it's need.

Look what you are, a monster leering over her.

I yank away, pressing my fingers to my eyes to try and stifle the voice.

“Are you alright?” she asks, her voice unsteady.

I shake my head, dropping my hand. “I'm sorry-” I try to find the words to explain but there are none. The truth isn't an option.

I hurry away, practically jogging down the street, my heart tortured and racing.

Idiot.

ANNALISE

I'm left gaping after Ethan, touching my lips, finding them tingling.

I didn't know it was possible to feel a kiss in all the empty spaces of my body. Every part of me is awakened, on fire.

But why did he leave? What is he hiding?

Looking at him is like gazing at an endless lake, the truth of his depth concealed beneath a rippling surface.

Remembering to move, I head inside.

I don't feel rejected; I tasted the extent of his desire. It's curiosity I'm left with. I long to know the reasons behind his behaviour.

I sink onto my sofa, deep in thought, picking at the pale blue threads on the arm. My phone rings, alarming me and I take it out of my bag, finding my friend Libby calling.

“Hi,” I breathe. Woah. What happened to my voice?

“Lise? You alright? You sound weird.”

“Yeah- idiot, I think so. I just got kissed by this guy...”

“What guy?!” she practically screeches.

I hold the phone away from my ear for a second. “We met yesterday. I was being robbed-”

“Robbed? Incredible, Lise!”

“Yeah, the guy – Ethan – he scared off my attacker.”

“Attacker? Did you get hurt?” The worry in her voice is evident but the thief really isn't my main focus.

“No. I'm fine.” My thoughts fill with Ethan, that kiss. I can still feel his mouth on mine. I've never felt such passion, such raw chemistry. My blood is pumping through my veins hot and fast, leaving me flustered.

“Tell me everything,” Libby demands.

I fill her in, leaving out the more intimate details. They're just for me. I've never been in this position before. And I want to keep it for myself, like I'm caging a little secret in my chest.

“Resplendent? Who uses words like that to describe someone they've just met? He sounds weird,” Libby says bluntly, irking me.

“He's not weird,” I snap, my heart pounding faster. “He's sweet.”

“Look Lise, he's obviously good looking or whatever, but are you sure this guy isn't deranged or something?”

I frown heavily, wishing I hadn't even told her about him. I say nothing, clenching my jaw.

Libby's daughter starts bawling in the background.

“I'm just concerned for you. Don't get pissy.”

I let out a huff. “He's the first guy I've felt the spark with.” I cringe at my honesty but I don't keep anything from Libby. And that's how I feel.

“I can tell, which is why you should be careful- oh for heaven's sake Lola stop chewing your brother's ear!” she shouts at her kid. I'm used to the outbursts, it's pretty much how all of our phone conversations go. “And I want you to be with a nice guy.” Her tone returns to normal.

“He is a nice guy,” I insist, winding a finger into my hair and tugging.

“I think you're being a little naive. How do you know he isn't dodgy?”

“I can just – tell.” Grr. She's infuriating. Why is she begrudging me of this moment? I've supported every single decision she's made since she met her husband four years ago. Why can't she be here for me now?

“Okay, I know you can look after yourself – LOLA! Put that vase down! - sorry Lise, I have to go – crisis here.”

“No problem. Speak soon.”

She hangs up, but not before I hear a loud crash on the end of the line. Oh dear. Libby has more important things to worry about than my love life. That's the thing about all my friends being in relationships, their priorities are with their families and other halves. And I understand that, but sometimes, I don't know where to turn.

I do what my father would tell me to do, and listen to my heart. If your instincts say go for it, then go for it.

I tap out a text, feeling like I'm putting myself on the line again. It's so not like me to hound a guy. But if I let this one walk out of my life, I fear I'll regret it forever.

CLARISSA

I help the women. Always.

Lilith is struggling with depression after her husband of twelve years cheated on her repeatedly.

She sobs into a tissue and I regard her with a sadness weighing in my chest. “Tell me what's on your mind, Lilith.”

“I just can't understand it, Clarissa. I did everything for him, I cooked, cleaned, I gave him...”

“What?” I encourage, giving her a soft smile.

“Blowjobs,” she whispers, cupping her hands around her mouth.

She has no idea how little a word like that effects me.

“Yes, I understand. Sometimes it's hard to comprehend why someone would hurt you. How does it make you feel?”

“Betrayed,” she chokes. “Like all these years were wasted – a lie.”

I nod slowly, her words working their way into my chest. I know that feeling all too well.

“How long has it been now, since he left?”

“Three months,” she sniffs, pulling herself together.

“And how do you feel about the fact that he left you?”

“I wish...I wish I'd left him, you know? I wish I could hurt him like he's hurt me.”

I nod slowly. “Yes, you're angry. And how would you punish him if you could?” I sit forward in my seat, my senses coming alive. I long to have this man in my basement. I'd bring him all the hurt this women deserves.

She looks slightly alarmed at my question, then her eyes darken, sinking into that dreamy, cold place everyone has inside them. The little part of your soul that craves pain and suffering, revenge.

“If I could go back in time...I'd catch him at it, with one of those girls, then I'd hurt him, hurt her.”

“How would you hurt them?” I purr, resting my notepad on my knee, leaning forward.

“I'd...I'd...” Her cheeks turn scarlet.

“There's no judgement in this room, Lilith. You can tell me anything.”

She lowers her voice to a breathy whisper, “I'd hold a gun to his head, make him strangle her. Then I'd shoot his- his-”

“Cock,” I finish for her simply and she nods.

I'm filled with a delicious satisfaction at the darkness I share with this woman. My sessions are like therapy for me too sometimes.

“And would that make you feel better?” I ask, resting back in my seat.

She nods vigorously, her eyes brighter already. I survey her. Her honey-coloured hair is lank, not recently washed. She's pretty, perhaps a little on the plump side but with some daily care, she could be beautiful.

“Are you looking after yourself?” I probe, scanning her over.

She runs a hand into that greasy blonde hair, looking guilty. “It's hard to think of myself...”

“Perhaps you should take some time to pamper yourself, what do you think?”

She nods, the idea sinking into her mind. “Yes, that's a good idea, I think.”

I check the time. She's run over a little. But my next client can wait.

Lilith stands, spotting the clock, too. “Sorry for taking up more of your time again.”

“It's not a problem. You'll think on what we discussed today?”

“I will.” She smiles and her features light up. It's the first time she's looked that way: hopeful. And I feel I've truly helped someone today.

She exits, side-stepping my next client who is hovering outside the door, anxious for me.

I take a breath, sipping from my water bottle as he enters.

“Hello Arthur,” I say stiffly.

He's a pathetic man. His eyes hollow and dark. His brother died in a car accident several months ago; he's been seeing me to talk about his grief.

“Hello-” he chokes, immediately starting to cry.

I square my shoulders toward him. “How are you today?”

“Not good, Miss Sinclair, not good at all.”

I suppress an eye roll, picking up my pen and writing a vague note about his continued depression.

“What's on your mind?”

“I went through some of his things yesterday. I found a couple of trophies. He was good at football, did I tell you?”

I shake my head, letting him go on, checking the clock over his shoulder.

“He loved the sport. Always played. His entire life in fact. His wife didn't like it much, but I always encouraged him to keep it up.”

I nod, starting to sketch on my pad, pretending to make notes. I think of Ethan and begin drawing his dark expression, his pale grey eyes.

Arthur rambles on about his brother for nearly twenty minutes. By the time he's done, I've sketched Ethan well, capturing the bleakness in his expression, the lost look he gives me when he's searching for solace. I drew him naked, right in the spot Arthur's currently occupying, sketching out his cock with soft strokes. Heat grows between my legs along with a sweet need. A need to break Ethan, to see what he looks like when I inflict pain on his body, to hear his dark cries of agony.

“-that was the last time I saw him. After one of his games. He won...scored a goal.”

“Hm, and do you think about that day a lot?” I ask, feigning interest.

I continue drawing, fleshing out the head of Ethan's cock, sketching veins down the shaft. I bet he has a big cock. He's always in jeans so it's hard to tell. It doesn't really matter, a guy like that would have harassed a lot of women before his mind got screwed. He'd know his way around a pussy, he'd know how to make me come before he even had to put it in me.

“-the hardest thing is accepting he's not coming back. And with my mother's Alzheimer's...oh Miss Sinclair, it's just horrible. I have to explain on a daily basis that he's gone.”

I snap my head up at that. “And is that the right thing to do, do you think?” Poor woman. Why won't he let her live in bliss? She doesn't need to know her son's dead, his head busted in by a ten tonne truck on the M25.

What is it with men? Why can't they ever see what a woman needs? Even when it's right in front of their eyes?

ETHAN

I head straight to the therapy clinic, taking the tube along the central line and heading up to the street.

By the time I arrive, the tension in my body has grown unbearable.

I hurry upstairs to the waiting area where comfy sofas and chairs are dotted around a large room, everything designed to make clients feel at ease. But that's the last thing I feel. And I imagine it's the last thing any of the other patients that come here feel either. We're all messed in the head, unable to cope with day to day life without depending on another person to justify our thoughts.

I move to the receptionist, her face is serene, her smile bright. She always looks like this, like someone slipped a sedative in her morning coffee.

“Hi Ethan, how are you?” her voice is airy, near-ethereal.

“I need to see Clarissa.”

“She's with a client now, but if you'd like to take a seat, I'll see if she can fit you in today.”

I slam my palm down on the desk and her eyes widen, seemingly knocked off her cloud.

“I need to see her. Now,” I snap.

She reaches for the phone on her desk. “Take a seat, please. I'll tell her you're here.”

I nod stiffly, moving away and dropping into an armchair. I'm antsy, resting my ankle on my knee, running a hand through my hair.

“Sorry to disturb you Miss Sinclair, but Ethan Harding is here.” She pauses. “He would very much like to see you. Perhaps I can delay your next client?” She glances at me, her blue eyes glowing. “Oh- cancel...? Okay. No problem, I'll do that for you.” She places the phone back on the hook, opening a diary and writing something in it. She taps her fingers on the keyboard to her computer, looking engrossed so I can't catch her eyes again.

I chew my cheek as I wait, tempted to break through the gum. It would be so easy, it would give me some release.

Clarissa appears before I give in to the urge, followed by a man with sallow skin and a receding hairline. He looks like he's been crying, his eyes red and hollow.

“Thank you Arthur. Same time next week?” Clarissa says. She's dressed in a smart pinafore dress with a white shirt underneath, giving off an odd school girl vibe. It doesn't suit her. She'd be the stern teacher with a cane, rapping students' knuckles for misbehaving.

Her client nods, smiling at her gratefully before heading away.

Clarissa's eyes slide to mine and I feel like she can see into my head, already thumbing through my thoughts, seeing what damage I've caused now.

“Ethan.” She gestures with her head for me to follow.

I stand, feeling like a child being escorted into the headmaster's office. As we arrive in her room, I'm pricked by a sharp jab of doubt.

Perhaps I shouldn't have come here. Maybe I could have dealt with this myself, if only I had taken a moment to breathe.

She drops into her leather chair and I take up my usual spot on the goose-grey sofa. The sun is shining through the window, its rays being soaked up by a potted plant beneath the pane.

“How can I help you, Ethan? Did something happen?” she asks gently, leaning back in her seat, crossing her legs.

I try to get comfortable on the sofa but I think it's me that's the problem.

I bite down on my tongue, deciding how to say this. “I met someone.”

Her eyebrows lift, just a fraction, but enough to tell me she disapproves.

“A girl?”

“No, a pigeon,” I say dryly and she tuts at me. “Of course a girl.” My tongue feels heavy in my mouth as I prepare to go on, “We kissed.”

She surveys me, blinking slowly, her eyes light and curious. “And how did that make you feel?”

My brows lower as I consider my answer. “I felt...free.”

“Free from what?”

I point at my head. “From all the trash going on in here.”

Her lips press into a taut line. “Do you really need to be so harsh on yourself?”

My mouth tugs down and I nod. “I'm broken, Clarissa. We both know that. I'm not going to lie to myself.”

“Broken is a strong word, don't you think?”

She's doing that psychology thing, turning everything back on me, forcing me to become introspective. And it works like a charm.

Broken. Damaged. Defective. They all seem pretty accurate descriptions of me.

I shrug in answer.

Clarissa tilts her head to the side, jotting a note on her pad.

“What did you write?” I blurt, overcome by the need to know.

I despise the note-taking. It's like being evaluated when she does it.

“I wrote that your anger is heightened today. That perhaps the girl you met has brought this out in you, hm?” Her brow arches.

I don't know if she's trying to patronise me but that's how I feel. I suppose that's because I've never had to discuss a date before. She probably thinks I'm not capable of one. And she's right to think that, because the person I went on a date with is Annalise Drake.

“Yes, that's why I'm here. I don't think I should have gone on the date.”

“She asked you?” she guesses, seeming mildly surprised.

I nod, wringing my hands together tightly. “I tried to say no, but she was persistent.” I'm lost for a minute to the memory, my heart lifting. “And she's gorgeous, how could I say no?”

“Perhaps this is a good thing. It may help you to deflect the focus from your obsession.”

A lump lodges in my throat. Heck, I am in the trash here. She would not be suggesting that if she knew who I really went on a date with.

“Maybe,” I say vaguely, struggling for what to say. If I'm going to leave here with any peace of mind, I need to walk as close to the truth as possible.

“I'd like to see her again...”

Clarissa presses her lips together, going quiet in thought. “I want to discuss an idea with you.”

I raise my brows, thrown by her change of direction.

“Have you heard of aversion therapy?”

I shake my head, mutely awaiting an explanation.

She runs her thumb in circles on her bare knee, drawing my attention to it. “Aversion therapy is a form of treatment to help patients overcome negative behaviours.”

I lean forward, intrigued. “Behaviours like my obsession?”

“Like I said before, Ethan, you can't be 'fixed'. But aversion therapy may break some of your more self-deprecating habits.”

“Such as?”

“The voice in your head. I think it's time we addressed it.”

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable at her bringing it up. It was a particularly painful session when I had to talk about the voice. But Clarissa helped me through it. Helped me see that it was just a creation of my mind, that it didn't really have a hold on me. For all the good that knowledge does...

“With this type of therapy, I'd be using pain to counter the behaviour. Is it something you would be interested in trying?” There's a note of hope in her voice.

I run my tongue over my teeth, considering it. If it helps get rid of the voice, I'm open to anything.

“Sure,” I agree.

She nods slowly, a flicker of light going through her eyes. “It's not something we can conduct here. I'm not licensed to practice it. It would need to be in my home, are you comfortable with that?”

I nod, wanting to try whatever she can offer. She must know what she's talking about. “Have you had success with it before?”

She nods keenly. “Much. We can have a session tonight, if you'd like?”

“I guess...” My gut writhes. I'm not completely convinced about this, but if Clarissa thinks it could destroy the voice in my head, I have to give it a try.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

I spend the afternoon working out, thinking of Annalise. When I'm dripping with sweat but still feeling like trash, I try to release the anxiety in my chest by writing in my journal.

Today you smiled just for me. And it was divine. The way your cheeks creased, your lashes fluttered and brushed against the skin below your eyes. How can I be worthy of such an expression? In all my life I can never remember a time where I felt so blessed.

I don't know if there are other forces in the world, if there's a god or something all-powerful out there. But if there is, I was gifted something today that can't be explained. Because no one is less worthy of your smile, than me.

I thumb my phone on the desk, a dangerous idea entering my mind. It would be euphoric to speak to her, just to hear her voice again.

Bad idea, creep.

I check the time. I planned to be at Clarissa's house for 6pm. I have nearly an hour before I need to leave.

Tucking my phone firmly into my pocket, I stand, pulling on a shirt and heading out the door.

I'll take in some air, force these crazed ideas from my head.

I jog to the park, walking to the cherry blossom at the heart of it. It throws shade onto the bench beneath it, the shadows dancing and swaying across it as the wind blows. I drop down onto the seat, brushing little pink blossom petals from the wood. They're damp from a recent rain shower, sticking to the grain.

A sweet floral scent is in the air, the springtime songs of birds soaring overhead as they flutter from branch to branch. The world is at peace but my head is a raging storm, causing me eternal grief.

My knee jolts up and down as I try to expend some of my nervous energy. I wish, for one single day, that I could leave my head, walk in someone else's shoes. Anyone's at all. Just to be free for a while.

“Ethan?”

I snap my head up, my mouth parting at the sight of Annalise standing before me, her hands tucked into her bomber jacket.

“Arg-hi,” a strained noise leaves my throat, making heat rush down my neck.

Idiot.

And there's that smile: she's beaming, radiant, showing all her teeth. She smiles like no one has ever hurt her. Her expression is entirely open to me, like she hasn't even considered that my intentions toward her could be sour.

“What are you doing here?” I manage.

“In the park..?” Her brows draw together in a neat line and she gestures around like it's obvious.

I feel like a moron. “Right, yeah. You're taking a walk.”

She smiles, a little more awkwardly this time, glancing at the space on the bench beside me.

“So I guess I'll...see you around?” She takes a step away, her boot crushing a fallen bunch of blossom.

“Unless you wanna join me?” I blurt before she walks away, my heartbeat stuttering.

Let her go, you mess-up!

She looks a touch relieved, moving toward me and dropping into the space.

“Beautiful day, isn't it?” she says, looking up at the fan of branches above.

“Beautiful,” I echo, staring at her whilst she's distracted. Her throat is exposed as she gazes upwards. I could take it between my palms, my hands would encompass its entirety.

She glances down at me and I drop my gaze, scared of meeting her amber eyes.

Her hand drops next to mine on the bench and I gaze down, her fingers just millimetres away. I long to take it, to feel the soft caress of her skin.

Sicko.

I fight the urge as long as I can before I'm compelled to touch her. My fingers graze hers and she immediately responds, twisting her hand upwards, letting me entwine my fingers with hers. It's like hooves are drumming against my chest, my heart pumping blood around my body at a rapid pace.

“Do you live close by?” she breathes.

“Just up the road,” I say quietly, my mind anywhere but on what she's asking me.

Why does this feel so right?

I squeeze her fingers, relishing her smooth knuckles, running my thumb over them in steady strokes, exploring.

“Do you live alone?” she questions.

I nod.

There's a beat of silence before she asks another question. “Did you grow up here?”

“In Surrey. Haven't lived there since I was a boy, though...” I hate to think of my childhood. I don't let the memories in, blocking them out, squeezing my eyes shut for half a second.

“I've lived in London my whole life,” she says, going on to tell me about her parents who are currently sailing around the world. She tells me about her life in London, her friends. But I know most of it. I've witnessed most of it. And that's the most messed up thing of all.

The sun sinks low in the sky, the trees around us casting slanting shadows across the grass.

With a jolt, I remember I have to be at Clarissa's soon. I don't have a watch so check the time on my phone, swearing, finding it almost quarter to.

I stand, my hand parting from hers. “I have to go.”

I gaze down at her and she nods, giving me a small smile.

“Okay. I'll...see you soon?” Her expression fills with hope and I'm flooded with yearning, to forget about Clarissa, to stay here, take her out to dinner, listen to more stories about her past, learn every private detail about her life.

But I can't. I have to face the trash in my head, and if Clarissa's aversion therapy can help me do that, I have to try.

I say nothing, knowing I shouldn't make any further plans with her.

Before she says another word, I turn, forcing myself to walk away. By the time I reach the edge of the park, a knot has grown in my chest, a battle raging in my head between looking back and keeping my eyes averted.

I feel like Orpheus, climbing out of the underworld, promising not to look back at his wife who's  following. But, like him, I fail the test, glancing around and spying her still on the bench.

The knot eases and I lift a hand, waving. She doesn't see me and I grunt at my stupidity, dropping my arm heavily to my side and hurrying away.

Loser.

I arrive at Clarissa's town house just as the sun is setting, casting the clouds in a pink and coral light.

I climb the steps to the shiny black door, bashing my fist against it, my gut constricting uncomfortably.

She answers, dressed in a fitted black dress and high heels, her eyes painted in grey shadows.

A golf ball lodges in my throat.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...

“Come in, Ethan.” She gives me an appraising stare as I step past her into the house, catching the scent of rose perfume from her throat.

The hall is wide and sparse, the only ornament a single black effigy of a man bent over backwards, his naked body contorted and restricted by barbed wire. I grimace at the art piece, wondering why anyone would want such a thing in their home.

Clarissa moves past me, heading toward a wooden door beneath the staircase. “Come with me.”

I move after her, following her down a series of wooden steps into a wide basement, dimly lit by a single bulb.

There's a metal frame erected at one end of the room beside a large antique chest, painted in gold and blue.

I pause at the bottom of the steps, taken aback by the set-up. Clarissa glances over her shoulder.

“This is for therapy? This seems more like some BDSM trash.”

She raises a brow at me. “It's only sexual if you make it so, Ethan. If you can't do this chastely then I can't go any further down this road.”

I mull over her words, eyeing the frame again, tonguing my cheek. “I guess I could try it.”

“Good...you understand I'll need to use certain implements to hurt you? I'm not strong enough to inflict pain on your...physique.” Her eyes flick up and down me. “And for this to work, a certain level of pain is required.”

My gut stirs uncomfortably.

It's not pain I'm worried about, I've experienced ten times worse than anything this women could do to me. But it's the niggling feeling that this isn't just about my therapy.

Is it worth going through with this if I suspect Clarissa's getting off on it?

Dirty creep.

I screw my eyes shut, trying to force away the voice.

Phoo. I've got nothing to lose. I widen my arms in submission. “What do you want me to do?”

Her eyes brighten and she points to the frame. “Shirt off, stand on the bottom bar. I'll strap you in.”

A lump rises in my throat. This isn't sexual is it? Hell. I hope I'm not getting myself into some messed up trash here.

I tug off my shirt, discarding it on the floor before stepping onto the metal bar at the bottom of the frame.

Clarissa approaches, surveying my chest, her eyes skimming over the bullet hole scars on my body. “You've been through a lot of pain, Ethan. This kind will help, I promise. But it will have to be intense, considering how much pain you've been exposed to in the past.”

I frown, gazing down at her with determination. “Do your worst.”

A smile pulls at her mouth then she nods to my hands. “Arms up.”

I lift them and she tiptoes, buckling the leather straps tightly around my wrists.

“Are you into some kinky trash or something?” I question, guessing this equipment isn't solely for her so-called 'aversion therapy'.

She blinks slow and calm. “I'm a dominant.”

I tongue my cheek, nodding, unsure how to feel about that. It makes sense, though. This woman is all about control, from the careful way she braids her hair, to her crease-free clothes, her nails painted crimson without a single chip in them.

“So you're gonna enjoy this?” I ask, not liking the idea.

“This is completely professional, Ethan. This is therapy not domination.” Her eyes are big and green and bright, assuring me she's telling the truth.

She moves across the room to the antique-looking chest. Opening a drawer, she takes out a bundle of wires, carrying them to me. She produces two pads, sticking one either side of my ribcage. My mouth goes dry as I watch her, plugging them into a socket on the wall. She holds a remote in her hand, standing before me, her expression collected and calm.

“I'm going to ask you to repeat the words you hear in your head. And when you do, I'll give you an electric shock.”

I absorb her words, nodding, my mind sinking into the darkest place of my past: me on the floor, beaten bloody beneath a menacing form who's forcing me to echo the insults he throws at me.

Pain unleashes in my chest, my hatred for myself reaching to the forefront of my thoughts.

“Tell me what you are, Ethan,” she says, her tone cool.

Her words cut through to my heart and I frown heavily as I prepare to do as she says.

“I'm worthless,” I breathe and she presses the button.

What feels like a thousand volts of electricity courses through my body, every one of my muscles contracting in pain.

I roar in agony, blinded by it.

As abruptly as it started, it stops and I hang from my restraints, panting.

“Good. Now tell me again,” she purrs.

I'm certain this is more to her than what she said. I just hope this is worthwhile, because the last thing I need is Clarissa forming some messed up sub/dom relationship with me without my consent.

I pant, catching my breath as I ready myself for the next shock. “I'm a creep.”

And I'm lost to the torture again.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

When I get home that night, I feel weird. My skin tingles from the electricity; there's two great welts on my sides branded on my skin from the electrodes.

I force down some toast, having no appetite for anything else. Sitting in the darkness of my flat, I try to get my mind around what happened today.

The voice hasn't bothered me since I left her house.

Maybe it's working. Maybe she really meant well by this.

But I still feel dirty, like I've shared something strangely intimate with Clarissa. And I don't like that thought one bit.

I shower, trying to get my mind off of the day and, as I return to my bedroom, Hozier blasts into the room.

I move to my phone, finding Annalise calling.

My heart turns over.

Clarissa said it was okay for me to see her again. But she certainly wouldn't have agreed if she knew the truth of who I really went on a date with.

I answer, dropping down onto the edge of the bed with a towel wrapped around my waist.

“Hi,” I say, my gut churning.

“Hey...um...how are you?”

Heck, if I answered that question honestly she'd be in for a world of messed up trash.

“Fine. And you?”

“Good. I'm sorry to call. It's just, I thought we had a nice chat and then you...”

“Ran off,” I finish for her, guilt wrenching my gut. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so rude.”

“It's fine. Really. And I'm sorry for calling, I must be going crazy, I thought I'd ring just to get a straight answer. If you're not into me then I totally get it, I just thought I'd ask. To be sure.”

I raise my brows at her candor. It was brave of her to put herself on the line like that. It starts a fire in my chest.

“Of course I like you, Annalise,” I admit, but know I need to be as honest as I can. “But the way I like you- it's not..."

"Not what, Ethan?"

"Pure," I spit, turning inwards on myself. And all of a sudden the voice is back, loud and clear.

Vile, repulsive, weirdo.

"You don't have to be a saint Ethan."

"I'm not a good man,” I growl, biting down on my cheek. “And you shouldn't spend time with someone like me.”

"Don't tell me what to do. You don't even know me," she grows angry. But she has no idea how well I really know her. And that's the whole problem. She has to understand that.

"You're wrong. I know everything about you. I know that you're too nice, that you give people the benefit of the doubt when they don't deserve it, I know that people walk all over you because of it. And I don't wanna be one of them."

“How can you possibly think you know that?” she snaps and I shut my eyes, letting her anger wash over me.

It feels good. It's what I deserve from her. It even gives me a little peace of mind.

Her next words make me pause. "Everyone's got darkness in them Ethan, some just hide it better than others."

Like a moth to a flame, that very darkness in me is drawn out. She tempts me in, making me want to see her, to run my fingers over her, to claim her as mine.

"Show me then Lise, show me how filthy your mind is, show me your twisted thoughts and I'll show you mine. Let's see who's really telling the truth here,” I snarl, standing, the temperature of my blood rising.

“Fine,” she breathes. “I'll show you. In person.” Her voice wavers a little, betraying her nerves to me.

I'm compelled to see her, consumed by a vision of her glittering amber eyes, her face wet with tears like it was the other night. I want to taste them, to have her body surrendered to me, mine to explore.

I drop my towel, moving to the chest of drawers and snatching out some clothes. “I'll be at yours in ten minutes.”

I hang up, giving neither of us a chance to change our minds.

I justify this in my head. It's easy now that I've succumbed to the dark, recalling the times I've watched her through the window outside her flat, witnessing her in her truest form.

Dressed in a white shirt and jeans, I head to her flat, walking the two blocks in under ten minutes and jamming my thumb against her buzzer.

You shouldn't know which one it is, creep.

The voice seems more visceral than ever, my thoughts wild and tainted.

I thumb the welts on my ribs, pressing down, giving me a reminder of the pain I received earlier, hoping it will help ward off the voice again.

Annalise opens the door, her eyes landing on mine, leaving me breathless.

The darkness recedes. I'm laid bare, anxious and wanting. Desperate to win this woman's approval, to lose myself in another sweet kiss.

I make the decision before I've really acknowledged it, grabbing her by the waist and dragging her against me.

She responds eagerly, clutching my neck, moaning softly as I explore her tongue with mine. I want to reach into her body, feel her soul and wrap it in my fist, never letting go.

“Upstairs,” she insists, stumbling backwards from my ferocity.

She laughs as I catch her, but my mood is hungry, my eyes trained on her spine as she leads me upstairs.

Twisted psycho.

I almost pause, blinking hard to rid myself of the voice. Can I really justify this to myself?

Annalise leads me into her apartment and I barely have time to take it in before she throws herself at me once more.

I catch her mouth in a fervent kiss, walking her backwards, my boxers tightening. It's been so long since I've indulged in a woman.

Indulge in one then. Anyone but HER.

I can't stop, my fingers sliding beneath her top. A sigh leaves my chest at the feel of her burning skin. She's divine, softer than velvet, the heat of her body like the sun, warming the iciness of my heart.

I run my fingers up and up, yanking it off.

Her hands slide into my waistband and I groan as her fingers graze the head of my cock. She starts undoing my belt, taking hold of the loose end and walking backwards, guiding me to her room.

I'm undone by her, giving in, wanting the world to dim around me, to forget the truth.

The truth of what I am.

Black-hearted scum.

I halt in my tracks, my mouth going dry.

No. This is all wrong.

Her hair frames her flushed cheeks, her mouth parted and wet. She's the apple hanging in the garden of Eden and I'm a slave to her temptation.

She moves backwards, dropping onto the bed and reaching out a hand to me.

Despite myself, I take it, letting her encourage me forward, dropping over her before she can reach for my belt again.

I can control myself. I won't harass her. I just want to feel her body against mine.

She tugs up my shirt, reading my thoughts. I quickly press my abs against her stomach, not giving her a chance to discover the wounds on my body. I rub against her, encouraging her higher up the bed, prowling after her on my hands and knees.

Her hair falls around her, her back arched so her full breasts lift to meet the hard lines of my chest.

I press my weight onto her, her skin luxurious against mine.

And I know I'm lost, falling and falling into the most alluring place I've ever been.

ETHAN

I slide my thumb into her mouth, circling it on her hot tongue, her eyes questioning.

When I lower my hand between us, she gets it, smiling a wry smile. “Is this the darkest you can be, Ethan? Because it doesn't seem so bad.”

I reach under her skirt, my fingers sliding beneath the waistband of her knickers.

“Quiet,” I breathe, relishing her, not wanting to think about the extent of my charred soul.

I rub her in gentle strokes and she sucks a soft gasp in through her lips.

I'm transfixed, watching as she comes undone from my touch. How is it possible that I'm here, doing this to the woman I've revered for so long?

I gaze at her, mesmerised by her mouth, her soft panting, the way her hips rise and fall, working in rhythm with my hand.

I suck my lower lip. I used to be good at this. I guess it's something you don't forget.

My name tumbles over her lips, each letter a soft prayer.

I dip my head, brushing my mouth over hers. She responds urgently, her hands cupping my neck, drawing me closer.

If I give in to her, there's no going back.

My hand doesn't seem quite so condemning as my toe so I circle faster, bringing her to climax.

She arches her back and I lift my head, absorbing her expression, memorising her flushed cheeks, carefully avoiding her eyes in case they remind me of her.

She falls still, her chest heaving beneath me.

The guilt hits me like a shot to the chest.

You've crossed a line. You can't undo this.

She reaches between us, tugging at my jeans, sliding down the zip.

Her eyes find mine, adoring and perplexed, glittering and bright. I jerk away, lifting off her and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. I rest my head in my hands, trying to focus.

This is getting out of control. It can only end one way.

Her body surrounds me, her legs dangling over the bed, her arms slipping around my waist. She presses her cheek to my back. “You're so hot and cold, Ethan. I wish you'd tell me why.”

I cup her palms on my chest. My heart beats hard and fast beneath both sets, a warning of my desire.

Her lips trail kisses up my spine. “I'm sorry. You don't have to say anything. I don't mean to play psychologist.”

I remain silent a moment longer, desperate to give her a piece of myself.

“When I was in Iraq, some stuff happened...” I murmur, hoping it's a hint toward some of my troubles. It's not much, but it's something.

She continues to kiss me and I feel unworthy of her cherished touch.

“If you want to talk about it, I can listen. But only if you want me to.”

“I already see a therapist,” I mutter. My words serve to summon a vision of Clarissa, one paper-white leg crossed over the other, her eyes accusing.

“Okay,” she breathes, leaving another sweet kiss on the back of my neck, coaxing my thoughts back to the room.

Annalise grounds me, somehow. Perhaps I should open up.

“But maybe...”

Bad idea!

“Mm?” she prompts, gifting me another kiss.

“Maybe we could talk,” I decide.

Her chin rubs against my spine and I guess she's nodding.

“Not in here. Not like this,” I say, standing, pulling on my shirt before she sees the welts on my ribs.

I stride from the room, entering the lounge, dropping onto the sofa.

I gaze at the window opposite. The one I've watched her through.

My blood turns to ice and I divert my gaze to the coffee table instead.

She's going to find out what you are one day.

Annalise appears in jogging bottoms and a vest, dropping into an armchair across from me and curling her legs up beneath her.

“Can I ask you some questions?” She pulls her hair over one shoulder so it caresses her cheek.

I shrug, resting my elbows on my knees.

“When were you in Iraq?”

A lump rises in my throat. “Three years ago.”

“Why did you leave the army?”

“I didn't leave.” I shift in my seat, feeling like I do at therapy.

“It's alright,” she breathes and I glance up, finding her mouth, drawing so much comfort from the soft curve of her lips that I'm able to relax.

“I was discharged.”

She doesn't ask why, just waits to see if I'll elaborate.

I wet my mouth. I've only spoken about this once before, with Clarissa. It was a difficult session. I was torn apart by it.

“There was an ISIS rebel group near to our camp. My unit was directed to a market. There were rumours that an attack was going to take place there. We were scouting the area for suspicious devices, questioning the locals for tip-offs, that kind of thing.” I tongue at the old bite mark on my gum. It's reduced to nothing but a swollen patch of inflamed skin. I could easily bite it open again, but I don't. “There was a girl-” I pause, gazing at Annalise, lost to a memory I can't ever change.

She leans toward me, looking pained, like she's feeling the memory too.

“A girl?” she breathes.

I drop my eyes, unable to look at her whilst I tell this story. “She was a corporal. She'd just arrived in Kabul the day before. I was leading the team she was assigned to – she was nervous, she needed reassurance. We split into pairs and I kept her with me. Everything was going smoothly until a local boy – a kid  – he came up to her, said he wanted to show her around the local mosque.” I thumb at my lip, my eyes glazing over, my heart thumping a frantic tune against my ribcage. “She said no-” I pause, strangled, desperate. “But I told her to go.” My hands tremble.

It all floods back.

I'm standing there amongst the crowd, the street coloured in pale yellow, gold and cream. Music surrounds me: the morning prayers sung out into the streets in a warbling chant. I'd grown accustomed to the sound, it barely registered with me. I was more interested in the people around me, looking for a sign that something was wrong. Anything.

“Ethan?” Annalise yanks me back to the room with her warm voice.

I start to break at the sight of her eyes and have to shut my own to escape. “The boy came running out of the mosque. I knew something was wrong but the crowd was thick with people. I elbowed my way through, shouting out, telling them to move. The explosion happened before I could get there. The heat of the flames, it was...hell.” I rub my eyes, digging in my fingers. “I ran up the steps, getting as close as I could. And that's when I saw her: screaming, burning. And she...saw me too. She knew it was my fault for telling her to go-”

My heart races, my palms becoming clammy. The heat of the flames burn my cheeks once more. The waft of a fire so hot, the air alone stings my eyes.

I press a hand to my chest, trying to catch my breath.

Small hands curl around mine and I blink away the vision, finding her before me. The girl who looks exactly like her. Like the girl who's dead because of me.

ETHAN

“It's okay,” she exhales, her amber eyes promising sanctuary but causing me nothing but agony.

They're the exact same shade as hers. I've seen those eyes a thousand times in my dreams. I've witnessed them burn, devoured by flames.

I cup her cheek, running a thumb over the line of bone beneath her eye. Clarissa said I've formed this attachment to try and comfort myself. But I don't feel any comfort. In fact, I think I did it to torment myself. To not let myself forget, or move on with my life.

You don't deserve to forget. She's dead because of you.

Annalise moves to kiss me but I halt her, standing. She follows, winding a hand around my wrist.

“Don't go,” she pleads and I glance down at her, choked.

“There's more to this,Annalise. More that I can't say. That I can't ever say. I think you'd despise me if you knew it all.” I stand stock still as she moves closer, laying a hand on my bare chest, her fingers taking a winding trail up to my throat.

“Whatever it is, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think,” she says firmly, gazing up at me.

I don't meet her eyes, unable to look into them. They're too like hers.

“You're wrong,” I insist. She doesn't know what she's saying, she doesn't even know me.

I'm tortured by her, my urges driving me to give in, my mind reminding me not to.

Go ahead. Harass the girl you've been stalking. Let's see what happens when the police find out about that.

I grimace, moving away. “I'm sorry. We shouldn't see each other again.”

She stiffens, her arms falling slack at her sides. “Did I do something wrong?”

Her vulnerable expression cleaves my chest in two. I shake my head, moving toward her, unable to help myself.

“No, of course not.” I take her hand, lifting it to my lips, tracing her knuckles with my mouth. “It's me. It's all me. I've got issues, Annalise.” I shut my eyes, willing myself to tell her the truth.

Say it. Tell her what a monster you are.

“I'm not a good person,” I manage.

“Everyone has parts of themselves they don't like.” She moves toward me, unblinking.

My chest rises and falls. “I'm not sure there's a single ounce left in me that's good.”

Her brows knit together. “You're wrong. You saved me, that night in the park. That makes you a good person.”

I grind my jaw like a millstone. “I shouldn't have been there that night.”

“But you were.” She lifts her top over her head, discarding it on the floor.

I take in her shapely body, a low noise rumbling through my chest in response.

“And I'm glad it was you.” Her lower lip trembles and I move instinctively to reassure her. I run my thumb over it and she sighs softly against my palm.

I move, one step then two, circling a hand around her waist, relishing her silken skin, the animal in me taking over.

Her pupils dilate as my hands roam up her spine, my thumb grazing every rivulet, causing a shiver to run through her.

“Please,” she whispers, the word her surrender to me.

I slide my hands down her sides, following the natural curve of her hips. My heart pounds in my ears, blood coursing through my veins, hot and slick and fast.

I move a hand to my belt, tugging it open, her burning eyes keen and wide as she watches.

I smother all the warnings in my head, telling me no. And listen to the one, resounding voice of my instincts that cries yes.

She snatches my hand in a sudden movement, leading me to the bedroom.

My throat constricts as she perches on the bed. I kneel before her, grabbing hold of her trousers and sliding them down her legs, taking my time.

When she's free, I stand, dragging down my zip.

Her eyes are wide, glimmering.

The heat of flames singes my skin.

I lurch away, taking a moment to press my fingers into my eyelids, banishing the vision.

“There's one thing I have to do,” I tell her, knowing there's only one way this can happen.

“What?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I need to blindfold you.”

Her lips part uncertainly then she nods, moving across the room, fetching a winter scarf from the back of the door. She holds it out to me and I take it, running the woollen material through my fist.

She lifts her chin, giving me permission.

I wrap the scarf around her head, tying it tightly at the back. As I tug my shirt off, she reaches out, her hands searching for me, her expression longing. I take them, placing them on my chest.

I feel instantly at ease. I can do anything without those bright accusing eyes on me.

I let her hands roam to my waistband before halting her, guiding her to the bed and lowering her onto it.

Dropping my trousers, I stand between her legs, regarding her.

A hiss of deterrents course through my mind but I drown them out, wanting this, needing this.

Lowering over her, I press my hands into the sheets. Her legs raise either side of me and she wriggles further up the mattress.

I follow, dropping my weight down to keep her still. Gliding my hand up her side, I reach her luscious, full breast. I run my thumb in gentle circles, delighting in her arching back, pressing herself into my palm.

“Annalise,” I sigh and she moans softly.

I dip my head to her other breast, tasting and sucking, lost to her body. Perhaps every bad thing I've done can be made up to her like this. I'll certainly try.

I tease her until she's sighing my name, the sound heavenly to my ears. Her hands run over my shoulders and I stiffen. The guilt moves swiftly into the vacant space in my chest.

I can't have her touching me, pleasuring me. If I do this just for her, then I think I can handle the guilt.

“Hands above your head,” I demand. “Don't touch me.”

She inhales a little gasp but complies all the same.

I take hold of her hips, pushing up between her thighs. Her hands are clasped together in a knot, resting on the pillow above her.

“Are you sure you want this?” I confirm, rolling a condom down my length before positioning myself for her.

“I do.” She bites her lip, swaying her hips in encouragement.

“Even if I'm the bad guy?” I murmur close to her ear.

“You're not the bad guy, Ethan,” she insists. “But if you were, I'd want you anyway.”

A desperate desire unfurls in my chest and a low growl rolls up my throat. Without another thought, I thrust my hips hard.

She moans: a soft, seductive noise that sends a spike of energy through my body.

I give everything to her, forgetting how wrong this is, focussing entirely on making her feel good. I suck her neck, rotating my hips and driving into her, slow and rhythmic. Her body is a haven of comfort, stealing all of my dark thoughts, saving me from myself.

I surround her, lifting my body to rub her clit, driving her wild as she writhes beneath me. I still her hips, pushing into her, running my fingertips up her sides.

I taste her mouth at last, moaning my delight between her lips, exploring her tongue with mine. Her arms lift to touch me and I push them firmly back down, distracting her with a hard thrust of my hips.

I work slow and relentless until she splits apart beneath me, her back arching, tilting her chin up, sighing my name.

I could take what I need from her now. I'm aching to do so, but knowing how much this girl deserves of me, I don't. Instead, I pull out of her, moving down her body and laying my arms on her thighs.

Her stomach firms as I drop my mouth to her heated, straining slit. I kiss and suck her, sliding two fingers into her tight hole, making her hips buck.

“Ethan!”

I suck her softly, knowing she's sensitive.

“I can't,” she begs, pressing herself into the mattress, trying to escape my mouth.

“You can,” I growl against her before using the tip of my tongue, barely grazing her throbbing, twitching clit.

She cries out, lifting her thighs in a smooth movement. I lock my arms around them, my biceps gripping her tightly, holding her in place. I'm drowning in dark thoughts, stealing her taste, stealing her body.

I don't relent, ever so softly bringing her to climax again. Her legs squeeze me and she gasps, half sitting up, moaning, clawing her fingers into my hair.

I savour her orgasm, licking her until she falls back onto the bed.

I kneel up, gazing at her, her hair fanned around her on the pillows, her chest heaving.

“Ethan.” She reaches forward blindly, searching for me.

I wind my fingers into hers, grazing my lips over her knuckles. Her other hand roams lower and I'm overcome by desire, rearing over her, letting her take my large shaft in her fist.

She sucks her lip, rubbing me softly until I'm groaning, my abs tightened to rock as I fight the urge to come.

“Take me,” she begs, tugging me forward by the cock.

A lump rises in my throat.

I survey her, knowing I shouldn't do this. But overwhelmed by the urge to fill her with myself, to lay a permanent claim on her.

I drop down in decision, slamming into her, the animal inside me unleashing.

“Idiot!” she cries and I'm spurred on, her legs locking around my waist.

I'm lost, more beast than man, her until I come undone, reaching inside her as far as I can before stilling in ecstasy.

I grunt in pleasure, holding her wrists above her head, forcing her thighs wider as I flatten her to the bed. I'm in nirvana, taking from her what I don't deserve but too possessed by her body to care.

She gasps, inhaling my own ragged breaths as I hover above her mouth.

“Oh Ethan, Ethan,” she breathes in disbelief.

I'm hit with guilt for succumbing to my urges, the feeling stabbing straight to my chest.

I roll off her, my ribs heaving as I lay, catching my breath, trying to justify this in my head.

What will she say when she finds out what you are? When she learns she let a monster into her body?

Annalise pushes the blindfold up, glancing at me. I keep my eyes firmly diverted, not wanting to face those amber irises.

Sicko. You messed someone who looks like the girl you killed. What does that make you?

“Ethan, that was...” she trails off and I remain silent, my throat drying out.

She rolls toward me, her body higher than mine so she cradles my head to her chest.

I move into the sweet scent of her, drawn to the safety of her arms, the lack of judgement, her temporary gratitude to me for sating her needs.

I lose myself in her hold, resting my cheek on her breasts, her skin salty on my lips.

She sighs contentedly, soothing me with the sound. I let myself relax, drifting toward sleep with my arms around her waist.

I know I'm on borrowed time. I know we're a sandcastle, waiting for the tide to come in. But I have the rest of my life to feel guilty, so right now, I'm going to pretend this is forever.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

I'm being dragged by the neck, a hand clamped around my collar as I scrape my fingernails across the floorboards.

“Wait-” I try but there's blood in my mouth, my tongue swollen.

“Pathetic waste of space.” He releases me, his boot pressing down on my spine. “Say it!”

“Waste of space,” I manage, gasping, spitting blood.

The weight of a 150 kilo man presses down on my back, my bones cracking. “Little mess-up. Who do you think you are? You took cash from me, didn't you? How much did you take?”

“Nothing,” I gasp. And I'm telling the truth. I didn't take anything. I wouldn't dare to.

But that doesn't matter to him. He just wants an excuse to beat me. He probably spent the money himself, drunk, betting on some 100 to 1 horse at the bookies.

“Lying scum- say it!”

“I'm a liar. I'm scum,” I wheeze, my lungs compressing from his weight.

Fingers slide into my hair, pulling back, wrenching my neck up. And I know, with a terrifying certainty, that this is going to hurt.

Bird song wakes me and I roll toward it, trying to claw my way out of the nightmare. A robin sits on the windowsill, escaping the morning drizzle that sweeps through the street below. The vivid red of its breast seems like the only colour in the grey world beyond the pane. Red as blood.

Hands tighten on me and I jerk fully awake, the memories of last night returning in a wave.

“Ethan,” Annalise mumbles sleepily.

I turn into her arms, a cold sliver of ice planting in my chest at the sight of her eyes.

I'll never be able to look into them without seeing her.

Panic invades me.

I need to go. I shouldn't have done this.

I detach myself from her arms, slipping away, pulling on my boxers and jeans. When I turn to face her, she's eyeing me with a dejected acceptance.

“Will I see you again?” she asks, her voice void of warmth.

I drop my eyes, finding my shirt and tugging it over my head. “No.”

She nods, tonguing her cheek, looking bitter. “You can let yourself out.”

I pause, pain spiking through my heart. “I'm sorry.”

Just leave. You've done enough damage, creep.

She lets out a tsk noise, rolling over, pulling the quilt over her bare shoulder.

I watch her, the silence stretching on. And the longer I stand there, the more I become that monster again, leering through a window, stealing glances of her at a cafe.

“Are you just going to stand there staring at me all day?” she snaps.

I take my keys and phone from the bedside table, tucking them into my back pocket. “It's hard not to stare when there is so much to look at.”

She sits up, glaring at me, those eyes slicing through to my soul.

My arms hang limply at my sides. I'm disarmed, spying flames in the corners of my eyes.

“You messed me like you were in love with me, do you know that?” she demands, her expression deadly.

I shake my head in denial. I can't love, according to Clarissa.

“Who idiots someone like that when they barely know them?”

My gut twists tightly, convulsing. What does she know? Has she worked it out?

“I'm sorry,” I repeat quickly.

She frowns, looking utterly perplexed.

After a beat, her guard drops, her expression softening. “I didn't mean...oh Ethan. Why are you walking away from this? You feel it too, don't you? We have a connection.” She's laying herself bare for me, like she did last night, only this time she's giving me more than her body.

The only connection you have with her is the one you've conjured in your sick mind.

“A connection,” I echo, letting out a humourless laugh.

She shrinks from me, hurt.

I shut my eyes, regaining my thoughts. “Yes, we have a connection,” I confirm, unable to deny it. But it's one I've conjured, one I've somehow made her feel, too.

Fraud.

When I open my eyes, she's crawled closer, the sheets clutched to her body.

“Then don't go.”

I slide a hand under her chin, crouching low and drawing her into a kiss. I try to tell her with my mouth: I care for you deeply but I have to go. You're meant for someone better.

Psycho.

“Just say you'll call,” she whispers against my lips. “Even if you don't mean it.”

I nod, briefly resting my forehead against hers. “I'll call you.”

Standing, I exit the room, heading away before I'm lured back into the sanctuary of her body.

Last night was euphoric. She moved like she was made for me; every stroke, every kiss, every touch. She was divine and I worshipped her over and over.

Rotten. Impure. Scum.

I don't head home, instead taking out the card Clarissa gave me and calling her.

“Ethan?” she answers promptly.

“Can I see you today?”

“Of course. Is everything alright?”

“Yes. No. I'm not sure.” I scrape a hand over my jaw, the stubble harsh against my palm.

“Come to the office. I'll move my next client.”

I nod, thanking her before hanging up.

I take the tube, not bothering to go home and shower first. I probably should have. What if my scent gives me away? I sniff my shirt on the train, rewarding me with a snigger from a couple of teenagers in school uniform. I glower at them in return, not caring what they think.

The scent of her fills my senses and my mouth waters.

I shouldn't smell like her. This is very bad.

As I arrive at the station, I push through the throng of people. A woman catches my eye, batting her lashes, her cheeks turning the colour of rose petals.

I slip off the train, realising it's been years since anyone looked at me like that. Am I getting back to my old self?

Ha.

I run my fingers through my hair. I might look like myself again, but inside, I'm broken. A shiny apple with a rotten core.

I head to Clarissa's office and when I arrive, feel more anxious than ever.

Sweat beads on my forehead as I enter the room.

What have I done? What the heck have I done?

Clarissa gestures for me to sit. She's clad in all black today, her crimson hair wound into an intricate plait.

“Thank you for seeing me, “ I mutter, dropping onto the sofa.

“Not a problem. What would you like to discuss?” She lifts the notepad onto her knee, surveying me evenly.

I come undone, my stomach convulsing. What can I say? How can I discuss this?

“I had another dream.”

She nods, waiting for me to continue.

“I harassed her.” Best to get right to the point.

Her eyes widen briefly then she nods, making a note.

What the heck is she writing?!

I shift in my seat, chewing the inside of my lip.

“What was it like? Were you forceful, for example?”

My gut reels. “No! Of course not. I made love to her.” I cringe. I should not have used that word.

Shoulda coulda woulda.

“Made love? Are you sure? What was it like, describe it.”

A golf ball-sized lump forces its way up my throat. I shift again. “I was gentle. She enjoyed it. But her eyes...I couldn't look at them. I had to cover her eyes.”

“With what?”

“Is that really important?” I spit, losing it.

She regards me with a look that says 'I'll be the judge of that'.

“A scarf.”

“A blindfold,” she corrects, pressing her lips together. “That's bondage. Not making love.”

I shake my head vigorously. “It wasn't like that.”

“Were her hands tied?” she asks, lifting that degrading little brow.

I grind my jaw, remaining silent.

“Ethan, I can't help you if you aren't honest with me.”

“I made her hold them above her head.”

She nods knowingly. “Your delusions are growing out of hand. I think it's time you sought medical help.” She flips the page on her pad, scribbling something down. “I'm going to refer you for a prescription.”

I swallow, trying to force down the lump. “Like, drugs?”

“Yes, Ethan. The good kind. They'll help with your psychotic episodes.”

I shrink from her words. “Psychotic?”

“You're having visions about forcing the object of your obsession to have intercourse with you. I'm afraid it's time further action was taken.”

Rubbish it's worse than that. So much worse.

I can't breathe, my shoulders tense as I claw a hand into my hair. “If you think that's what's best.”

“I do,” she says promptly.

I nod, trying to get my head around the idea. I had a psychological evaluation done when I came home from Iraq. The results were normal. What the heck happened?

“I won't start you on anything drastic. Just a pill to help with your anxiety, keep your urges at bay.”

My urges. Idiot. It's too late for that.

Nasty, messed-up sicko.

I start to sweat, a wave of cold washing over me.

“And I think it's time she was informed of who you are, for her own safety.”

I stand up, pacing, desperate. “Couldn't we leave it a while longer? The drugs might help.” I round on her, halting. “Please, Clarissa.”

She tilts her head to one side, observing me like a rat in a maze. “I'm only trying to do what's best for you.”

“Come on, don't do this to me.” I run a hand down the back of my neck, the feeling of barbed wire tightening around my heart.

She takes in a slow breath, deliberating my fate. “Alright. But if the medication doesn't help, further action will have to be taken.”

I nod, dropping onto my seat in relief.

“Now, tell me more about this dream.”

CLARISSA

Ethan's attachment to his obsession is growing too strong. I want to break it. I want to drag him back into my basement and beat it out of him. That little twisted idiot, I could force his fixation onto me if I had long enough.

If he keeps coming to my basement, eventually I'll break him in half and rip out the blackest part of his soul.

I want those sea-grey eyes looking at me with the adoration he has for her. For Annalise.

I'd like to see her for myself. If only there were a way to find her, to track her down and see what Ethan sees.

I sate myself that evening, bringing a new sub to the house.

“You'll respond to Pet, understand?” I bark at the newbie. He's huge, broad, a member of the armed unit of the police force. Or so he told me. Not that I give a idiot. This one talks to much.

“Pet. Sure, Mistress. You can call me whatever you want.”

He lets me strap him onto the frame. I face him the other way, exposing his tight buttocks to me. Reaching between his legs, I clamp his balls in a metal cage from my collection.

“Ah- idiot,” he gasps in surprise. “Man, this is going to be good I can tell. How long have you been doing this?”

I roll my eyes. “Six years,” I reply, heading to my chest and taking out a ball gag. Time to shut this prick up.

I step onto the frame, letting him feel my belly against his back as I force the ball into his mouth, strapping it tightly behind his head. He groans against it, still trying to speak.

I take a paddle from the drawer, returning to him and starting my work. When I have his donkey red-raw, I reach around and rub his cock until he's rock hard. Then I stop, grabbing some clips from the drawer and pegging them up his length. He makes a satisfying squeal of pain as I pin one to his head.

He writhes against the restraints and I continue to paddle him until he's trying to wrench free of the buckles. I'm angry tonight and I think perhaps I'm jealous, too. That Ethan's dreaming of Annalise. Probably waking up hard, jerking himself off over her. If it's pleasure he wants, I can provide it a thousand times better than she could.

I think of the girl he mentioned, the one he's dating. Is he her? Burying his cock in her with thoughts of Annalise?

I use the winch to turn Pet around, surveying my work, holding his chin in my hand. Tears are trailing down his cheeks. Pathetic.

I fold my arms, sighing. This is too easy. I want someone who can take pain. Someone like Ethan.

I crack my neck, heat sparking between my thighs. I want Ethan in a way I haven't wanted any man in a long time. I want to mess him. And that's a rarity when it comes to me. There's only been one other like him, the one who ripped out my heart.

I tug off the clips on Pet's toe, chucking them on the floor. I grab hold of the bar above his head, lifting myself and clamping my thighs around his waist, my leather skirt riding up to where I'm bare.

I need some release and for once I'm going to take it from a sub. I shut my eyes and wrap my arms around Pet's neck, sliding onto his firm length.

I shut my eyes, thinking of Ethan's hard jaw, his anguished eyes, the broken way he regards the world. And soon I'm gasping my relief into my sub's face, covering his eyes with my palm. This is for me, not him. I'm using him like I've been used in the past. His body is no different from one of the tools in my chest.

ANNALISE

There's only one person I can talk to when I'm looking for comfort, and that's my dad. He answers on the third ring and I curl my knees up beneath me on the sofa, biting my nails.

“Hi darling, how are you?”

“Good, Dad. And you?”

After a round of pleasantries, Dad calls me out, knowing me too well to believe I called him for polite chit-chat.

“What's up, Lise?”

I sigh heavily, the weight in my chest increasing. “I met someone.”

“That's great news! How did you meet, was it love at first sight? Did your eyes meet across a room?” He's only half joking, his tone light and full of excitement. Typical Dad.

“Not exactly. Actually...he stopped me from being mugged.” I bite my nails harder, wondering if I should have told my parents sooner that I was attacked. But with them off sailing and enjoying their retirement, I didn't want to worry them.

“Mugged?”

“I'm fine. Nothing happened. Ethan saved me.”

“Well so long as you're alright, darling. That's quite the story. So did your knight in shining armour whisk you off into the sunset?”

I roll my eyes but a smile pulls at my lips. “No, Dad. Actually, I'm not sure he wants to whisk me anywhere.”

“Oh? And why's that?” He still sounds hopeful. His faith is unwavering. I don't know how he does it. It must be so peaceful to have such belief in something.

“He keeps running away. There's something troubling him, but he won't tell me what.”

“Hm...”

I start to fear Dad is having doubts and that scares me more than anything. I kneel up on the couch, my heart racing. “But Dad it's like- electric between us. I've never felt this way. It's like everything you've ever said.” I touch my chest, feeling it now, in a place that I can't quite pinpoint but thrums like mad with electricity. “I know this is right. I feel it.”

“Then follow your heart, darling. If you think there's even a possibility that this man is the one for you, throw caution to the wind. Give everything to it, because if you ever let it go, it'll be lost forever.”

His passion baffles me as usual. Where did he learn to be so inspired?

I feel happier, his mood infectious. “Okay, I'll give it one more shot.”

“Good. And at least if he turns you down, you'll know you did everything you could.”

I nod, smiling. “Thanks Dad.”

“You're welcome, darling. Take care. And keep me informed.”

“I will.” I hang up, smiling from ear to ear, my nails nearly chewed down to nubs. Incredible. I hate doing that. It's a nervous habit. I'm a psychologist for goodness sake, I should be able to talk myself out of it.

I check the time, grabbing my coat and heading out the door.

I take the tube to Yates bar where my friends are already waiting. It's only 7pm but as they don't go out much any more and Libby and Paul have their kids to get back to, they always insist we meet early.

I head to the bar, ordering a rum and coke before joining the four of them on sofas across the room. A fire set into a red stone wall sends a rush of heat over me.

“Lise!” Libby jumps up, grabbing me, her blonde hair surrounding me, smelling freshly washed.

Kat is there with her newly engaged fiancée, Eric. He's a quiet guy, rarely sparing a word for the group. He has tunnels in his ears and every inch of his arms are covered in tattoos. Kat got a nose piercing a week after she met him. It wasn't her style at all but after a few weeks together, she started wearing black clothes, ripped jeans and converse. It was a stark contrast to her pink Lipsy dresses and high heels.

She stands, pulling me into a brief hug – she's not the touchy-feely type – then air kisses my cheek.

I snatch her hand, lifting it up to see her engagement ring. It's a dark blue stone encased with diamonds. “Wow, it's beautiful, Kat. Congratulations.”

There's that familiar stab of pain, right in the pit of my stomach, reaching down and punching my ovaries too. I am never gonna get married...

Libby's other half, Paul, smiles at me. He's in his suit from work, his tie removed from his neck, his collar open. Libby met Paul in her office, he was her boss's boss. I received every dirty detail of that relationship for the first few weeks of them dating. He is in to some seriously wicked things in the bedroom. I'd never even heard of half the stuff she said he tried with her. But now, four years in and two kids later, she never so much as tells me about a heated kiss between the two of them. I hope they're alright, but it's hard to bring something like that up without sounding judgemental.

I drop into a seat, sipping my rum and coke, the sweet and sharp taste warming my throat on the way down.

“Libby tells me you have a new man on the horizon?” Paul says, lifting a perfect brow. It looks shaped. He's clean shaven to a T, his appearance always a priority.

“Um...” I suck my lip, unsure what to say. That is definitely an overstatement. I don't even know if I'll ever see Ethan again.

“You do?” Kat says, her eyes brightening. “Is he coming tonight?”

I think of my dad's words and a glitter of hope sprinkles through my chest. I've got to have faith, like Dad.

“Maybe,” I say, taking out my phone and typing out a hurried message.

Libby's phone rings and she scrambles to answer it, nearly dropping it with her haste.

“Calm down, Lib, the babysitter's got it covered,” Paul mutters.

She scowls at him before answering. “Jess, everything alright?...right, I see, hand the phone to Simon.”

I glance up from my text, pressing send.

“Simon, did you cut your sister's hair?” she snaps and Paul swings around.

“He did what?”

“Right! Give the scissors to Jess,” she barks, her eyes flaring. After a second, her voice drops to a demonic growl, “GIVE THE SCISSORS TO JESS.”

I share an amused look with Kat, suppressing a grin.

“Have you booked your flight yet?” she asks.

I chew my lip. “Not yet.”

Kat and Eric are having an engagement party in Ireland. It's completely extravagant and with me still without a job and paying off student loans, I don't exactly have the money to spare.

“Come on Lise, get it together. It's like you don't wanna come.” She twirls a piece of hair around her finger.

“I do,” I insist but I know part of me is holding back. For the entire weekend I'm going to be surrounded by couples and I'll be the 3rd wheel (Or probably more like the 9th or 11th wheel). I'll receive the usual pity words, too, like 'you'll meet someone soon' and 'your day will come'.

A wild vision springs to mind of me attending the party with Ethan. I shake my head at the ridiculous idea. We've only just slept together, this isn't exactly the right time to ask him on a weekend away with me and my friends. But still, the idea sits in my head, blossoming and adding wonderful sexy details. Maybe he'd want to come. Maybe it would be the beginning of a real relationship. Maybe he'd ask me to be his girlfriend.

I shut my eyes for a second, forcing myself to stop imagining a fake future with a man I just met.

“So...how was Peru?” I change the subject, pushing the thoughts away.

Kat's almond eyes become dreamy and she leans back into Eric's arms - who's not said a word since I arrived - and starts telling me all about Machu Pichu until I'm so jealous, I'm practically green.

ETHAN

I'm sat in the dark, gazing at the single text on my phone, the rectangular light of the screen the only thing illuminating the space.

I'll be at Yates tonight. I don't expect you'll come. But if on the off-chance you fancy dropping by, I'll be there until midnight.

A

I taste my lips, reading then rereading the message.

I could go. It's three blocks from here. 2 minutes on the tube. 9 minutes if I walk.

A packet sits beside me on the bed. My anti-psycho drugs. It's ironic really, taking drugs to become less psychotic.

They're just sedatives, that's what the doctor told me. She started me on a very low dosage, just enough to see if it makes a difference to my behaviour. It makes me uneasy, putting something in my body to control my thoughts. But if there's a chance it will work, I have to give it a shot.

I open the bag, taking out the box and extracting a sheet of pills.

Popping one out, I roll it between my finger and thumb. Flicking it to the back of my throat, I swallow.

I sit in silence, waiting for it to take effect. Waiting to feel less like a stalker.

Good luck with that, freak.

Ten minutes pass and I feel no different.

Maybe a stronger dosage is needed to take someone like me down.

Moving across the room, I grab my leather coat, heading out the door, not even consciously making the decision to go. But I'm filled with that ache again, the one that can only be sated by the sight of her.

Instead of taking the tube, I walk, figuring it'll give me some time to talk myself out of it.

Your resolve didn't last long. Weakling.

I arrive outside Yates, side-stepping through a group of smokers and heading to the door. I pass my ID to the bald-headed bouncer, gazing past him into the honey-lit bar.

“Arms up,” the guy instructs and I frown, complying, surveying him evenly the whole time.

He pats me down then nods, stepping aside.

You look like you could hurt somebody.

I stroll to the bar, ordering a beer and gazing around the room as I sip it. The cool bitterness runs down my throat, quelling my thirst.

I spot Annalise amongst her friends, laughing at something, leaning against a girl with yellow-gold hair. I watch hungrily, transfixed by her. And for once I feel that I'm allowed to watch. She invited me here. I have permission to look.

I swig my beer again and someone walks into my line of sight, blocking Annalise from view.

I blink, irked by the caramel-skinned beauty before me. She's short with an afro of hair, a bright blue crop top hanging low over her cleavage.

“Hi, I'm Louise.” She beams, taking a step closer.

I sip my beer again. “Ethan.”

“Are you here alone?” She glances over my shoulder, checking.

I taste my lips. “No.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders sag. It feels good to be hit on. It's empowering. But there's only one person I want looking at me that way tonight.

“Have a good night, Louise.” I step past her, on a beeline for Annalise.

Her blonde friend spots me before she does, smacking Annalise on the back, her blue eyes widening.

“My friend is single!” she blurts at me, evidently drunk.

Annalise snaps around, her eyes locking on mine. I'm momentarily frozen by them, stealing a second to collect myself by sipping my beer.

She gets to her feet, glancing back at her friends who eye me curiously.

“Hi, how are you?”

“Oh my goodness, is that him?” the blonde mutters to the other girl.

“What have you been saying about me?” I tease in a low voice so only she can hear.

Her cheeks flush and she grabs my hand, drawing me toward the group. There's four of them, two couples, I'd guess.

The blonde girl bounces in her seat, her eyes flicking between Annalise and I. The other girl is less keen, her almond eyes narrowed on me, her arms folded across her slim chest.

I run my tongue over my teeth as Annalise guides me into the seat next to hers. “This is Ethan.”

“Hey,” I say, raising my beer to them.

One of the guys reaches a hand across to me and I shake it. He's broad with dirty blonde hair and sandy eyes.

“Paul,” he says then nods to the blonde girl. “This is my wife, Libby.”

I nod, flashing her a small smile.

“I'm Kat,” the other girl says. She has a ring in her nose and pink streaks in her hair. Her boyfriend is covered in tattoos, lazed back in his chair, seeming disinterested. She nods to him. “This is Eric.”

Eric grunts in greeting.

Annalise slips her hand into mine, taking me by surprise. I shift in my seat, moving instinctively closer to her.

“You came,” she whispers, turning her head toward my ear.

“Apparently,” I reply, sipping my beer again.

She grins, briefly ducking her head toward my chest, her hair falling forward to frame her cheeks. How much has she had to drink?

I watch her closely, admiring the smooth line of her nose, the dip in her upper lip, the curve of her jaw.

“You're staring,” she mutters, grabbing a glass from the table and sipping. It smells like rum and coke.

“Maybe I like staring at you.”

She glances at me then back to her friends.

“So what do you do Ethan?” Libby asks me, crossing her legs and sipping from a large glass of white wine.

“I'm – er – job hunting,” I say, my neck prickling uncomfortably.

Paul nudges her, seemingly trying to be subtle. “What's your background?”

“Army.” I shrug, sipping my beer.

Paul nods slowly, surveying me. “We're hiring guards at our firm, that sound up your street?”

Libby glances at him, her eyes narrowing. “Paul, I'm sure the guy doesn't need help looking for a job.”

“Yeah, don't be rude, Paul,” Kat chips in.

“You know what? I might be interested, “ I tell him, figuring I'm supposed to be getting my trash together. And Clarissa did say I should start looking for work to help with my obsession. But that seems like too little too late seeing as I'm currently sitting next to said obsession, sharing a drink with her friends.

He raises his brows, becoming businesslike as he reaches into his suit jacket and takes out a card. “Give us a call.”

I take the card, tucking it into my pocket and glancing at Annalise.

She smiles at me, quickly averting her eyes. Without really thinking about it, I drop my arm over her shoulders, tempted in by her. My heart swells as she leans closer, scooting across the sofa.

“I didn't think you'd come,” she whispers as her friends slip into a conversation about Libby and Paul's children. Her breath on my ear sends a rocket of heat to my cock.

“I didn't think I would either,” I admit in a low tone, mesmerised by the shadow of her lashes as they flicker beneath her eyes.

The evening sails by all too fast and I grow anxious at the thought of parting with Annalise. My urges creep in as I think about what it would be like to claim her again.

“We're gonna go,” Kat says, standing with her boyfriend who's barely said two words all night. “You want a lift home?” she asks Annalise directly, ignoring me.

She glances at me then shakes her head. “I'll be fine.”

Kat nods stiffly, sidestepping out from behind the table before heading from the bar with Eric.

Libby stands next, yawning broadly, though I'm fairly sure she's faking it. “We're gonna head off too. The babysitter's having some trouble.”

“Oh, Lib, really?” Paul moans. “I'll pay her the extra hour.”

“Yes, really,” she says through a forced smile then turns to Annalise. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Annalise beams and they head away.

“Good luck for what?” I lift a brow.

She waves a hand dismissively. “I have an interview at a therapy clinic.”

“Oh?” I press, turning toward her.

Her knees rub mine, the contact driving me wild. “If I get it, I'll be trained by some of the best therapists in London.”

Oh idiot. Just what I need.

I force a smile, feeling guilty for not being entirely enthused. “That's great. What time is it?”

“Eleven o'clock.” She smiles shyly. “I should probably head home soon...”

There's a heap of insinuation in her voice. My throat dries out but the anxiety that usually accompanies a decision like this is absent. Is that due to the pill I took earlier?

It allows me to be more like my old self. “I'll walk you, if you like?”

She nods keenly, standing.

I raise a brow. “Now?”

“Now,” she insists, her eyes darting down my body.

She takes my hand, encouraging me to my feet. A grin pulls at my mouth, an actual genuine smile.

We walk hand in hand, taking our time as we head away from the busy street. The roads are quiet, the air cool. It feels like just the two of us exist here, us and a sea of stars overhead.

Annalise shivers and I instinctively wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she mutters, glancing up at me.

I avoid her eyes, keeping my gaze on the road ahead. “Your friends seem nice,” I remark, my breath leaving a fog of vapour in the air.

“Yeah, I've known Libby and Kat forever. Since school. I think they liked you.”

“Yeah?” I'm not so sure about Kat but Libby seemed keen enough.

“Uhuh. Don't worry about Kat, she's always like that.”

I nod, satisfied it wasn't just me that noticed her frostiness.

“I'm glad you came tonight,” she says after a beat. “I didn't think you would...”

“I didn't think I would either,” I mutter and I sense her frowning. “Not that I didn't want to. I just...”

“Just?” she prompts, her shoulders stiffening in my hold.

“I dunno, I think you're better off without me around. I'm not good for a nice girl like you.”

“How do you know I'm a nice girl?” she responds smartly.

My mouth tugs down at the corners. I know who she is. But I can't tell her so.

“You seem like one,” I say vaguely.

“Hmph, well maybe you should stick around a bit longer to find out.”

I'm a little taken aback by her response. This girl knows what she wants, and for some reason she wants me. How can I argue with that?

“Maybe I will,” I growl.

We walk further, turning onto a busier street where bars are heaving with people. We weave amongst the crowd and Annalise slips her hand into mine so as not to lose me. It's endearing, the casual gesture making my chest expand.

As we approach a wine bar, I catch sight of a bright flash of red hair. The woman steps into the street and my gut drops in alarm. Idiot – is that Clarissa?!

I instinctively grab Annalise, forcing her against the wall and caging her in with my arms.

“Ethan!” she says in surprise.

I glance over my shoulder for the briefest of seconds, catching sight of the woman's face. I'm paralysed. Clarissa is strolling along, her arm linked through that of her tall escort.

In a moment of panic, I force myself against Annalise, crushing her, hiding her, my lungs unable to draw down air.

I press my lips to her open mouth, halting the words forming on her lips. She melts against me, tugging my hips toward her. I'm torn between panic and lust, driving my tongue into her mouth, lifting my arms as I press my hands to the wall, my jacket opening, concealing Annalise from view.

Idiot. If Clarissa sees me with her I'm in serious trouble. She'll know I've been lying. She'll call the police.

I lean back an inch, holding Annalise in place by the hips. She gapes at me and I know I should give her some explanation for my erratic behaviour but I have none.

I sneak a glance over my shoulder, spotting Clarissa slipping into a taxi and heading down the road. My shoulders drop an inch and I step back, releasing Annalise from the confines of my arms.

“What was that for?” she asks, breathy.

Her husky voice makes my body respond, my cock growing hard. I try to force the desire away but it grows and grows until I'm desperate.

“I wanted to kiss you.” I take her hand, encouraging her down the street at a quickened pace. “Something wrong with that?”

“No,” she says after a beat. “You just took me by surprise, that's all.”

“Sorry,” I mutter and her fingers tighten on mine.

“Don't be,” she breathes, sending my pulse from zero to sixty.

Heck, I want her so bad. I don't know if I can help myself.

We soon arrive outside her flat and I release her hand, knowing I should walk away, I should go home.

She sucks her bottom lip, eyeing me keenly. I know I could take her if I wanted. The thought of her body on mine sends me crazy, my end throbbing at the thought alone.

“Do you want to come in?” she asks, looking embarrassed for asking.

My throat dries out as I eye her perfect form, her knotted hands hanging in front of her.

“Yes,” I admit, the word slipping from my mouth before I can stop it.

I hound after her into the stairwell, the voice in my mind growing louder.

Psycho.

As we climb the stairs, Annalise turns to me, taking hold of my shirt and leaning in for a kiss. I slide my hand into her hair, giving it to her, guilt stirring in my stomach. I slide my tongue between her lips and she moans, the sound melting all of my resolve.

She starts tugging open my shirt, one button at a time, setting my pulse racing.

I gaze at her, captivated as her fingers slide beneath it, searching, exploring my abs. I let her look, the marks on my ribs reduced to nothing. She finds the two bullet scars, her fingers splayed across my chest.

She glances up at me, her eyes leaving me raw. “What happened?”

“Crossfire. Iraq,” I say simply and her expression melts into sympathy.

“That must have hurt.”

“There are worse things,” I growl, snatching her waist.

Killer.

I lurch back. Evidently my anti-psycho drugs aren't enough to block out the voice.

A small frown creases her forehead and she takes my hand, turning and guiding me upstairs.

When we enter her apartment, she disappears into the bathroom, returning a minute later with a white Alice band.

Without a word, she pulls it over her head, covering her eyes. I'm frozen in place, shocked by her easy surrender to me.

My cock aches as she raises her arms, giving me permission to undress her.

I stalk closer, admiring her, circling her slowly.

You don't deserve her.

I blink away the voice, my desire overwhelming it.

Standing behind her, I slide my hands around her waist, gently pulling the tank top over her head. Her back arches and I eye the dip at the base of her spine, wanting to taste it.

I kneel, pressing my mouth to the space, sensing her shiver. Tugging her skirt down, I trace my mouth over the string of her black thong, tasting the curve of her cheeks with the tip of my tongue.

Standing, I glide my hands around to her stomach, pulling her flush against me so she can feel my arousal for her. She moans softly – a delightful response – and I reward her by slipping my hand into her knickers.

She rests her head against my shoulder, tipping her chin up, sighing my name. “Eth-an.”

I caress her, stroking, running my fingers through her slim line of pubic hair.

“I want to devour every part of you, Annalise.”

Her stomach firms as I pull her to me, grinding myself against her. Her hips begin to sway, rubbing me until I'm solid.

I remove my hand from her knickers, lifting it to my lips and sucking. “You taste so sweet,” I growl in her ear.

She gasps at my words and I promptly place my fingers between her lips, giving her the rest of herself.

“Mm,” she moans, rolling her hips again, her mouth hot around my fingers.

Her hands reach backwards, holding my hips, pulling me to her.

I let her touch me for a while, but know I'll soon need to break the contact. I need to control this. This needs to be about her.

Stepping away, I unbuckle my belt, running my thumb over my lower lip as I regard her.

“Hands in front,” I demand and she complies, clasping them together.

“I'm going to tie them in place,” I warn and she nods.

Clarissa's words ring in my head. That's bondage, not making love.

I clench my jaw, the belt hanging from my hand, reluctance sweeping in.

Sicko. Sicko. Sicko.

This is the only way I can do this.

I bind her wrists, my breathing increasing as I watch her. She wets her pastel pink lips, moistening them for me.

Clasping the belt, I guide her to the bedroom, pushing the door closed and pressing her against it. Taking her bound wrists, I lift them, hanging them over the hook at the top of the door, growing desperate for her.

“Ethan,” she gasps, wary.

In response, I drop to my knees, tugging her thong down. I glance up at her, absorbing her expression as I slip two fingers between her legs. I want to give her so much pleasure that her body bows and bends to my will.

She moans, arching her back, hanging her weight from the hook.

I lean forward, breathing in and out on her heated pussy. Her hips rock as she waits for my tongue.

I graze my teeth over her first, surprising her. She presses her thighs together, locking my hand between them.

“Kiss me, Ethan,” she begs.

I respond fervently to her pleading, sliding my tongue onto her, licking and sucking.

She grinds her hips against me and I cup her behind with my free hand, stilling her as I get my fill. She's heavenly, her flavour possessing me.

I pump my fingers, stealing a glance at her expression again, wanting to watch her come. It's so powerful to have this girl at my bidding, especially after desiring her for so long.

“Take me,” she pleads and I obey, standing. This woman can have anything from me. Everything.

Pinning her in place with my hips, I remove my hand from between her legs.

I take out my cock, holding the head against her clit, slowly rubbing her. She pants, widening her legs, trying to lure me into her.

I take hold of her, lifting her thighs so she clamps them around me.

I position myself, breathing out her name as I rock into her. I'm slow and firm, delighting in the feel of her heat around me.

I claim her inch by inch, eyeing her mouth parting wider and wider as I fill her.

I work tortuously slow, wanting this to last forever, observing her all the while. When I can't resist her mouth any longer, I kiss the corner, tugging at her bottom lip.

I increase my pace, bringing her toward ecstasy, high off knowing it's my body doing this to hers.

She tightens around me and I rock my hips harder, kissing her at last. Her tongue meets mine, full of longing and hope. Hope that I'll give her what she craves of me.

I keep my pace steady and firm, groaning her name in her ear, telling her to give in to me.

“I will, I will,” she pants, desperate. And, when she does, it's rapturous.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

I'm torn.

I should leave. I shouldn't stay the night.

She lies beside me on the bed, her head on my arm.

I gaze up at the ceiling whilst she silently paints circles on my wrist with her fingertip.

I'm lost and found at once. My instincts tell me I belong here, so viscerally that I almost believe them. But the truth creeps in: the dark, haunting voice that always knows best.

Look at you. Look at what you're doing. How can you inflict yourself on her?

I cringe, puling my arm from beneath her, sitting up.

She follows, her hand sliding across the sheet toward me. She doesn't touch me.

“Ethan, what is it?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head.

Rat.

She remains silent and I long to give her more.

“I just have these, thoughts sometimes...a voice, I guess.”

“Voice? What kind of voice?”

I blink hard, trying to keep it at bay. But it's so close, I can't ward it off.

Dirty psychopath.

“It reminds me of what I am.”

She curls her hand around my arm, shuffling closer, keeping just behind me. “And what's that?”

I'm choked, it's like hands are around my throat, I can almost feel fingers digging in.

Say it. Tell her what you are.

Stalker stalker stalker.

I bash the heel of my palm to my forehead, fury unleashing inside me as try to force the voice out.

“Ethan!” Annalise throws her arms around me.

I grind my teeth, stilling in her hold. Her mouth is on my ear, in my hair, soothing.

The tension eases in my shoulders and I sigh.

“Tell me about the voice,” she urges, her words a hoarse whisper.

Go ahead. See what she thinks of you then.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I guess I have to tell her, though I have no doubt that she'll want to know more.

The truth slips from my tongue, revealing one of my darkest secrets to her, “My father. It's my father's voice.”

ANNALISE

His father's voice – oh! What does that mean? Why him? I have to know. I long to. This is why I took psychology at university: my fascination with the human mind. But it's more than interest, it's absolute passion, a necessity to know, especially when it comes to people I care about.

I clutch his arm, not moving into his line of sight. I know my eyes trouble him. It has to do with the girl in Iraq, I suspect our eyes are similar. But he won't admit that to me.

I wait patiently, knowing it's the best mechanism for drawing people out of themselves. If there's something more he wants to say, he'll offer it.

“He's dead,” Ethan says offhandedly like he doesn't care that he is.

That's an unusual response to such a thing.

“Oh, what happened?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.

“Heart attack. Overworked, under-slept. From what I heard, anyway.”

“You didn't know?” I raise my brows, intrigued.

He shrugs, his broad shoulders lifting and dropping heavily. Oh this man is so hurt inside, what I'd give to crawl into his chest and kiss those wounds better. But the soul doesn't work that way. It takes time. If he doesn't work through these issues, he'll never heal.

“I hadn't seen him in nine years.”

“Oh,” I breathe, my mouth close to his skin. He smells of salt and sweat and sex. I brush my lips over his arm, unable to fight the urge.

He glances at me and I determinedly keep my eyes averted from his, so as not to hurt him again.

“Why do you think it's his voice in your mind, if you haven't seen him for so many years?” I question, gentle, not probing. He has to feel safe, like he doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to.

He inhales deeply, releasing the breath in a slow sigh. “He had a big impact on me, I suppose.”

I wait for him to go on, nodding my chin against the crook of his elbow. He slides his arm over me, drawing me into his lap.

I circle my hands around his neck, burying my face in his chest, hiding my eyes.

When he speaks, his voice rumbles through his body into my ear so I can hear the place it comes from deep inside.

“My mother left when I was very young. My father raised me. He resented that she'd left him, I think. Took it out on me. Blamed me.” He cracks his neck, his shoulders bunching.

“Oh Ethan.” I kiss his throat.

My stomach tightens into a knotted ball. How horrible to think of him like that. He's so strong on the outside, you'd never guess the vulnerability that lays beneath his tough exterior.

“What does he say to you, in your head?” I whisper softly.

He clears his throat, shifting. I've noticed the quirk before; he does it when he's uncomfortable.

I have to relax him. “You know...the voice in my head tells me what to do, particularly when I'm acting recklessly. It's the voice of reason to me. But there can be other kinds of voices, too. Everyone's different.”

He nuzzles my cheek, turning my head so I look at him. I blink, fearful of him seeing my eyes but he gazes steadily at me.

Oh, his eyes. I've barely had a chance to study them. They're ashen grey and palest of blue all at once. Like the ocean beneath a cloudy sky.

“The voice in my head tells me what I am. It reminds me not to rise above my place. But I do so all the same.”

His place? His place as what?

I nod slowly, my gut stirring, hoping he'll give me an example.

What I'd give to glimpse the inner workings of his mind. There would be so much to unravel, so much to heal.

He drop his eyes, becoming stiff. “My father used to drink. He'd drink so much he couldn't even walk straight. But he'd still manage to get hold of me. Throttle me, beat me, force me to repeat the insults he'd throw at me.”

“Like what?” I say, panicked, the image so clear that it pains me deeply.

“He'd call me names, I dunno...waste of space, creep, freak. He'd spit them at me until I was crying. Then he'd hurt me for getting upset.”

I wrap my arms and legs around his waist, kissing him.

“Oh Ethan,” I sob against his lips, my own tears spilling over.

“Please. Don't,” he says softly, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “He's not worth more tears than the ones he already got out of me all those years ago.”

“Tell me more, I want to know more.” I rub my cheek against his harsh stubble in encouragement.

“When I was older - fifteen, sixteen - I started boxing. I wanted to get stronger so I could take him on when he tried to hit me.”

“And did you?” My eyes go wide and I can't help but lock my gaze with his.

He winces a little but holds out, clutching my waist. He nods solemnly then lifts his arm, turning it to show me his forearm. There's three pale scars in a row, looking once-deep.

“What did he do?” I groan, rubbing the marks like my thumb is an eraser that can steal them away.

“He smashed a vodka bottle and came at me with it. It was only after I started bleeding out that he realised he had to take me to the hospital. Told them I'd had an accident, of course.”

I lay my mouth on the marks.

“That's why I joined the army. The second I was old enough, I enrolled and got the heck out of that life. Never looked back.” He taps his temple angrily. “I guess he stayed with me up here, though, didn't he?” He looks bitter, snarling the words.

Poor guy. He's all man on the outside but inside he's still that boy, being reprimanded by his abusive father.

I run my fingers into his hair, resting my forehead against his. “You can change it. It's just a habit you've formed. All habits can be broken.”

He goes quiet for a minute, thoughtful. “Really? My therapist doesn't think so.”

I frown at that. What kind of therapist would give such an opinion?

“Well, he's wrong,” I insist.

“She,” he corrects immediately like he's jumping to her defence. Whoever this woman is, I can sense she's an important part of his life.

“How often do you see her?” I question, curious now, more jealous girl than intrigued psychologist.

“Depends.” He shrugs.

“On what?” I frown, pressing my lips together.

“On how bad a week I'm having.” His grip tightens on me.

I grind my hips a little, squeezing his waist with my thighs. “And how is this week working out for you so far?” I raise a brow, hoping to draw him out of his dark mood.

He lays his hands on my legs, gripping them and forcing me to grind against him again. “Good, Lise, thanks to you.”

It's the first time he's used my nickname, and it sets my pulse racing. I bite my lip and his eyes meet mine. He looks pained, squinting a little but continuing to stare.

I drop my gaze, my heart beating harder. I know he's trying, but this is hurting him. And I can't bear to be the one inflicting pain on him.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, half to himself, half to me.

“It doesn't matter,” I insist in a breathless whisper. “It's because of her, isn't it? The soldier?”

He nods, looking grim.

Leaning forward, I kiss his collar bone, moving along the curve, meeting the succulent muscle of his shoulder. I graze my teeth over it, tentatively placing my hands on his firm body.

He extracts my fingers immediately, gripping them in his fist.

“Turn around,” he growls, making my stomach flip over.

After a beat, I comply, scrambling off him and sitting backwards on his lap.

He takes my wrists in one hand behind my back, laying an impossibly gentle kiss on my neck. It sends heat rushing down my spine, the warmth spreading in a wave through my body, arriving right between my thighs.

Reaching boldly between my legs, I tug at his boxers, releasing his incredible length.

“Lise,” he sighs and I lift my hips, giving him permission.

He guides himself between my quivering thighs and I press my toes into the carpet, pushing up to give him room.

As he slides inside me, he hisses between his teeth. My eyes roll into my head as he fills me, my body stretching and absorbing him completely.

Laying his free hand on my belly, he takes control, rocking me up and down on his shaft.

He growls his approval, me harder and faster. It's the first time he's done it like this and I can sense he needs a quick release.

Without warning, he stands, turning and bending me over the bed, my hair cascading around me.

He grabs my hips, forcing me back onto him, his enormity making me cry out.

“Ethan!” I warn, unused to this kind of ferocity.

He doesn't relent, pounding me until I'm losing my mind.

I throb with heat and know I'm going to have a mind-blowing finish. Alarming me, he bunches my hair in his fist, forcing my face into the mattress. He rocks into me relentlessly and I bite down on the sheets to bear it. I sense a wildness in him I haven't witnessed before: a dark, dangerous side that both frightens and thrills me.

“I'm not stopping 'til your spent, Lise. Understand?”

I moan again as he yanks my arms backwards, holding me in place. He's an animal, taking me so hard I've lost all ability to move. And it's impossibly...hot.

His harsh pants fill the air, the noise so sexual it alone makes me moan his name.

“That's it,” he hisses between his teeth and I'm lost, tensing around him, groaning and wailing in utter ecstasy.

He finishes with two sharp thrusts, sighing his relief as he fills me. He rubs my spine, staying inside me until we're both more relaxed. As he eases out, I roll over, blinking up at him dizzily.

I've never felt so well-messed. This man wins outright over anyone I've ever been with. Trumping them ten times over.

He tucks himself away, tugging up his boxer shorts, taking in a slow breath as he surveys me.

“I shouldn't have been so rough.” He frowns, eyeing my wrists.

I glance down, finding his fingers branded on my skin in little dark circles. I run my hands over them, a twisted part of me liking them. This man is bringing out a side in me I didn't know existed. Have I always been into this stuff without realising it? My whole life, I've dismissed the idea of anything kinky without a thought. Now I want to discover more...

“I like it,” I admit, my voice husky.

He tilts his head, frowning. “I don't like to hurt you.”

“It doesn't hurt,” I insist, rubbing the marks to prove it. “Anyway, a little pain is worth whatever you just did to me. I've got bloody chills.” I show him the goosebumps on my arms and he grins stupidly.

Oh gosh. He's at ease with me at last, all his troubles momentarily forgotten.

I draw my knees to my chest, feeling a touch timid. It's nice to feel this way, all butterflies and thrills. I spent most of my life longing to feel like this with someone. And now I finally do. It's a hundred, million times better than I ever dreamed.

“I'm going to make you some tea and spoil you all morning,” he says simply, turning and exiting the room without another word.

I raise my brows, giggling softly to myself and dropping back onto the bed.

Well, I can't exactly argue with that.

ETHAN

That was one of the hottest idiots of my life. That girl, she's...indescribable.

Having that power over her was the best high I've ever had. I'm still buzzing.

I make her tea the way she likes it, pausing as I move to bring it to her.

You shouldn't know how she likes her tea, creep.

It all comes rushing back.

Stalker. Psycho. Sicko.

I dump the tea in the sink, breaking the mug, my hands shaking.

Idiot.

I need to leave. What am I doing? I'm playing house with the girl I've stalked for the last six months!

I fumble for my phone, heading to the bathroom, needing urgent help.

I call the only person I can, gently nudging the door closed and perching on the edge of the cream bathtub.

“Ethan?” Clarissa's sultry voice sounds down the line.

“Clarissa, I've really messed up. I mean- oh idiot.” It hits me hard, like my chest is being ripped open by a crowbar.

“Calm down. Take a minute to breathe. Perhaps you should come to the office.”

I glance down at my bare chest, my Armani boxers. “I can't, Clarissa. I can't.”

“Take a breath for me.”

I do, dragging it down into my lungs.

“And slowly release it.”

I obey, letting it out, my panic easing a little.

“Now, tell me what's going on.”

I grab at my hair, close to ripping a clump out. Should I tell her? Should I be honest? What will happen if I admit I'm in Annalise's house? That I've been her?!

“Ethan?” Clarrisa says softly, her tone warm.

I'm at war with myself.

What do I do?

Tell her what a messed up trash you are.

My hands tremble. “I just – I had another dream,” I decide on a lie.

Pussy.

“Alright, tell me about it.”

“I was...in a relationship with her. With Annalise.”

“Don't use her name,” she snips and I bite the inside of my gum, grinding at it. “This is very worrying, Ethan. You need to come and see me. Today. Preferably now.”

“Yes, right. Yeah.”

“I think perhaps you should come to my place.”

I nod, a lump growing in my throat. I know what that means, and I can't deny I relish the idea of punishing myself for this.

“Alright,” I agree, hanging up.

I stand, eyeing myself in the mirror.

Sordid, messed up freak.

I run water into the basin, splashing my face, trying to calm down.

I can deal with this. I just need to get out of her life.

I'll just tell her it's over and she'll never find out the truth.

You still did it though, didn't you?

I glance at my reflection, catching the fierceness in my eyes. They're grey and cold, like an icy winter fog. I see him: my father. Why couldn't I have inherited my mother's eyes?

Can't even look yourself in the eye. How can you expect others to?

I blink hard, trying to force the voice away. The more anxious I grow, the harder it is to fight. I reach into my pocket, taking out the sedatives the doctor gave me. I take two, hoping the effect will be stronger.

Walking out of the bathroom, I find Annalise waiting there, her body clad in my shirt.

Her eyes find mine and I back into the door frame, my heart racing.

“Ethan,” she breathes, her fingers winding around my wrist. “Are you alright?”

“I can't do this any more, Lise.”

She falls silent for a moment then says, “Please...try to.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking her out. Her fingers reach into my stubble, sliding gently upwards, encouraging me to open my eyes.

When I do, I steady my gaze on her mouth.

“This is agony,” I admit, hatred burning in my throat. At my father, myself.

Tell her the truth. Tell her what you are.

“I'll end up hurting you. It's best we end this now,” I press, practically pleading with her to push me away. If she ends this, it will make it easier.

“Why Ethan? Please, tell me.” Her eyes are wide and bright, strangling me.

I choke, turning away, shutting my eyes to evade hers. “I can't, I can't.”

Coward.

Silence stretches between us until Annalise finally breaks it, “How long have you shut people out for? Life's not meant to be lived alone.”

“I'm not sure that rule applies to me,” I mutter, side-stepping past her, heading to the bedroom and tugging on my jeans.

She's right about me. I've lived in isolation for years. I shut out my friends, the ones I had before I was discharged. I moved away from my home town, to London. I thought living in a city would help with the loneliness. But being surrounded by people in a world I don't belong to doesn't make it any easier.

I'm a wolf without a pack. And I don't know how to change that. I'm not sure I'm meant to.

Annalise enters the room, moving to her wardrobe without a word. She slips out of my shirt and I turn away from her naked body, not deserving the sight.

She moves into my periphery, holding out her hand.

I take the shirt from her, wordlessly pulling it on and doing up the buttons.

“If you're not going to see me again, at least tell me why.” She keeps her eyes averted to the floor.

I hate that I do that to her. This girl should never stare at her feet like she's not worthy of me.

I sigh, the breath leaving me in a harsh wave. The truth. She deserves the truth.

I want her to hate me, to force me from her house, screaming at me never to return. It's the only way I can never come back.

I go to say it, the words hovering on my lips.

Stalker.

“Actually, don't,” Annalise snips. “Just go.”

My heart beats like a drum in my chest. “Lise...”

“Go!” she snaps, moving past me, dropping onto the edge of the bed, wrapped in a gown.

I glance over my shoulder, my throat bone dry. My chest aches as I leave, heading out the door, promising myself I won't come back.

But somehow, deep inside, I know I haven't had my fill of her yet.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

“Make it hurt,” I tell Clarissa, my voice hollow as she straps me onto the cold metal frame.

“I will,” she breathes, near-seductive.

I shut my eyes, waiting, the voice in my head so loud, it's like my father's here too, joining the beating.

“Are you still seeing the girl? The one you went on a date with?” she asks, her question taking me by surprise.

I open my eyes, my gaze falling on the whip in her hand. “Yes,” I admit, though I'll never tell her the full truth.

“And does she keep your mind off of your obsession?” She never uses Annalise's name. But calling her 'my obsession' makes how I feel about her seem so sordid. And when I'm with her, sometimes it doesn't feel like that, sometimes it feels like I could really offer her what she wants.

I'm not sure how to answer the question, the lies running too deep, causing my mind to run in circles. I remain silent and she tilts her head to the side.

“Have you had sex with her?”

My mouth goes dry and I hang my head, dropping my eyes. “Yes.”

“What do you think about whilst you're having intercourse?”

I frown heavily, frustrated by the question. I'd sound like a twisted mess-up if I said 'Annalise'. This story is getting out of hand.

“I dunno,” I mumble weakly.

She runs the whip down my abs, the leather sliding through the hair above my belt.

“I'm going to face you the other way today.” She takes hold of a winch beside me, rotating it so the frame spins too. My bare back is her canvas now, ready to be painted in blood.

“Tell me what you are,” she demands, her voice a high and ringing tone, filling the room.

“Spineless, coward, waste of-”

Clarissa strikes the leather whip across my back, the tip cased in aluminium. I grit my teeth, groaning in pain.

She whips me four more times, cutting into my skin so lines of blood trickle down my spine.

I gasp, relishing the sweet moment of pain, the moment when the voice is drowned away.

“Tell me what you are,” she repeats.

Dirty, filthy, psycho.

“Dirty, filthy, psycho.”

She whips me hard and my shoulders bunch, my muscles tense as I arch my back against the pain.

“Idiot,” I spit through my teeth.

Pathetic loser. Hurting yourself to escape your own mind. Who does that?

I screw my eyes up, feeling like a child again, my breathing becoming ragged as panic claws at my heart.

“Tell me what you are,” Clarissa whispers.

I remain silent, panting, blinking hard, trying to organise the chaos of my thoughts.

“Ethan?” she says softly.

Black-hearted monster.

“Clarissa, I don't know if this is helping.”

“Sometimes the symptoms can worsen before they improve. We're facing your darkest fears in this room. Once you grow used to it, you'll be able to gain control.”

I nod stiffly, setting my jaw. She knows best. This must be good for me. “Alright.”

“Tell me what you are,” she demands.

Why don't you just kill yourself, Ethan? Stop wasting everybody's time.

I grind my jaw, preparing to voice my thoughts, the fear in my chest so visceral it feels like it's living inside me.

And from my pain, a flicker of hope is born. I won't be beaten by this. I have to get better.

I think of Annalise, drawing strength from the vision. I can do this, for her.

CLARISSA

Ethan's magnificent, trussed up and howling his anger and pain at me. It's not the pain of my torture that sounds from his mouth, it's the pain of his soul, the voice in his head, the darkness of his past.

I know that pain, it lives in me too. And he's expressing it now, laid raw and bare before me.

We're one and the same.

I think of Nick, of the man I used to covet, who I used to adore in the way Ethan adores Annalise. It wasn't love. We can't love, people like us. People like Ethan and I. We're not built that way. We're made for obsession and adoration, seeing beauty and attempting to own it.

That's why I didn't go to the police. When Ethan first came to me, admitting his obsession, his stalker tendencies. I was well within my rights to, but I saw something in him that I needed to see more of.

In my life, I've witnessed the dirty, grim look of a beloved man who thought I was vile. Who thought I was broken and messed up beyond repair. The look of absolute hate, from a man I revered. He regretted that in the end. He underestimated me. My strength. What I'm capable of.

My revenge was a sweet, delectable dessert, tasted in small doses. I took my time. I deserved to take my time. And I had him crying, pawing at my feet by the end of it.

When I've finished with Ethan, he's whipped bloody, speckles of his pain splattered across my skin.

“Is that better Ethan?” I ask, releasing him from the frame.

He shudders as he steps off of it, blinking slow, his eyes unfocused.

I run my thumb over his cheekbone, making him look at me.

“I think so,” he says, his voice low.

“Good.” I gaze into his eyes, wanting to see inside his head. “You'll bring your journal to me soon, won't you?” I want to see what he says about the girl he's seeing. I want to know what he really thinks when he's with her. Perhaps he thinks of me. I'd like to confirm that he finds me attractive, I've caught him eyeing my legs before. But would he admit it in his journal? Perhaps that's why he's reluctant for me to see it.

I send Ethan home, his head drooped, his shoulders stiff. I'm getting close. He's breaking. Soon he'll be mine, free to do with as I wish.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge before returning to the basement, my chest swelling with hope.

Walking to the door at the back of the room, I unlock it, slipping inside.

I flick on the light, taking in the sight of him. Of Nick. His hands tethered to his ankles, curled up on the floor, a ball gag in his mouth.

I kneel before him, unbuckling it and plucking it from his lips. “How are you today, Pet?” I stroke his hair, running my fingers through the sweaty strands.

He pants, saliva dripping from his open mouth. “Good, Mistress Ginger. Good now you're here.”

I pull his head to my chest and he rests against me. I run my fingers down his bare spine. “Are you hungry, Pet?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I'll get you something to eat.”

He nods, laying his weight on me. “I've been thinking about you.”

“What have you been thinking?” I purr.

“How much I adore you.” His voice his raspy and dry. I hand him the bottle of water, holding it to his lips.

He tilts his head back, drinking the whole thing.

I sit back on my heels. “Would you like to be punished today?”

His body trembles.

His facial hair is getting long again. I'll need to shave it soon.

“Yes, Mistress,” he breathes, a note of fear in his voice.

I relish his tone. This man is mine. Completely. I carved out the hatred in his heart and turned it into fixation. He adores me now the way I adored him. I relish the fact. It's the perfect justice.

“Do you remember when you hated me, Nick?” I use his name, causing him to wince. I beat him until it no longer belonged to him. And now it pains him, his own name. I've taken everything from him, like he did from me.

“Yes, Mistress,” he breathes.

I want to pluck the memories from his head with a tweezer, like pulling out the greys. There is still a ways to go with him yet. I swore I'd make this slow on him. And I have. And when there's nothing left of him to break, I'll silence him for good.

ANNALISE

Fate is a million raindrops, gathering in a pool. And one day, it will spill over, and everything you've ever wanted will arrive all at once.

But nothing is how you expect it to be. I always had faith, that I'd find the man for me. And though I barely know him at all, for some reason, I believe it's Ethan.

There's something to be said for instincts, they've always guided me in what to do. And that's why, as I pace around the local park and spot Ethan marching up the street across from me, I decide to follow him.

My gut trickles with anxiety as I head out of the park after him, praying he won't look back.

He seems unfocused, his shoulders stiff, his head hanging low. Where has he been?

My heart beats like mad against my ribcage, adrenaline sweeping through my veins. I know this is wrong, I know I'm acting insane, but I have to know what he's hiding. I should have let him explain, I think he was going to. But I panicked. I couldn't hear it. But now...

I try to soothe my nerves, talking myself into this. If he spotted me, I'd have a perfectly good reason for being here. It's my neighbourhood too. Though I imagine he expects me to be at my interview right about now. Unfortunately for me, it was cancelled last minute by my interviewer Clarissa Sinclair. From the research I've done, I know she's the best in her field, so I imagine she's a busy woman. But to drop my interview at such late notice just seems so unprofessional. And she couldn't even schedule me in for a whole other week.

Ethan walks two blocks before halting, taking out a key and jogging up some stone steps to a door. I eye the building. It's red brick with black-rimmed windows. It's three floors high, and I wonder vaguely which flat is his.

As he slips out of sight, I'm overcome with the urge to knock on his door and demand answers.

If he doesn't plan on seeing me again anyway, I don't see what harm it can do.

Walking across the road filled with purpose, I march up the steps and eye the intercom.

There's a surname on each one.

1 Dalton

2 Jones

3 Harding

Dang. What's his surname?

Shrugging, I bash my hand against all three names.

Hopefully the other people are out, but knowing my luck, they won't be.

“Hello?” Ethan answers, sounding surprised that anyone in the world would be knocking on his door.

My heart nearly strangles me, my breathing increasing. “Oh – hi. It's me. Annalise.”

I bite my lip awkwardly.

After a long pause, the door buzzes, clicking open.

I push inside, trying to come up with an excuse for why I followed him home.

I have none.

The truth it is then.

As I reach the top floor, panting a little from the flights of stairs, I find Ethan waiting for me, leaning against the door frame.

He frowns, rubbing the stubble on his jaw.

“I saw you near the park and...followed you home,” I say quickly before he has to ask. Better he finds out I stalked him sooner rather than later...

“You did?” he asks, his eyes widening.

I nod, raising my hand to my mouth and biting my nails.

He turns, walking into his apartment and leaving the door open for me.

I tentatively step inside, his manly scent filling the air. I have a vision of all of this working out, of Ethan revealing what he's hiding, finding out it isn't so bad and us making love all night long. I grit my teeth, halting my imaginings before I get carried away.

I step into the enormous studio, the brickwork exposed on the walls, most of the kitchen space taken up by a low-lit bar.

It's such a 'man-pad'. I can practically taste the testosterone in the place.

I stand awkwardly near the door, unsure of where to go.

Ethan grabs a beer from the fridge and raises it to me. “Want one?”

I shake my head, giving him a brief smile.

He cracks it open with his teeth and takes a large swig.

Jeez. Talk about manly.

“I'm sorry I followed you,” I mutter vaguely, unsure what else to say.

“Trust me, it's really not an issue.” He drinks more beer, moving to the edge of the bar and leaning against it. He seems sombre, his movements slow.

He shifts his hips, wincing.

I step closer, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He moves across the room, his shoulders rigid. “Is there something you came here to talk about?”

I fold my arms, readying the words in my mind. “Actually, I want an explanation.” I plant my feet. “And I'm not leaving here until I get one.”

“Oh really?” he drops down onto his bed, picking up a TV remote and turning on a flat screen that appears from the bottom of the bed.

Wow. Fancy.

“Yes, really,” I insist.

“Fine by me.” He shrugs, lifting his hands and laying them behind his head, his muscles bulging out of his t-shirt.

My mouth goes dry, a vision of his naked body heaving above me springing to mind.

I guess I'm staying then.

I drift around the apartment, taking it in, seeing as he doesn't seem to mind my probing. I approach a dark ash wood desk, running my thumb along the edge. A leather bound book catches my eye and I trail my fingers over it, intrigued. With a jolt, I realise this must be the journal he mentioned.

“Don't.” His harsh tone sounds across the room, making my spine straighten.

My fingers linger a little longer on the cover, curiosity burning through me.

“Please,” his voice becomes a pained whisper, filled with desperation.

I extract my hand. Whatever it is he writes about, I guess it's not for my eyes. But I'd give anything to look inside, to gain a glimpse inside his mind.

I continue around the room, feeling his eyes on me all the while. By the time I'm done inspecting, I have no choice but to approach him, perching on the edge of the bed.

I glance at what he's watching, recognising a scene from Die Hard.

“So...” I start, turning to him.

He raises a brow and I grow irritated.

“Are you going to tell me the truth?”

He frowns, his brows shadowing his eyes. He pushes himself up, still seeming in pain.

“Are you hurt?” my voice comes out as a whisper.

He hesitates for a moment then nods. “Nothing I can't handle.”

“What happened to you?” I pry, leaning closer, assessing him for injuries, trying to work it out.

He remains silent, his mouth a flat line.

Why won't he talk to me?

Considering the mood he's in, I don't want to push him for an answer.

As we sit in silence, I find myself drawn to him, my stomach knotting as I eye the sheet of stubble on his jaw, his slightly open mouth. I long to kiss him, to be held by his strong arms, to taste the darkness in him again.

I crawl toward him and he reaches for me like he was thinking the same thing.

He tilts his chin up as I lean over him, lightly laying my hand on his chest. I shut my eyes, hiding them from him, not risking him being scared away.

His fingers reach into my hair and he guides my head down, pulling me to his mouth.

His lips move soft on mine and I can sense he's holding back as if he's afraid he'll hurt me. But knowing he's injured somehow, I'm more afraid of hurting him.

“Tell me what you're hiding,” I whisper against his mouth, hoping he'll give in at last.

“If I did, you'd run away,” he says, his voice a low growl. “And I'm not ready for that.”

He lifts his knees, encouraging me on top of him. I fall into place, scrambling for purchase as he holds me to him, crushing me, his hands everywhere.

I'm scared of the truth. Part of me doesn't want to know. I just want to forget why I came here and give into him all over again. And I can feel my willpower ebbing away like the ocean tide.

ETHAN

My back is on fire. I shouldn't have let Clarrisa use the whip on me. Now the truth is branded on my skin. How can I hide this from Annalise?

I'm overwhelmed that she's here, that she followed me for once.

I'm not strong enough to resist her. It's like her name is carved into my heart. She owns my body, my dark soul. Whether she wants to or not.

I press my hand to her lower back, roaming under her top, pressing her down as I lift my hips.

She wants the truth. And I don't know how long it will be before I have to give it to her.

I took four sedatives and I feel a whole lot more relaxed, but it's making my willpower lower than ever.

She lays her knees either side of me, her skirt riding up her ivory thighs.

“Lise,” I breathe against her silky lips. It's a warning, a prayer for strength, a longing to resist the temptation of her body.

She runs her hands down my chest, pushing up so she's straddling me.

“How did your interview go?” I try to distract her, holding her in place.

She frowns, releasing a low breath. “It got moved to next week.”

She keeps her eyes downcast, taking hold of the hem of my shirt.

I grow for her, my hardness straining against my jeans.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” I say, trying to concentrate on anything but the throbbing in my boxers.

“It's okay,” she murmurs, tugging my shirt upwards, revealing the trail of hair disappearing beneath my jeans. I catch her wrists, halting her.

If she takes my shirt off, she'll see what Clarissa did to me. There'll be more questions, more lies. I can't bear it.

“Stand over there, face the wall,” I command, my breath quickening.

She pauses, her hands trembling in my fist.

My throat goes dry as she complies, swinging her legs over me, walking across the room and facing the exposed brickwork.

I sit up, running a hand over my face, trying to get my trash together.

Maybe I can still resist her...

She fidgets by the wall, her hips swaying. I stand, my heart beating a frantic tune on my ribcage.

Annalise whips her top off, unhooking her bra, sending a rush of heat up my length. I eye the little black and white check skirt she's wearing with desire. Heck, how can I resist?

As she goes to remove it, I blurt, “Don't take it off.”

I like that little skirt.

Her hands halt, her thumbs tucked into the waistband.

“Hands on the wall,” I instruct and she obeys, her back arching.

I move close behind her, running my thumb down her spine in a slow, controlled movement, feeling every rivulet.

She sighs and goosebumps dart over her skin. I lean forward, kissing her shoulder, causing more to rise. I work across her shoulder blades, taking hold of her hips as I graze my lips across her.

She's sweet on my tongue and I'm soon hungering for more, nipping then biting, harder and harder.

As I reach her throat, I sink my teeth in and she cries out.

“Am I hurting you?” I growl, pressing closer to her, grazing my body against hers.

“Yes, but I like it,” she gasps, rolling her neck.

A thrill darts through me and I tug her hips back, rubbing my erection against her.

“I don't want to hurt you,” I mutter in her ear, tugging it between my teeth.

“I want you to,” she pants, rubbing her donkey against me. “I want to know how far I can go.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push away the image of Clarrisa beating me in her basement. It suddenly seems more sexual, making my stomach writhe.

The voice creeps in, sending a wave of nausea through me.

Sicko. Hurting the girl you claim to care about.

I step away, jamming my fingers into my eyelids.

“Ethan?” her soft voice reaches into my chest, unfurling the fist that's tightened around my heart.

“Just- don't move,” I mutter, stepping back.

I tongue my cheek, surveying her curves, overcome with desire.

I lift her skirt, tucking it above her hips, revealing her cheeks to me. They're perfectly round and smooth, the tight lines beneath them making my cock twitch.

I raise my hand, wanting to give her what she wants.

“Are you sure?” I growl and she nods, bracing herself.

I take hold her of her knickers, sliding them down her legs and waiting whilst she steps out of them. Standing, I reach back and spank her with the full palm of my hand, making her jump in surprise.

“Oh- idiot,” she exclaims.

I wait, eyeing the perfect red outline of my hand on her right cheek, giving her time to absorb the sensation.

“Do it again,” she demands and a lump lodges in my throat.

I reach my arm back and smack her thigh.

She moans, pressing her legs together. “Mm.”

My breathing becomes ragged as I strike her again, my muscles bunching.

Dirty, filthy, monster.

I lose myself, hitting her again and again until she's red raw and moaning my name.

When I can't take it any more, I tug myself free of my jeans, standing between her legs.

She tilts her hips for me in anticipation and I take advantage, driving deep inside her.

“Oh,” she moans, the sound giving me a rush.

I take her forcefully, shutting my eyes, focusing on the sweet feel of her tightness around me.

“Harder,” she begs and I give her everything I've got, pressing my hands to the wall either side of her.

She succumbs to my power, going slack against the wall until I have to her hold her waist to keep her up.

She moans and moans, the sound undoing me, bringing out the beast in me. I pound her until she's shaking, crying out, squeezing me as she comes apart.

I sigh my relief soon after, dropping my head back, gazing at the slanted wood beams supporting the ceiling up above.

She pushes back against me, giving me all of her body for my release.

Pleasure pulses through me, pushing all thoughts from my mind, saving me from the dark voice that haunts me.

I'm in bliss, surrounding her, caging her in with my arms, trapping her against the wall as I claim her.

“Oh Ethan,” she breathes as I pull out of her, tugging down her skirt.

I grunt my approval, turning her and pulling her into my arms. I avoid her eyes, catching her mouth in a firm kiss before I see their amber glow.

“You make me feel wild, Ethan. And I want to know how much wilder I can be.”

Look what you've done to her.

She circles her arms around me, running up my back, serving me with a sharp spike of pain from the wounds there.

I wince, screwing up my eyes to try and suppress it.

She gasps, extracting her hands, tugging at my shirt as she tries to get a look.

I remove her searching fingers, glaring at her with a shake of my head. I fix my eyes on hers for half a second to show her I'm serious, leaving me with a raging fire in my chest.

Can't even look her in the eye. What good are you to her?

“Please, look at me,” she begs and I do, for her sake.

There's pain in her eyes, but something more, something pure and impassioned. Something that terrifies me.

“You can get over this,” she insists, cupping my cheek. “You can look at me.”

I nod stiffly, feeling flames lick my arms, my neck, growing so hot it's like I'm standing in Iraq again, watching the girl be devoured by flames, witnessing the agony of her final moments.

I stare at Annalise, unblinking, forcing myself to take it, hoping this could work the same way Clarissa's aversion therapy does.

The pain is too much to bear and I soon have to drop my eyes.

“It.. Kills me,” I snarl and she shrinks from my expression, slipping out of my arms.

I gaze at the wall, unseeing, the heat in my veins receding.

My shoulders drop and I sag against the bricks, a harsh headache forming behind my eyes.

I should have told her to go when I found her outside my door. I shouldn't have let her stay.

Shoulda. Coulda. Woulda.

Her arms suddenly surround me, her cheek pressing to my back. “We'll figure this out.”

“Oh, Lise,” I sigh, crumbling. How can she still want to stand here, fighting for me?

“I want to ask you something,” she murmurs into my shirt, my skin stinging like fire. I grit my teeth, ignoring it, relishing her touch.

“What?” I turn into her, releasing myself of the pain.

I extract her hands from me but kiss each one, softening the blow.

“My friend...Kat. She got engaged recently and she's having a party...” she trails off, a note of hope in her tone. “I'd like you to come with me. It's this weekend.”

I stroke her cheek, frowning, unable to believe that she'd want me there.

“Of course,” I find myself agreeing before I've given it any real thought.

Stupid prick.

I stifle the voice, grimacing.

This is a step in a relationship. This is what I should be trying to avoid.

“But...” She lifts a hand to her mouth, biting her nails.

I extract her fingers, halting her.

“But?” I question softly.

“It's in Ireland.”

I drop her hand, gazing at her like she's gone insane. Her eyes are still diverted to my chest.

“You don't have to-” she backtracks quickly but I cut her off.

“I'll come,” I blurt, unable to help myself.

Incredible. Is this a good idea?

Of course it's not. But I want this. To escape this nasty world for a while. To pretend we're a real couple. A normal couple. The thought is so enticing, making my chest swell with so much happiness, I think I've gone mad.

ANNALISE

I know I acted completely insane by inviting Ethan on the trip to Ireland, but it just seemed so right. And having someone to accompany me will save me from the pity party I would have been subjected to.

When I'm home the next morning and curled up on the sofa, I book our flight tickets online. Ethan insisted on paying for us both - of course I refused. But when I woke up this morning in his arms, he told me he went through my purse and used my bank account and sort code to deposit the money. I don't know how to feel about that. I'm grateful, of course. But it was incredibly forward of him.

Things between the two of us seem so intense. Like I've known him my whole life. And yet it's been barely any time at all.

Ultimately, I go with my gut feeling, telling me this is something real. And I need to hold on to it no matter what. Who cares if we're rushing things? If it all works out in the long run, what does it matter?

Libby moved into Paul's place less than a month after they started seeing each other. Maybe the same will happen for us?

I shake my head, my imagination running away with me again. I must learn to focus on the present moment. I've got to stop picturing this as some fairytale, panning out into the future, distant wedding bells already ringing. I always overthink things. I can't help it. I get it from my mum. She's a worrier though, forever imagining how things will work out for the worst. I've got the optimism of my dad, but the logic of my mother. Which keeps me in a constant state of battling my 'what if' scenarios.

I thumb my phone, anxious to hear Ethan's voice. He's got the deepest voice, it goes right through my bones. And all his mystery just makes me so hot all the time. He's like an animal in bed, becoming completely carnal in his love-making.

I stare at my phone for a full minute before snatching it up and calling him.

“Hello?” he answers in that sexy voice of his. I get worked up at just one word from him. What's the matter with me?

“Hi, I just thought I'd call and say hi.” Great. Now I've said hi twice.

“Hi,” he laughs in a deep rumble that sends shivers through me. “What are you doing?”

“I booked our flights. Now I'm thinking about you...and last night.” I blush a little at my admission but he brings out such a wildness in me. It's like the animal in him has taken up residence in me too.

“What exactly about last night?”

My blush deepens and I distract myself by picking at the arm on the sofa. “Oh ya know....you and me...”

“Uhuh...go on,” he encourages, making me flustered

“You know the rest.” I giggle and his soft laughter rolls down the line.

“But I'd like to hear it from you.”

“Oh I dunno – it's all such a blur,” I tease.

“Maybe I should come over there and remind you.”

I kick my heels against the sofa, my grin practically splitting my cheeks. “Maybe you should.”

“Maybe you could show me one of those little romance films you like so much.”

“Ethan!” I giggle, feeling completely girly as I sink lower in my seat.

“Hm, I like the way you say my name. Especially when I'm inside you.”

My blush turns into a full body rash and I dissolve into my seat, dragging a pillow over my head to hide. From what, I don't know - the world, his sexy voice, my own embarrassment.

“Be there in ten.” He hangs up and I'm left smiling so hard my cheeks ache.

Eventually, I roll off of the sofa and dash to the bathroom, fixing my hair and make-up in the mirror. My blood runs hot, my body thrumming with excitement. I gaze at the girl in the mirror. I barely recognise myself. What happened to mopey Friday nights and Rom-com Monday through Sundays?

I dance out of the room, filled with an idea. Darting to the television, I fall to my knees, thumbing through the stack of DVDs on the unit beneath it. He asked to see one of my films, so that's what I'll give him.

I pick out the cheesiest one I own and put it in the DVD player, switching on the TV.

27 Dresses starts playing just as the buzzer sounds from downstairs. I squeal with excitement, running to the door and pressing the release button. I fluff my hair - though I know it won't do any good – and open the door, trying out a sexy, 'leaning against the door' pose.

I feel like an idiot and quickly drop my arms to my sides as he appears upstairs. My heart does backflips and somersaults as he approaches, his grey eyes stormy and deep.

I lose all bravado, becoming lost to my desire as he stalks toward me, his chin tilted down, his expression near-sinister.

Without a word, he snatches my waist, pressing his lips to mine. I arch my spine, electricity pouring through me in wave after wonderful wave. Forget the spark, this is like being struck by lightning.

When he releases me, I'm breathless.

“I thought you wanted to watch a romance film.” The teasing remark leaves my lips with much less swagger than I intended on. He's completely rattled me, bringing me to my knees.

His mouth lifts at one corner and he glances over my head toward the TV.  “Come on then.” He grabs my hand, shutting the door with a swift kick and leading me to the sofa.

He drops down, pulling me into his arms. I cosy up beside him, breathing in his manly musk. I try to focus on the film but feel his intense gaze travelling over me.

It's like sitting next to a hungry wolf. I glance at him, fighting a grin and his eyes snap swiftly away from mine. I drop my eyes, feeling guilty, knowing it's hard for him. Despite that, I still wish I could study his eyes more closely, maybe I'd be able to read him better.

I try to think of something to say, to break the heated tension between us. As I fix my gaze on the film, a question springs to mind.

“Do you ever wanna get married?”

I feel him go stiff beneath me and instantly regret the words. Why did I ask that?! I sound like a desperate lunatic!

He clears his throat. “I'm not sure it's in my future.”

“Why?” I snap around, too curious to let it go.

He drops his eyes to my mouth as usual, watching my lips move. “I don't think...” He shifts in his seat and I frown at how awkward I've made him feel. Incredible. Why did I have to ask?

“I don't think I'd be right for marriage,” he finishes.

I cup his cheek, running my fingers over the rough stubble. “Why?”

I can't stop. I'm like a dog with a bone. I long to understand him better. Where does all of this insecurity come from?

“I'm too messed in the head,” he says bluntly and my stomach rolls.

I lean into him, winding my arms around his waist. “Everyone's got baggage, Ethan.”

“Oh yeah? What's yours then?”

I blink in surprise, not having expected him to turn the question back on me. As I think about the answer, I'm unravelled, my weaknesses rising to the surface. I feel embarrassed over my answer which only intensifies my guilt for asking him in the first place.

“Hm?” he prompts gently, his hold around me tightening.

“I guess I've been single for so long, I've got a bit caught up in...stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah- stuff,” I laugh but he remains quiet, waiting for me to elaborate.

I sigh, sinking lower into his arms. “This stuff.” I wave at the television. “Romance and fairytales, that kind of thing.” A blush rushes up my neck to my cheeks. It's terrifying exposing myself like this.

He lays a light kiss on my temple that evaporates the heat in my cheeks. “I think it's cute.”

I cuddle him, overjoyed that he isn't mocking me. I don't know why, but it feels like I could say anything to him and he'd never judge me for it.

He kisses me, holding my face in his hands, his tongue exploring mine in soft, patient strokes. A tingling grows in my chest, spreading through my body. I've never felt anything like it before but I know it's to do with him. And I know with a certainty that scares me, that I'm already falling for Ethan, harder and faster than I could ever have thought possible.

ETHAN

As we board the flight to Cork, I feel like a complete fraud. What am I doing here? Why did I agree to this?

“Are you okay?” Annalise murmurs to me as her friends take their seats.

I nod stiffly, lifting her bag and putting it in the overhead hold. Annalise and I are seated near the back of the plane, having a whole row to ourselves.

“Window or aisle?” she asks me.

“What do you prefer?”

“Window,” she admits.

I gesture for her to sit and she sidles into it.

I move into the middle seat, wanting to be close to her, taking her hand.

She shoots a smile at me. “You mind flying?”

I shrug. Nothing like this bothers me after being in the army. When your life's on the line on a daily basis, you kind of find peace with everyday dangers like this.

“You?” I ask, eyeing her expression as she gazes out the window.

“I like it. It's an escape. No phone, no emails, nothing. Just me and a thousand acres of sky.”

I lift my brows, drawn to her. She sees the world with such optimism. It's hard to understand. My head's so messed. But it reminds me that I used to be like that. I used to take pleasure in simple things, seeing the beauty in the world.

The old me seems closer today. Like he's fighting his way up to the surface.

I sigh, leaning back in my seat. I didn't tell Clarissa about this. She won't bother me unless I call her. So she'll never know this happened.

The cabin crew run through the safety instructions before the plane taxis onto the runway. I haven't been on holiday for years. Before I was in the army. I went to Amsterdam with a group of friends, had a lads weekend. That seems like another life. Can that carefree man come back?

We're soon soaring above the clouds at thirty thousand feet and I suddenly see what Annalise was talking about. The clouds reach out ahead of us like a valley of snowy peaks, stretching endlessly into the distance.

We both gaze at the sky and she silently runs her thumb in circles over mine.

“Have you been to Ireland before?” she asks.

“No.”

“It's beautiful,” she sighs. “You'll love it.”

It doesn't really matter what it's like, I know I'm going to enjoy it. Because I'm with her.

Her fingers tickle my wrist and she turns to me, desire sparking in her eyes.

I try to hold her gaze for as long as I can, feeling choked. She drops her eyes to my chest and I lean across, placing a soft kiss of apology on her lips. She deserves a man who can look her in the eye. She shouldn't have to hide from me. It pains me that she has to.

The seatbelt light goes off with a ding and Annalise releases hers, standing.

I shift back in my seat, giving her room as she swings her leg over me, her hair falling forward.

She leans in low, making my heart race and my cock jump to attention. “It's a short flight but there's enough time,” she whispers, kissing my ear.

My eyes widen as she gives me a mischievous grin, heading into the aisle and walking to the bathroom behind us. This girl is wild. That's something I didn't pick up on before I met her. And if she wants her boundaries pushed, I can be totally savage.

I glance around. The aisle adjacent is vacant and we're the last row at the back. No one's looking. No one's paying any attention at all.

My cock strains against my jeans. Is this really what she wants?

I'm a slave to the desire, unclipping my belt and sliding out of the seat. I release a slow breath as I approach the cubicle, gently rapping my knuckles on the door.

It slides open and she grabs my shirt, dragging me inside.

The space is tiny, there's barely enough room to move.

I press hard against her, pushing the door closed behind us and sliding the lock across.

She's panting, already tugging up her skirt, her fingers skating across her flawless thighs.

She wriggles around in the space and a laugh rolls up my throat at the awkward movement.

“This isn't like in the movies,” she laughs along with me.

“We'll make it work,” I growl, too anxious for her to back out now.

I press back against the door, letting her place her feet either side of the toilet.

I free my throbbing length, running a condom down my shaft before reaching between her legs. She braces herself on the back wall.

“This is exciting,” she whispers and I spank her donkey, pulling her skirt up higher.

“Ah!” she squeaks and I grin satisfactorily.

“Quiet,” I order.

I can't wipe the smile from my face as I tug her knickers aside. Shutting my eyes to focus, I feel her wetness, rubbing my hand in soft circles.

“Idiot, Lise. You're so ready for me.”

“It's all for you, Ethan.”

Her words make me feel high.

Removing my hand, I push into her hard and she sucks air through her teeth. I stifle my groans, knowing we need to be quiet but overcome by pleasure.

I work fast, panting and sweating as I take her.

“You're incredible,” I groan, her walls tightening perfectly around me.

I grab her hips, pulling her onto me and filling her deeply. I lean my head back, getting lost in the feel of her warmth, her passion.

She pushes back onto me, a small moan escaping her throat. Responding fervently, I drive into her, thrusting my hips, on the verge of exploding.

She squeezes me hard and I know she's close too. As I slam into her once more, she gasps in climax, her back arching in pleasure. I come forcefully, ecstasy rolling through me in wave after wave.

I rest one hand on the back wall, one on her spine as I push in deep, sighing my relief.

She gasps as I pull out of her, tugging the condom off and chucking it in the toilet. She turns to me, wriggling around and laying a kiss on my lips. We're crushed together and I surround her, placing my hands on the wall behind her, kissing her deeply. I rub my nose to hers, placing a kiss on the tip.

“Just give me a minute,” she breathes and I grin, a lightness filling me, reaching into my bones, banishing the dark.

I pull her skirt down with a sharp tug, still grinning as I step out of the bathroom.

I glance around but no one's looking. No one knows what I just did to her.

Adrenaline slides through my veins, leaving me buzzing.

I drop back into my seat and an air hostess appears. “Drink, sir?”

“Sure,” I say, though normally I'd be careful due to my anxiety. Today, however, I''m not sure there's anything that could drag me down.

ANNALISE

I'm brimming with excitement as we land in Cork and exit the airport. The air is cool and fresh, the wind whipping wildly around us. I can't believe what I did with Ethan. I don't know why I'm behaving this way. In the past, I've only ever had regular run-of-the-mill sex. But something about him draws out a craziness in me I've never seen. And I love it.

We wait with Libby and Paul whilst Kat and Eric pick up the keys for the hire cars. Ethan seems bright-eyed today. He stands at my side, his posture relaxed, his demeanour calm.

“How far is it?” I ask Libby. She's been anxious ever since we left England, immediately turning her phone on the second we landed. She's been holding it ever since.

“I think Kat said it's a couple of hours' drive. It's on a peninsular,” she says.

Libby glances at her phone again and Paul takes her hand.

“Lib, really. The kids are fine. Let's just enjoy ourselves this weekend. Your sister will look after them.”

Libby tucks her phone away with a sigh. “I guess you're right. I just worry-”

He cuts her off with a kiss and I'm momentarily drawn to them. They're so perfect for each other those two. He's the strong, never wavering rock of the relationship, grounding Libby when her emotions lift too high.

Kat appears, flanked by the ever-silent Eric. “Let's get going.”

She leads the way up a concrete path into a large car park, sitting beneath the grey sky.

Kat chucks a key at me and I flap my arms as I try to catch it. I miss but Ethan swoops low, catching it before it hits the ground. His mouth quirks up at the corner, his expression making me giddy.

Kat snorts at me. “Nice one, Lise.”

I scowl at her, irritated.

“I think your throw was off,” Ethan steps in, his arm dropping over my shoulders. It's such a casual gesture that I'm forced to look up at him, assessing.

He looks so easy-going today like there isn't a thousand things troubling him. It fills me with a glow. And now he's jumped to my defence. It's just so sexy!

I snuggle under his arm, escaping the cool wind rushing at us.

“Lib, Paul, you can come with us. Our car's bigger,” Kat says, glancing at me and Ethan. “That okay?”

“Sure.” I shrug casually but inside my heart is doing backflips.

That is more than okay. Just me and Ethan in a car for two hours, driving through the beautiful Irish countryside. What could be better?

Ethan eyes the number on the key in his hand, glancing down at those painted on the ground beside each car.

He pulls me to a halt, turning to a black Mini Cooper and unlocking it with the key. He opens the boot and we drop our bags inside.

“See you there, guys,” Libby calls and the others wave.

“You've got the address I text you, yeah?” Kat shouts and I give her a thumbs up.

Without a word, Ethan opens the passenger door for me, leaving me practically swooning. No guy has ever done that for me before.

I mutter my thanks, ducking into the car, grinning from ear to ear.

He drops into the driver's seat a minute later, turning the key in the ignition.

“I guess you're driving then?” I tease, liking this side to him.

He shoots me a crooked smile. “Guess I am.”

I reach into my handbag, taking out my phone and setting it up a moment later on the dashboard, using it as a Sat Nav.

Ethan's a confident driver and I vaguely wonder if he owns a car back in London.

With him distracted by driving, I can study him all I want. The rough cut of stubble on his jaw, the hardness of his brow. There's so much depth to his eyes, like he's seen a thousand unspeakable things. He carries it all with him with a strength I'm not sure even he sees. He's beautiful, his vulnerability raw and ever-present. Like I could coax it to the surface with just a stroke of my hand.

Ethan glances at me as we pull off of the motorway onto a quiet road flanked by hedges.

My neck heats up and I scramble for something to say.

“Do you have many friends in London?” I blurt. He's never mentioned any. And something tells me he doesn't. He comes off as a lone wolf type.

“No,” he says vaguely and my curiosity grows.

I pick at my jeans, wanting to ask more but unsure of how to phrase my question without sounding rude. “What about before...when you were in the army?”

“Yeah, there were a couple of guys, I guess. I don't see them any more though.” He shifts in his seat and I decide I should drop the subject, figuring it's making him uncomfortable.

To my surprise, he continues, “I had a group of friends, before I was discharged. But when I came back to England I...” he trails off, his forehead creasing. “I just couldn't see them any more. I wasn't the same person. I didn't want them to...I dunno.”

“What?” I breathe and he adjusts his hold on the steering wheel, taking a breath.

“I didn't want them to see who I'd become,” he says, his eyes firmly on the road. “I was ashamed.”

My heart pangs and I reach out, laying my hand on his arm. “I'm sure they would have understood. You went through a lot.”

His mouth becomes taut. He nods stiffly though I know he doesn't believe me.

A heaviness weighs on me. I wish he wouldn't beat himself up so much. If only he'd accept that what he's going through is normal. That his mind is just responding to a trauma he's been through. And the harder he fights it, the more difficult he makes it to heal.

The Sat Nav directs us onto a tiny little road with a mound of grass tracking along the middle. We ascend a hill and as we roll over its crest, all thoughts flee from my mind.

Mountains roll out ahead of us, the clouds overhead casting sweeping shadows across the land. The sun highlights the lush green of the grass and bright purple heather clinging to the steep banks.

“Oh,” I sigh and Ethan pulls the handbrake, jumping out of the car without a word.

There's no other car in sight for miles. We're completely alone in this ethereal landscape. Kat and the others must be way ahead already.

Ethan opens the passenger door, pulling me out by the arm. I laugh, stumbling into him as I climb out. His arms surround me and he presses his mouth hard to mine. I tremble in his hold, the wind pushing against my back, like it wants me to be close to him.

He catches my hair which is flying around me in strands, gently pushing it behind my ear.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Couldn't resist.”

“No need to apologise,” I breathe, leaning into him. “I'm so glad you're here.”

“I feel like we're a million miles from anywhere. And that's exactly where I want to be. Thank you for inviting me.”

I nod, my mouth going dry as he dips his head and kisses my jaw, journeying down to my neck and leaving me gasping.

“Ethan, we've got a long drive. I don't think I can handle it if you're going to get me all worked up.”

He chuckles softly, a wicked note to his tone setting my pulse racing.

“No one's around,” he growls and heat sparks deep in my belly.

“You're crazy!” I accuse, laughing as I tug away from him and slip back into the car.

He returns to the driver's seat, shooting me a ravenous expression. It's my undoing and I lunge across the space between us, my knees pressing against the handbrake, his hand bunching in my hair.

My knee smacks into the radio and an Irish folk song roars through the speakers.

We both burst out laughing and I tug away, turning the volume down.

“I don't think Minis were designed with this in mind,” he says in a low tone.

He groans in frustration then pushes me back into my seat.

I tug my skirt down, my cheeks heating up furiously.

He continues to drive and I soon forget my flustered feelings, getting lost in the scenery beyond the windscreen. The sea glints at us far in the distance, peeking at us between two mountains.

We wind our way toward our destination and I tell Ethan about my time at university, my mother's hatred of my career path and my dad's silent, unwavering encouragement of the choices I make.

He asks a lot about my dad and, having been given a glimpse into his own father's abusive nature, I wonder if that's why he's curious.

The time feels like nothing and we're soon arriving at the large manor situated on a high cliff overlooking the Atlantic ocean. Its breathtaking, miles from anything and anyone. There's lights on in the house, presumably the others having already arrived.

We park up next to their Land Rover and two other cars, heading to the door with our bags.

I slip my hand into Ethan's as it opens, finding Kat there with a sour look on her face. “The boiler's broken. It's bloody freezing.”

“Oh.” My floaty happy feeling dissipates a little at her sour expression.

We step into the house and I smile as I spot Kat's mum through the door.

“Hi Linda!” I call and she hurries to greet us.

She pulls me into a hug, her eyes swinging to Ethan who holds out his hand.

“Ethan Harding.”

She takes it, giving me a not-so-subtle-raised-eyebrow look. Kat wanders away, barking orders at someone out of sight to get a fire going.

“Linda, I'm Kat's mum. Shall I show you to your room?”

“Sure,” he says and we head after her up the wide oak staircase, carpeted in dark green.

“I could have a look at the boiler, if you'd like?” Ethan offers.

Linda glances over her shoulder, her black hair slipping down her spine. “Oh, could you?”

He nods and I glance at him with intrigue. Would he know what he's doing?

Linda leads us along the wide landing full of doors and when we're right at the end, she knocks on one.

Paul opens it, looking pissed off.

“You'll be sharing,” Linda informs us and I force a smile.

“Great,” I say through my teeth. Looks like my hot weekend with Ethan just turned into a cosy sleepover with Libby and Paul.

We step inside and I find two double beds in the large room. It's decorated in old-fashioned floral sheets and carpets, the dying afternoon sunlight pouring in through an arched window.

Libby's perched on the edge of her and Paul's bed, on the phone. “-are you behaving?...and your sister too?”

Ethan carries our bags to the other bed, shooting me a surreptitious glance. I guess he's disappointed too. How are we going to have sex this weekend?!

Ethan may have drawn out my wild side but I'm not wild enough to do it in a room with my best friend and her husband five feet away!

“This is real cosy,” Paul remarks, placing his hands on his hips. “Not that you guys aren't a delight and all, but Libby and I haven't been away together in...I don't even remember.”

I sigh, giving him an apologetic frown.

Paul huffs, glancing at Libby before heading out of the room.

Ethan drops onto the edge of the bed, leaning in by my ear. “We'll just have to be inventive.”

A shiver runs through me and I spin around to him, beaming.

“Sounds exciting,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his.

“-put your sister on the phone. I said put her on the phone!” Libby goes full demon-voice, dousing our moment.

Ethan's mouth pulls up at the side and he stands. “I'll go see about this boiler.”

“Do you know what you're doing?” I question lightly, curious.

He gives me a lopsided grin. “I picked up a couple of things in the army. My bunk mate was an engineer.”

I nod, watching as he walks away, feeling the cold for the first time. With him by my side, I forget about everyday things like my surrounding climate. But as I sit, I find my breath nearly visible in the room and a chill soon starts to creep into my bones.

Libby finally hangs up the phone, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She turns to me with a frown. “I can't believe Kat didn't tell us about this. Do you have any idea how long it's been since Paul and I-” She drops her eyes, halting.

I frown, standing and moving across to her. She hasn't opened up to me in so long. Was she finally about to? Why does she hold her tongue?

“What?” I press, dropping onto her bed.

She shakes her head. “It doesn't matter.”

“Lib...”

“Seriously, Lise. It's fine.” She forces a light tone and I pin my gaze on her.

“Libby, why don't you open up to me any more?” My chest compresses a little as I voice my thoughts. But really, it's gone on long enough.

She glances up at me, her blue eyes going wide as if I've caught her out. She lunges for my hand, taking it. “Oh, Lise. I don't  - I mean-” the fight goes out of her and she sighs, dropping her hand. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” I insist but I can't deny that it has been a little hurtful. I tell Libby everything. Even when it's uncomfortable for me to do so.

She glances at me, her lips twisting. “Don't take this the wrong way, okay?”

I nod stiffly but my spine instinctively straightens, preparing to be offended.

She continues, diverting her eyes to her knees. “I know you're lonely, Lise. And I feel guilty moaning about Paul or the kids because, well, you-”

“Don't have that,” I finish flatly. Am I that pathetic? That she's worried I'll get upset if she tells me anything about her family?

“It's not that you wouldn't understand,” she backtracks. “I just don't want you to feel like I'm complaining about something that you've been looking for your whole life.” Guilt dashes through her expression and, though I feel thoroughly pathetic, I can't find it in me to be mad.

I touch her wrist. “Please don't hold out on me, Libby. We've been friends our whole lives. I may want what you have one day, but I know that doesn't mean your world is perfect. Everyone has problems, no matter what their circumstances.”

Her brows lift and she breaks into a typical Libby smile, all shining teeth and bright eyes. She pulls me into a hug. “Okay, I promise.”

I nudge her, pulling away. “So you were saying about Paul?”

She sighs, her brow furrowing. “It's not that we aren't into each other. I mean really, if I had time, I'd still want to bang him all day long.”

I laugh and she starts giggling.

She continues, her smile falling just a fraction. “But we just don't have the time. Like, seriously, between us juggling one of us being at work whilst the other is at home to watch the kids, we hardly ever get a moment alone. And when we do – we're basically zombies!”

“Hey well...maybe me and Ethan can give you some space, if you know what I mean?” I give her a mischievous grin and she mirrors me.

“You guys are in the start of a relationship, you're probably more anxious to do it than we are.”

My breath sticks in my throat at her words. “Relationship?” I echo vaguely. The idea of me in a relationship is alien. I've not made it beyond a month with any guy. But I've never felt about anyone this way before either. Is Libby right? Is that where this is heading?

“He's all over you, Lise. He stares at you, like all the time. It's kind of sweet, in a creepy way.”

I smack her arm. “He's not creepy.”

“It doesn't really matter, seeing as he's just so...” She wets her lips.

“Ew- Lib!”

“Sorry! I told you – no sex in a long time!”

“What about Paul?”

She grins wickedly. “Paul still drives me mad. And he has a huge-”

“Boiler's fixed,” Ethan walks into the room, topless, his shirt in hand. He lifts it up, showing it to us. “It got covered in cobwebs.”

“Oh,” I breathe, eyeing his beautiful body, heat sparking deep inside me.

“Oh,” Libby echoes, her eyes like saucers.

ANNALISE

We change for dinner and head downstairs, the house already growing warm. I decided on a black dress, seeing as it's a special occasion. But the party isn't until tomorrow night. The rest of Kat and Eric's family and friends will be arriving then. I never really thought of Kat's parents as 'rich' but they've clearly put a lot into this, renting the house, having everyone stay. It's quite extravagant considering this is just the engagement, not the wedding.

Ethan looks good enough to eat in his smart shirt and trousers, making me pine for him. We arrive in the dining room where the long table is set for nine people. Eric's dad is sat beside Eric at one end, every inch of exposed skin covered in tattoos, all the way up his neck to his chin. He leans in to Eric, the two of them chatting together quietly but I can't catch a word they're saying. I'm so intrigued. It's the most I've ever seen Eric talk.

Kat's parents are sat beside her, Linda and George, looking practically regal tonight. Goodness, if this is how they act over the engagement, how fancy is the wedding going to be?

Ethan pulls out my chair for me and I blush immediately, caught off-guard.

“Oh- thanks,” I mutter, dropping into it. Why am I so flustered? Ever since he showed up shirtless in our bedroom, I haven't been able to stop thinking about him. But how are we ever going to get a moment of privacy?

Perhaps we can go on some sort of rotation shift with Libby and Paul. The thought sullies my mood. I'm not exactly comfortable with them knowing what we'd be up to. And it completely saps any spontaneity out it.

I'm surprised to find Kat's parents have ordered in catering staff and our food is soon brought to us on shiny china plates.

“So Ethan, you're Annalise's new guy, are you?” George addresses him, folding his hairy arms.

“Yes, sir,” Ethan replies – very soldier-like. It kind of turns me on. What's the matter with me tonight?!

“Well it's a pleasure to meet you. Hopefully you'll still be around next year for the wedding.” He throws his head back, laughing and Linda shoots him a glance.

Ethan shifts awkwardly in his seat, not looking at me. The smile falls from my face at his expression. I mean, I know we haven't exactly been seeing each other for very long, but the idea that we could stay together isn't that impossible, is it?

I can't draw my eyes from him as Kat starts to dominate the conversation, discussing venues, cakes, flowers, everything down to the earrings she's going to wear on the big day.

Ethan turns to me at last and I drop my eyes, not wanting to cause him any anxiety.

“Something on your mind?” he murmurs, taking my hand beneath the table.

My stomach flips over and I shake my head.

“No,” I lie, glancing up.

His eyes narrow just a touch but he manages to hold my gaze for a second. Leaning in, he places a light kiss, right near my ear, sending a bolt of electricity down my spine.

I release a ragged breath and I'm certain he heard it, his grip on my hand tightening.

I remember to eat and make my way through the delicious chicken pie on my plate. Despite how good it tastes, I find it near impossible to eat the whole thing, my mind constantly drifting to Ethan.

He eats his food without a word but his body is angled toward me. I can sense an energy growing between us, so strong that goosebumps raise on my arms.

“Tell us about the day you met,” Linda encourages Kat and Eric.

“Oh Mum, not that story again. You've heard it a hundred times already.” She's clearly faking, I know how much she loves telling that story. I myself have probably heard it more than ten times. “Well, I was studying in Cork and decided to take a weekend out here with a couple of friends. Only, they both bailed on me last minute so I ended up going on my own.”

I inhale as Ethan's knee brushes mine and I have to clench my thighs to suppress my arousal. It does absolutely no good as his hand drops onto my bare knee, sliding up beneath my dress.

Kat continues, “Eric was working on a conservation project for some birds, weren't you babe?”

“Puffins.” Eric nods.

I glance at Ethan but his expression is casual like his hand isn't on a journey up my thigh. It's driving me crazy.

A waitress appears, clearing our plates and I jolt my knee to try and shake Ethan off. He grips tighter, his fingers dipping down between my thighs, roaming higher and higher.

“Anyway,” Kat goes on. “I was driving into town and what do I see but one of these birds-”

“Puffins,” Eric interjects.

“Yeah – one of them - running into the street! And there comes Eric, jogging after the little thing, trying to catch it. Well I just had to get out and ask what he was doing. And turns out, the thing had escaped from his van!”

Laughter titters around the table and I remember last second to join in. Ethan does not.

I press back in my chair, trying to escape Ethan's touch, focusing on keeping my expression calm. His fingers graze the lace of my knickers and I bite down on my lip, my thoughts scattering to the wind.

“Dessert, anyone?” Linda offers, gesturing to the waitress.

“I'm pretty tired.” I stand abruptly, desperate for Ethan. Right now. “Bed?” I lift a brow at Ethan and he stands, taking my waist without a word.

Libby gives me a smirk which I try my hardest to ignore. She definitely knows. But the fire in my knickers is currently motivating all of my actions.

“Oh, of course. You had a long day,” Linda says with a note of empathy.

Kat glares at me so I give her a small apologetic smile, backing away.

“Yes, thank you for a lovely meal. We'll see you in the morning,” I say.

Paul gets to his feet. “I'm pretty tired too, actually. Shall we Libby?”

My eyes go wide. No!

Libby tugs at his sleeve. “I'd like some dessert,” she says through gritted teeth.

He yawns broadly. “Alright, see you upstairs.”

She throws me an apologetic look and Ethan slides his hand into mine as the three of us exit, heading up to our room.

Paul unzips his suitcase, busying about whilst Ethan and I trail toward our bed. His hand is on my spine, causing heat to explode over my skin.

“Better brush our teeth,” he mutters in my ear and my eyes widen.

“Yes,” I say brightly, ducking and grabbing my wash bag from my case.

Ethan tugs at my sleeve, dragging me out of the room and down the hall. He doesn't stop guiding me until we step through a door into a large bathroom.  We're surrounded by pale blue tiles, a huge mirror reflecting us above the sink.

I dance away from him, moving to the sink and starting to brush my teeth, feigning ignorance to his advances.

He steps up beside me as I scrub my teeth and our eyes lock in the mirror. I continue what I'm doing, fighting a smile.

I spit and rinse then he snatches my toothbrush and plants it in his mouth.

“Hey!”

“I left mine in the room,” he says around the brush.

I gape at him.

He grins, brushing his teeth without any qualms as to what he just did.

After a minute, he spits and rinses, holding it out to me.

“What?” He lifts a brow, daring me to object.

A grin fights its way onto my lips. “I've just never shared a toothbrush before. It's kinda gross.”

“Uhuh, completely gross.” He steps forward, snatching my waist and tugging me against him.

His minty breath consumes my senses and it suddenly doesn't seem so bad. His mouth has been on mine plenty of times anyway. I tilt my chin up and he walks me backwards, holding out on giving me what I want.

“How did you enjoy dinner?” he growls but I know what he's really talking about.

I tongue my cheek, grinning. “It was delicious. But there was the odd distraction...”

“Distraction, huh?” He returns the grin and I drop my eyes to his shirt, wanting to see beneath it. Longing to.

My smile dies as desire invades my body. I need to have him. Now.

He seems to feel the same, dragging me against him, his mouth suddenly on mine.

I groan, reaching up and linking my arms round his neck, stumbling as he forces me to walk backwards. We hit the far wall and his mouth drops to my neck, his fingers sliding down my thighs, under my dress, hooking it up.

I moan, arching my neck as he runs his hands up the back of my legs, lifting my dress. I shiver as he slides it upwards, dragging it over my head. He scrunches it in his fist, chucking it to the floor and immediately slipping his hands around my back.

I tug at his shirt, desperate to see his abs, to run my hands over their firmness and paint them with my fingers.

“Do you want me?” he growls, his mouth on my throat, nipping and sucking.

“Yes,” I gasp, tilting my head, giving him access.

His tongue trails across my collar bone and I moan, the feeling resonating deep inside me.

I tug at the buttons on his shirt, releasing him, desperate to feel his skin on mine.

He leans back, letting me work, removing his hands from my body and watching my fingers travel south.

His mouth is parted, his chin tilted down as he surveys me with a carnal lust that slices through to my bones.

I tug the shirt free of his trousers and he releases a slow breath. He takes control, tugging open his fly and leaning forward, grabbing my knickers with his free hand. With a sharp tug, he snaps the elastic, making me gasp as it hits my skin.

“Are you on the pill?” he growls, stepping closer.

I nod, my eyes wide as he nudges my legs apart with his knees.

“Can I forget you without a condom?” he asks, his mouth on my jaw, trailing kisses up to my ear.

Do I trust him enough for that?

I think so. I don't know why, but something in his expression tells me he wouldn't put me at risk. Ever.

I nod, glancing up into his eyes for the briefest of seconds. His Adam's apple bobs and he tugs himself free of his trousers, pushing against me. Leaning down, he grabs my waist and lifts me up. I gasp as he presses me to the wall, wrapping my legs around his waist.

I remember to keep my hands off him, dropping them awkwardly to my sides.

“It's okay,” he insists through bared teeth.

I inhale a little breath then place them back on his shoulders, running my hands over the muscle there.

His mouth collides with mine, his tongue pushing between my lips. With a sharp thrust of his hips, he enters me.

His length is silky smooth, pushing all the way inside me, his thickness rubbing me, the sensation mind-blowing.

He rocks his hips between harsh pants and I cling to him, worshipping his body, running my hands down his firm arms and digging my thumbs into his biceps. His skin is soft, his muscles tense. He feels so good against me; I savour touching him, stroking and exploring.

He keeps his eyes on my mouth and I'm glad for once that I can watch as he takes me. I don't know why things are different tonight, but there's no way I'm going to complain.

His body is all muscle, broad and strong, his arms holding me up with ease. It drives me crazy, making me grow wetter and wetter around him.

He groans, holding me in place as he pounds me. It's heavenly, making me lose all sense of where I am. I forget to be quiet, moaning and gasping his name.

“Annalise,” he warns in a groan.

I bite down on my lip, trying to stop myself, but it's no good, my lip tugging free again as I cry out his name.

He laughs softly, ducking his head to my neck. The sound is new coming from him. His light, carefree attitude is so exciting to witness. I grip him tightly, tightening my thighs around his waist.

“The whole house is going to know what I'm doing to you,” he says against my mouth.

“I. Can't. Help. It,” I pant, completely out of control.

A low rumble sounds from his chest and he slams into me harder, stretching me gloriously around him.

It only takes a few more thrusts before I lose all sense of everything, practically seeing stars as I reach climax.

“Lise,” he sighs into my mouth, jerking into me twice more before finishing himself.

He groans deeply, the sound coming from somewhere far inside his chest. I paw at him, panting, my body tingling all over.

Ethan rests his forehead to mine. “I'm losing my mind over you.”

I drop to the floor, stealing a glance up at him, my chest filling with sunshine. He winces at the sight of my eyes and I regret the move. Lacing my arms around his waist, I hug him, breathing in the scent of his bare skin.

A knock comes at the door and Paul's voice sounds through it. “Are you done in there, or what?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks in a wave. Oh my goodness!

I dart past Ethan, gathering up my clothes. Dragging my dress over my head, I reach for my ripped knickers on the floor. Ethan grabs them first, tucking them into his back pocket with a grin.

My mouth drops open but I have no time to fight him for them, hurrying to the door and yanking it open.

Paul's standing there, his hand resting on the wall.

“Did anyone else hear?” I squeak.

“No, that particular treat was just for me,” he says dryly, his eyes darting to Ethan over my head. “Nice work, mate.”

“Ew,” I hiss at him, pushing him aside. His laughter follows us down the hall and I don't look back, embarrassed beyond belief.

I dart into the bedroom, hurrying to my bag and taking out the silky black nighty I bought especially for this weekend. I had a little more privacy in mind for this but I have nothing else to wear. So what the heck?

I slip out of my dress, tugging it over my head. Turning, I find Ethan watching me, still shirtless, his thumb tracing his bottom lip.

I flutter my lashes, trying to keep my composure as he takes in my night dress. There's transparent lace over my ribs, framing the space beneath my breasts in a pattern like little wings. I glance down at my feet as he approaches, leaning low and kissing me sweetly.

“Bed,” he insists and I nod, pulling back the sheets and sliding under. They're cool from disuse and I shiver, longing for the heat Ethan's body promises. He drops his trousers, folding them neatly away in his bag – I eye them with hot cheeks, knowing my ripped knickers are in the pocket.

All thoughts abandon me as he moves in front of me, his crotch in line with my face.

“Move over,” he says softly and I roll aside, making room for him.

As he slides under the sheets, I snuggle up next to him, relishing his heat.

I drop a leg over his, hooking my feet around his burning calves.

“Cold?” he asks, sliding an arm around my shoulders and pulling me to his chest.

I sigh into his skin and he squeezes me to him, so hard I feel safer than I've ever been. “Not any more.”

ETHAN

Annalise encourages me out of the house before we've barely finished breakfast. She's like a tornado this morning, darting all over the house, chatting merrily with her friends. I haven't been able to keep my eyes off her since I woke with her in my arms.

“I want to show you something,” she says, plucking the car keys from my hand and getting into the driver's seat of the Mini.

I break a smile, dropping into the passenger's seat and glancing at her. “Show me something, huh?”

I glance over her snug jumper and fitted jeans. There's plenty I'd like for her to show me...

She slaps my knee and my cock twitches.

“Not like that,” she insists, her eyes firmly pinned on the narrow track of road that leads to the cliff edge.

I give in, leaning back in my seat and enjoying the view of the wild Atlantic ocean stretching out ahead. The waves break on the black rocks in tremendous crashes of white froth.

For some reason, I feel at peace here. And Annalise is drawing out a side of me I haven't seen for years. It's freeing but I also feel out of control like I'm spiralling towards the ground without a parachute. The problem is, this can't last. And we're moving dangerously close to a time I won't be able to keep this casual between us. This is moving too fast. She'll want more. She deserves more. But there's no way I can give it to her.

The voice in my head is taking a holiday too, apparently, leaving me at peace for once. Maybe it's the fresh sea air and the lack of responsibility here. Or maybe it's being hundreds of miles away from Clarissa and her sessions, having to constantly reveal the darkness in myself to her.

Or maybe it's sweet, carefree Annalise who looks at the world like everything is going to be alright. No matter what happens. And a certain part of that is rubbing off on me. If I live in the now, I don't have to worry about tomorrow or the day after. I don't have to consider the fact that this can't last. That if she ever finds out who I truly am, she'll run.

I shut my eyes for half a minute, centreing myself. No bleak thoughts this weekend. I can manage two days without having to worry. I'm being utterly selfish but I want two perfect days with Annalise. Two perfect days I can look back on and know I was happy. Just for then.

We pull onto a winding road that hugs the coast and I'm drawn to the rugged surroundings, the tumbling waves, the jagged rocks and sheer cliffs. It's nature in its truest form: rough and untamed.

“Are you sure your friends don't mind us running away today?” I glance at Annalise.

She shrugs. “They'll just be painting their nails and getting ready for the party later. I can do that in under an hour. And I really want to...”

“To what?” I prompt and she sucks her lower lip, glancing at me briefly.

“I wanted a day with you. All to myself.”

My chest swells and I automatically reach over, planting a hand on her thigh. “You've got me.”

Her expression falls serious and she nods, dropping her hand onto mine. She says nothing, pulling up at a view point, the curved parking space surrounded by a low wall built from aged stones.

“This is it?” I ask, giving her a slanted smile and she nods, opening the car door, her expression vacant.

I follow her out of the car and she moves swiftly to the wall, folding her arms around her self. The wind makes her hair flutter and dance around her, dreamlike. I move behind her, sliding my arms around hers, taking in the morning sun on the sea ahead of us.

“Sometimes it feels like this is temporary,” Annalise says, cupping my cheek, drawing me closer.

I squeeze her, my brows drawing tightly down.

I hold her tighter, pressing my mouth to her cheek. “Nothing lasts forever, Annalise.”

She grips my neck, turning to me so her lips brush mine. I respond keenly, pushing hers apart, tasting her, claiming her, if only just for now.

“Why can't it?” she pleads, as if I have the power to change the way the world works. There's so much longing in her tone and so much hope that I know she wants me to make promises, to give her reassurance.

But I can't. It wouldn't be right.

The right thing to do would be to tell her what you are.

I grimace as the voice returns in a wave.

I don't want things to be like this. Not today. Or tomorrow. This is the only time we have.

“That's just the way things are,” I murmur and she twists away from me, walking closer to the low wall.

The cliff drops away just a few feet ahead, slipping neatly into the sea below. We can see right across to another peninsular from here, the ocean sparkling in between the two fingers of land.

My gut tugs as I watch her, wrapping her arms around herself as if she's trying to prove how little she needs me.

I find myself wondering, does she still cry out of sight of the world? I don't watch her any more, but I long to see the between time now, the time when no one's looking. Does she still break apart? Or is she happier? Have I given her some of what she wanted?

“Lise,” I sigh but she doesn't turn to me.

I approach her, placing a tentative hand on her back.

She shrugs away but I move closer again, boxing her in between the wall and me.

“Look at me,” I say, harsher than I intend.

She looks, her eyes downcast, her shoulders hunched.

“At me,” I growl and her eyes slowly slide upwards.

My heart rattles in my chest like a caged beast but I manage to keep looking, to hold the gaze of the eyes that break me.

“You're going to leave, I can sense it. Maybe not today, or even next week, but soon, you're going to walk away from this and I don't know why.” Her eyes become wider, brighter, more honey than amber with the way the light is shining on her.

It's like those eyes see through me, right to the truth.

“I don't want to, though,” I say, gritting my teeth. I cup her cheek, leaning in, tasting her cotton-soft lips.

“Then don't,” she pleads but I keep kissing her, not letting this conversation continue. There's only one place it can go and I'm not ready for that.

I'm not ready to say goodbye.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

It's nearly dark by the time we arrive back at the house, our afternoon spent chatting in teashops and eating cake. Annalise picked the cafes and I hounded her toward them, weaving through a colourful little seaside town where the air smelt like salt and fish.

I drove us home but part of me wishes I hadn't so I could've studied Annalise. She's had me enthralled all day, both of us not mentioning the elephant in the room. She knows I won't stay and yet she's willing to forget, willing to play pretend and while away the afternoon with me like it's the first one of hundreds. And with that pretence, comes hope. Hope that perhaps this could work. Perhaps in time we could move away from London, far away from Clarissa. And soon she'd forget about me and my obsession with the amber-eyed girl, and we could live in peace.

On a foundation of lies.

I cringe internally. I couldn't do it. It isn't fair on Annalise. When it's time for me to go, when I can man up and leave her, perhaps I'll tell her the truth. It would serve me right if she called the police, had me arrested. I should face the music. This is my doing, after all.

Annalise rings the doorbell and a moment later, Kat wrenches the door open in an opalescent dress, looking fierce. “You've been gone all day!”

“Rubbish – I'm sorry, Kat. We lost track of time.”

Kat rolls her eyes, heading upstairs. Annalise jogs after her and Kat's voice carries back to me. “-supposed to be my weekend-”

I grind my teeth, not warming to the girl. It might be her engagement party tonight but Annalise has the right to do what she likes before and after it. I head upstairs and Annalise throws me an apologetic look as she follows Kat into a room. I just catch sight of Libby wrapped in pink chiffon before the door slams closed.

I head to the bedroom, finding Paul sitting on his bed dressed in a white shirt and trousers. “Hey man, have a good day?”

I nod, unable to fight the smile that drags up my lips. “You?”

“The girls have been busy so I've had a rare afternoon to myself. “ He sighs. “I would have traded it for an afternoon like yours though.”

“Why don't you take Libby somewhere tomorrow morning?” I suggest, grabbing some clothes from my bag and tugging off my shirt.

“That's the plan. If Kat doesn't make more demands of her. I mean, the girl has no idea how much it took to organise this weekend and I'm not gonna let her steal Libby away from me for the whole of it.”

“Good for you,” I remark and Paul's eyes fall to the bullet scars on my abdomen.

“Woah, what happened to you?”

“Got caught in a crossfire in Iraq.” I finger the scars absent-mindedly.

He stands, glancing up and down me as if seeing me differently. “Goodness,” he mutters.

I shrug, heading past him and feeling his eyes burning a hole in my back. I head to the bathroom to shower, bumping into Eric on the landing. He looks pretty casual, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to expose his tattoos, the hem hanging loose over his trousers.

“Hey,” I say and he nods to me, heading past me without a word. I glance over my shoulder at him, frowning. I doubt he's enjoying all the attention this weekend, no doubt this party was his fiancée's idea.

I shower and change into a light blue shirt and grey trousers, fixing my hair in the mirror. I tuck my hand into my pocket, assessing myself. I look like a new man. It's not just the clothes or the hair, it's me. The heaviness in my eyes is absent. The dark circles from weeks of sleepless nights have finally gone.

And it's all because of her.

What does that mean?

I can't dwell on it but a darkness crosses my mind as I realise this man is fleeting. I'll soon tumble back into chaos and anger. Become the monster I truly am. When she's gone, the light in me will extinguish. And there's nothing I can do to stop it.

I step into the hall and find the girls filing out onto the landing. Annalise is at the back of the parade as they march downstairs so I quicken my pace, grabbing hold of her arm.

Pressing a finger to her lips, I tug her away around a corner. I push her up against the wall, flicking my eyes up and down her dress. It's a deep navy blue the colour of the night sky and a singular jewel hangs around her neck, sitting just between the line of her cleavage.

“You look...” I search for the words, wetting my dry tongue. “Angelic.”

She giggles softly, snaking her arms around my waist and encouraging me closer. “I could say the same to you.”

Her laughter makes my insides clench tightly and I lean in, stealing a precious kiss. How many more will we have?

I feel the darkness creeping into my mind, the voice that threatens to overwhelm me bordering on my senses. I inhale slowly, dragging down Annalise's scent, fixating myself on the moment. Nothing else.

“Come on,” she breathes. “Kat is going to string us up if we don't behave.”

She ducks under my arm and I grin, padding after her, dog-like. “I don't want to behave.”

She shoots me a mischievous look over her shoulder, her shining hair swinging across her back.

My cock grows at her expression, my throat drying up.

“Lise,” I groan, taking her waist as we head downstairs.

She giggles softly, only making me even madder for her. The only thing I'm currently in the mood for is stealing her away to myself.

Guests are arriving downstairs, the large dining room set up for the party, the long table pushed to one side and laid out with drinks and food.

Annalise takes my hand, her soft fingers slipping between mine. She guides me across the room to the table where a waiter is pouring drinks.

“What would you like madam, sir?” he asks in a thick Irish accent, glancing between us.

My gut stirs uncomfortably. I shouldn't drink. I don't want to trigger my anxiety. This weekend has nearly been plain sailing.

“A rum and coke, if you have it,” Annalise orders, looking to me.

I tongue my cheek, feeling the old welt there. The one I ripped open after a nightmare, after seeing her burn, her eyes accusing.

I pull my hand free of hers, pressing my fingers into my eyes, trying to keep control on myself.

“Ethan?” Annalise says softly, her arm brushing mine.

I take a slow, steadying breath and open my eyes. I find that calm place inside me again, the one that she's created, and fix my gaze on the waiter. “A sparkling water, thanks.”

Annalise rests her head against my arm as we wait for the guy to pour our drinks.

I gaze around the room, grounding myself, focusing on the warm presence of Annalise beside me. I slip my arm around her, pulling her closer. I'm frightened of my attachment to her. It's growing more intense than it ever was before I truly knew her. And now I don't know how I'll ever cope when I break this off. A selfish part of me wants to stay here in our bubble, sapping her calming energy and pretending I'm not a complete psycho. That my mind isn't a dark place that's caused me to do so many bad, obsessive things.

I run my thumb down Annalise's spine, savouring the feel of her so near to me.

The party soon gets into full swing, the two sides of Kat and Eric's families so glaringly obvious, I have no trouble guessing who's who. Eric's family are rigid, quiet. Just like him. There's only a handful of them in comparison to Kat's family who are all exuberant and full of energy.

We hang out with Libby and Paul, the two of them constantly passing little looks at each other. It makes my chest ache. How is it fair that I have to say goodbye to the chance of being that? Happily together, adoring each other.

I glance at Annalise as she chats with Libby animatedly. A couple of rum and cokes and she's an open book, gesturing passionately with her hands as she debates politics with her friend.

“What do you think?” Libby rounds on Paul.

He sips his beer casually. “I think you should never talk about politics when you're drunk.”

“I'm not drunk!” Libby snaps and I give Paul an apologetic frown as Annalise takes my arm and draws me aside.

“Dance with me,” she implores, grinning.

I take the drink from her hand, placing it with my own on a table before pulling her close to dance. She links her hands around my waist, smiling cheekily up at me. My lips tug up at the corners and I shake my head at her.

“You're trouble, Annalise Drake.”

“So are you, Ethan Harding,” she laughs, leaning back, hanging her weight from my neck.

I spin her around, holding her hand and twirling her, watching her dress spin about her knees. She falls into me, ducking her chin to my chest. I spot Paul guiding Libby out of the room, her giggling raising above the music.

“Have you seen Eric?” Kat appears, placing her hands on her hips.

Annalise and I break apart, turning to her.

“No.” Annalise glances around, searching for him.

Kat tuts, flicking her hair over shoulder. “He's been hiding all night. I dunno what his deal is.”

“Big parties don't seem like his kind of thing,” I say with a shrug.

She narrows her eyes on me. “You don't even know him.”

“I know he's looked uncomfortable all weekend.”

Annalise's hand slides around my arm, trying to halt me. “I'm sure he's around. We'll go look for him.”

Kat glowers at me then turns to Annalise with a brief smile. “Thanks Lise. Keep your dog on a leash, yeah?” She struts away and Annalise moves to follow, her spine straightening.

“How dare she?” She turns to me, her brows furrowed in anger.

“It's my fault. I shouldn't have said anything.” I take her waist, drawing her toward the door.

“Pah! You were just telling the truth. I don't know why she's thrown such an extravagant event for a bloody engagement. Eric hardly speaks when there's just a few people around let alone this.” She waves a hand at the party.

I guide her out of the room to placate her and we head upstairs. “He's probably just taking five minutes to himself.”

“So we should leave him be. Poor guy.” Annalise shakes her head, making her hair dance around her shoulders.

She's so beautiful. Does she even see it?

I run my fingers up her spine, reaching for the ends of her hair and gently pulling them between my fingers.

She glances at me, her cheeks turning candyfloss pink at my expression.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” I drop my eyes to her mouth, avoiding those fiery eyes. I clear my throat as a ball lodges in it, trying to ignore the painful heat sliding up my spine.

She inhales a little breath and I reach up, resting my thumb on her lower lip, tugging ever so slightly.

“Ethan...” she breathes. “You look at me like you're going to stand by my side forever. But you're not going to, are you?”

I pull her closer, a sigh rolling up my throat. “I would stand by your side for all eternity, Lise. But a day will come that you won't want me to.”

She shakes her head, blinking back tears. “That's not true,” she insists.

I silence any further argument with a kiss. This road leads to a precipice, but I'm going to enjoy the drive whilst it lasts.

I walk her backwards toward the bedroom and she reaches behind her, opening it.

As we stumble inside, a scream makes us spring apart. Paul and Libby are going at it on their bed, her legs locked around his waist.

Annalise grabs my hand, guiding me back out of the room shouting, “Sorry!”

She bursts out laughing as I slam the door behind us. I grin in amusement, shaking my head.

“Oops,” she says, hiding behind her hands. “I did not wanna see that!”

“I'm sure they feel the same,” I laugh, snatching her hand and tugging her along the corridor.

“Where are we going?” She continues to giggle and the sound turns me on like mad.

I shoot her a hungry look and her laughter halts in her throat.

“Oh,” she breathes, looking excited.

Footsteps sound up the stairs behind us and I glance back, hearing Kat's heated voice approaching.

“Idiot,” I mutter, yanking open a door at random and tugging Annalise inside.

I press her against me as we stand in complete darkness, trying to remain silent as Kat walks past.

“Eric?” she calls. “Where the heck are you?”

Annalise's hands slide up my back, beneath my shirt, her skin on mine electric.

“I think we're in a cupboard,” she whispers and I let out a low laugh.

We fall silent, our quickened breathing filling the air. I trace my fingers over her waist, memorising her curves.

She breathes in deep as I reach her thighs, gently skimming my hands down them. I feel her move out of reach and her mouth is suddenly hot on my abs.

I gasp as her lips trail lower, consumed by desire, my cock achingly ready for her.

“Annalise,” I groan, encouraging her up by the hand, not wanting her to give me any undeserved pleasure. At least when I harass her it feels good for her too.

She slowly stands, her mouth running up my chest, encouraging me to take my shirt off.

I pull it over my head, discarding it and grabbing hold of her, my cock rubbing hard against the inside of my trousers.

I lift her dress, dragging it up her body and over her head. Gently, I cup her chin, tilting her head back to find her mouth, my lips colliding with hers.

Swiftly, I bunch my hand in her hair, tightening my grip and forcing her against me. She moans, the sound filling the air. I respond by hooking a finger into the waistband of her knickers and tugging her even closer. My hardened cock rubs against her and her hand slides between us, rubbing me in firm strokes.

“I want you so bad,” I growl, slipping my fingers into her silken knickers.

She gasps as I find her wet spot, sliding my index finger inside her.

“I've never felt like this, Ethan,” she sighs, leaning her weight against me.

I slip another finger inside her, silencing her, not wanting to talk. Not wanting to face the truth about what this really is.

Psycho.

I blink away the voice, tugging my hand free of her soaking pussy, needing to lose myself in her. I drag down my zip, releasing my rock hard length. Taking her hips, I turn her around and position myself between her trembling thighs.

“Are you alright?” I murmur, running a hand down her back to relax her.

“Yes,” she moans, her voice laced with desire.

I push between her legs, holding her hips to drive in deep. She cries out and I quickly place a hand over her mouth.

“Quiet,” I hiss through my teeth, moving slowly in and out of her.

Her breath is hot on my hand as I keep it in place, drawing her back against me.

I slide my other hand up her stomach, feeling every muscle firming beneath my touch. I reach beneath her bra, cupping her breast and rolling her hardened nipple between my finger and thumb.

She gasps as I work her slowly toward climax, trying to forget everything but the two of us, entangled here together like nothing else exists in the world.

My end begins to pulse with pleasure and I know I can't hold on much longer.

She pushes her hips back, letting me in deep, her pussy tightening around me with each thrust.

“I want to keep you,” I growl in her ear, my chest filling with longing.

“You can,” she manages.

I shut my eyes, enjoying her, increasing my pace.

She bends forward, leaning on something in the darkness, bracing herself for me.

I tilt my head back, relishing the feel of her around me, groaning as I pump in and out of her.

I slide my hand around her waist, reaching her throbbing clit and rubbing her in slow, teasing strokes.

She starts moaning and crying my name. It makes me feel high with power and I forget about people hearing, I forget about everything but her here with me, surrendering herself.

I give her everything I've got, holding out for her to finish first. She squeezes my length as she comes, her body going slack as she loses the strength in her legs. I hold her up, pushing into her and filling her with my own climax. Pleasure rolls through my shaft and I swear through my teeth, gripping her hips tightly as I hold onto the moment. It lasts forever and equally no time at all.

When we step into the hall a few minutes later, it's beyond obvious what we've been doing. Annalise's hair is mussed up and her lipstick smudged, my shirt is hanging out and buttoned up all wrong.

She laughs at me and I at her as we head to the bathroom to clean ourselves up.

Before we reach it, Eric appears from one of the bedrooms, glancing at us. He pauses, taking us in, his brow furrowing.

“You two are perfect for each other,” he says simply then continues on his way downstairs.

Coming from a guy who's said nothing to me at all since I first met him, it feels somehow more impactful than if anyone else had said it.

Annalise looks a little stunned. I press a hand to her waist, encouraging her into the bathroom, my mind circling with Eric's words. Perfect is a strong word. And perfect is exactly what I'm not. He wouldn't have said it if he knew the truth.

A balloon bursts in my chest, the deflated feeling dragging me down into the depths of darkness.

Dirty, lying, scum.

ANNALISE

Ethan seems off as we head home the next day. The flight is excruciating, him pretending to read a magazine, grunting at my attempts to draw him into conversation. I can't even distract myself by talking to Libby because her face turns bright red every time I try.

By the time we're approaching England, emotion burns in my throat, stinging my eyes. This weekend was one of the best of my life, now he's shutting me out. And I don't understand why.

“Where were you half the night?” Kat's voice sails back from the row ahead.

“I needed a break, Kat. You know I don't like crowds,” Eric mutters, his voice so low I barely hear it.

“Well you'd better get used to it for the wedding.”

“I don't want a big wedding,” he snaps, his voice a deadly growl.

Kat kicks off then and the whole flight is forced to listen to her screeching at Eric. Anxiety grows in my chest like kindling catching light then growing into a roaring frame.

When I simply can't take it any more, I unclip my belt and stand up, my fury overflowing. “Shut up Kat! Not everyone likes doing things the way you do!”

She falls silent, turning to me, her eyes wide as if she can hardly believe I've shouted at her.

The captain speaks across the tannoy, informing us that we're about to land. Before she can come up with a retort, I drop back into my seat.

I feel Ethan's eyes on me but stare determinedly out the window, my pulse thumping in my ears.

The journey through customs is tense and I'm glad when we finally part ways with the others at Charing Cross station. Kat doesn't say a word to me, still seeming shell-shocked by my outburst. Ethan and I take the tube towards home and I finally decide to confront him.

“Are you alright?” I question, touching his arm as he holds onto the yellow rail above my head.

He nods stiffly, remaining silent, avoiding my eyes.

“I thought we had a nice weekend,” I murmur, feeling foolish for saying it but unsure how else to approach this.

“We did,” he says simply but there's a coolness to his voice that warns me off.

“Then why are you being so distant?” I feel so small beneath his arm, his terrifying expression.

He sighs. “I shouldn't have come away with you.”

Hurt lances through my chest and I look down at my feet. I half expect him to go on, to explain that he didn't mean to sound so harsh, but he doesn't.

When we arrive at the station, he wordlessly carries both of our bags, heading up the stairs toward the exit.

I drift behind him, my chest constricting the higher we rise towards daylight. This doesn't make any sense. It must be to do with his anxiety. If only he'd talk to me, maybe I could help.

“Ethan?” I halt him at the top of the stairs, taking my bag from him and shouldering it.

I try to catch his eyes and he frowns as he meets my gaze. I can see pain in his expression as he continues to look, doing it just for me.

I know then that he does care. But this pain inside him is holding him back.

He grimaces, turning away from me, looking ill. “I can't look at you, I'm sorry.”

I go to say something, trying not to be offended, trying to ignore the jolt in my stomach and the ice freezing my heart.

“Okay,” I breathe then I walk away, determinedly and without a word.

I head straight home, my chest compressing and compressing as I practically jog down the road.

I had to get out of there. The way he looked at me, like he's disgusted by me, it cut right to my core.

I desperately want to be strong enough for this. For him. He needs help. And I'm going to give it to him.

There was no explaining, I just fled. Maybe I should have said something, maybe I should have told him what I was thinking. But I was so compelled to do something that I just – ran.

My dad's words ring in my ears. There's one of two things you can do when faced with a problem in life: you can slip quietly away without a sound, or you can do something spectacular with what you've got.

I rush up into my flat, barely slowing as my neighbour Mr Lark exits his apartment.

“Sorry!” I squeak, nearly knocking him over as I fly by.

I hurry into my flat, dropping my bag before running to the desk in my room and fishing out my old university notes. I thumb through them, finding the essay I wrote on how to treat phobias.

I carry it to my bed, sinking onto the edge and curling my knees up beneath me.

I make some notes on my phone, figuring out a way to tackle Ethan's issue. He can do this. He can get past it. I'm certain.

When I'm done, I scroll onto his number, readying to call him. Before I can, my phone rings.

It's my mum.

I raise my brows, lifting it to my ear as I answer.

“Hi Mum, how are you?”

She's quiet for a moment then takes a rattling breath. “Darling, you need to come to St Thomas's Hospital.”

My heart races, my palms sweating. I clutch the phone tighter. “What? Why?”

“It's your father, Annalise. I'm afraid he's- he's-”

“What?” I demand, my hands trembling with terror.

“He's had a heart attack.”

⊱✿ ✿⊰

I arrive at the hospital, my body shaking as I ask the receptionist for directions.

A few minutes later, I halt outside the room, gazing through the window. My mum is sitting beside a hospital bed, hiding my dad from view.

I take a slow breath, readying myself for this.

My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it, stepping into the room.

Mum turns around, her blue eyes bright and watery, the only sign that she's rattled. The rest of her his fixed to perfection, her short blonde hair styled in place, her plum lipstick painted on her lips.

She takes my hand, squeezing and guiding me closer to the bed.

Dad smiles weakly at me, his eyes creasing at the corners. The sheets are tucked around him, exaggerating his large belly.

He's always been such a rock to me, such an unbreakable strength that never seemed capable of crumbling.

“Dad,” my voice breaks and I fall onto the bed, taking his hand and dropping my head to his chest.

“I'm alright, darling,” he says softly, stroking my hair.

But I don't think he is. His skin is so pale, his hands cool to the touch.

“That's enough, Annalise. Don't smother him,” my mother insists, drawing me away.

I sniff, tears leaking from my eyes. I want to be strong for him, like he has always been for me, but I'm incapable of it, my world breaking apart.

“We had quite the shock,” Mum explains, picking a piece of lint from her skirt. “Had to take an emergency flight back to England. The Italian authorities organised it all - very nice people – after he was recovered enough in the hospital, we were flown home, first class no less.”

I can't draw my eyes from Dad's sallow cheeks, his hollow eyes. Her words worm their way into my mind, jolting me out of my shock. “Wait – how long ago was this?”

“Two days ago,” Mum says offhandedly.

“Two days?!” I bark. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Oh darling, we didn't want to worry you. We knew you were away this weekend and didn't want to spoil your fun.”

I frown, my head pounding. “How could you keep this from me?”

Dad reaches for me and his expression tugs at my heart strings. I soften, trying to calm down, not wanting to cause him any stress.

“Don't be petulant, Annalise. It doesn't become you,” Mum says in a haughty voice. That woman thinks she's the bloody Queen sometimes.

I scowl, folding my arms.

“Do you want the doctors to see you like this? There's a couple of nice-looking ones around. You should try smartening yourself up a bit.”

I glare at her in disbelief. “How can you think about hooking me up with men, now?”

“Please don't fight, girls,” Dad says in a soft, placating voice.

Mum sighs, reaching for his hand. “You're upsetting your father.”

I stand, furious that she's accusing me of causing the issue.

My dad gives me a small smile over her shoulder, silently telling me to let it go. My shoulders drop heavily. “Can I get you something? Tea, coffee?”

“Your father's had a heart attack! He can't have caffeine.” Her preened eyebrows fly upwards at me and I set my jaw in silence, heeding my dad's wishes.

“Something else then,” I say through gritted teeth.

“A juice, please,” Dad says and I nod, heading out the door before my mother can say anything more.

I walk to the cafeteria downstairs, buying a couple of bottles of juice. My phone buzzes again and I take it out, finding Ethan calling.

I don't know if I can handle this right now. But part of me longs to speak with him.

Frowning, I hold the phone to my ear and answer, pressing the button to call the lift.

“Hi,” I say, my voice weak, the world weighing heavily on me.

“Lise...can we talk?”

“I can't right now, Ethan.” I sigh, my heart beginning to break open again as I step into the lift.

He pauses and I blink back tears, the fear of losing my father hitting me hard.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, evidently sensing my mood.

“No,” my voice breaks and the tears spill over, sailing down my cheeks. I sob, clutching the bottles of juice to my chest, unable to breathe.

“Incredible, what's wrong?” he asks, his voice strained.

“It's my dad. He's had a heart attack, I'm at the hospital.”

“Idiot...Lise. I'm so sorry.”

I bite down on my trembling lower lip, trying to fight the emotion in my chest, cramming it into a box.

“Which hospital?”

“St Thomas's,” I breathe, gaining a hold on myself.

“I'll come meet you,” he suggests and the idea makes my chest swell.

“Really?”

“Yes, I'm on my way.”

I hang up as the lift doors open and take in a shuddering breath.

I can do this.

ETHAN

I hurry into the hospital, taking out my phone and texting Annalise.

I'm here. Where are you?

I don't know if I should have offered to come. But I was compelled to see her, to make sure she's alright. I don't have any family, I have no idea what she's going through. But if I can offer anything to her, I'm here to give it.

She appears down the corridor, her pace quickening as she spots me. I freeze, not knowing how to act. Not knowing what's appropriate. The last time I saw her she was running away from me.

She jogs the last few feet to me, throwing her arms around my neck. I crush her against me, tugging her waist flush to mine. I kiss her temple, my heart beating faster.

“Thank you for coming,” she says into my shirt, her voice small.

“Are you alright?”

What a stupid question.

“Not really,” she whispers.

My gut churns.

I'm not cut out for this.

She tiptoes, nuzzling her cheek against mine. I stroke her hair, just holding her and hoping it's enough.

“Annalise?” a woman's voice sounds and she springs away from me.

I meet the blue gaze of an older woman, her short blonde hair tucked carefully behind her ears, her lipstick a deep plum colour.

I raise my brows, glancing at Annalise for an introduction.

“Ethan, this is my mum. Mum...this is Ethan.” Annalise gazes between us, frowning.

Oh shoot. I doubt she wanted to introduce me to her mother. I glance down at my clothes, wishing I'd changed into something other than the joggers and t-shirt I wore on the flight.

Her mother's eyes flick up and down me in a flash. And I know with an absolute certainty that I've not passed the test.

“And what are you to my daughter, Ethan?” she asks, smiling warmly but I sense a warning tone to her voice.

Incredible. How do I answer that? We haven't exactly defined the relationship. And I'm not able to give Annalise any commitment. I'm her stalker for goodness sake. This is so messed up.

Annalise steps in, saving me. “We're seeing each other.”

“Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?” her mother demands, her eyes scorching as she gazes over me again. I don't pass that test, either.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat. This woman sees me exactly as I am: unworthy of her daughter.

Annalise shrugs, moving closer, her shoulder rubbing mine.

“Well...what do you do, Ethan?”

Oh idiot.

Tell her what a loser you are.

“I'm, er...unemployed.” I hunch my shoulders, feeling smaller and smaller by the second.

I shouldn't be here.

Waste of good oxygen, you are.

“Hm,” she says simply, seemingly losing interest in me. “Well, now isn't the best time for introductions I'm afraid. My husband is lying in a hospital bed.”

“Mum,” Annalise says through her teeth. “I asked him here.”

“And do you really think that was appropriate, darling?” she says through a smile.

I need to shut all of this passive aggression down.

“I just wanted to see that your daughter was okay.” I squeeze Annalise's arm before moving away. “I'll give you some space.”

Annalise's hand curls around my arm. “You can stay.”

Her mother reaches across the space between us, taking hold of Annalise's wrist. She gives me a hard, unwavering stare. “I think it's best if you go, Ethan. It was nice meeting you.”

My chest constricts.

I release Annalise's hand. She looks furious, like she's about to explode at her mother. Instead, she takes me completely by surprise, launching herself at me, and pressing her lips to mine.

I go stiff in surprise, cupping her head, electricity firing through me.

“I'll call you, I'm sorry,” she murmurs against my mouth, leaving me aching for her.

I nod, resting my forehead to hers briefly before turning on my heel and striding from the hospital.

Useless prick.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

I wait anxiously for Annalise to call, pacing around my flat. The sedatives my doctor prescribed glare at me from time to time on my bedside table. I don't take them. This weekend proved I can handle my trash. With her by my side, anyway.

My phone rings and I stride purposefully across the room to answer it, snatching it off the bed. My stomach plummets at the sight of Clarissa calling. I'm half tempted not to answer but considering I've not been in touch for days, I figure it's best to put her at ease.

“Hello?”

“Ethan, how are you? You've been quiet.”

“Have I?”

“Yes. And considering how much you've been seeing me lately, I figured I'd check in,” her voice is a soft and warm tone.

“Well everything's fine. Thanks for calling.” I try to round this up, not wanting her to ask too many questions.

She continues quickly before I have a chance to hang up, “You'll bring your journal with you next time I see you, won't you?”

My stomach twists tightly. “Yes,” I say through clenched teeth, glancing at it across the room. It's so private, I can't bear picturing her bright green eyes assessing every detail. Drawing conclusions about me from my most guarded thoughts. It's no accident that she hasn't got her paws on it yet. I don't want the woman near the thing.

“Good. Let me know when you'll be in next.”

“Will do.” I go to hang up, my thumb hovering over the button.

“Oh and, Ethan? Are you still seeing that girl?”

I pause, unsure how to answer. I guess I have to stick to this lie. “Uhuh.”

“And is she making you happy?”

I frown. What a question. Annalise is making me more than happy, she's making me feel brand new, a slate wiped clean. “Yes,” I say earnestly through a breath.

“Good...good. Well, see you soon.”

Perhaps Clarissa really does care about me. Perhaps she'd like to see me happy. I mutter a goodbye and hang up, feeling strange after talking to her, an odd niggling sensation growing in the centre of my chest.

CLARISSA

I continue to touch myself after Ethan hangs up, sucking on my lower lip as I absorb the pleasure.

Even his voice effects me. This is completely unlike me. He's just a man. I should be more than capable of getting him to mess me.

I have to move things along between us.

I want that journal. It will give me the insight I need to unravel him, I'm sure. But if he keeps evading my request, it's going to be a problem. What is it he's hiding in there?

When I've given myself release, I head downstairs to where Nick is tied up on my frame, a ball gag in his mouth.

I splay my hand over his abs, feeling him shiver from my touch. “Have you been behaving?”

He nods, a frightened noise escaping his throat. I worked him hard today. The bloody marks on his back and legs are proof of that.

I think of Ethan tied up here and extract my hand. It's not Nick I want, it's him.

I untether Nick, letting him down. He drops to his knees in front of me, bowing his head. I run my fingers into his hair, my mind elsewhere.

Ethan seems happier lately, and that bothers me. He doesn't rely on me like he used to. It's this girl he's seeing, I suspect. She's probably sucking his cock every night. That'd make any guy happy.

Hussy.

I release the gag from Nick's mouth, dropping it to the ground. I slide a finger under his chin, tilting his head back to look at me.

“Am I beautiful, Pet?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

It's a drilled response and does nothing to boost my self-esteem. I sigh, scraping a fingernail across his cheek. “Do you love me?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And do you want to please me?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I encourage Nick to his feet and gaze up at the once-strong man I used to adore. I lean against his broad chest, hearing his heart beat erratically beneath his ribcage. Nick used to make me feel loved, he used to come to me in the night and wrap me in his arms. I miss those days. Before he betrayed me. Before he lied to my sister, told her we were nothing.

I slide my hands up his sides, digging my fingers in. “Are we nothing, Nick?” I murmur, not really expecting a response.

“I'm nothing,” he breathes and I glance up, his expression vacant but his eyes glinting.

And for a second I feel something in the pit of my stomach, an old wound dragged open.

“Go back to your room,” I command, my voice a whisper.

He moves, marching straight across the basement and disappearing through the door.

I inhale deeply, forcing the pain away, not letting myself remember. I have a new focus now. Nick is my past. And Ethan is my future.

ANNALISE

At 2:03 am that night, my life is irrevocably altered.

Mum called me, told me it had happened quickly, he hadn't felt a thing. He was on a lot of medication. There'd been no pain.

But I feel it, all of it, every last drop, every ounce of pain in the world.

Her words echo in my mind, over and over until I'm split apart by them, until there is nothing that exists but them and me.

“He's gone, darling, he's gone.”

Life is fleeting and fragile and can be extinguished as quickly as breath on a candle. And there's nothing you can do except live on in the darkness left behind by its absence.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

Mum moved in with me, she had to. She and Dad had sold everything to buy the yacht. Now it was laid to waste, sitting in a harbour in Italy and who knows how long it would remain there.

As a week passes and the day of the funeral arrives, I withdraw into myself, thinking of my father each day, remembering my childhood, remembering his passion for life. But it's as if he's taken that inaugural zest with him, stealing the few pieces of it that lived in me too.

I haven't seen Ethan since that day at the hospital. I called him, told him what had happened, told him it was best if we didn't see each other for a while.

I sit at the small table in the kitchen. Mum sits opposite, fixing her make-up in a little compact mirror.

I bite my nails as I read through the letter my dad wrote for me before he died. It was like he knew this was going to happen. And that makes me furious because he never said a word. He let me believe he was going to get better. And that wasn't fair, because I would have given more of myself, I would have said something, I would have told him how much I adored him, how his light filled me up and gave me hope each day. How every time I worried things wouldn't work out, I'd think of him and his quiet, unwavering confidence in fate and find comfort.

My dearest Annalise,

I still remember the day you were born, your little wrinkled hands and big amber eyes. When I held you for the first time, you cried and cried. But I rocked you over and over until you were soothed, until my arms ached. In the final days of my life, I recall the weight of you then, how small and fragile you were. And I think of you now and how proud I am of who you've become. You've always followed your heart, no matter what your mother and I have asked of you. You live life how it should be lived: for your dreams, your passions, for love. And I couldn't ask for more than that.

Look after your mother, she needs you more than you realise. And remember to never lose hope, darling. Things will always work out for the best, even when the world seems dark and you can't understand how things will ever be light again, the clouds will break and the sun will shine. I promise.

Love you always and forever,

Dad

I place the letter down, my hand trembling. My mother dabs the lipstick on her lips and I stand, snatching the mirror from her hand. “How can you sit here putting make-up on? How can you do it?!”

Her blue eyes narrow on me and she stands. “Don't stand there accusing me, Annalise. You don't know anything!”

She snatches the mirror from my hand, turning and heading straight into the bathroom. The door slams and I flinch, a shudder running through me.

I unravel, sinking into my seat, resting my head in my arms, letting myself break apart.

ETHAN

With Annalise refusing to see me after her father's passing, I descend into chaos. I'm left floundering, trying to stay above the waves, above the darkness. I sink lower and lower every day. And soon I fall into old habits.

I spend most nights outside her window, kneeling on the fire escape, rain or shine. I watch as she unravels, both she and her mother struggling to live on top of one another, both of them breaking apart when the other isn't looking.

I stopped calling her after a few days. She needs time to heal. And perhaps this break is what I need too, selfish as it is. Perhaps this is how we should be: me beyond the window gazing in at the beauty of her true self.

Her pain is my pain and I feel it in the deepest regions of my body. There are times when I'm so absorbed, gazing at her, that I lose sense of all time, hours slipping by until I finally remember to go home. To stop watching.

Today is the day of the funeral and I plan to be there, to pay my respects to the man who brought this perfect being into the world. Who loved and cared for her, who taught her about life, about love. Her father couldn't have been anything like mine, no one would sit crying over him. No one would have wept when he died. And perhaps that's the point of living that my father missed, that being loved is all you have in the end. And if no one cares that you're gone, what good did you do? What was the point of your short time on this earth?

The thoughts warn off the voice for a while. I'm left in peace as I follow Annalise and her mother to the funeral, taking a taxi and telling the driver to follow theirs.

I'm dressed in a black hoody and jeans. I know how to blend into the background, I know how to move amongst a crowd unseen. I can be invisible in plain sight.

We arrive at an ancient church in St Pancras. The sky is stormy, threatening rain, the world seeming sapped of colour, of light.

I follow at a distance, taking in the pale faces of those gathered here. This man was loved, everyone here is devastated at his loss. What was my father's funeral like? How many people were there? Did anyone cry for him?

I felt nothing but relief the day I heard he was gone. Like the world was a little brighter because of his absence. I don't know what that makes me, but I know it isn't good.

I watch as Annalise hugs friends, her family, tears sliding down her pale cheeks. I'd give anything to walk up to her, to offer her my arms as comfort. But she wouldn't want me here, I'm not a part of this grief. I'm just an observer, witnessing her pain, her heartache.

I wait in the graveyard as the funeral takes place inside, winding amongst the tombstones, amongst the dead. I'm more at home here than I am in that church. Would anyone grieve over me if I laid here, six feet under? There was a time when I was loved. I had friends, people who cared. I shut them out, I lost sight of who I was and I didn't want them to see who I had become.

In my first year of service, I was taken out in a crossfire, caught two bullets in my torso. I was shipped back to England after I was stitched up, recovering in a hospital. Friends came to me then, bringing cards, flowers. I was still an unbroken man.

There was even a girl, Kelly, she liked me. There was a time when I considered being with her.

I saw her years later, after the incident in Iraq, after I was discharged. At a bar in East London, she looked right at me, surrounded by friends. She saw me as this, as what I am now. And she gazed through me with steady eyes, turning away. I don't know if she didn't recognise me or if she didn't care to. I had no right to be angry, but I was. And I spent days beating myself up for it, lost to the voice in my head, lost to my father's insults. She had every right to hate me, I'd shut her out with the rest of our friends. But that didn't make it any easier.

The procession emerge from the church and I watch, hanging back by the trees, my eyes flitting from one cold expression to another. Nearly every face is wet with tears. This man was someone special, someone adored. And I hope wherever he is now, he knows he lived life the right way.

CLARISSA

Ethan comes to my house every couple of days. He's so very close to breaking, it's beautiful to watch. To rip such a sturdy, broken man in half and play with his tortured soul is heavenly.

I don't know why, but he no longer has that lightness about him. That hope. Perhaps the girl he was seeing broke up with him. Perhaps she saw the dark in him and ran.

He won't tell me either way. He's often silent throughout our sessions, his cries of agony the only noise he makes. But I know he's closer to being mine than ever...

At 5pm sharp, he comes to me, his eyes hollow and lacking in strength. Yes, he's very close. Perhaps not today, or tomorrow, but soon I'll have him shredded and torn.

I take his arm, leading him to the basement. “How are you Ethan?”

He just sighs.

“You're hurting. Is there something on your mind?” I walk him to the metal frame and he stands on it without a word, tugging off his shirt and lifting his arms.

His body is riddled with my marks, branding him as mine. Each one a symbol of my power.

“Annalise,” he breathes.

“Don't speak her name,” I hiss, a spike of anger going through me. I don't want that girl mentioned in this space. My space. This is a place of sanctuary, of strict rules where I am in charge.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as I tighten the straps around his wrists.

I run my fingers down his abs and he eyes me curiously. He's magnificent, like a dark angel tethered here by my hand, surrendering me his tainted soul.

I move to the chest, selecting a new implement, one I haven't used on him before. It's a tazer with a triangular metal prong on the end, three sharp serrated points, capable of cutting the skin. I'm going to increase the amount of pain he takes twice fold. If I'm going to get him to break, I need to up my game.

I saunter over to him, a rush of adrenaline flooding through my body. I eye his jeans, the line of hair running beneath them. He's never got hard for me in our sessions. That's something I'm disappointed with. He doesn't find this sexual, but perhaps once he's given in to my power, he'll allow me to touch him. I'd like to offer him pleasure, and that's unusual for me. But I admire this man and his strength. We're equals. And perhaps he's what I've been looking for all these years. A man to match me. But first I must get him to do my bidding without question. There is still a fire that burns in him but it's glowing low and I need to douse it completely.

“Tell me what you are,” I purr and I see him straining with the voice in his head.

“Scum,” he growls, and I jab the tazer into his side, puncturing the skin.

He cries out, his screams causing me to grow hungry for him.

I hold it in place, my breathing increasing as I watch him come apart, his face contorted in agony.

I extract my arm, gazing at the blood spilling from the cut. I reach out, catching the line that slides down his skin.

“This is what you want?” I ask, showing him the blood on my hand.

He grimaces at me then nods, shutting his eyes. I paint the blood onto his chest in a crescent moon, a C, marking him as mine. Owning him.

ETHAN

The days lose meaning. Time is nothing. The only difference is whether it's dark or light beyond my window. I lay, barely eating, not sleeping. I'm void of anything, including the voice, the pain.

I'm hollowed out, a dead tree with nothing but space beneath its bark.

There's only one place I can go, to try and drag the life back into my body. To Annalise.

I roll out of bed, pulling on some clothes, dark jeans, dark jacket, tugging up my hood.

The guilt is absent as I head to her place, my heart beating steadily, unfazed but what I'm about to do.

I reach the fire escape behind her house. It's dark in the alley, the moon concealed behind clouds tonight. They sail across the sky, the wind whipping through the air. I tug the ladder down, the screech of metal making my blood spike with adrenaline. I gain feeling again, desire.

I climb the rungs, higher and higher until I ascend to the ledge where I can see in. I kneel, worship-like but I'm not here for God, I'm here for her.

She's in the kitchen. If I crawl to the edge of the metal platform I can just see through the door where light is spilling into the lounge. Her mother isn't present, so it's just me and her. Little does she know.

After a while she enters the lounge, dropping onto the sofa with a glass of white wine. She turns the television on and I sit back on my heels, relaxing, absorbing her expression. She seems brighter at last, I think her pain is finally easing.

I'm so mesmerised that I barely notice the moon slipping free of the clouds, its milky glow shining down on me, illuminating me.

Annalise's eyes snap to the window and I freeze, ice flooding my veins.

There's a moment that lasts an eternity where I know she's seen me. And then I remember to move.

She stands in alarm, hurrying toward the pane. But I'm already gone hooking my ankles either side of the ladder and sliding down at speed.

Idiot!

I'm running as I hit the floor, sprinting as fast as I can toward the street, turning right, speeding down the road.

Idiot. You deserve to be caught.

I'm breathless as I reach home, heading inside and charging upstairs, not stopping until I'm safely locked away inside my flat. My breathing is shallow, my chest raw.

I scrape a hand through my hair, pacing, anxious. What if she recognised me? Did she get close enough to tell?

My phone rings and I jump, tugging it out of my pocket and finding Annalise calling.

I gaze at in horror. What if she knows? What if she's calling to tell me the police are on their way?

I have no choice. I have to find out the truth.

I inhale deeply, trying to slow my ragged breathing. “Hello?” I try to sound calm, clenching my jaw hard.

“Ethan, incredible. I'm sorry to call but...there was someone here, at my flat. Watching me.” She sounds sickened and I nearly convulse at her tone.

You're that sicko she's afraid of.

“What?” I act dumb, panting, unable to help myself.

“I've called the police. Someone was outside my window!” She's frantic and my pulse is ever-rising.

I did this to her. I scared her.

“Idiot,” I breathe, unsure how to respond.

Worthless piece of trash.

“I'm sorry- I just didn't know who else to call...”

“It's alright,” I try, rubbing my fingers against my eyelids.

“Can you come over? I don't want to be alone. My mum's staying with my aunt tonight.”

Incredible. This is not good. How can I go over there and comfort her for something I did?

“Lise...”

“Please, Ethan.”

Her anxious tone breaks me in half and I find myself giving in. “Sure, course. I'll be there soon.”

“Thank you,” she exhales.

I hang up, dropping my phone to the bed, gazing at it in horror. What the heck have I done?

I shower, washing away the sweat, shaving the inch of stubble I've not bothered to deal with in nearly a week.

When I'm dressed, I head to Annalise's place, finding a police car pulled up outside.

My blood chills. What if they suspect me? What if they work it out? What if they find CCTV footage or ask one of the neighbours, someone that caught a glimpse of me?

I approach the door, finding it ajar. I head upstairs, knocking on Annalise's door, trying to get a handle on my anxiety.

She answers, her eyes wide and fearful as she throws her arms around me. “Oh Ethan.”

“It's alright,” I murmur, circling my arms around her waist. This is the sickest thing I've ever done. How can I continue to deceive her like this?

There's two police officers inside, a male and female. The woman eyes me with suspicion and I immediately drop my gaze to my feet.

“This is Ethan, my er- boyfriend,” Annalise splutters.

I frown at the them, holding out my hand for the police to take.

“Good evening. Will you be staying with Miss Drake tonight?” the male officer asks, his large moustache twitching.

“Yes,” I confirm and Annalise slides her hand into mine.

Sordid mess-up.

“Good. Well we'll do a sweep of the area and ask the neighbours if they saw anything. From now on, I suggest you keep the curtains closed.”

“That's it?” Annalise questions, her tone high-pitched. “Keep my curtains closed?”

I thumb the back of her hand, trying to think of anything I could say that would make this any less horrendous.

“Yes. I'm afraid that's all we can offer you at the moment. We'll keep you informed,” the woman says, nodding before leading the way to the door.

Annalise gazes after them in disbelief. “What a waste of time.”

I clear my throat, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “So...did you see who it was?”

“No. Just a figure.” She rubs her eyes. “Goodness, what if he's come here before, Ethan?”

I shake my head at her, having no answer. He's definitely been here before, he's in your house.

Monster, monster, monster.

She takes my hand, glancing at the window where the pale blue curtains are now firmly closed.

“Can we go to the bedroom? I feel uncomfortable in here.”

Idiot. I've caused this.

I tug my fingers free, stepping back. I shouldn't be here. I should go. How could I have come here?

Comforted by the man she's afraid of. Sick idiot.

“Ethan? Is everything okay?” She eyes me, searching.

I frown heavily. I have no choice. I have to stay with her. I can't tell her the truth.

I follow her to the bedroom and she kicks the door firmly closed.

She perches on the edge of the bed, glancing up at me, looking vulnerable.

“How have you been?” I ask softly.

She sighs, falling back onto the bed, wriggling up to the pillows. “Fine, I guess.”

“I doubt that,” I murmur. “You lost your dad, you must have been going through hell.”

She nods and suddenly I see tears, her face screwing up. She drops an arm over her eyes.

I despise seeing her like this, it kills me.

I kick off my shoes, sliding out of jacket before crawling onto the bed and pulling her into my arms.

I know I shouldn't. But she wants comfort from me, and I can't fight the urge to give it to her.

She snuggles into my chest, her tears dampening my shirt.

“I've missed you,” she whispers, pawing at me.

I'm undone, my heart racing, my body coming to life in a soaring wave.

“I've missed you, too,” I say softly guiding her hand to my mouth, trailing my lips over her warm skin.

She stops crying, leaning up and kissing me, cupping my cheek.

I stiffen, not wanting this to get out of hand.

Go ahead. Stalk her and then harass her.

She clutches me, desperate, tugging up my shirt.

“Annalise,” I warn but she keeps tugging.

I pull it firmly down, not wanting her to see the mess Clarissa has made of my body.

She frowns, pulling away. Her expression is so hurt that I catch her hand.

“Eyes,” I sigh and she nods, closing them.

I survey her longing expression, her chin tilted up, waiting. For what? For me to kiss her?

She thinks she's safe with me. Safe from the stalker. How little she knows. I'm filled with the desire to show her. To show her the one to be feared is in this room.

“Don't open your eyes,” I command and she nods.

I push her off my lap, leaving her kneeling at the centre of the bed. I run a hand through my hair, eyeing her, circling the bed. Idiot. Is this a good idea?

Show her what you are.

“Take off your clothes,” I say quietly, standing at the end of the bed, watching her, becoming the monster.

This is who you are.

She pulls off her top, wriggling out of her jogging bottoms before tentatively unhooking her bra, her eyes remaining closed all the while.

I grow hard at the sight of her full breasts and even harder as she tugs off her little thong, baring herself to me.

She lays back on the bed, lifting her knees so I'm rewarded with the sweet view of her pussy.

“Touch yourself,” I growl and she slowly slides a hand down her stomach, reaching between her legs.

A low noise escapes my throat and I unbuckle my jeans, releasing my aching erection. I take my throbbing length in my fist, rubbing up and down in time with her own soft strokes of herself.

She moans and I close my eyes, sighing at the sound.

“This is for you, Ethan,” she breathes and my end twitches with pleasure.

“Are you wet, Lise?” I rub myself harder, growing impatient.

“Yes,” she moans, sliding her fingers into her pussy.

I'm desperate for her, jerking myself off harder.

“Get up,” I snap and she does, her eyes still closed.

I release my cock, moving to the wardrobe and fetching a scarf. Pulling it over her eyes, I tie it tightly in place. She reaches out, her fingers grazing my cock.

Idiot.

In a swift movement, she slides off the bed, dropping to her knees in front of me. I try to move away but she guides me between her lips and I lose the ability to fight. I'm too big for her mouth but she attempts to take me all the way in, tugging off the base of my cock when she fails.

I groan, taking hold of the loose end of the scarf hanging down her back and gripping it tightly.

She slides me further into her mouth and somehow goes all the way this time, my end hitting the back of her throat. I hiss through my teeth, teetering on the edge of coming.

I let her continue until I'm about to explode even though she's anxious to continue. I tug her away, bending low and sweeping her into my arms.

She squeals in surprise and I carry her through to the lounge, darkness swimming in my mind. I take her to the very window she's afraid of. The one she saw me through.

I place her down, ripping the curtains open and pressing against her spine.

She stumbles forward, her body squashing against the pane.

“No one's going to watch you tonight but me,” I say in her ear.

She releases a little murmur of excitement and I press into her harder.

“Are you afraid, Lise?”

“No,” she breathes. “Not with you here.”

“Whoever was out there would probably like to do this to you.”

She inhales at my words. “Ethan,” she rebukes but I can hear the desire in her voice.

“He'd forget you until you were screaming,” I growl, positioning my cock between her legs.

“You're twisted,” she laughs and I bite her ear.

“You have no idea.” I push inside her, groaning my pleasure at her tightness.

She tilts her hips, giving me access, letting me push in deep. She's soft and warm and wet around me, squeezing me.

I pump in and out of her, crushing her to the glass, resting my hands on the cool pane. I gaze out at the fire escape, seeing myself reflected in the window. I hold her hips, ramming into her, high on this twisted fantasy.

I slow my pace, revelling in her. “He'd be a lucky guy, wouldn't he?”

She moans softly. “I'm the one who's lucky.”

“Are you sure about that?” I harass her harder, not letting her answer as she arches her back, groaning in ecstasy.

“Yes,” she gasps when I give her some relief, rocking into her slow and steady.

Heat rolls up my cock and I know I'm seconds from finishing. I have to get her there first.

Her body grips me tightly and I force my way into her, driving in so far that she cries out. I move in closer, widening her legs, kicking her heels apart, flattening her to the glass.

I run my fingers in soft strokes up her side, worshipping her silken skin.

I want to claim her orgasm, stealing it for myself. A sick part of me wants her to know that I'm both the man who terrified her and the man who harassed her until she could barely stand.

She goes slack, moaning my name as she comes, clenching me hard. I'm pushed over the edge, groaning, resting my head against her shoulder as I finish inside her.

She falls against me and I catch her, savouring the feel of her around me a second longer. I tug free of her, turning her to me and placing a soft kiss on her lips.

As my desire ebbs away, the guilt sweeps in on cue. What the heck is the matter with me?

Twisted creep.

I release the blindfold from her and she ducks her head into my chest. I frown, stroking her hair, hating that she has to hide those beautiful amber eyes from me.

“No one's ever made me feel like that,” she says into my shirt.

I raise my eyebrows at the comment.

“I like that you push my boundaries,” she continues. “I like that you frighten me sometimes. Is that wrong?”

I remain silent. Yeah, it's wrong. Mainly because she has a very good reason to be genuinely frightened of me.

I grip her tighter, running my hands over her naked body, eyeing our reflection in the window. I'm a dark figure, barely distinguishable with the way the light is directed on her. She's bared in my arms, surrounded by me.

My time without her has left me sinking into darkness again. And now it's endangering her. I'm becoming the monster I was beyond the glass, right here beside her.

ETHAN

I'll see Clarissa again today. The torture is the only time I escape the guilt. And after yesterday, I'm riddled with it.

I roll over, reaching for the phone on my bedside table, finding Annalise calling.

I'm lifted from the darkness momentarily, holding it to my ear and answering.

“Hello,” my voice is dry, croaky. When was the last time I drank something?

“Ethan?” she says, a note of hope in her voice.

“Hi, how are you?” I ask, genuinely concerned, my ache for her stirring deep in my body.

“I'm...okay. Are you busy today?”

Busy. When was the last time I was 'busy'? “No. Do you want to come over?”

The deeper I get with this girl, the harder it is to pull myself out. I crave her like a wolf craves meat.

“Yeah, okay.” I can hear the smile in her voice and I know exactly what's on her mind. My end twitches at the thought of what I did to her yesterday.

Filthy,, freak.

My gut writhes as I check the clock on the wall. I have to be at Clarissa's soon. Perhaps her torture will prepare me to spend an evening with Annalise, without the voice in my head.

“Can you come over at six?”

“I'll be there.”

She waits on the line and I ache to say something worthwhile. The L word hovers on my lips and I bite my tongue.

You can't love, Ethan Harding. This is obsession.

“See you soon?” she says, hopeful. And I'm glad she hasn't lost that part of herself since her father's passing, her hope, her light.

“See you soon,” I echo, hanging up, standing.

I shut my eyes as my world shifts precariously, making me feel unbalanced.

You shouldn't see her, scum. Let her go.

A sharpness rips through my chest.

There is only one reprieve from my pain, the bitter voice in my head, the person who understands me best.

Clarissa.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

“Tell me what you are.”

I screw my eyes up, the agony in my head a thousand times worse than any physical torture she can inflict on me.

My father is more present than ever and I know it has to do with how I acted yesterday. I'm losing myself to darkness, succumbing to it. And this is the only way to fix it.

WORTHLESS. PATHETIC. COWARD.

“Just do it!” I bark at her.

She twists the tazer into my side, the serrated edges burrowing into my skin, electricity pouring through every fibre of my body.

I hang my weight on the leather buckles around my wrists, roaring through gritted teeth.

All at once, it stops.

“Tell me what you are, Ethan.”

I open my eyes, panting, hanging forward, gazing down into Clarissa's puddle-green eyes. She's close, just a few inches from my face, looking up at me, her mouth open, panting.

I groan at the sharpness in my chest. It's like my father is nearby, lurking in the shadows. He's just out of sight, carrying a cricket bat, dragging it along the ground, the wood chafing on the floorboards, sending fear into my veins.

I'm there again, cowering on the floor.

“What's the point, Ethan? Why do you even bother to fight?” His voice is a snarl, dripping with hatred. He kneels before me, exhaling the smell of vodka, making an acrid taste rise in my throat.

My head is sticky and warm, my cheek turning to ice as it lays against the cold floor.

Fingers slide into my hair and I'm forced to look up at him. He's impossibly huge, his form dominating everything in my sight.

“Be a man, Ethan. Get the heck up,” he's slurring now, standing, moving to the bottle of vodka he left on the dining table.

I push myself up, my hands trembling. I curl them into fists as I gaze down at the harsh grain in the floorboards. Blood drips in a steady stream from a split by my eye. The same blood that's on the edge of the cricket bat.

My father weighs it in his hands. “One good swing. That's all it took to knock you down. You're no son of mine. You're pathetic,” he spits, saliva flying through his clenched teeth.

I brace myself on the dresser that houses are family photos. My father left them there, after my mother walked out. They sell the lie that we're happy, but the last photo added to that cabinet was when I was barely three years old. Just before she left.

I'm woozy, seeing double as I try to regain my thoughts.

“Tell me what you are, Ethan,” Clarissa's voice fills my ears but I can't see her.

“You're pathetic, boy.” My father spits at my feet, moving forward and grabbing my collar in his fist. “Say it.”

“I'm pathetic,” I breathe, the words leaving my lips in both the vision and reality.

My father shoves me against the dresser. Electricity simultaneously explodes through my body.

“Worthless, piece of trash!” he roars at me.

I remember this day. The day I fought back.

He grabs me by the throat with both hands, the bat dropping to his feet. I'm almost as tall as him, sixteen years old and starting to fill out. I grab his wrists, trying to pull him off.

“You're just like your mother. A failure at life.” His eyes blaze at me, the same shade as mine but they're bloodshot too, red around the rim.

I'm not sure if it was the dig at me or the dig at my mother that made me snap. But either way, I broke, the chains around my body finally loosening enough to give me a glimpse of hope.

I find the strength in me to snatch his hands away, shoving him back. I don't know if it was the fact that he was inebriated or just caught off guard by me fighting back. Either way, he lost his footing, stumbling.

I rush at him, my hands around his throat, forcing him to the ground.

“FORGET YOU!” My grip tightens, my fingers aching, cramping. I squeeze and squeeze, desperate to steal the life from him.

He knocks the table with his flailing legs and the bottle of vodka drops to the floor with a clunk, rolling toward his hand.

“Eth-an-” a choked noise. A woman's.

I'm jolted back to the room.

I'm on the ground, knelt over Clarissa, my hands around her throat, crushing her windpipe, the remains of the broken leather straps on my wrists.

My heart lurches as she jams the electrode into my side.

I convulse, falling off her onto my back, gasping.

She sits up, holding her neck, her eyes wide. Her skirt has ridden up her thighs, her body twisted awkwardly toward me.

I pant, my mind reeling, my hands hurting. The scars on my forearm burn afresh, the memory of the broken vodka bottle lacerating my skin bursting to the forefront of my mind.

Clarissa scrambles onto her knees, eyeing me, drawing down breaths in deep rasps. I jam my fingers into my eyes, trying to recover, desperate to get a handle on the panic invading my body.

“Ethan,” Clarissa says in a rasp.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” I murmur, screwing up my eyes.

“You're a force to be reckoned with, Ethan.” There's pride in her voice and I don't understand it, I just roll onto my side, bringing my knees to my chest, holding my head in my hands.

She lays a palm on my back; it's cool against my burning skin.

Gently, she strokes me.

I crumble, my body shivering, my heart aching.

“Hush now,” she breathes, continuing to soothe me in patient strokes.

When I finally stop shaking, she stands, walking around so I'm faced with her crimson high heels.

She crouches, slipping a finger under my chin and tilting my head back.

My heart clenches as I meet her eyes. She done something to me, something I can't quite comprehend. Like all the fear I have for my father has been transferred onto her.

“You'll come upstairs now, won't you?” she says softly.

I nod, my heart racing.

I push myself to my feet and Clarissa takes my arm, her fingers curling around my bicep.

I don't need much encouragement, hounding after her like she's holding a leash around my throat.

“I'm sorry,” I repeat, hanging my head.

“It's alright, Ethan. I understand.”

And I really feel that she does. Like she's the only person in the world who truly understands me. She sees me for what I am and there's something both freeing and terrifying about that.

“Go home,” she orders, opening the front door for me, handing me my shirt.

I tug it on, nodding and walking away, feeling like a crucial part of me has been wrenched from my body. Like I'm not the same man I was when I came here today.

And the worst thing of all – or perhaps it's the best thing - is the fact that I feel nothing, like that vacant space inside me is growing, sucking every part of myself down into it, erasing who I am forever.

ANNALISE

I'm anxious, waiting on the step outside Ethan's house, hugging my knees to my chest. Rain pours down from the sky, the porch just covering me.

It's funny how a million sounds can become one. The singular drips slowly gathering into a thundering roar.

I gaze at the sheet of water hammering the ground, shivering from the cool air.

I don't know if I should wait for Ethan. He said he'd be here over an hour ago. Where is he?

I go through stages of anger to intense worry. Switching from 'what if he doesn't want me?' to 'what if something's happened to him?' every few seconds.

A dark figure appears through the blanket of rain, his hood up, his eyes shadowed and dark.

I spring to my feet, hurrying into the rain to meet him.

“Ethan!” I cry over the rush of noise.

He doesn't stop, his shoulder rubbing mine as he passes me, heading up the steps.

My heart wrenches as I turn, gazing after him, my body already soaked from the few moments I've been exposed.

“Ethan?” I try again.

“Go home, Annalise,” he orders, his tone flat.

My heart aches at his words. But I've been here for over an hour and I'm not going to just let him away with abandoning me like that. He was the one that invited me here!

He unlocks the door, pushing inside.

I hurry after him, catching the door before it swings shut.

He heads upstairs and I stomp after him, rage burning in my chest. “Hey! Are you seriously not going to give me an explanation for this? I've been waiting for you for over an hour!”

He ignores me, continuing to climb the stairs.

I frown at his silence, jogging after him. What is his problem?

I reach his flat, slipping in after him, my pulse rising.

“Ethan?!” I snap, my patience at an end.

He turns to me, pulling off his shirt in a swift movement. His eyes are hollow, gazing at me like he's not really seeing me.

My rage flatlines at the sight of his marred body. Bloody wounds cover his torso, still oozing, each one a perfect triangle.

I gasp, clapping my hands to my mouth. “Who did this to you?”

My eyes water as I approach, my hands shaking as I reach out to touch him.

He remains stock still, silent as I gently circle my fingers around one of the punctures.

“What is this? Tell me,” I demand, fear darting through my body.

Has someone hurt him? Or did he do this to himself?

“This is the answer to my problems,” he growls, dropping his shirt to the floor.

I frown, not understanding, but desperate to. I lift my eyes to his and he stares blankly back at me, not even flinching.

I inhale slowly, holding his gaze, wondering how this is possible. How is he looking into my eyes without being in pain?

“I've been cured,” he says, his voice low.

I shake my head, moving away, disgusted that someone would do this to him.

Heading to the kitchen, I try to stop my hands from shaking as I search the cupboards for antiseptic. Finding a bottle of iodine and some cotton wool, I return to him. He's sunk down onto the edge of the bed, his eyes on the floor, his shoulders sagging.

“You're not yourself,” I breathe, kneeling on the bed beside him, eyeing his back where more of the bloody marks are branded on his skin. Between them are faint lines, scabbing over.

“What are these?” I murmur, grazing my fingertips over the marks.

He says nothing and I sigh, opening the bottle of iodine and pouring some onto a bud of wool. Carefully, I dab his wounds. He doesn't even flinch, though it must hurt really bad.

I work slowly, meticulously, making sure every one of them is tended to.

When I'm finished, I place the bottle on the bedside table, standing.

I move round to face him, crouching down and taking his hand. He doesn't move, gazing through me, unseeing.

Tears prick my eyes and I choke them back, lifting his hand to my mouth and kissing it.

“Ethan, please talk to me. What happened to you?”

His eyes find mine at last, giving me that same blank stare that is entirely unaffected by me.

A tear leaks from my eye and slowly, he lifts his hand, wiping it from my cheek. I reach up, cupping his jaw, running my thumb in soft strokes over his stubble.

“Please talk to me.”

“I've been having aversion therapy to deal with the voice in my head,” he reveals, his tone cool.

My frown deepens, my mind reeling.

“Aversion therapy?” I spit. “This is extreme Ethan. No one should hurt you like this in the name of therapy.”

“It helps,” he insists.

“This isn't help!” I snap, anger burning in my chest again. “This is torture. This is breaking you.”

He cups my cheek, his mouth a thin line. “I can look at you now.”

“At what cost?” I stand, unable to look at him a second longer.

I pace the room, trying to calm down, trying to figure this out.

“Who's your therapist?” I snarl the word. Whoever it is should have their license revoked.

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does!” I spin around to face him again.

His huge form looks somehow vulnerable, his expression bleak, his posture defeated. I rush to him, unable to bear it.

I drop onto his lap, careful not to touch his torso with mine. Tentatively I curl my hands around his neck, leaning in, kissing him, desperate to bring him back to me.

He barely responds, letting me kiss him until I'm crying.

I sob, dropping my head and hiding my face in his neck. His hands slowly circle around me, pulling me to him.

“Annalise,” he sighs and I sob harder, clutching him but trying not to hurt him.

My tears run over his skin, down his shoulder, wetting the space between us.

“Lise,” he says, his tone a fraction softer.

I tilt my head up, kissing him again, trying to encourage him to respond. His hand slips into my hair and I move my mouth more urgently against his.

He grows between my thighs and I hope that means this is working. I clutch his hair tightly, moving my mouth to his ear.

“I love you.” My voice trembles. I've never said that to anyone. But being here now, seeing him like this, I know I do. I know without even having to consider it.

He clutches my hips, suddenly firmer.

I lean back, finding light in his eyes, sparking hope in my chest.

“Ethan?” I beg, my eyes flicking between his.

“Oh Lise...” He ducks his head into my shoulder, clutching me so tight it hurts.

I don't care about the pain, I only care that he's responding at last, coming back to me. And I can't stop until he's returned.

I kiss him again, reaching between us, sliding down the zip on his jeans and thumbing the button free of the hole.

I tug up my skirt, pushing my knickers aside and drawing him against me.

His mouth parts as I slide him into me and I release a moan.

His lips meet mine, his tongue sliding into my mouth, driving the kiss at last. I grind my hips, rising and falling on him, clutching his neck for support.

A low noise rolls up his throat and he suddenly takes control, driving me down onto him.

I gasp at the full sensation, hardly able to take him all the way in.

“Ethan, come back to me,” I plead and he meets my eyes, his expression still dark.

“You're everything,” he says, like he's remembering a fact.

I bite my lip as he pulls me down hard, pleasure rocketing through me. “Oh Ethan.”

“I've wanted you for such a long time.” He grips my thighs, his fingers near-bruising my skin.

“What?” I breathe, unsure what he means.

He stands, lifting me, holding my behind in his hands. Turning, he drops me onto the bed, falling after me, crushing me. He knots his fingers into my hands, pushing them above my head.

“Ethan, you're hurt,” I try but he rubs his torso against me without even wincing.

“I've wanted you Annalise. For longer than you know.”

I moan, arching my back, trying to understand his words.

He takes me hard, forceful, driving into me, panting as he claims my body. I cry out as I try to bear it for his sake.

Thankfully, he slows down, giving me some reprieve, his mouth by my ear.

“And now you're here, saying you love me, offering me your body. How can I resist that? How can I?” He's angry now, his thrusting growing stronger again.

He pounds me relentlessly, so hard it hurts.

“Wait- slow down,” I plead, wincing.

He ducks his head to my neck, biting, sucking, slowing his hips so I'm given some relief.

I moan, hugging him, my heart feeling like it's trying to fight its way out of my chest to reach his.

As I dive into ecstasy, I'm lost to him, letting his body surround me, consume me.

He holds my waist, gazing down at me, looking primal in his dark passion.

“You're extraordinary,” he pants, pulling me to him, taking his climax from me.

He sighs his relief, falling still, his strong arms holding me perfectly in place. I relish him using me that way, willingly giving him every part of myself for his pleasure.

ETHAN

I'm splitting at the seams, a zip running down my middle. But perhaps I'm not coming apart, perhaps I'm evolving.

I lay my weight on Annalise, my head on her chest. I listen as her heart beats harder, locked inside her chest, safely caged away from me.

I want to reach beneath her skin and learn the way her bones work. I want to peel her apart, see every layer, see straight to her soul.

She runs her hands through my hair, her breathing ragged.

“I'm terrified of loving you,” she admits, sounding pained. “But I hope I'm brave enough to try.”

I'm overwhelmed with the urge to say it back, but bite hard down on my tongue to stop myself. I can't love. I don't know how to. I'm not capable of it.

I'm a black pit, drawing in her light, stealing her purity and letting it fill me up. And I've lost the ability to fight it.

“Say something,” she whispers, making my heart twist.

I say the only thing that comes to mind, the honest truth, “I wish I was another man, someone purer, someone worthy of your love.”

“Ethan,” she rebukes, pushing herself up, encouraging me to move.

I roll off of her, wincing as the cuts on my body sting.

She props herself up on an elbow, leaning over me. “You are worthy. More than worthy. And there's no one I want here with me but you.”

I frown, not looking at her, eyeing the clock on the wall.

Time's nothing to me. Hasn't been for years. Without work or routine, clocks become irrelevant. But now it has meaning again. It's a countdown, until the moment she learns the truth. Until the moment I lose her forever.

I watch the seconds ticking by, knowing each precious moment is one I will never get back with her.

I roll toward her, pulling her into my arms, lost to her scent, her soft body. I pull her top up, removing it and kissing her chest.

I eye her stomach, her hips, finding my fingers marked on her skin. I grimace, pulling away.

“I hurt you again,” I snarl, sickened with myself.

She catches my jaw before I can turn away, making me face her. “You just don't know your own strength.”

“Why do you make excuses for me?” I shake my head, trying to figure it out. It makes no sense that she's so determined to see the good in me. Why does she do it? To fool herself?

I meet her eyes and I'm met with a sharp flash of fire in my chest.

The pain is back in a wave, making me lurch away.

Her eyes go wide, blazing at me. And suddenly it's her. I'm there again, watching her burn, flames heating my skin.

I rear upwards, clutching my head in my hands. “Idiot.”

Her arms slip around my waist, taking a careful route to avoid the marks on my torso. She kisses my shoulder. “We'll find a way for you to look at me, Ethan. But promise me you won't hurt yourself again.”

I take her hands, winding my fingers into hers. “It worked, though.”

“It broke you,” she snaps.

I frown. Is she right? Did Clarissa break me? Does that mean I'm right again? Well...as right as I was before.

Still a mess up.

And there it is. The voice, back in full force. Annalise is right, the therapy didn't work. Whatever it did to me, wasn't good. I don't want to feel that way ever again, like nothing lives inside my body.

But Annalise brought me back, with her soft touch and her determination, her love.

I squeeze her fingers, grateful beyond belief. “Thank you,” I breathe.

“Don't ever check out on me again,” she pleads, kissing me.

“I promise.” And I mean it. No more of Clarissa's messed up therapy. I need to talk to her. To sort this out. I'm not sure if she can still be my therapist, not after what she's done to my body. I feel exposed to her. She's seen more of myself than Annalise has, and I don't like that one bit.

Annalise scrambles to her feet. “Incredible.” She snatches her top from the floor, tugging it on.

“What's wrong?” I stand, hovering around her as she grabs her bag.

“My interview. I rescheduled it for today. I can't be late.” She moves to leave but I catch her wrist, tugging her into my arms and laying a kiss on her soft lips.

She melts in my arms and I relish the feel of her absolute surrender to me.

After a minute, she tries to wriggle free but I hold on to her, deepening the kiss.

“Ethan,” she giggles, slipping away.

I watch her go, breathless and yearning.

She glances back before she heads out the door, her cheeks pinking.

She's so beautiful, shining at me like a new penny. Unspoilt by any hand but mine.

“Bye,” she breathes, disappearing like a light extinguishing in the room.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

I call Clarissa, asking to meet with her. She fits me into a slot in an hour's time. Our conversation is short, clipped, full of all the unspoken words of what she did to me earlier today. I plan to speak with her about her so-called therapy. Maybe Annalise is right, maybe what she did to me was wrong.

I move to my desk, dropping down and preparing to pour my thoughts into my journal.

You saved me from the darkness, and this time I was truly lost. I don't know what that means, but I'm certain it's important. The problem is, I'm starting to rely on you. And I'm torn between wanting to break that bond and wanting to give into it forever. But once you know what I am, you'll leave anyway. So what do I do?

I want to keep you a little longer...but I don't think I'm ever going to have had enough. One day you are going to look at me and see a different man. You'll see my twisted soul and hate me for what I've done to you. I'm standing on the train tracks, waiting for the train. And when it hits, I don't know how I'll survive.

As I finish writing, I flip the cover closed, gazing at the book in my hands. I'll give it to Clarissa today. It pains me to do so, but I don't think I can put it off any longer.

I head to the clinic, arriving ten minutes early and heading upstairs.

The receptionist gives me her peaceful smile, gesturing for me to take a seat.

I grow anxious as I wait, unsure how I'll feel when I see Clarissa. When I left her house this morning, it was like she owned me. And I hope I've shaken that claim from my body. I hope Annalise has banished it for good.

I eye the receptionist, her blissful expression capturing my attention. What must it be like to feel that way? Completely at peace. Is she truly as untroubled as she seems?

Clarrisa appears, her exterior particularly harsh today, her hair wound into a tight bun, her clothes fitted and formal.

I stand, moving toward her with my journal tucked under my arm, her dark green eyes locking with mine.

A bright, sunny voice fills the air, “Ethan?”

My stomach jolts sharply as Annalise appears behind Clarissa, hurrying toward me.

Oh idiot.

Clarissa's eyes snap to the back of her head as she runs to embrace me. Horror washes over me as I stand limp in her arms, gazing at Clarissa over her head.

“Ethan?” Clarissa's voice is high and unforgiving. “You know each other?”

Annalise turns, her hand slipping into mine. I extract it immediately but the damage is already done.

Idiot!

Annalise steps away, glancing between Clarissa and I, a dawning comprehension filling her eyes.

“You...wait. She's your therapist?!” Annalise says, her eyes wide.

I nod mutely, my gaze fixed on Clarissa. I try to warn her off with my eyes, begging her not to say anything. Not to give away who I am.

I can't lose Annalise like this.

Clarissa moves toward us, her shoulders squared toward me. “Miss Drake just got a position here.”

“I got it?” she says in alarm, turning to her.

“Oh yes. You'll fit in very well here.” Clarissa's eyes remain on me as she talks.

I move toward Clarissa, wanting to stop this before it goes any further, but not knowing how.

“My appointment?” I press, glaring at her, my heart thumping hard against my chest.

Annalise's eyes slide onto Clarissa, filling with suspicion.

Please let this end. Please.

“Come on then,” Clarissa says lightly, nodding to Annalise.

I move to follow but Annalise catches my hand. I glance back, pulling away from her.

I frown at her, filling my eyes with apology, wishing I knew what to say.

She remains silent, her arms dropping to her sides as she watches me go.

Clarissa turns promptly on her heel, striding from the room with a fierce purpose.

I'm in trouble. Serious trouble.

I have no idea why she didn't say anything to Annalise, but I know this isn't over.

Clarissa opens the door for me, waiting for me to enter her office. I duck my head, slipping past her, my palms beginning to sweat.

“So,” her voice rings out, cutting through me.

I drop into my usual place on the sofa, shifting awkwardly, placing the journal on my knee.

Clarissa takes a seat, deliberately slowly. She pins her gaze on me, seemingly seeing straight through to my reeling mind.

“Thank you,” I manage. “For not saying anything.”

She lets out a humourless laugh. “I haven't said anything yet, Ethan. Do not assume that I'm letting this slide.”

I nod, my mouth going bone dry.

“So?” she demands. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

I squirm in my seat, knowing she wants me to suffer through this but biting down on my tongue to keep silent.

“Are you insane?” she hisses, leaning forward, her fingers digging into her knees. “You've been lying to me. Is she the girl you've been seeing all this time?”

I nod, frowning heavily, my chest hurting.

“You are quite the convincing liar. How dare you make a mockery of me like that. Of my profession.”

I shift again, anxious beyond belief. “I'm sorry.”

She tuts, leaning back in her seat, snatching her notepad and making frantic notes.

I wait, the scratch of the pen on paper painfully loud in my ears.

She plants it down on her knee, assessing me, stern. “You have broken our agreement. You have entered a very dangerous stage of your obsession. I have no choice now, Ethan. The police will have to be informed. The girl will need to know what a danger you are to her.”

I want to fight, but know it's no use. She's got me in a corner but I built the walls.

“What if...” I start, knowing there's only one thing I can ask of her. “What if I told her?”

“No,” she spits immediately. “You will never be allowed near her again. You've defiled the poor girl, taken advantage of her.”

A dam breaks in my body and the guilt unleashes, flooding me. I've been suppressing it all this time, and now it's here all at once.

Dirty. Dark. Psycho.

I bow my head, letting it wash over me.

A thought springs to mind. “You gave her the job...”

“Yes. She was suitable for the role.”

“But what does that mean for me coming here?” I lift my eyes, finding hers, hoping she won't send me away, turfing me out on the curb like a stray dog.

She assesses me and I wait for her to decide my fate.

Her eyes soften and she sighs. “Oh Ethan, it's hard for me to do this. Really. I've grown quite attached to you.”

I frown, my brows drawing low. Attached to me? Surely she shouldn't say that?

“Hm, what to do...” She sits thoughtfully, flattening out the creases on her trousers. “Well, you'll have to cut ties with her, of course.”

I nod, my chest twisting sharply. I knew this would have to happen eventually. I just didn't expect it to be today. And now the time has come, I know I'm not ready.

“And our sessions will have to continue at my house. Not here.”

I inhale, my gut wrenching. “No,” I say immediately. “No more aversion therapy. It's not good for me. Annalise said-”

Clarissa stands, halting me. “Annalise said what?” she snarls and suddenly I'm nervous, uncertain of exactly what this woman is capable of.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. I don't want Clarissa turning her focus onto Annalise. This has got to be all on me. “I just don't think it's helping.”

“I'm your therapist, Ethan. I decide what does and doesn't work.”

I shift in my seat, trying to find the words that would make her back down. “I said no, Clarissa.”

She turns swiftly, dropping back into her seat. “It's up to you. Either continue with the therapy I suggest, or we'll have to terminate our relationship.”

I go to speak, willing to end our 'relationship' but she holds up a hand.

“I'll be training Annalise here at the clinic. She's entitled to see my patients' notes. It's in your contract. Trainees are allowed to be informed.”

My mouth drops open. Is she blackmailing me?

I can't go back to her house. I can't. “What if I just continue to see you here? I'll come to the office when Annalise isn't working.”

She goes quite, considering my deal.

“Fine,” she says through tight lips. “I'll organise your schedule.”

I nod, leaning back in my seat, defeated. This woman has me under lock and key and I have no idea how to free myself from her.

Her eyes fall to the book on me knee, a bright spark igniting in them. “Is that your journal?”

I nod, holding it out to her, hoping to appease her, to get her mind off of Annalise.

Her fingernails dig into the leather binding as she takes it, eyeing it greedily.

My gut churns violently as I watch her; it feels like I've just handed her my soul.

ANNALISE

I'm shocked, reeling. I don't know how to feel as I arrive home at the flat.

Clarissa Sinclair is Ethan's therapist. So does that mean she did that to him? She hurt him? Cut him?

My hands are shaking, curling into fists. How can I fix this? There must be something I can do.

She's got a hold on him that I don't quite understand. And I don't think he'd tell me the truth, even if I asked.

My phone rings and I grab it out of my bag, finding Ethan calling.

My heart races as I answer, hoping he's about to give me an explanation.

“Ethan?”

“Lise...hi.”

Oh no. That tone is not good. What has Clarissa done to him now?

“Are you alright? She didn't...hurt you again, did she?”

“No Lise. You don't understand...”

My anger rises. “Then help me understand, Ethan. Because I just accepted a training position from that woman. And if she's a fraud- if she's hurting you-”

“We need to stop seeing each other,” he cuts me off bluntly, making my heart tug sharply.

I drop onto the bed, my hand trembling as I clutch the phone. “Ethan, don't do this.”

“It has to stop. I need it to. I'm sorry.”

A tear slips from my eye. I know I can't win him round. Clarissa's done this. I'm certain. I can sense it in my very bones.

“Ethan, please. At least give me an explanation. Help me understand.”

“Clarissa gives me what I need,” he says, his tone cool.

I nod, my heart aching. How can he think that's true? What has she done to him?

“Goodbye, Lise.”

“Wait-”

He hangs up, leaving me devastated.

My breathing increases and I chuck my phone across the room, roaring my anger. It hits the desk, clattering across it.

As my breathing slows, I try to focus my thoughts. I still have a position at the clinic, I can get close to Clarissa. I can figure this out. Somehow.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

I thought I might see Ethan at the clinic, but the days slip by and he never shows up. I'm convinced Clarissa is still treating him though. She must be. But she's evasive.

I sit behind the grey sofa in her office, observing her as she counsels a client. Her eyes never stray to me but I glare at her all the while. I can't help but search for something in her technique, something incriminating. Something manipulative or destructive. But there's nothing. She's seamless.

When the client's session is finished, we're left alone in the room together.

“I think that's enough observation for one day,” Clarissa says, still not looking at me, seeming disinterested as she flips through her notes.

I stand. “Okay.” I head toward the door then clear my throat. “Is Ethan still seeing you?” I try to sound offhanded but I'm not sure I manage it.

Clarissa finally looks at me, her green eyes assessing. “It's not appropriate for you and I to discuss Ethan.”

I nod, my gut churning. “I just worry about him.”

“Do you?” Her tone is cool, her lips pressed together.

“Yes.” I stand my ground, gazing at her. A dangerous thought flickers into my mind and it spills from my lips unfiltered, “You're not qualified to practice aversion therapy, are you?”

Her eyes glimmer but her composure remains completely intact. “No. Why do you ask?”

I narrow my eyes on her. She's not going to crack, she's not going to give away anything to me. But now she knows that I know what she did to him.

“No reason,” I say lightly, marching from the room.

I check the time, finding it nearly lunch time. Wandering into the reception area, I find Janet heading off to get her lunch. Possessed by an idea, I hurry to her desk, flipping open the weekly diary. I scan through Clarissa's appointments, running my finger down the page.

With a jolt, I spot Ethan's name. All of his sessions are scheduled outside of my training hours.

Jerk.

I snap the book shut, grinding my teeth. This is her doing, I'm sure of it. And I'm going to find out what is going on.

I don't buy Clarissa's trash act in her sessions. It's time to figure out exactly who this woman is when I'm not observing her.

ETHAN

The week creeps by at a torturous pace. I barely give anything of myself in Clarissa's sessions any more. And she knows it. Trying to draw me out of myself, using every technique in the book. But I'm not having it. She may have me here, holding her tongue on my secrets, but I'm not going to give her any more of myself than she's already taken.

“Ethan, we've reached a crossroads,” she says one Friday morning as I laze in my seat, gazing absently out the window.

Without Annalise, I'm lost, drifting through life without meaning or purpose.

“Hm?” I question vaguely.

“It's time we ended this. I can see you're just here for my benefit, and it's not going to continue.”

Her eyebrows arch at me, pushing me for a reaction. I don't give her one.

She picks up her phone, glancing at me and I finally jolt awake.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling Annalise. I'd like her to join today's session. It's time she knew who you are.”

Fire flares through my chest. “You can't do that! I did what you asked.”

“This is for the best, Ethan.”

She lifts the phone to her ear and I have half a mind to snatch it from her hand.

“Unless...” She lowers the phone, eyeing me thoughtfully.

I glance up at the single word that holds my entire life in the balance.

She places the phone on the hook, standing and moving past me, her hand trailing over my shoulder as she walks out of sight.

“I can make this all go away, Ethan. My record of your obsessions, your history of anger, all of it.”

I turn to her and she grazes her knuckles over my cheek bone, belittling me.

I move to stand but she places a firm hand on my shoulder, encouraging me to stay still.

Clarissa circles the sofa, predatory, pausing as she arrives full circuit in front of me. She regards me, tilting her head to the side, her crimson curls cascading over one shoulder.

“What are you saying?” I growl, leaning back in my seat, my neck prickling uncomfortably.

“I think you know what I'm offering, I'm just asking for a little something in return.” She moves toward me, tugging up her skirt, dropping down over me, her knees pressing into the sofa.

“Are you insane?!” I shove her off me, standing, my heart in my throat.

She gazes up at me, lifting a finger to stroke my jaw. “Think about it, Ethan. I can make all of your problems disappear.”

I lean out of her touch, grimacing at her. “You can't be serious?”

She wets her lips. “You're a lot to look at. I don't think you even realise it. You're so caught up in all the trash in your head.” She taps my temple, degrading me.

I shrink inside, stepping back.

Clarissa inhales slowly, evidently not affected by my rejection. “Fine. Forget it.”

She turns promptly on her heel, dropping back into her chair, picking up her notepad as if she hasn't just propositioned me. “I think we'll up your meds. And it's about time we discussed institutes, too.”

My mouth dries out. “Institutes?”

She nods seriously. “Oh yes, you're really quite unwell, Ethan. Delusional, actually.” She scribbles on her pad.

“I'll report you,” I growl but fear creeps into my chest.

“And who do you think they'd believe? The therapist with a PhD or the stalker who hears voices in his head?”

I shift, knotting my hands into fists. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh, but I would.” She places the pen down, reaching for the top button of her shirt, undoing it with nimble fingers. “Unless you'd like to change your answer?” She lifts that slim red brow, her expression going right through me, cornering me.

I remain silent as she fluffs her hair, flexing her neck, waiting for my answer.

All I'd have to do is harass her and she'd wipe my record clean.

Annalise flashes into my mind, her image crystal clear and shining. Everything I've done to that girl weighs heavily on my heart. It's about time I started trying to be the man she deserves.

I stand, snatching the pad from Clarissa's knee and ripping it in half. “Do your worst. I'm done with you.” I chuck it at her, the pages fluttering through the air in a storm of white sheets.

She stands as I move to exit the room, her eyes like saucers.

“Ethan! You can't leave!” For once she's the one that sounds out of control.

The door opens before I reach it and Annalise enters, her eyes a storm of triumph.

I halt in my tracks, my heart pounding in my ears. What is she doing here?

She glances from me to Clarissa then plants her hands on her hips.

“What is it, Annalise?” Clarissa barks.

Annalise sets her jaw, glaring at her. “Do you make a habit out of manipulating all of your clients? Or is it just the attractive ones you proposition?”

I inhale in shock, clueless as to how she knows what just happened.

Clarissa laughs in high, tinkling notes. “I have no idea what you're talking about. But I'll be having a word with your supervisor about these wild accusations.”

Annalise raises her fist and I spot a phone in her hand. “I think it's me that will be having a word with your supervisor, Clarissa. I've had a bug in here hooked up to my phone for a week. Even I didn't think you'd stoop so low as to blackmail Ethan into you. It was just your perverted idea of counselling that I was interested in.”

I gaze at Annalise in amazement, hardly able to believe she's pulled this off. She's saved me.

“Give that to me,” Clarissa snarls and I instinctively put myself in front of Annalise.

“Yeah, right,” Annalise laughs dryly.

“You're just a psychology graduate. You have no idea about real therapy. Ethan's mind is a very dark and messed up place, Annalise. My techniques are not something you could understand.” She straightens her spine, trying to keep her composure.

A corkscrew twists into my chest at her words.

“The only messed up mind in this room, Clarissa, is yours.” Annalise turns, heading smartly out the door.

I'm left, freed, the rope around my neck loosening.

I do the only thing I can think of and put my middle finger up at Clarissa, grinning my head off as I follow Annalise into the hall.

I pull her into my arms before she has a chance to refuse me. She stiffens, briefly sliding her hands around my waist before stepping away.

“I knew she was twisted, but Goodness...” Annalise heads down the hall and I follow, worshipping her with my eyes.

“Thank you,” I exhale heavily, Clarissa's claws have finally been extracted from my skin.

Annalise glances at me, her forehead creasing. “Oh Ethan, she's vile. I'm so sorry for what she's put you through. She's screwed with your head so much. And I've only heard a single week of it.”

I swallow, glad of my evasive behaviour this week. I've barely spoken about Annalise at all. She could have learned everything about my obsession, my stalking.

“What else did Clarissa do?” I feel stupid for asking. But psychology isn't exactly my area of expertise.

“I'll explain everything.” She brushes her fingers over my arm, keeping her eyes firmly away from mine, her old habit. The one I forced her to start.

I grind my teeth, snatching her jaw and forcing her to look at me. “You still do it.”

She shrugs, trying to look away again.

I hold her still until her eyes find mine, the pain in my stomach harsh but bearable.

“It's a habit,” she mutters.

“A psychologist once told me that all habits can be broken.”

Her eyes glimmer as I echo her own words.

“She must have been very smart.” She grins, pulling away from me.

“Smartest girl I know.” I continue to follow her, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets.

“She really sounds like something.”

“She was. Until I messed up everything between us.”

She halts outside an office, turning to me. “Maybe there's hope yet.” Smiling briefly, she disappears into the room, leaving me gazing after her, my heart trying to crack open my ribcage to follow her.

I tongue the old welt in my cheek.

'Maybe' is a word that holds a whole universe of promise. And I'm going to bet everything I've got on it.

ANNALISE

I walk out of the clinic with Ethan at my side, feeling like a weight has lifted from me.

“Hey!” a voice calls from behind and we turn, finding Clarissa approaching with a book in her hand.

“Clarissa, no!” Ethan says in alarm and I glance between the two of them, unsure of what's going on.

“It's time Ethan,” she snarls, thrusting the book toward me. “Here.”

There's a darkness in her eyes that makes me uneasy. Hesitantly, I take it, feeling Ethan's eyes on the book like he wants to snatch it from my hand. “What is this?”

“You think you know Ethan's mind? Well I say otherwise.” She turns on her heel, walking smartly away from us.

Ethan's rigid beside me, his hands balled into fists. “Lise, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

My blood chills as I flip the cover open, dropping my eyes to the words inside.

I still, taking in the slanted writing. My hand begins to tremble as I read the first paragraph.

There was nothing in my life for so long, an emptiness that expanded and expanded into infinity.

Then there was you.

You changed everything, the day I saw you sat in a cafe, a little frown creasing the space between your eyes. I was born again. You dragged me out of the well I'd be drowning in for nearly three years. And all I could do was watch.

And follow.

The hardest part is the guilt, but the sweetness of you is too alluring to ignore. And once I knew where you lived, the rest was too easy.

I went there again. To see you. I climbed the fire escape, sat in the wind and rain and just watched, bathed in the sight of your comfort, safe inside your home. I'm a thing of horror films, the monster that leers, the snap of twigs behind you, the footsteps in a dark alley. I am your watcher and you are my haven, Annalise.

I nearly drop the book, my hands shaking wildly. I snap it shut, unable to read more. This is Ethan's journal. This is his truth. This is what he was hiding from me. That he's been...what? Stalking me?

I glance up to find Ethan watching me, his eyes ablaze with horror.

I take a step back, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. “You were the person outside my window the other night?” My voice trembles horribly, my whole body beginning to shake.

“Please, I can explain,” he begs, taking a step closer.

I take several steps back, glancing over my shoulder, a prickling running up my spine. “You've been- stalking me?”

“Annalise, please, please just listen.” His eyes are wide, desperate, his expression taut.

“For how long?” I demand, my heart in my throat.

His shoulders sag. “Six months.”

I gasp, stepping away, my mind reeling, my skin crawling. I throw the journal at his feet, turning on my heel and running away, fear getting the better of me.

I feel betrayed to my core, my mind spinning as I remember all the times I let him touch me. And all along he knew who I was. Goodness, he came to my house to comfort me after I saw someone outside my window. And all along it was him. He was the one watching me!

I run until the pounding in my feet is all I can feel, eventually darting into a tube station and taking the train home.

I'm awash with anxiety, horror. I'm overcome by it.

This is what he's been hiding. This is why he knew things wouldn't last between us.

But he let things progress all the same, he let me develop feelings for him.

I shudder as I arrive home, hurrying upstairs to my flat. The first thing I do is wrench the curtains closed in the lounge before sinking to the floor, sobbing into the carpet.

I feel like such a fool, so manipulated and betrayed, exposed.

I curl into a ball, dragging my knees to my chest and letting the pain flow, consuming every part of me until there's nothing left but anger.

ETHAN

I knew this was coming and yet nothing could have prepared me for how I'd feel. My heart has been torn from my chest, my soul bared to the woman I've deceived.

Monster.

I'm drowning, sinking deeper and deeper into the darkest regions of the ocean. I can't breathe, I can't think straight.

And the worst thing of all is, I knew this was going to happen. And I did nothing to stop it. It should have come from me, not Clarissa with her vindictive little dig at me.

I'm restless at home, picking up my phone a hundred times, debating calling Annalise.

But what would I say? How could I possibly explain this?

The way she looked at me, the horror in her eyes. I can still see it now, burning into me.

I march up and down, scraping a hand through my hair. Finally, I round on the phone, knowing exactly who I want to call.

I pick it up, jamming my thumb against the name I despise more than anyone else's in the world.

“Ethan, I wondered when you'd call,” Clarissa says calmly like she hasn't just burned my whole world to the ground.

“How could you? No- idiot that. Why would you? Why would you do it?!” I roar, losing control of myself.

“It was time the girl knew the truth. Don't blame me for your dysfunctional behaviour. I have covered for you for months and this is how you repay me?”

“So you decided to give her my journal? In front of me, no less. Without so much as a word of warning?”

“That girl needed to see what you are, Ethan. She can't go round throwing wild accusations-”

“Don't you dare try and paint her out to be the one in the wrong here. You're the one who's been messing with my head for heaven knows how long.”

She simpers. “Oh Ethan, listen to yourself. You're so infatuated with the girl, you'll believe anything she says.”

“She didn't have to say anything, Clarissa. You were the one who propositioned me. Tried to blackmail me.”

She goes silent at that and a small bubble of triumph grows in my chest at finally knocking her off her high horse.

“I...I'm sorry, Ethan.”

I pause, halting my pacing. “What?” I blurt, thinking I must have heard her wrong.

Her voice turns milky smooth. “Really, I am. Perhaps I have developed an attachment to you. But we've shared so much together.”

My brow becomes taut. “You mean in your basement?” I spit, my anger rising to a dangerous level. “In your messed up little sex den.”

I know I've gone too far as she sucks in a sharp breath. “You have no right to talk to me that way.”

I grind my jaw, wanting to bring this conversation to an end. I lower the level of my voice, taking a breath. “I have every right, Clarissa. You think you're so above me, so righteous. But you're as twisted as I am.”

“Yes, Ethan. That's just it, we're the same you and I. Don't you see?” There's hope in her voice, longing.

I grimace, disgusted at the thought of being like her. Am I? Are we similar? I've lied to Annalise over and over again. I was selfish. I could have ended things before they started but I kept seeing her, kept her.

I rub my eyes, trying to fight back the anxiety growing and growing in my chest like a time bomb.

“Deep down, you know it. And when you figure it out, give me a call.” She hangs up and I sink down onto the bed, the strength going out of me.

I'm tortured by what she's suggested. And I see the extent of what I truly am. What I've caused.

Maybe she's right, maybe we are one and the same.

CLARISSA

I almost lost control. When Annalise planted that bug in my room, I could have torn her limb from limb. That vile little hussy. Who does she think she is?

Now she'll learn the hard way not to mess with me. I gave her a chance, she could have kept away from Ethan but she just had to worm her way back into his life. So of course I had to give her the journal. I'd had enough of all this. Of Ethan turning up to my sessions, regarding me coolly, giving me nothing but one word answers and brief glances. As if I'm the one who's caused this. He needs to take some responsibility for his own actions. He's the stalker, the obsessed little mess up who came to me for help.

Well my patience is at an end. And now I'm going to regain control.

I head home, descending to the basement and taking out my anger on Nick for a while. When I'm finished, he's panting at my feet, holding my ankles. He's done. And I'm done with him. It's time to move forward. Time for Ethan and I to be freed of our obsessions. He'll thank me once she's gone. Once I've broken the binds that tie him to her.

ANNALISE

I head to the clinic with a fierce purpose. Today, I'm angry. Worse than angry, I'm fuming. At Ethan, at Clarissa Sinclair, the world. And there is only one thing I can think of to do with this energy.

As I hurry up the street, a storm brews around me, the wind picking up.

I jog inside, heading upstairs and walking straight past the sunny-faced Janet at reception.

“Everything okay?” her dreamy tone sails after me.

I say nothing, heading to Clarissa's office and slipping inside. I walk to the filing cabinet, pulling it open and thumbing through the files. I halt at Ethan's name, tugging out the file and flipping it open.

I scan through his symptoms as defined by Clarissa.

Obsessive

Delusional

Psychotic

I frown. Obsessive, maybe. But delusional? Psychotic? I may not know everything about Ethan, but I've spent enough time with him to be fairly sure he's not dangerous. I'm basing this entirely on my instincts – and three years at university.

My gut says I should speak to him. And as I think of my dad, I know I have to go with my gut. It's what he'd tell me to do. Even if it defies all logic.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

“I read your file,” I reveal, gazing at Ethan. I give nothing away, keeping my tone cool. But he still makes my heart flutter like a bird in a cage.

We're sat across from one another in an American-themed diner near to the park. Perhaps it wasn't the most appropriate place to meet, but I figured it's halfway between the two of our homes so we're on neutral ground.

“Oh?” He lifts a brow, his grey-blue eyes soft and vulnerable.

“I figured I had the right to stalk you, seeing as you've been doing the same to me for the past six months.”

He grunts in confirmation, dropping his eyes, ashamed. I guess he knew I'd figure it out eventually. Especially now Clarissa's under scrutiny. All of her clients are undergoing revaluation. And that's why I'm here – well, mainly.

“I'd like for someone to reassess you, if you're willing. Clarissa was manipulating you. She fabricated aspects of your condition.”

“Why did she do it?” he asks, glancing up, his eyes full of longing to understand.

It melts me into a puddle and I find my hand sliding towards his. I manage to halt myself just before I reach the tips of his fingers. This man stalked me. And I can't take that lightly. But the problem is, all I see before me is someone who's in pain. Someone who's been abused by the woman who was supposed to help him.

“She made you dependant on her, to keep you coming back. Perhaps it was power play, I don't know. An investigation is underway into her other clients, to see if she's done this before.”

He nods slowly, his brow drawing down. He looks so lost, like a child who's been left on the street, not knowing where to go.

“Can you keep me informed? Just....by email or whatever. You don't have to see me again,” he confirms, making my heart race harder.  “And I promise I'll stay away from you.”

The thought of never seeing him again pains me to my very core. I don't have the words so I nod quickly. It's for the best, I should walk away. But it's going to break my heart.

“Look, I know there's nothing I could say that you'd want to hear but...” Ethan knots his hands together, his brow heavily furrowed. “The first day I saw you, something broke in me. I came unhinged. I couldn't control it, Lise. I'm sorry. My whole world suddenly revolved around you. And you have to know, I would never have hurt you.” He shakes his head, sighing.

My heart twists and yanks. I don't know what to say so I just gaze at him, wanting to be angry but finding only pity remaining. And something else, something I don't want to admit.

He stands, throwing down a ten pound note to cover our drinks. I go to refuse but he strides away, not looking back as I gaze after him.

As he reaches for the door, a fire flares up in the kitchen, a sizzling sound filling the air. Ethan flinches away, pressing himself to the door, jamming his fingers into his eyes.

And it all clicks together. From all that I've learnt about him and everything I've studied on the subject, I finally know what he's struggling with. The doctors who tested him when he returned from Iraq may have been right, he didn't have PTSD. Not initially anyway. But Ethan's developed it since, something triggered it in him. And I have a horrible suspicion, that maybe, it was me.

⊱✿ ✿⊰

I head home, my pulse accelerating.

Leaving him is excruciating, like my heart's been ripped right out of my chest, left on the table in the diner, bloody and still beating.

He looked lost. And I don't know how to fix it. I don't know if I should want to.

He needs help. But I can't be the one to give it to him, even if I do still have feelings for him.

A wild vision springs to mind of us working through his problems together, me as his therapist, treating him how he should have been treated all along.

God - what am I thinking?

How can I justify counselling my own stalker? It's too messed up.

I round the corner onto my street, the clouds darkening above me. A chill creeps up my spine that I don't think has anything to do with the feel of a storm in the air.

A car pulls up beside me and I glance around, taking in the red Ferrari with curiosity. Someone hops out and the crimson locks of Clarissa swing around her.

I frown, halting, turning to her. “Miss Sinclair?”

Her eyes are dark as she approaches. She takes something from her pocket, opening the passenger door and gesturing for me to enter. I start conjuring images of what she could give me this time. But there's nothing more she could convince me of. I know what Ethan is, and although he has a lot of troubles, he is not a bloody head case.

“Get in the car, Annalise. Or you'll regret it.”

I spot what's in her hand, the flash of a blade catching my eye.

What the heck?

A wave of anxiety flares through me.

She takes my wrist, pulling me toward the car, pressing the tip of the knife to my side. “In.”

I try to snatch my hand away, my heart racing. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“I have no reservations about stabbing you, Annalise. Get in the car.”

My breathing falters. This can't be happening.

Clarissa's grip on me tightens. She's strong. Stronger than me, I'm sure. Panic rises in my chest. I glance up and down the street, looking for help.

“Don't scream. Or I'll cut you so deep, you'll bleed out before anyone even notices you're hurt.”

I gasp as she jabs the blade into my side, nearly puncturing the skin. My hands tremble as I comply, dropping into the car..

Whilst Clarissa moves around the car, I scramble for my phone in my bag.

As she gets in, she snatches it from my hand, her fingernails ripping into me.

“Ah,” I gasp, lurching away from her, gazing at her in horror.

“You're going to do exactly as I say.”

ETHAN

I wander home from the diner in a daze.

Rain begins to fall and I don't even bother to quicken my pace. Who gives a idiot if it's raining?

I spy people around me, hurrying for cover, whipping up umbrellas.

What I'd give to be like them. To have reason to my life, self-preservation. Somewhere to go that it actually matters if I show up wet or not.

I climb the stairs to my flat, heading inside. My phone rings but I ignore it, walking to the kitchen and taking a bottle of vodka off the shelf.

I eye it blankly, thinking of my father. I'm exactly what he said I was: a failure.

My phone rings again and again, irking me.

I sigh, leaving the vodka on the side and answering it, finding Clarissa calling.

“Hello?” I say, my tone flat.

“Ethan, I need you to come over. To my place.”

I spit air through my teeth. “And why would I do that?”

“Because if you don't, you're going to miss the show.”

I frown, running a hand through my sopping hair. “What?”

A scream sounds in the background that sends knives through my heart.

“Annalise?!” I bark.

Clarissa hangs up, leaving me desperate.

Idiot -what is she doing to her?!

An image of Annalise bound on that metal frame in the basement bursts into mind, terrifying me.

I head straight out the door, sprinting downstairs and running flat-out to the tube station.

I'm jittery all the way, my chest tightening and tightening.

Has she hurt her?

Why would Clarissa do this?

It's an agonising journey, and I run at every opportunity I can. When I arrive on her street, I sprint up the steps to her house, my fist shaking as I bang it against the door.

“Clarissa! Open the door!”

The door wrenches open and Clarissa's standing there, her hair out of place, looking slightly flustered.

“What the heck is going on?” I demand and she takes my wrist, drawing me into the house.

I snatch my arm away, glaring down at her. “Answer me.”

She pushes the door closed, twisting the lock and turning to me, brushing a red lock behind her ear. “Annalise is downstairs.”

I storm away from her, heading to the basement, thundering down the stairs.

My gut trickles with nerves, fearing what I'm going to find at the bottom of these steps.

A rectangle of light illuminates the way but it vanishes as Clarissa enters, shutting the door behind me.

It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the single dim bulb hanging from the ceiling. The heavy smell of petrol fills the air, catching in my throat.

I halt at the bottom of the stairs, finding two people on their knees before me: Annalise and a man I don't recognise. They're both stripped to their underwear, gags in their mouths, their arms bound behind their backs. Their hair is sopping, their bodies glistening with moisture.

I rush toward Annalise but a hand curls around my arm. “Don't move a muscle.”

I glance back at Clarissa, my body trembling as I take in the silver zippo lighter in her hand.

“You're insane!” I roar, fear rolling through me.

“Both Annalise and Nick are covered in two litres of petrol.”

I glance down, finding the edge of the pool of petrol just inches from my shoes. I'm out of control, not knowing what to do. I have to keep Clarissa talking, I can't let her throw that lighter. This place will go up in seconds. I'll never get to Annalise in time.

“Who's Nick?” I growl, glancing at the man on the floor. He's stock still, not seeming affected by the petrol surrounding him.

Annalise is staring at me, her eyes filled with desperation.

“Nick is my Annalise. I coveted him, as you do her. They have a hold on us, Ethan, that we need to break free from. Together.”

Her hand tightens on my wrist and I rip it away from her, taking an anxious step toward Annalise.

“Ah, ah,” Clarissa warns and I halt, my heart wrenching hard.

How the heck am I going to get her out of this?

Clarissa's eyes are full of a wildness that terrifies me. She's ready to do this, to bring the whole house down just to have her revenge.

“What did he do to you?” I demand, glancing at the lighter in her hand. Could I snatch it quick enough? Is it worth the risk?

“Nick was my sister's fiancée.” She smiles at the memory like it's something to be proud of. “But he kept coming to me, because I gave him what he needed. He liked me dominating him, he liked what I could give him. What she never could.”

My upper lip curls back.

She tuts. “Don't look at me like that Ethan. Like you have any right to judge me.”

“I may be twisted, Clarissa, but I'm pretty sure I don't hold a candle to you.”

She continues as if I haven't spoken,“ Nick tried to end things as the wedding approached. But I wasn't going to let that happen. So I told my sister the truth.” She glances at Nick and her eyes darken. “Then he tried to cut me off, tried to deny what we were to each other. So I brought him here...”

Annalise wriggles wildly and suddenly spits the rag from her mouth. “Jerk! You can't do this!”

“I wouldn't be so cocky in your situation, Annalise. I'm the one holding your fate in my hand.” Clarissa lifts the lighter higher and I flinch, moving to put myself between her and Annalise.

“You're so protective of her still. But don't you see? We can be free of their hold on us.” Clarissa's eyes glow at me.

With a gut-wrenching flick of her wrist, she throws the lighter into the air.

I lunge for it, trying to catch it before it hits the ground, gasping in horror.

I land with a thud onto my knees, scrambling for the lighter in the puddle of petrol. It catches immediately and the roaring heat surrounds me.

I throw up my arms, terror flaring through me. I hear Annalise scream and I'm there again, watching her die, watching the fire consume her.

“NO!”I roar, finding Annalise's eyes, the flames rushing toward her.

I'm frozen, like I was then, fear gripping my heart.

But I can't lose her. I'd do anything. I'd rather die than see that happen.

I dive into the flames, hearing Clarissa crying, “Ethan!” as I do so.

I topple onto Annalise, dragging her backwards as the fire reaches her ankles. I kick backwards, pulling her into my arms, the smell of smoke and petrol consuming my senses, choking me.

I stand, lifting her above the flames, doing everything I can to keep them from her petrol-soaked skin.

I eye Nick on the ground, the flames beginning to circle him. I can't help, not without putting Annalise down. And that's not an option.

“Help him!” Annalise sobs, writhing in my arms.

I tug Annalise's wrists free of their binds and she reaches for the edge of the frame above our heads.

She lifts herself from my arms, scrambling for purchase on a strut half way up the frame.

I'm shaking, torn between staying with her and doing as she asks. I let out a harsh breath, diving at Nick, grabbing his arms and ripping him backwards. His legs are badly burnt. I rip my jacket off, patting down the flames and he groans in agony. He's heavy, pure muscle but I manage to carry him out of harms way.

“Ethan!” Clarissa screams over the fire.

With a sickening feeling, I realise we're trapped, the flames stretching across the space before us, the heat so powerful, I can hardly breathe.

Annalise grabs hold of me, dropping from the frame. She coughs, ducking her head into my arm. I tug her against me, feeling so out of control that I'm bordering on losing it.

I spy the chest of Clarissa's wicked devices, wedged against the wall, the flames only just starting to take hold of it.

In a flash of decision, I move.

“Keep behind me,” I bark at Annalise and she steps into place. I lift Nick higher in my arms, his weight nearly breaking me. But I manage to continue, keeping him up high, darting to the chest and kicking it sharply into the fire. It skids forward a foot, giving us a brief moment to slip past it.

I feel Annalise's hands tighten on my shirt and keep moving, heading through the thick smoke, barely able to see. Clarissa's not on the other side as I expect. But I don't wait to see where she's gone, hurrying upstairs to the door. Annalise moves past me, coughing heavily as she tries the handle.

“It's locked!” she shouts, her voice trembling.

Nick is passed out in my arms. I frown down at him, my heart racing, my mind spinning. Placing him down, I prop him up on the step below me.

The flames heat my back, already licking the bottom stair.

“Stand back,” I order Annalise.

She moves aside and I slam my shoulder against the door. It takes two more tries before it buckles and I stumble into the hall.

I turn back, dragging Annalise after me before returning for Nick.

He groans as I tug his arm over my neck, grunting with effort as I lift him into my arms and head through the door.

I hurry to the front door, twisting the lock awkwardly and opening it. My heart is frantic as I lay Nick on the steps.

Turning around, I find Annalise missing.

“Lise?!” I shout, marching back into the house in a panic.

My chest cleaves in two as I search for her, desperate. Smoke funnels along the ceiling above me and I know it's only a matter of time before the whole place goes up in flames.

A scream sounds from the kitchen and I sprint toward it. Entering the room at a sprint, I'm halted in my tracks at the sight of Annalise animal-like on the floor, straddling Clarissa, pounding and beating her.

“Annalise!” I shout, grabbing her waist.

Clarissa's face is bloody and bruised. She glares up at Annalise, her eyes sliding to me.

Sighing, she drops her head back, her crimson hair pooling around her, her expression defeated. “You could have been mine.”

I grimace at her, taking Annalise into my arms. “You know who I belong to. And that's never going to change.”

Annalise's hands slide around me and she guides me away. “We have to get out of the house,”she mutters.

As I step outside, I find people gathered on the street, holding phones to their ears, calling the police, ambulances.

Annalise sinks onto the step next to Nick's unconscious form and I take my shirt off, pulling it over her near-naked body.

She mumbles her thanks and I sit beside her, tugging her into my arms.

“You saved me,” she breathes, looking me in the eye.

And for some reason it doesn't hurt, there's nothing but relief, and I get lost in the beauty of those amber eyes, my chest expanding in disbelief.

“No, Lise. I think you saved me.”

ANNALISE

Ethan escorts me to the hospital in the ambulance and when we arrive, I'm taken away to be tended to. I didn't even feel the pain until now, but the fire caught me after all. There's patches on my legs, red and inflamed. They burn like mad and it's not until a nurse gives me some pain relief that I'm finally able to focus my thoughts.

Ethan saved my life. Nick's too.

Nick was wheeled away on a stretcher outside Clarissa's house and I haven't seen him since. I don't understand everything that happened, why Nick was there or what Clarissa held against him. All I know is that Ethan came for me when I needed him most. He pulled through for me. And I'm struggling to feel anything toward him but love.

Perhaps it's the adrenaline, perhaps once things have calmed down, once I've got my head around all this, my anger at Ethan will return. But secretly, I don't want it to. Crazy as it is, part of me wants to forget what he did.

When my wounds have been dressed, my mother appears, her hair in place, lipstick on too. I almost roll my eyes as she rushes into the room. She throws her arms around me, choking and I know for once this isn't for show.

I slide my arms around her. “Mum, it's okay,” I breathe.

“It's not, it's not okay. You could have died. I could have lost you, too.” She sobs into my shoulder and I run a palm over her shoulders, feeling the weight of my father's loss, stinging my heart.

I hiccough as a sob catches in my throat and Mum holds me tighter, in the way only parents can, holding me like I'm a little girl again.

“Love you, Mum,” I mumble into her shoulder, her sweet perfume filling my senses.

She sniffs, leaning away, pulling herself together and sitting in the lone chair beside me.

I'm on a ward with rows of other beds. Most of them are occupied but no one but me has a visitor.

Mum pushes my fringe back, frowning at it.

I shake my head at her, a small laugh escaping my throat. “You've never liked my hair.”

She inhales, shaking her head. “No darling, it's not that. Your fringe hides your beautiful face. Look at those cheekbones.” She runs her thumb down my face, pinching my cheek.

I raise my brows and she breaks a sad smile.

“And there's a very handsome man out in the hall waiting to have a chance to look at this face,” she says, giving me a mischievous grin.

It's so unlike her. Something's changed in her since dad's passing but it's hard to pinpoint exactly what.

She takes out her compact mirror, dabbing lipstick onto her lips.

“Why do you always keep your make-up so perfect?” I frown at her and she lowers the mirror, clapping it shut.

“It's silly really.” She shakes her head, but a distant look enters her eyes. And suddenly I think I understand, not fully- but in part. That this has to do with my dad. “The day I met your father, I was wearing plum lipstick...” She smiles, her eyes watering. “I vowed to myself that I'd try to be the woman he met that day, always. I know I'm not. I know I've changed. But I kept this one thing the same, so maybe he'd remember the girl he fell in love with.”

My heart is pricked with a needle and I lay a hand on my mother's wrist, hating that I've rebuked her for this in the past.

“Anyway, your man. Shall I fetch him?” Her composure returns in a wave, her spine straightening.

I frown at her. “I thought you weren't keen on Ethan.”

“That was before he saved my baby girl. And a little birdy told me he's an ex-soldier.”

I roll my eyes but a giggle escapes me.

I'm hit with a jolt as I realise she wouldn't be singing his praises if she knew that he'd been stalking me for the past six months.

I feel conflicted so do what I always do, and trust my gut. “Send him in.”

When he arrives, Mum leaves us to it. His arms are smothered in ash, his face smudged with it too. But miraculously, there's not a burn mark on him.

His eyes are dark as he approaches, his expression bleak and lost.

Oh, my poor lost man.

My heart swells and swells as he draws closer, occupying the seat Mum vacated.

“How are you?” His voice is scratchy from the smoke.

I reach out, touching his hand, winding my fingers into his. He gazes down at our entwined hands, looking surprised.

“I'm fine.” I give him a smile, my eyes filling with tears. They pool in my vision, obscuring him from view.

“Lise...” he says softly, his voice reaching into my heart and wrapping around it.

“Ethan,” I sob, sitting up, opening my arms.

He slips into them and the smell of smoke surrounds me from his hair, his clothes. His arms encircle my waist, hugging me tight.

“I'm so sorry this happened,” he whispers and I clutch onto him, the tears flowing freely down my cheeks.

It's finally sinking in and I feel completely overwhelmed.

“You're okay,” he reassures me and I believe him.

Leaning back an inch, I blink away the tears and, as they clear, find his eyes boring into mine. I inhale a small gasp, captivated by his stormy grey irises, swimming with so much love, it makes my heart hurt.

“I love you,” the words slip from my lips and he leans in, kissing me softly.

“Why?” he says against my mouth, his voice strained.

“For a hundred reasons,” I murmur, kissing him again, the saltiness of my own tears sliding onto my tongue.

“Clarissa said I can't love.”

I jerk away at his words, hurt by them. “She's wrong.”

He continues, taking my hand and brushing my knuckles over his lips. “I think she was right...at first anyway. When I used to watch you, I don't think that was love, it was infatuation. But now I know you...truly know you.” He looks deep into my eyes, making my heart soar. “I don't know what else to call it.”

⊱✿ ✿⊰

“Dominant?” I spit, reading the newspaper article about the events that transpired the other night. “She's a sadist not a dominant.”

Ethan takes the paper from my hand, dropping down onto the bed beside me, tending to the burns on my legs. I refused to stay in hospital longer than a day. I couldn't bear the place, not since I lost my father. It's all I was reminded of. And with everything that's happened, I couldn't handle that too.

“Don't read that. We know the truth. That's all that matters.”

“I just wish they'd get their facts right.”

Ethan places his finger on my lips.“Don't think about it. Who cares what they say about her?”

I move backwards out of his touch. “They're glorifying her, making her out to be some manipulative genius. But she was pathetic, taking out her pain on other people.” I shake my head, rage coursing through me.

I'm distracted as Ethan changes a dressing on my calf, the salve stinging as he rubs it in.

“That poor guy she had in her basement...Goodness.” I run a hand into my hair and Ethan touches my cheek.

“He'll be fine. He's getting the help he needs. Please stop internalising all of this.”

I break a small smile. “Coming from you,” I tease.

He grins, his eyes locking with mine. It's the most beautiful smile I've ever seen, tugging at my heart strings. Somehow since the fire, Ethan's been...better. Not without trouble or pain, but like some of the weight on his shoulders has lifted. And he actually looks me in the eye. It's unbelievable really, what it took to help him. But the inner workings of peoples' minds is a mysterious thing.

“Nick gave his story, look.” I point out, snatching up the paper again and frowning. I glance through it, shaking my head. “He said she's had him down there for a whole year. How is that even possible?”

Ethan looks grave, shrugging as he finishes putting the last dressing on my thigh. His fingers tingle where they touch and I place the newspaper firmly down.

“At least she'll be locked up in prison before long. Then she'll learn how he felt,” Ethan mutters.

I nod, but I'm not really listening, leaning in and stealing a precious kiss. It lasts forever, his tongue slow on mine, his hands travelling up my waist.

“What do we do now, huh?” he says in a low voice, his eyes trailing over my throat.

“Look for jobs?” I tease and he squeezes my sides, making me squeal.

“Yeah, maybe I should take Paul up on that offer...”

I shrug, smiling at him, feeling gloriously dizzy. “I think we deserve at least a week off to decide.” I bury my nose in his shoulder, breathing him in.

“At least,” he agrees, laying a soft kiss in my hair.

ETHAN

A year to the day that Clarissa tried to destroy us, and I'm sitting in a hospital again, holding Annalise's hand just like I was that day.

“Do you want to know the sex?” the doctor turns to us but I can't draw my eyes from the screen opposite, watching the black and white image of my child. Our child.

I gaze, transfixed, lost to one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen. And I know my obsessive tendencies aren't gone forever. But now I'm fixated on this little life. And I'll never let anything bad happen to them.

“Yes, we'd like to know,” Annalise says, squeezing my fingers.

She's glowing with the pregnancy, like she was made for this her whole life. Made for me.

Libby and Paul have been a godsend throughout this whole thing. Neither of us knew what we were doing. All I knew is that I wanted to start a new life with Annalise, my beautiful wife. I didn't realise there was so much to learn, so much to prepare for. But I know we can do it, especially now I'm looking at our child, it suddenly seems so easy.

Kat's been helpful too, and since Eric broke up with her I've seen a side to her I'm growing to like. I think she needed to be knocked down a peg or two. There's even a guy I work with, one of the guards, Annalise is pushing me to set her up with. He's as outgoing as she is so maybe it'd be a good match, I don't know.

I think of my father and the dull ache of his voice whispers in my ear. It's not strong now, not like it used to be. Annalise has taught me how to deal with it. For every nasty word in my head, I have to counter it with something good. She even made a whole list of words for me to use, telling me in absolute earnest that each one of them was true. It was the most overwhelming thing I'd ever read and it took me a long time to start believing it.

But a year on and his voice hardly effects me. Creeping into my mind only when I'm feeling particularity exhausted or anxious.

“It's a boy,” the doctor reveals, beaming, her eyes sparkling.

My chest swells with pride and I lean in, kissing Annalise on the cheek. She grips my hand so tight, speaking of her happiness, her pride, her fear of the unknown. I feel it in my bones, too. But I know together we'll work it out.

Good for nothing.

I shut my eyes to block out the voice, using the technique and countering it with positive thoughts of my own. And there's one beautiful, defining characteristic I know I possess. I know from the depths of my soul, that I will never treat a child like he treated me.

Loving father.

Adoring husband.

Good for something.

CONTINUE READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT THE FIRST BOOK IN THE DARKER SIDE OF CANE SERIES – AN AMAZON BESTSELLER!
***
DIRTY DARK DECEIT

(A Dirty Dark Standalone)

OUT SOON!

***

WANT TO BE THE FIRST TO KNOW WHEN THE NEXT BOOK IS OUT?

Why not join my VIP mailing list and I'll personally send you an email reminder as soon as it's released (I promise never to send you spam)

Join here:

http://bit.ly/2fIvc2A

For giveaways, sneak peeks, ARCs, freebies like me on FACEBOOK:

https://www.facebook.com/laceyalpha/

Follow me on GOODREADS:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16046055.Lacey_Alpha

Visit my WEBSITE:

http://www.laceyalpha.wordpress.com

DO YOU WANT TO BE PART OF MY 'DREAM TEAM'?

WANT TO BE THE FIRST TO RECIEVE ARCs AND BE PART OF A COMMUNITY WORKING TOGETHER TO SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT MY BOOKS?

As a member of the Dream Team you'll get:

- A free advance copy of all future Lacey Alpha books

- Access to a private Facebook group where you'll connect with other super fans and be involved in discussions about the books and their promotion

- The opportunity to give feedback on covers, prices and more

- A special "thank you" in the 'acknowledgements' within the books themselves

- The opportunity to shout and rave about the books you love and say you were the first to read them if I ever get famous (ha.ha)

In return, I'll ask for:

- An honest review on Amazon for each new book

- Any promotional ideas you might have to help build hype around the books

- Your help spreading the word about the books on various social media sites

Interested in joining? Just email me at: laceyalphabooks@gmail.com

Thanks for being a loyal fan of the series!

Love Lacey xo

The Darker Side of Cane

By

LACEY ALPHA

1

I'm in way over my head. I should not have accepted this assignment. But what's an intern with zero income to do? I'll never get ahead in journalism if I refuse the first real work I've been given.

My boss, Jody Briggs (the woman takes the title of boss way too literally), asked me to do an article on online dating. I've been given the task of finding out whether it's worth it or not. Oh, and not to mention the 'no sex until the third date' rule. But that was the problem. The big, blazing billboard screaming at me in my head for why I could not possibly take on this assignment: I'm a virgin.

Yes, a twenty one year old virgin who somehow managed to make it through university without losing it.

I mean, this is London for goodness sake. Nearly nine million people live here and I can't find one special guy amongst them to...well...scratch that particular itch.

So I smiled at Jody Briggs, lying through my teeth that this assignment was 'right up my street!'.

Well done, Evelyn Ash. They'll never print this article if I don't produce something heartfelt and edgy. That's what Missy Magazine is all about; women wanting real advice on finding love, gritty details included. I'm just about the worst person they could have chosen: the twenty one year old virgin who's never been in love.

Tying my muddy-brown hair into a high ponytail, I pour myself a very large glass of red wine and sit on the sofa with my laptop. My studio apartment is tiny. In fact, that's an understatement. It's miniscule. The lounge/bedroom appears cluttered because pretty much everything I own has to fit inside the space. But from the broken wardrobe to the shabby sofa-bed, to the brightly glowing fish tank which houses my two goldfish, Jaws and Michael Bubbly, I guess it's what I call home.

Taking a sip of the fruity wine, I check my emails and find one addressed from Jody.

Hi Sweetie

She calls everyone sweetie, probably to make her seem less like a jerk. It doesn't.

The team thought they'd give you a hand with your article. Click the link and enter the details below.

I click the link at the bottom of the email, wondering what she means by them 'giving me a hand'.

I'm taken to the online dating site we agreed I'd use called MeetCupid.

I realise the details included in Jody's email must be for logging in. I login using the not-so-original-username of Brunette52 and quickly find the profile section of the site. Holy garbage, they've filled it in!

Taking a large gulp of wine, I read through their attempt of summarising me.

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Green

Height: 5'5"

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Education: Bachelors Degree

Seeking: A man

Intent: Looking to date

Likes: Cats

Hates: Romcoms

I bet my coworker Melanie chose my hates. I let slip to her that I think romance is dead in the modern age. It was a fair comment, I think. But I don't actually mind the odd romcom or two.

I scroll down to the section entitled: Tell us about yourself.

I'm a newly single girl who's looking for someone exciting to take my interest.

Short and sweet. I'm not exactly newly single. More like eternally single. The only guy I've ever called my boyfriend was when I was eight years old. He gave me his juice carton and I gave him a kiss. I guess I grew out of my slutty days. Ha.

Taking another gulp of wine, I check my inbox.

Eight messages already! It only just went live. The team at work have uploaded two photos of me. The main picture is of me at a work-do in a red dress that screams class even though I got it on sale at H&M. The second is of me laughing my head off at something Melanie said. I can't remember what, but I do recall her taking picture after picture as tears poured down my face. Well, it could be worse.

I skim through the messages. One guy catches my eye. Dark hair, cute smile, bachelors degree. Seems decent enough. His message has a little wit and is more enticing than many of the other messages that consist of 'Hey baby', 'Nice legs', and one 'Who are we kiddin? Let's idiot'.

There's another that catches my eye but the guy has no profile picture. Definite no-no. His username is Cane312 and his message simply says:

What's your darkest desire?

I reply to the cute guy first with what I hope is a flirty-but-not-desperate message then my eye is drawn back to Cane312. I click on his profile. It's pretty limited. No picture and no details? Who does this guy think he's kidding?

Under interests he's written: you

I roll my eyes and take another sip of wine. It makes my head swim and, for the sake of my article, I decide to reply to Mr No Details.

That's a probing question considering we don't even know each others names. And in your case, not even what you look like. You could be a mass murderer for all I know.

I press send, grinning to myself. This online dating thing could be more fun than I realised.

The cute guy has messaged me again. This time he's signed it with a winking emoji. Oh, the romance...

A little red flag pops up at the bottom of the screen to let me know that Cane312 has replied to my message. Let's see what he's got to say.

I click on the new message, feeling a little giddy as I top up my glass.

I can be whatever you want me to be.

A chill goes through me. I don't know why because this guy is clearly a creep. And yet something about the message gets to me.

Shaking my head, I hover my fingers over the keyboard, thinking up my reply.

I'd like you to be a decent guy. Can you be that?

I'm being sarcastic but he takes it literally.

Yes. Whatever you like.

Perhaps we can meet in person?

My stomach writhes. Online dating has never appealed to me. The thought of going on a date without ever having met the guy beforehand is nerve wracking. And if I'm going to go out with anyone, it's not going to be the could-be-psycho. I ignore the message and return my attention to the cute guy. I have a few more messages in my inbox but all of them are of the 'Hey baby' variety. No thank you. If you can't string more than a sentence together to get my attention, a date is hardly going to be any better.

I chat to the cute guy all evening who I discover is called Mike. He's a male nurse with a soft spot for animals and he wants to have kids one day. Win! When he asks me out, I pluck up the courage and agree to meet with him the following night.

I'm on a roll. I just need two more dates for the rest of the week.

I message back one of the least offensive looking 'Hey baby' guys. His profile picture features him shirtless at the gym. Classic. I doubt he's looking for anything but sex but I could do with a few failed dates to jazz up my article. After a brief conversation where he compliments my thighs, I have a date for Saturday night. Woo. Go me.

Skimming through the list of messages I've accumulated throughout the evening, I try to pick another guy. There's one from a man who's twenty years older than me - he's spent a lot time writing his message and quoting facts from my profile. Then there's someone who says I'm his perfect woman and goes on to list every single reason why.

Hmm. Old or obsessive. Decisions, decisions. I sip my wine.

Before I make my choice, a little ringing noise sounds and a box flashes up at the bottom of the screen. My chest constricts as I read the words inside the box.

Cane312 wishes to start a voice call. Do you want to accept?

I gape at the screen for several seconds. Voice call? I didn't know you could bloody voice call!

Garbage. What do I do? Accept or decline, Evie? Accept or decline?

Downing the rest of my wine, I make a little squeaking noise in my throat then click accept.

"Evelyn?"

Even though I expect it, his voice makes me jump.

"Yes?" I say suspiciously.

"You didn't reply to my message." His voice is deep and soft. He sounds young but I can't be sure. There was no age listed on his profile.

"So you rang me?" Weirdo. Why am I entertaining this?

"Yes. I'd like to meet with you."

I can't help but laugh. "You don't even have a picture on your profile. Why would I meet with you?"

"I'm attractive enough, I assure you."

Arrogant arse. "Says you."

"I'd make it worth your while." His voice lowers and the hairs raise on the back of my neck. I can't deny he has a sexy voice. But so does Sean Connery and that doesn't mean I'd sleep with an eighty year old.

"How old are you?" I ask, suddenly aware I should be making notes on this guy for my article. How many girls get voice-called by picture-less weirdos on this site? Maybe more than I know.

"Twenty seven," he says. "Is that a yes?"

So young? Or maybe he's lying. "I don't trust you." I may as well be honest.

He laughs a soft chuckle. "What makes you trust any of the other men on this site more than me? They have information and pictures, yes, but they could just as easily be fakes."

I consider his words and can't deny how true they are. Cute Mike could actually be Pervert Paul.

For the sake of my article, maybe I should meet with Cane312. He'd certainly add an interesting addition to my dating lineup this week.

"If I meet you, it needs to be in a public place," I say firmly. That's online dating rule number one.

"I don't do public. How about you come over to my place?"

His place? Who has a first date at their house? And what does he mean he doesn't do public? Oh goodness, maybe he's hideous. I hesitate, unsure what to answer. On the one hand, my article could definitely benefit from this. On the other, I could be eaten by a crazed cannibal and no one will ever know what happened to me.

"Evelyn?" His tone is patient but pressing.

I swallow. "Okay." Well done, Evie. You broke dating rule number one in about thirty seconds flat.

"Great. Inbox me your address." The line goes dead.

I'm not sure if I've made the right decision but a little voice inside tells me to go for it. I message him the address but give him that of a cafe a few doors down from mine (just in case).

He gets back promptly.

Tomorrow. Eight o'clock. A car will be waiting.

A flash of irritation goes through me. He's so presumptuous! I write back quickly.

Can't do tomorrow. Can do Wednesday?

It takes a few minutes but he eventually replies.

See you then, Evelyn.

My heart does a little backflip and I quickly sign off of the dating site. That's quite enough for one night. I realise I still don't know the guy's name. How did he know mine? It must have been on my profile. Double checking he's not some crazy stalker, I find my name at the top of my profile. Phew.

I take out a notepad and pen, jotting down a few thoughts on the evening's events. I have to make this article the best it can be. It's my big shot at getting a permanent position at Missy Magazine.

I've worked my arse off for this opportunity. It's half the reason I'm still a virgin. That and the self-fulfilling prophesy of fearing telling anyone I'm a virgin and therefore staying one. The thought of dating someone at university and revealing to them that I'd never had sex was unthinkable. Everyone's had sex by my age, haven't they?

What will I do if I get to date three with Cute Mike? I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

2

I arrive at work the next day, glad to have three dates lined up already. Jody will be pleased. Well, as pleased as Jody can be.

I spot her as I exit the lift on the eighth floor and walk toward my cubicle. Melanie appears behind Jody, all blonde curls and willowy figure. Her clothes are loose, tie-dye and hippyish. She's one of those irritating people who can get away with not wearing make-up and still look like they walked out of a photoshoot for vogue. Melanie points at Jody then makes devil horns on her head with her fingers. Jody spins around and Melanie drops her hands, gazing around thoughtfully as if she's forgotten something. Nice save, Mel.

I smile to myself as I make my way toward Jody. Her appearance is the epitome of strict. Strawberry-blonde hair scraped into a perfect bun, bright, accusing eyes and her shirt buttons done up to the very last. She just needs a riding crop to finish the look.

Jody spots me, strides over with purpose and says one word,“Dates?”

“Yes I-”

“Good,” she cuts me off and continues on her way.

I make a gormless face as I weave my way to my cubicle which is next to Mel's.

I drop into my seat and mutter to her, “What crawled up her arse and died?”

A head pops up above the divider between my cubicle and the next. “I heard it was her last husband.” Hayden grins at me, his teeth sparkling white against his dark skin.

“I thought he moved to Australia?” Mel says, smirking.

“That's what she told you.” Hayden winks and drops back down behind the divider. He's obviously got a thing for Mel. The two of them took me under their wing on the first day of my internship. Mel's a year older than me and knows exactly what it's like to be the newbie since she went through it last year.

“So...?” Mel says, her blue eyes searching mine.

I suppress a grin and say nothing.

“You got a date then,” she states, reaching for a pack of chocolate chip biscuits on her desk and offering me one.

I shake my head and she pops one into her mouth. Mel has the enviable trait of being able to eat anything she wants and not put on any weight. I only have to sniff a cupcake and I'll gain ten pounds. Since I joined the local gym this year, I've been able to eat a little more. I can just about see the outline of my abs at last.

“Maybe,” I say coyly, switching on the computer at my desk.

“Ooh, do tell. Did you like our profiling by the way? I chose the photo of you laughing your head off.”

“I figured.” I give her a mock angry glare.

“You look totally cute in that pic. Hayden chose the other one of you at the party.”

“You're adorable in that dress,” Hayden chips in from beyond the divider.

I pout. “I don't want to be adorable. I want to be hot.”

Mel giggles. “That's so adorable.”

Hayden laughs and I huff.

Stupid friends. I can be hot. I think.

“So, did you get a date or what?” Mel presses.

I type in my username to the computer then swivel my chair around to face her. “I got three.” My chest swells with pride.

“Ooh. Check you out,” Mel coos. “Who are they?”

“Well, there's a cute guy called Mike. We're going out tonight.” The thought makes my stomach turn over. What am I gonna wear?

"Cool." Mel grins.

Seeing as it's my job, I can go onto the online dating site and call it research. The first thing I do, however, is get up a picture of Mike.

“This is him," I say to Mel.

She stuffs another biscuit into her mouth, scooting closer on her chair. “He is cute.”

“What should I wear?” I spy Jody hovering around the cubicles across the room. She's like a bird of prey, looking for her next victim to humiliate. At least once a week she picks on someone to scream at in front of all the staff at the magazine. Last week it was a guy called Joe's turn. He went bright red and didn't talk to anyone for the rest of the day. Poor guy.

“What did you wear on your last date?” Mel asks.

Hmm. My last date. I think back (and I really have to think back). It was nearly a year ago, with a guy from one of my lectures at university. He had spiky black hair and was pompous. But what did I wear?

“That long, huh?” Mel glances at me with a look of pity in her eyes.

“Don't look at me like that. I've been busy.”

Hayden appears over the top of the cubicle. “Busy turning guys down?”

I purse my lips. I have turned the odd guy down lately. I mean, if it's not butterflies, what's the point? That's my mantra. And until this assignment came along, I was the last person on earth who would have been found online dating. It literally rips the heart out of romance.

Mel gives me a hard stare. “You do have a bit of wall up, Evie.”

“No I don't,” I splutter, trying to act cool. But if there's anything I'm not, it's cool.

“You're an eight out of ten, easy,” Hayden says through the wall.

I can't help but laugh. Eight out ten? Eight out of ten's don't spend Saturday nights alone eating reheated takeaway from Friday night. “You guys are sweet. But total liars.”

Mel shakes her head. “If you acted more like the eight you are, then suitors would start showing up everywhere. Guys like confidence.” She flicks her blonde hair.

“Suitors?” I giggle.

Mel snorts as she meets my eye. “You should wear something sexy tonight. Go for it. And if the date goes to trash, at least you'll get a good story out of it for the magazine.”

Jody the helicopter hovers by and I duck my head, pretending to read Mike's profile which is still up on the screen.

I notice that he's online. I guess he has more than one date lined up this week too. I better make an effort. Who knows? Maybe I could meet someone worthwhile on here.

***

On my way home I swing by the local shopping centre to buy a new outfit for my date. I decide on a coral-coloured skater dress that skims over my hips. It brightens the paleness of my skin which is an added bonus.

Back at my flat, I shower and shave my legs. The nerves really kick in at six o'clock. I've planned to meet him in a bar in central London. Very safe, lots of people. Unlike tomorrow's date. I've been wondering whether I should bring a friend for safety. But I'm still debating that.

My phone buzzes on the arm of the beige sofa-bed which is currently folded away. I find a message from Mike.

Something's come up. Can we reschedule?

I glare at the phone, my heart beating a little too hard. Who cancels a date an hour before we're meant to meet? Arsehole. A little voice in the back of my head says, he probably found you on Facebook and knows what you really look like. I push the confidence-crushing thought away. Maybe he genuinely had something come up?

My subconscious snorts at me. Oh shut up.

I tap out a quick message to Mel.

Cute Mike just bailed on me. He wants to reschedule. Should I bother? Or is he an A-hole? X

I chuck my phone back onto the sofa and go to my wardrobe which is tucked into the corner of the room. The bottom drawer is falling apart. Stupid Ikea. I yank it out and fall on my arse. Stupid, stupid Ikea. I grab a pair of jogging bottoms out of the drawer and tug them on, pairing them with a baggy t-shirt.

I turn to the wine bottle on the small coffee table in front of the sofa-bed. “I guess it's just me and you tonight, then?”

I drop onto the sofa and top up my already half-drunk glass. I sigh. Ah, the real love of my life: red wine.

My phone pings and I pick it up, finding a reply from Mel.

Reschedule? What a douche. I'd give him one more chance but if he cancels again, phoo. X

Mel always has the right thing to say. She's a dating pro. She's been online dating for over a year and has had so many dates that I've lost count. I have no idea why Jody didn't pick her for this assignment.

I reply to Mike.

Okay. No problem. I can do Friday?

In hindsight, maybe that sounds a little too available. What normal person is free on Fridays?

Mike doesn't reply until later that night (when I'm four episodes into a new season on Netflix and half a bottle of wine is gone).

Friday's good ;)

Warmth spreads through my tummy and I'm not sure if it's him that's caused it or the wine. Maybe he's not a douche after all.

3

Holy garbage, I'm going on a date with Mr No Profile Picture tonight. I told Mel, who was predictably horrified, and made me download an app on my phone which lets her track my location.

I wear the coral dress which was meant for Mike and look at myself in the mirror. I curled my dark hair so it hangs around my shoulders in little tendrils. My eyes are wide and bright green, I've highlighted them with a touch of makeup and opted for a natural look on the rest of my face. I pinch my cheeks. Why am always so god-dang pale?

I check the time and my heart races as I realise it's almost eight. I down my glass of wine, glad of the confidence boost it gives me as I pull on my leather jacket. An autumn chill is setting in already even though it's early September. I miss summer. Despite the fact that I never tan. I could sunbathe all day but I either burn or nothing happens. It's a mystery.

I grab my bag, stowing my phone inside it alongside my purse and a red lip gloss.

My hands are moist with nerves. Goodness, get a grip Evie.

I feel like I'm about to do a bungee jump. Maybe that would be safer than what I'm actually heading towards...

I exit my tiny apartment, walking down the narrow staircase that leads to a wooden door. I head out onto the street and a cold wind immediately bites my bare legs. Maybe I should have worn tights. Summer is officially dead.

I hurry along to the cafe a few doors down and find a black BMW waiting outside. Surely that's not for me? A man hops out wearing a smart suit. He's ancient, at least in his eighties. His skin sags around his jaw. Oh please, don't let it be him. I glance around, wondering if I should pretend to be waiting for someone else.

“Are you meeting with Mr Cane tonight?” he asks, his voice dry and frail.

“Cane312?” I quote his username like a moron. At least this isn't him. No offence, old man.

“That'd be he. Please step inside, miss.” He opens the back door to the car and I peep into the space, expecting to find the mystery guy. It's empty.

Glancing back at the street, I can't help but pray that I'm not going to die tonight. I duck inside, finding the space warm and cosy. I sigh, rubbing my cold knees as the driver shuts the door behind me.

Soft, ethereal music plays into the cab. It's kind of spooky. A partition separates the driver and I. I knock on it as he pulls away down the road.

It slides down with a whirring noise.

“Sorry, er, where is it we're going exactly?”

“To my employer's residence, miss. It's approximately a thirty minute drive, just outside of London.”

“Oh...alright.” I put my seatbelt on and get a little more comfortable. This guy seems nice, maybe he can tell me more about my date. “So...I'm not going to be murdered tonight, am I?”

The driver chuckles. “No, miss. Not unless you desire it, that is.”

What does that mean? I swallow, my throat feeling dry. “And is he er...a nice guy?”

“He's always been gracious to me. Just relax, miss. He'll be exactly how you expect him to.”

I frown. I kind of expect a psycho with boils all over his face so I hope the driver's wrong.

“What's your name?” I ask.

“Harold.”

He doesn't ask mine. Perhaps he already knows it.

I try to relax but the closer we get, the more nervous I am. We leave London behind us and enter little lanes that wind through woodland and farmland. The leaves on the trees lining the roads are flecked with yellow and gold, the first signs of autumn setting in.

My heart pounds against my chest. This really is the middle of nowhere. I check my phone and find a message from Mel.

Be careful tonight, Evie. I have a bad feeling about this. X

Great. That did nothing to assuage my nerves. And my throat is so dry.

“Is there anything to drink in here?” I ask, glancing around.

“There's champagne in the fridge, miss.”

“Fridge?” I mutter.

“Just below the partition.”

I lean forward and find a door embedded in the glossy wood. I press it and it pops open. Little bottles of champagne are stacked inside the small fridge. Two glasses sit in perfectly-sized holders on the inside of it. I take one and pour a glass out, sipping the cool, fizzy liquid.

That's better. I take another sip. I've already had a glass of wine tonight so I want to be careful. Better to have my wits about me when I meet with the mysterious Cane312. A little flutter of panic goes through me as I realise the champagne could be drugged. I raise the glass to my eye as if I can spot the poison in it.

I asked for the drink though, it wasn't forced on me. But I can't bring myself to drink any more all the same.

The driver turns off of the lane and we pull up in front of a huge iron gate. Talk about intimidating. Harold presses a button and the gate slowly splits at the middle, opening away from us. A long gravel drive is revealed, winding up through a vast estate that leads to a mansion that looks like it's been plucked out of a Jane Austen novel.

"Wow," I breathe, sitting forward in my seat to see better through the front window. We pass between a vast expanse of lush green lawn, mowed to perfection. I spy trees on the outline of the estate and little stone outhouses in the distance.

"This is Mr Cane's home, Miss," Harold says, glancing back at me.

I nod. Woah, this guy must be rich. Harold pulls the car up to the front of the house, circling around a fountain of black stone that has three rearing horses at its centre.

My heartbeat accelerates as the car halts in front of the grand oak doors.

Goodness. What am I doing here?

Harold exits the car, moves around and opens the side door for me. I hold onto the glass in one hand and the small champagne bottle in the other. As I exit, Harold takes them both from my hands. "This way, miss."

I nod mutely as I follow him up the stone steps and through the front door.

I'm speechless as I take in the grand hall. The age of the house is evident, from the old oak staircase, hardwood floors and exposed brickwork on the walls. Everything else is modern and pristine and, rather than the musty smell I would expect of a place like this, there's a pleasant, citrusy scent.

Harold places the bottle and glass on a side table then turns to me, holding out his arm.

I gaze at him dumbly.

"Your coat, miss," he prompts.

Feeling a little foolish, I shrug out of the jacket and pass it to him. If I need to make a quick escape, I may have to ditch the coat. I have no idea where he's going to put it.

Harold gestures to the stairs. "Please, make your way to the landing. Amelia will meet with you there."

"Amelia?"

He just nods and gestures to the stairs again.

I nod, thanking him quietly as I head up the staircase. My heels clack against the wood and I feel I should tiptoe lest I scratch it. As promised, a woman is waiting for me at the top of the stairs. She's sitting on a beautiful set of modern furniture beneath a huge skylight. Her reflection shines on the glass above, the sky perfectly black beyond it.

She stands as she spots me. Her ebony hair is silky beyond belief and hangs about her pretty face in a way mine would never do. I'd guess she's a few years older than me. It's beyond me why she's here.

"Good evening. My name's Amelia. Mr Cane's left everything ready for you in here." She moves through a wooden door and I follow, feeling slightly dazed. Ready for me? What does that mean?

The room is a grand bedroom with black silken sheets on a fourposter bed. A dressing table is laid out in front of an enormous mirror that's as high as the ceiling.

Amelia moves to a wardrobe fronted with glass doors. "Your outfit is in here. Once you're changed, I'll take you down to the dining room where you'll have drinks with Mr Cane first."

First? What's second? And what's wrong with what I'm wearing? I walk to the wardrobe and find a single dress hanging inside. It's long, silky and red with a sexy slit up the leg. I turn to Amelia who's already heading out the door, acting as normal as if this happens every day. Perhaps it does!

"Um, Amelia?" I call and she pauses, her hair sliding over one shoulder as she looks back at me. "What comes after drinks?"

She smiles wryly. "That's between you and Mr Cane." She exits, shutting the door behind her with a sharp click.

I'm left dumbstruck, unsure what to do. Should I get changed? This has to be the craziest thing that's ever happened to me.

I take the dress off its hook, sliding the silky material through my fingers. A lacy red mask dangles from the coat hanger. Do I have to wear that too? Goodness.

Dilemma. Do I get changed or not? Do I play his game? He's clearly a man who does things his way, perhaps I should play along. This will make one heck of a story for my article.

A real journalist would do it.

Taking a deep breath, I place my bag on the dressing table and tug the coral dress over my head. I pull the red dress on and find it a little snug, fitting so tightly to my stomach that I wonder if I can sit down. I perch on the edge of the bed and find that I can. Phew. He could have asked for my size if he was going to make me change.

I stand and move to the long mirror. I look...hot. There's no denying it. The dress is doing all the work but I have to take a little credit for my tousled hair and dark eyeliner.

Okay, Mr Cane. You win this round.

Taking the red mask between my hands, I hold it up to my eyes and tie it behind my head. This is going to be interesting...

I fold my own dress and hang it on the back of a chair. Picking up my bag, I move to the door, exiting back into the hall.

Amelia beams at me, taking in the dress. "Stunning. Follow me. He's anxiously awaiting you."

My mouth goes dry. I wish I had that champagne now. I need some dutch courage.

Amelia leads me back downstairs and through a long hallway. Modern paintings hang on the walls, the sort of art I have no time for. It's simple block colours and speaks of no talent, in my opinion.

Amelia pauses beside a door. "Have fun." She looks a little nervous for me.

Don't you be nervous, Amelia! How do you think I feel?

I nod to her and push through the door.

The room I enter is vast. Floor length windows run along one wall which I imagine would give a stunning view across the grounds if it weren't nighttime. A long table sits at the centre of the room. Red drapes hang on the other wall and candles light the space, dotted along the table and nestled in candelabras on the walls.

At the far end of the table sits a man. I gulp, pausing as I catch sight of him. He's wearing all black and a shiny ebony mask conceals his face. It has nothing but eye holes.

Incredible. He really is a monster. What is underneath that mask?

He stands as he spots me. He's tall. At least six feet. He's broad too, pure muscle pushing against the inside of his shirt.

"Mr Cane?" I ask, finding my voice (though apparently a squeakier version of it).

He nods in confirmation. "Please, take a seat." He gestures to the chair at the opposite end of the table to him. His voice is as deep and sexy as it was on the voice call so it's definitely the same guy.

I sit, gazing down the long, mahogany wood directly at the man. My stomach turns over. I am in serious trouble.

Harold enters through a door near to Mr Cane, carrying a tray with two drinks and a bottle. It takes him a while, but he eventually places one glass in front of Mr Cane and the other in front of me. I thank him quietly and take a large sip of the liquid which I suspect is port.

The room is all too silent as Harold leaves the bottle at the centre of the table and exits.

Garbage. What do I say?

I'm saved the bother of coming up with something as Mr Cane says, "I always like to have a drink before these evenings commence."

"These evenings?" I question, my voice a little high. Goodness, my heart is desperately trying to climb up my throat.

I take another large gulp of the port. It sinks into my tummy, dulling some of my fears.

"Yes. You're aware that I do this fairly regularly?"

"Oh. I see," I say. How much does this guy date?

"You sound disappointed." He tilts his head to one side. That mask is freaking me out.

I shake my head. "No. Just curious. Are you looking for something serious then, Mr Cane?"

The lights are too dim to tell but I think he narrows his eyes at me behind the mask. "Serious?" He sounds as baffled as I feel.

"As in, a serious relationship?" Do I really have to clarify that? Maybe I'm out of touch with dating.

He laughs - it's a deep chuckle that makes my toes curl. Goodness, why is having this effect on me? I think it's the mask. I really need to see what's beneath it.

"Something...funny?" I question, sipping the port again. Garbage, I've finished my glass already.

He stands, moving with grace down the table, taking the bottle and bringing it towards me.

I swallow as he approaches. He pulls the cork out and refills my glass, watching me the entire time.

I squirm under his gaze. I grasp the glass as he finishes pouring and take another sip to distract me.

"Easy," he says in a low voice, "I want you sentient for what I have planned."

"And what's that?" Why is my voice so small? I grip the edge of the chair, my palms moist with sweat.

He places the bottle on the table and the noise makes me jump.

"Skittish?" There's a smile in his voice.

I shake my head. I can handle this. Come on Evelyn. "Not at all."

He leans against the table, evidently having no plans of returning to his seat. I wish he would. He's looming over me and making me feel so vulnerable. I think he's enjoying it. Mongrel.

"You're not a murderer, are you?" I blurt. Incredible, the port's melted my filter.

"I can be whatever you want me to be," he says, his voice silky smooth.

"Well...I don't want you to be a murderer."

He laughs again, standing fully and returning to his seat to retrieve his drink. Swirling it around in the glass, he lifts the mask slightly so he can sip it. His chin is covered in a layer of stubble and his mouth is very...normal. There's no sign of any scars. No boils or burns to speak of. He drops the mask back into place and turns to me. "There's no need to be nervous, I won't hurt you. Not unless you want me to, that is."

"And why would I want you to?" I snap. Hurt me? What's up with this guy?

"There's a fine line between pleasure and pain."

I stand abruptly. "What's going on here?" My heart pounds in my ears.

"I'm not sure what game you're playing...but I'd like to play along." He stalks toward me, slow and surveying.

I step backwards. "I'm not playing a game. I thought this was a date."

"I don't date, Iris, I idiot."

Holy garbage, he's got the wrong person. I almost laugh. Somehow there's been some major, major mess up. "I'm not Iris." I sound so relieved. Goodness, I am so relieved.

"You're not?" He's thrown. I've actually thrown this masked lunatic! Ha.

"I'm Evelyn. Evelyn Ash. We met online."

He whips his mask off and incredible he's gorgeous. He's hollywood, god-like hot. He's all dark ruffled hair and perfect symmetrical features. His eyes are ebony pools, dripping with gold.

He snatches the red mask from my face and I open and shut my mouth, my stomach fluttering madly. My cheeks heat up and I suddenly feel like he's seeing me for the first time. And in a way he is.

"Evelyn? Idiot." He runs a hand into that perfectly rugged hair, scraping his nails through it. And then he laughs like he's made some joke I don't get.

I pull myself together and fold my arms. "What is going on here?"

"I'm sorry, Evelyn. Truly, I am. Harold has been quite forgetful of late. He must have double booked me."

"Double booked you?" Okay, now I'm offended. "Goodness. How many girls do you date?"

"No wonder the dress is on the tight side," he mutters to himself, ignoring me. He reaches out and pinches the material at my waist.

I slap his hand away and actual, genuine electricity pulses up it. What was that?

His eyes roam over me, hungry.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" My voice sounds small again. Dang it, Evelyn. Woman up.

"You actually put on the dress. You're plucky."

"Foolish, more like." I turn away from him and he touches my arm to stop me.

If he'd grabbed me, I would have run. But it's a gentle gesture, showing me he means no harm.

"Let me explain," he pleads and I can't believe this gorgeous guy is actually pleading with me.

I almost relent, then stiffen. "No."

His jaw hardens and there's that hungry look again. "Yes," he growls.

I say nothing, giving him permission to go ahead. He has about ten seconds to talk himself out of this before I run out of this room as fast as my legs can carry me. He doesn't. Instead, he steps closer.

"Maybe I can show you..." A smile dances on his lips.

"No," I snap. No freaking way.

He bites the inside of his cheek. I don't seem to be turning him off me at all.

"You're very uptight."

I glower at him. "And you're very presumptuous."

He smiles again like I'm amusing him. Funny am I? I'll give him funny. I move away from him and find myself near the port. I whip out the cork and take a swig from the bottle. Ha. It probably costs a fortune. Instead of looking annoyed, he follows me and takes the bottle from my hand, swigging from it himself.

"You're very intriguing..." He watches me, making my stomach tie itself in knots.

Before I can answer with something smart - not that I had anything smart to say - the door opens and Amelia enters.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir. But you have another guest. Miss Iris Twain?" She looks a tad baffled.

I roll my eyes and Mr Cane keeps his gaze on me, looking mildly irritated. "Tell her to go. We'll rearrange another day."

No way, mister. "She can stay. I'm leaving." I push past him but he snatches my wrist.

"Tell her to go," he commands.

Amelia nods and heads out the door.

"I'm not what you're looking for," I insist.

"I beg to differ."

He drops into a seat and pats the space next to him. "Stay. Have a drink with me."

I hesitate, glancing at the door. I really should go.

"Sit, Evelyn," he demands.

He's so bossy. Despite myself, I drop into the seat beside him, turning my knees away so they aren't touching him.

He swigs from the bottle again. "I completely respect the fact that you're probably looking for a serious relationship. I can see that you didn't agree to this date for sex, though why you'd be on a trashy dating site like MeetCupid is beyond me."

I bite my tongue. I'm not telling him the truth. If he knew I was writing an article for a magazine he might not be so open about his sex life. And I can tell there's a story here.

He passes me the bottle. I take a small swig and place the bottle on the table. I've definitely had enough to drink. My head is swimming.

"I'm curious." He leans closer and I'm filled with his intoxicating scent of something fresh and mellow. "What does a girl like you look for in a guy?"

I swallow, my mouth too dry and my pulse too fast. "Well..." I gaze down at my hands, knotting them together. I've not told anyone I'm a virgin. Everyone just assumes I'm frigid or uptight. But I'm not.

"What is it?" he growls, looking at me intently.

I don't know whether it's the wine, his beautiful face, or his insistent tone but I say, "Well I'd just like a nice guy to...you know."

"Idiot?" he finishes for me, that smile playing around his lips again.

I nod, cringing inwardly.

"Am I not nice enough?" He looks down at himself in disbelief.

Arrogant arse. I shake my head, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" he practically snaps.

He frightens me but in a way that almost turns me on. Almost. "I've just never..." I gesture between us. Dang it why can't I say what I mean? It's just too cringe-worthy.

His blank expression tells me he's not getting it.

I sigh heavily, take a large swig of port and blurt, "I'm a virgin."

His mouth falls open and I feel completely naked in front of him. Thank goodness I'm not.

"Goodness...and you came here?"

I nod, unsure what that means. Is this some kind of sex palace? Do sex palaces exist? If they do, this is definitely one.

He scrapes a hand through his hair. "How is someone like you a virgin? Are you religious?"

I shake my head. I wish I was. I wish I had any excuse but I have nothing to offer.

"Well idiot," he exclaims, looking at me like I'm an alien. "I didn't expect that."

I shift in my seat. "Now it's your turn to tell the truth. What's going on here? Do you lure people to your fancy mansion to have sex with them?"

He laughs. "I don't lure people. My clients come to me willingly."

"Clients?" I frown, a little disturbed. "You're a prostitute?"

He laughs again, the sound almost musical, shaking his head. "No, I'm not."

I raise my eyebrows, hoping for further explanation.

"I think it would be unwise of me to tell you anything more. My clients are the only ones who know what I do and their participation assures their silence to me."

"Is it illegal?" I whisper.

He just smiles.

I stand, feeling completely bewildered. "I should really go..."

He stands too, following me like a hound on my scent. "Stay."

"No," I insist.

His breathing is heavy, wanting,

Incredible, I need to get out of here. "Goodbye, Mr Cane."

"Jonah," he corrects and I nod vaguely.

I hurry out the door which Harold entered through. The corridor leads to a large kitchen where Harold is seated, looking half asleep. "Harold? Could you take me home?"

I feel bad to imposition the man so soon but I really must get out of here.

Thankfully, he doesn't question me. "Of course, miss. I'll fetch your coat."

A few minutes later I'm sailing along in the BMW, heading back toward London. I'm left shaken and a little dizzy. I can't get Jonah's hungry eyes out of my head.

I blink hard, forcing my attention on the road lights outside the car. At least this is going to jazz up my article. Take that, Jody.

CONTINUE READING NOW FOR JUST 0.99!

------------------> http://amzn.to/2f3CRx1