The snowflakes fell furiously, and before I knew it, I was covered by them. By him. Buried. Trapped. Cold, but still warm all at the same time.

That’s his power, his magic. His beauty. Even in the darkness, you can still sense his presence. He can affect you. Touch you without any physical connection. I never thought anyone could penetrate my darkness, but he has. Effortlessly, like there was none there to begin with at all.

I wish.

“Jenna, you can go.” Jett dismisses her, ready to unleash his full attention on me.

She moves to slip off the bed, and right before she does, Jett pulls her close to us. He hooks his arm around her waist and kisses her gently, warmly. “Stay out of trouble, beautiful.”

She giggles softly, putty in his hands.

“I can’t make any promises.” She slinks off the bed and saunters to the door, clicking it softly behind her. As soon as we’re alone, the tension in the room skyrockets. A sexual combustibility thickening the air.

“Did you do as I said?” Jett runs his hands down my sides, possessively following the curves of my hips. “Does every drop belong to me tonight?”

“Yes, Jett,” I purr.

“It’d better.” He squeezes both my ass cheeks, reminding me of the toy ready to destroy. “Stay.” He slides off the bed buck-naked and opens his drawer of kink. Every time he fishes into his nightstand, he pulls out some kind of naughty paraphernalia. Tonight, it seems to be fully stocked because he retrieves one item after another. My pulse races.

Dropping the handful of chains and rope and leather on the bed, he commands, “Face me.”

I turn on my knees so I’m looking at myself in the mirror. Jett a half an arm’s length away.

He groans as his fingertips journey down the thick strings of pearls covering my chest.

“This may be one of the sexiest outfits I’ve ever seen you wear.”

I smile minutely, attempting to conceal my satisfaction. “Who did you choose it for? Me or Marcus?”

My secret elation disappears. Why is he asking a question like that? I remain silent, fearful of retribution. “London?” He wraps the pearls around his fist and jerks lightly. “I asked you a question, and I expect an honest answer.”

I swallow anxiously before I answer. “Both.”

“Explain.”

“I wore it for Marcus because I thought it would be good for business. I wore it for you because I thought you would like it. I thought you would find it sexy.” The last part of my sentence tapers off into an insecure whisper.

There’s a beat of tense silence before he responds. “You were right. I do find it sexy. I find it sexy as hell.” He yanks the beads again, a little harder this time, smashing our lips together for a scorching, oxygen-stealing kiss. I melt against him, a slave to his possessive tongue and starving mouth. Jesus, Jett can kiss. I clench the dual-pronged toy wedged deeply into my core, resurrecting my arousal. My need for this man is more colossal than the Titanic.

“I am going to make you come so hard, so many times, that you’re going to feel it in your fantasies. You’re going to dream only of me. There’s you and me, and then there’s everything fucking else. Correct?”

“Yes,” I reply rapidly.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Jett.” I crack my eyes open and stare into a sea of prolific aqua currents.

“Mmm, good girl.” He nuzzles my neck right above the choker of pearls. “Those words, your voice . . .” He lets the sentence linger.

What about those things?

Taking one of the ropes, he begins his intricate craft from my elbow to my wrist, knotting the soft string in a sophisticated design. He ties the leftover strand tightly to the iron railing around his bed, then copies the same action on my other arm until I’m secured and stretched and at his mercy, an angel fish on a line, dangling directly in front of him. Bound and subservient, exactly the way he likes. Exactly the way he wants.

Jett steps back, admiring his handiwork with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “You’re beyond beautiful,” he breathes serenely, stepping closer. “Completely exhilarating.”

I try to conceal my pessimism. Try not to associate my horrid past with that one simple word. A word that’s pure to Jett but tainted to me.

Jett’s facial expression falls. He can read me like a goddamn book. He picks up on even the smallest, most unnoticeable reaction, like we’re in tune.