“Do you wear a collar with him?”

“No. He gives me jewelry and expensive clothes. That’s how he shows he owns me. I’d rather have the collar. At least that would be something private.”

“I’ve never collared anyone. Collars are for dogs.”

“You collar a dog so if it gets lost it can be returned home to its rightful owner again. The collar isn’t for the dog. It’s for the owner.”

Kingsley looked at her and found himself unable to speak for a moment. Finally he managed to get a few words out.

“I want to own you,” Kingsley said.

Juliette only laughed and shook her head. “Stand in line.”

Kingsley pulled her to him and kissed her.

Juliette had dreamed of him hurting her, she’d said. And Kingsley had fantasized about hurting Juliette since their first night together. Giving and receiving pain was the most intimate act two people could share with each other. More intimate even than sex, which required so little courage. It was a biological itch and that was all. But pain was life and trust and everything he needed from Juliette, everything he needed to give her.

But he hadn’t planned for this night, merely fantasized about it. And he had nothing with him—no floggers, no canes, no whips, no chains. That hadn’t stopped Søren when they were boys back in high school. But that was Søren and Søren could beat Kingsley breathless using nothing but...

Of course.

Kingsley unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of the loops of his khaki trousers. He’d lost weight while living on the beach, weight he hadn’t needed to lose. A month ago he’d dug a belt out of his bag, the one he’d packed in the leather duffel he’d kept in that locker, the bag that contained anything he would need to run for his life if the time came. And the bag that contained the last and only objects that mattered to him. The belt was in that bag.

Juliette took a nervous step back toward the bed.

“Do you know what this is?” Kingsley asked.

“Your belt,” she said.

“It is mine, and it isn’t.” He held it up. The black leather was scuffed and faded, but otherwise it was in pristine condition. It was high quality and had no doubt been expensive when purchased over twenty-five years ago.

“This belt,” he continued, “belonged to the first person who ever beat me. He was a boy at my high school, and I loved him. I loved him so much I gave him my body in every way possible. And this was the belt he used when he beat me. His belt. I’ve kept it all this time.”

“It’s special to you,” Juliette said, eyeing the black leather.

“He is special to me. Was special...”

“Is,” she said. “If he wasn’t still important to you, you wouldn’t be telling me about him.”

Kingsley nodded. “He is special to me. Then and now and always. So special I’ve never beaten anyone with this belt. I kept it hidden away like treasure. Hidden away with all my memories of him and what he did to me.”

“You loved him?”

“I did. And I do. Although I wish I didn’t sometimes. It’s been a knife in me for twenty-three years.”

Juliette nodded. “I know that kind of love. A love like a knife,” Juliette said. “But the knife is what carves us into who we are. Don’t repent of the knife.”

“The knife brought me here,” he said. “I repent of nothing. Not even making love to you again when I know you’ll leave me.”

“Not by choice,” she said. “I promise, not by choice.”

“If you could choose—”

“Don’t ask me to choose when I can’t. Just...”

“What?”

“Just hurt me tonight until I forget who I belong to. Hurt me until I forget who I am.”

Kingsley cupped the back of her neck, kissed her throat. Into her ear he whispered, “I’ll make you forget.”

He untied the back of her dress and pulled it down and off her body. Would he ever get enough of her body? It seemed impossible. The well of his desire was bottomless and he dived into it headfirst.

He kissed her again, held her breasts in his hands, gripped her hips and pulled her hard against his erection. Then, without warning her, he turned her back to him and shoved her against the rough wooden wall.

She held still, said nothing. Waited with her eyes closed and her head bowed.

He struck her hard between the shoulder blades and harder still a few inches lower. She didn’t cry out even when welts appeared on her skin, and he aimed for them. The only sound she made were a few quiet gasps that pleased him more than any scream he’d ever wrung from the lips of a weaker woman. A whip or a flogger made the work easy for him. With a belt he had to throw hard, strike hard, concentrate his energy and his strength. It was as much work for him to hurt her as it was for her to take it. After two or maybe three dozen vicious strikes up and down the entire back of her body, he stopped with as little warning as he’d started.

Juliette remained standing with her eyes closed, panting. He was hard already, eager to have her. Too eager. Dangerously eager. If he took her right now he’d no doubt hurt her with his ardor.

Then again, she’d admitted she liked rough sex. If rough sex was what she wanted, he was more than capable of giving it to her tonight.

Kingsley dropped the belt on the floor and stepped behind Juliette. He pressed his naked chest against the scores of raw welts on her burning back. Then, finally, she cried out in real pain. Sweat and heat against battered flesh...sensual salt rubbed into sublime wounds.