I reach for him, but some instinct has me dropping my hands. Damien needs this—he needs to take me. To truly take me.

And in so many ways, I need to be taken.

He releases a long, slow groan, and I feel it as his orgasm shudders through him. He collapses on me, but only for a moment. Then he pulls himself up and looks at me, and I see pain sharpen his eyes.

“Shit.” His curse is little more than a whisper. He pulls out of me, then starts to leave the room. He pauses by the fireplace and turns back to me, his mouth open as if to speak, his eyes full of regret. I wait for the words, but they don’t come.

After a moment, he walks away.

I kick the pants off so that I can move properly, grab the sheet and curl up in it, trying to decide what to do. I have no idea what that was about, but it’s clear enough that it originated with that phone call. And even though he seems to want to be alone now, I don’t think I’m going with that plan. Tonight, he’s damaged. And if I can’t fix him, I want to at least hold him.

I strip off the rest of his clothes and pull on my red silk robe, which is where it always is before a session, draped across a stool by Blaine’s easel.

Barefoot, I go in search of Damien.

The task is harder than it sounds. The house is the size of a small country, and in the unfinished areas, sounds echo strangely, and it’s difficult to tell where to go.

I hear a strange, rhythmic thump, and finally manage to follow it down to the first floor. I find Damien in a huge, unfinished room. It has a treadmill, a basic floor mat, and a punching bag.

It’s the sound of his fists pummeling the bag that has led me here.

“Hey,” I say. “You okay?”

He throws one last punch and then turns to look at me. He’s put on a pair of briefs, but he didn’t bother with boxing gloves. His knuckles are raw and bleeding.

“Oh, baby,” I say. I look around and see a towel and a water bottle in a plastic crate, along with the gloves he should be wearing. I dampen the cloth and then return to him. “This might sting a little.”

“Dammit, Nikki.” He pulls his hand away from me and cups my face. The dark wildness that was in his eyes earlier has vanished. Whatever demon he was battling, I think it’s been laid to rest. Or at least admitted to ICU. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.” I take his hand back and gently tend to his battered knuckles. “You’re the one I’m worried about.”

“I hurt you.” There’s such pain in his voice that I think my heart’s going to break.

“No,” I say. “You didn’t. You needed me. I want you to need me.” I smile up at him, trying to be a bit lighthearted. “And I think we’ve established I can handle a little pain.”

From his expression, it’s clear he doesn’t appreciate my levity.

“Not like that,” he says.

“Why not?”

“Dammit, Nikki, I told you I’d never hurt you.”

I shrug, tilting my head sideways to look at him. “You spanked me. Hell, you whipped me.”

“That turned you on. It was a game. And I did it because I was hot for you and because you got off on it, too.”

I’m biting my lip. What he says is absolutely true.

“But what I did just now—” He turns away from me and jabs out two quick punches, pummeling the air. “Goddammit. I was pissed off about something and I fucked you in anger, and I don’t do that.”

I go to his side, determined to get through to him. “Damien, I’m okay. I don’t know what all of that was about, but I do know that you were upset. You came to me. I wanted you to come to me.”

“I used you.”

“Yes.” I want to scream the word. “And I don’t care. God, Damien, you’re not some stranger off the street. You’re the man I—” But I can’t go there. “You’re the man who’s heard all of my secrets. Who’s been in my bed and in my head. That’s what makes it different. Don’t you see that? You can have me however you need me. You can tell me your secrets and it won’t change a thing.”

He looks at me. “Won’t it? I wonder.”

His voice is far away, but seems to hold a challenge. I stand there, unsure of what to say.

“I’m going to call Edward to take you home,” he finally says.

I find my voice. “No.”

“Dammit, Nikki.”

“I said no.” I move closer to him. “You didn’t hurt me.” I rise onto my tiptoes so I can whisper in his ear. “I was wet for you, and you damn well know it. So there’s no way you can say that you forced me.” I hold his arm with one hand to steady myself, but with the other I slowly trace my way over his chest and lower abs until my finger finds the waistband of his briefs.

“No,” he says, but I can hear the quickening of his heartbeat, the tightening of his body in anticipation.

“No doesn’t always mean no,” I say. I ease myself down onto my knees, thankful for the gym mat below me. His cock is straining against the briefs. I find the fly, then tug it out.

“Nikki …”

“I’m going to take care of you.” I run my tongue down the length of his cock, so hard and velvety. I taste salt. I taste me. And I want to take him all the way in. “Sunset,” I say. “It can be your safeword, too.”

Before he can say it, though, I rim the head of his cock with my tongue, teasing it as if it were a very large, very decadent lollipop. He gets harder and harder, and when I’m certain that I’ve brought him close to the breaking point, I draw him in, stroking and sucking and getting myself even hotter in the process.

I can feel the change in his body and I know that he’s close, but then he shifts position, pulling out of my mouth and then drawing me up until I’m pressed hard against him. He kisses me, this time softly and sweetly, then eases us both down to the mat.

I open my mouth to speak, but he presses a finger to my lips. “Shhh. No talking.”

He unties my robe and leaves it open, laid out beneath us as he climbs on top of me. I spread my legs and draw my knees up, and then close my eyes in pleasure as he thrusts inside me.

He moves in a slow rhythm, the complete opposite of the way he fucked me upstairs. This is making love, and his eyes never leave mine. He takes my hand and slides it between our bodies, and his silent command is easy enough to understand. I’m so aroused my body tingles all over, but I stroke my clit, getting hotter and hotter, my rhythm matching his thrusts until, finally, he explodes, and I do, too, just moments after.