I’m about to find out.
“You remember the rules I gave you, back when we began? About what I didn’t want the first time?” I put my hand to my chest, as if my touch could slow my fluttering heart. “You can consider those suspended.”
“Fewer limits.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Jonah growled, “Good.”
Ten o’clock.
I almost never go to bed this early, but tonight is about setting the stage. So I drape the pink scarf across the foot of my bed—a careless temptation—then walk into my kitchen. By now I can feel my pulse in my throat, in my cunt, in the soles of my feet.
Slowly, I turn the lock, then slide back the deadbolt. Anyone could come in now.
I walk into the bedroom and turn off the one lamp on the nightstand. Now there’s just the dim light from the living room slanting across the floor. Lots of people might leave that much light on so they could find their way around in the dark, if they wanted.
Now Jonah will be able to find his way to me.
Every second is exquisite torture. I lie on my side, covers tucked up around my ears, as if I could possibly pretend to be asleep. Really I’ve never been this awake in my life. Every sound seems unnaturally loud in this silence—the wind through the trees outside, the distant rumble of a truck on the road, the soft creaks in the walls natural to any old house. Surely I’ll hear Jonah’s car pull up . . .
. . . but no. Jonah’s sedan was out front before ten o’clock; I know that as surely as if I’d seen it myself. He would be watching my door from the first moment I unlocked it, to make sure no one else tried to get inside.
A creak from the kitchen first seems normal enough, until I hear another. Footsteps. My entire body tenses in the best possible way. He’s here, now.
Should I get up to investigate? Surprise him in the front room? No. This time I want him to find me in bed.
I close my eyes.
The footsteps come closer. He’s wearing soft shoes, or none, because he walks so quietly that I think if this were real, I’d sleep right through it. By now adrenaline courses through me, setting every single nerve ending on fire.
If I even put my hand between my legs—just that contact, not even a stroke—I swear I’d come this second.
Now the footsteps are right next to me. I feel the foot of the bed sink down, the unmistakable sensation of someone sitting on the mattress. It’s so hard not to open my eyes, so hard to pretend—
His hand closes over my mouth, hard.
My eyes fly open to see Jonah leaning over me. He’s dressed in black, and his face is almost unrecognizable. This is hardly a human being I see. This is . . . a predator.
He hisses, “Don’t scream.”
I don’t scream.
I strike.
My hands close around his wrist, yanking it away from my mouth, and I pull both knees up to my chest, then kick. My feet thud into Jonah’s chest, knocking him completely off the bed.
Instantly I scramble across the mattress, as if I were trying to reach my cell phone (charging in its dock, a few feet away). But Jonah’s hand closes around my ankle and tows me back toward him.
“You hurt me.” His hand pulls at the strap of my tank top, yanking it down to expose one of my breasts. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
“No!” I shove my hands against his chest, hard, and then the battle is on.
No broken bones. No visible wounds. Those are the rules we agreed on in the beginning—permanent rules, which neither of us will ever, ever break. But that doesn’t mean we can’t fight like hell.
I shove him away again. Slap him hard across the face.
Jonah slaps me right back. The force is enough to send me staggering against the wall. Hearing the thud, feeling the sting of my skin, shakes me—this is so real, so fucking real—and for the first time since our inaugural night at the hotel, the safe word comes to the tip of my tongue. Silver.
I don’t say it.
Instead I run at him for a full-on tackle. Jonah didn’t expect that; I can tell by the way he staggers backward. We both land on the bed. I use my momentum to roll me over him until I fall off the far side. Now I’m free, and—holy shit, will I actually get to the phone? Not sure what to do then—
But Jonah’s up. He grabs my arm and throws me bodily onto the bed. Before I can scramble backward, he’s on top of me, his knees pressing down on my arms. I try to kick at him, but from this angle it’s almost impossible. So I writhe, twisting from side to side, until one of Jonah’s hands closes around my throat.
Instantly I go still.
“Now you’re going to behave.” He laughs, a sound as sharp as any switchblade. “You’re not as dumb as you look.”
Would he like it if I begged? “Let me go. Please.”
“Why would I do that?”