Page 68 of Reckless Hearts

Let me tell you about what turns me on.

He does, and what he fills the following pages with turns me into jelly. It scares me a little, too—not because ofwhathe writes, but because it’s totally wild to realize there’s another person out there who thinks the way I do. Who feels desire in the same supremely fucked up ways that I do.

He doesn’t ask me not to judge him, and I like that. He merely tells me what he’s into without apology. Not to shock me, but to comfort. To show me I’m not alone in having these desires.

How he wants to chase. How he wants to tie up, to bind. To hear the word no and keep going anyway. To use a person like his own personal toy—ruthlessly, brutally, and without mercy.

I read it all twice. And when I get back to my dorm room, knowing Amanda has class for a few more hours, I’m barely through the door before I’m face-down on my bed with my hands between my legs, bringing myself to the most explosive orgasm I’ve ever had.

But not before I respond in the diary.

You’ve just described everything I’ve ever fantasized about but never dared tell a soul. Please, tell me more.

* * *

Present:

I strap right backinto Mr. Drakos’ wild ride. After the night he barges into my apartment and pushes me into the fucking stratosphere, we lapse right back into the unpredictably volatile Deimos I know.

Yep, the good ol’ whiplash is back.

One night he’s pinning me to my couch, his hands making me explode while he fucks my mouth, which is something I fully realize should make me feel demeaned and like a sex toy instead of a person and turn me off. But it doesn’t.

It makes me feel alive, in an exhilarating, dirty secret kind of way.

But then after that, he goes right back to being Lord Dickhead.

When I get back to the office on Wednesday morning…and you’d better believe I’m on time…he’s got me straining my wrists and soaking myself in sweat again, putting together endless desks and chairs. The next day is the same, as is Monday the next week when I go back in.

The whole time I’m doing this, he’s either in his office ignoring me or shooting me glares, or else he’s stepping out with the sole intention of interrupting me and delegating meothertedious, menial bullshit tasks.

It’s like he’s punishing me.

For what, I still don’t know.

I’veneverknown.

It’s a week and a half after the first night in my apartment when I gasp as something heavy lands right next to where I’m kneeling on the floor, struggling to assemble a cubicle wall. I gasp, jumping out of my skin and dropping my screwdriver as my head whips around and up to where he’s standing over me impassively.

“What’s this?”

“It’s work. Unless you’re hell bent on completing the cubicle walls instead. But they need to be finished this century.”

Asshole.

I frown as I pick up the stack of papers and stand. I page through them, my browns knitting as I glance up at him.

“These are resumes.”

“Clever girl. Very astute.”

I glare at him. “What are theyfor?”

“These are promising potential new hires for Laconia Logistics.”

My eyes roll.

“Something amusing, Dahlia?”

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