“Stay.”

“You know I can’t.”

“I have a spare room. Stay there.”

“Don’t.” I hold my hand up to him. “Don’t push this and make it more than what it is.”

“Offering you a bed to sleep in for the night isn’t turning it into something more,” he replies, buttoning his jeans.

“It’s barely eight o’clock. I think I’ll be okay to go home.”

Tyler stops in the middle of the front room and stares at me. “Fine. But I’m calling you a car.”

“I would hope so.” I snatch my panties from the floor and hold them up. “Because there isn’t a chance in fucking hell I’m walking through the streets of Seattle with no panties on.” I scrunch them into my fist, ready to put into my coat pocket.

A smirk stretches across his face. I raise my eyebrows, grab my heels, and stroll into the front room with them dangling from my fingers. I fetch my coat from the hall and tuck my panties inside the pocket before buttoning it up. It would be more than a little embarrassing if they fell out.

“That was the first time, wasn’t it?”

“The first time for what?” I glance over my shoulder.

“You’ve been tied up.”

“I wasn’t exactly tied up. That would imply that I was tied to something, and I was only tied to myself.”

“Stop avoiding the question, Olivia.”

“Call me by my full name again and I’ll…” I pause. “I’ll think of something. I like your cock too much to hurt it.”

Tyler laughs loudly. It reverberates throughout my whole body with its deep richness, and I fight my shiver. Damn.

“Good to know,” he manages through chuckles. “Answer the question, Liv.”

I lean back against the wall and fold my arms across my chest. “Say please.”

He pauses.

“You said you wanted to control my body. You’ve done that. Hell, honey, if you keep fucking me that way, you can control my body to Mars and back. But that’s all you get. Don’t even start to think you can control me.”

“The thought never even crossed my mind.” He steps in front of me.

“Good thing, too.” I push at his chest. “Did you call for a car for me?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“Did you call for a car?” I smirk, folding my arms again.

Tyler sighs and picks up his phone. He speaks briefly into it, directing Allen to collect me from his apartment in five minutes.

“Happy?” he asks, setting the phone back down.

“Very.” My smirk turns smug.

“Now,” he says, his voice hardening, setting a hand on either side of me on the wall. “Please answer my question.”

I blink a few times, drawing the moment out. For some reason, my lips don’t want to follow my mind. They don’t want to admit to him that, yes, it was the first time someone has ever tied me. But I force them to, and the word falls from my lips in a whisper.

“Yes.” My eyes hit the floor—wanting and needing to look anywhere other than at him.

“But you’ve wanted it?”

I nod.

“Dreamed of it?”

The flush that rises in my cheeks is all he needs to know.

“Hey.” He cups my face in his hands and lifts it so we’re eye to eye. There’s only a glimmer of lingering heat left in his gaze. It’s overshadowed by certainty and honesty. “Don’t look at the floor like you’re ashamed of it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Sex is sex, and spicing it up with a little light bondage is just like adding extra flavor to your chili.”

“I just never found anyone who was even remotely into it before, so I never asked.”

“Well now you’ve found me, and you can ask me as often as you like. In fact, I promise to tie you up every time you ask.”

My face breaks into a grin, matching the one on his. “I’ll be pissed if you don’t.”

“As long as you promise me you won’t go home and be ashamed of it.”

“Oh, I won’t.” I lower his hands from my face.

His phone rings. “Hello? ... Yes, okay… Thanks, Allen.” He looks at me. “Allen’s waiting downstairs for you.”

“Okay.” I walk to the door with him, and he tugs on a lock of my hair.

“So what are you going to do when you get home?”

Stringy. I raise an eyebrow. “I’m going to go home, have a hot bath, and crawl into bed.” I shrug my coat on.

“Yeah?” He cups my jaw and turns my face to his. “Since you refuse to stay here, make sure you dream of me.”

“Oh, I’m fairly certain I will.”

“I look forward to hearing about it.”

“What makes you think I’ll be telling you anything about it at all?”

“What do you mean?”

I open his door and smile sexily over my shoulder. “Why, Tyler, honey. You’re the one in control in the bedroom. So I guess my dreams will have to stay just that—dreams.”

I close the door behind me on his hissed curse. That’s what he gets for asking me to stay the night.

I hope he goes to bed with a raging fucking hard-on, wondering what I’m dreaming about.

Take that, you sexy son of a bitch.

“You could at least let me put clean panties on before you come barging in here like you own the place.”

My best friend looks at me like I’m crazy. Well, maybe I am. I am wrapped in a Hello Kitty towel.

“By all means, Liv. Put some panties on. Never mind the rest of your damn clothes.” She rolls her eyes and sits on my sofa. “Never mind that we have, like, ten bridal stores to scour today to find your dress.”

“Okay, Bridezilla. The bridal stores will still be there in an hour. It’s not like aliens are going to suddenly appear and beam them all up.”

She shoots me the kind of look that would crumble diamond and I grin. Bitch doesn’t bother me. I wiggle my fingers at her and prance into my bedroom. I’m just pulling a bra out of my drawer when she yells at me.

“I know you fucked him last night!”

“Fucked who? My vibrator?”

“Tyler.”

I snort. “Please tell me how you worked that out.”

“You look freshly fucked.”

“I just got out of the shower. How can I look freshly fucked?”

She appears in my doorway. It’s a good thing she’s seen me in my underwear a thousand times, because that’s the sight she gets. At least she gave me a chance to put panties on.

“Your eyes are shiny. And you’re smiling when you shouldn’t be.”

“You’re full of bullshit.”

“You smiled then.” She sits on the bed, and I look in the mirror. No smile. Day grins triumphantly. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

“I plead the Fifth.” I pull some jeans on.

“Olivia Jade Warren, you tell me right now.”

“Really? You want to know about my sexcapades with someone who’ll be your family in two and a half months?”

“Well, there’s the truth I was hoping wasn’t true.” She sighs and leans back, hugging her knees.

I roll my eyes. “Relax, Mom. I’m a big girl now. I think I know what I’m doing.”

“I know you know what you’re doing, sweetie, but I don’t think you’re actually thinking.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I shove a sweater over my head and glare at her.

“You’ve already admitted that Tyler sets your alarm bells ringing. What if…you know. You get addicted and then—”

“History is history for a reason,” I snap, cutting her off and grabbing my hairdryer. “It’s so people learn from mistakes made before. Believe me, I have no inclination to repeat that mistake.”

I turn the dryer on, effectively ending our conversation, and ignore the way she’s staring at me through the mirror. I don’t want to go back to the past—I don’t want to think about the extreme my addiction to someone led me to. It’s a dark place.

Teenage love and a real addiction aren’t two things that mesh well. Or of course, you could say they go hand in hand… If you like your hand-holding destructive and potentially life threatening.

Eighteen-year-old me and twenty-five-year-old me are worlds apart. I’m strong where she was weak. I’m sassy, confident, determined. She was quiet, shy, reluctant.

Seven years is a long time to grow up. Seven years is a long time to grasp a handle on something that was once out of control. On something that could have destroyed more than just my heart.

I set the hairdryer down, banishing those thoughts from my mind. There are reasons I don’t think about those months, and the vulnerability is one of them. Thinking about them opens me up and scares me. One day, I’ll have to remember that bullshit and truly accept my own stupidity before I can move on.

Right now, though, I’m more than happy to move under and over. Preferably another person.

“Okay,” I say, breaking the tense silence. I screw the top back on my mascara. “I’m ready. Where are we going first?”

“Seraphina Bridal,” Dayton replies without missing a beat. Our previous conversation is tucked away. Both of us know better than to push each other on sensitive subjects.

“Then let’s go.” I give Angus a scratch on the head and follow Day down to the parking lot. Her annoyingly clean, white BMW stands out from the myriad of dirty cars around her, and I see her cast a glance at mine.

“Baby needs a clean.” She gets in her car, and I pull open the passenger’s side door.

“You know,” I say, sitting in the car, “your car would look really good with some mud on it.”

“Dirty my car, Liv, and I’ll dirty your ass.”

I laugh as she pulls out. The easiness is back, even if she is dragging me to ten stores.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for dress shopping—finding her dress was the single best day out of all of this planning crap—but I can’t help but feel that ten stores is a little excessive. I’ll probably find one in three.

We arrive at Seraphina Bridal and enter the store. My eyes are assaulted by a range of puffy, white marshmallow wedding dresses and bridesmaid dresses that resemble a stick of cotton candy. A quick look tells us that this is a no-go.

We leave as quickly as we came and move on to the next. By the time we reach the fourth store, I haven’t tried a single thing on. None of them seem right. They’re too short, too blocky, the neckline isn’t right, the skirt cut is wrong… I’m starting to think that ten stores isn’t all that ridiculous.

Thankfully, this store looks more promising. I immediately zone in on a floor-length, mermaid-style dress. The pale pink is the perfect shade and the bow that sits beneath the bust isn’t too much. It’s simple and elegant.

“Try it,” Dayton squeals.

I’ve never heard her squeal in my whole life. This wedding thing is, quite frankly, making me a little scared of her. One minute, she’s Bridezilla. The next, she’s all excited bride-to-be. It’s giving me a headache.

Good thing I love the panties off her.

I slink into the dress in the fitting room. Reaching around, I tug the zipper up halfway, but past that, it won’t budge. “Can you zip me up?”

She pushes open the door and gasps. “Oh, Liv! It’s perfect.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can you zip me up now?”

She rolls her eyes but pulls the zipper up to the top. She’s right. It’s perfect. It needs taking up an inch at the bottom and pulling in at the waist, but those things are easily altered.

“This one. This one!” She claps her hands and grabs the tag. She winces but shrugs a shoulder and undoes the zipper.

“You winced.” Gold star for stating the obvious, Liv.

“I’m still adjusting to Aaron’s…ease of spending,” she says uncertainly.

“We don’t have to get this dress.” I grab the price tag. Two thousand dollars? Holy shit! “Okay, we definitely don’t have to get this dress.”

“No, we do.” She sighs. “Aside from the fact this dress is fucking perfect for you, I was given a preapproved list of wedding boutiques.” She purses her lips.

A bubble of laughter bursts from me. “Are you kidding me?”

“I wish. He gave me six stores to find you a bridesmaid dress. I added the other four. He said, and I quote, ’Baby, I don’t give a shit how much you spend on a fucking bridesmaid dress. What matters to me is that you have the wedding you’ve always dreamed of—regardless of the cost. So go to these stores and shop up a storm with Liv. And don’t come back until you have the whole fucking thing sorted out.’”

“That’s adorable in a demanding kind of way.”

She scowls. “And then he added, ‘And book a wax while you’re out.’”

She leaves me in the fitting room to get dressed again. I laugh into my hands. I can’t think of anyone better for Dayton than Aaron. Then again, they were always made for each other. Put two strong-willed people together and sparks will fly.

A bit like me and Tyler.

Except our sparks are very, very sexual.

I join her at the counter as she buys the dress. Since her dress is being handmade in Paris, she’s getting it delivered to her apartment. Then she is forwarding the package onto a seamstress for fittings.

Why the hell she can’t just give it to the seamstress in the first place, I don’t know.

“You found one then.”

I turn at Tyler’s voice. “You’re like a little jack-in-the-box, aren’t you? Just keep on fucking popping up.”

He laughs. “Aaron asked me to see if you were sticking to his list.” He looks at Dayton and raises and eyebrow. “And believe me, next time I’m going to tell him what to do with his list. This is the fifth bloody store I’ve been in.”

“Tell my darling fiancé I’ve stuck to his list and, if he doesn’t believe me, to check with his accountant.” Dayton smiles at him sweetly. “And also inform him I’m going to get the wax he requested, and I’m taking Liv with me. Right after we go lingerie shopping.”

We’re going lingerie shopping?

“You’re going lingerie shopping?” Tyler’s question might be directed at Dayton, but his eyes are on me.

“Did I or did I not just say that, Tyler?” She sighs. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’re going. I’ve had quite enough of you Stone men for the afternoon.”

I chew my lip to hide my smile. Tyler follows us from the store, and as Dayton gets in her car, he tucks something in my back pocket.

“Make sure it’s blue.”

I spin around to ask him what the hell he means by that, but he’s already halfway down the street and getting into his car. I dig my hand into my back pocket and pull out two fifties.

He just gave me money to buy lingerie. In the middle of downtown Seattle.

I get in the car, the money still in my hand.

Dayton glances at it. “Did he just give you that to buy lingerie?”

“Blue lingerie, if you want to be specific.” My jaw tightens.

“Wait. You’re not dating.”

“Correct.”

“So why is he giving you money for underwear?”

“That’s a very good question.” I tuck it inside my purse—in the back lining. There isn’t a chance in hell I’m spending his money on lingerie.

I’m all for him requesting what I wear. I’m all for him being completely specific. If he’s going to fuck me within an hour.

This, however, crosses a line for me. I’m not his girlfriend. I’m, in his words, his bitch. And that doesn’t give him the right to shove two fifty-dollar bills in my back pocket and demand I buy blue lingerie.

You know what? I think I feel like white underwear today.

I’m sore.

The skin above my vagina feels like it’s been massaged with sandpaper. And don’t even get me started on the skin by my butt. Goddamn stupid waxes.

I’d give it up if it didn’t make it nice down there.

I open the Victoria’s Secret bag lying on my bed and pull out the white bra, thong, and suspender belt set. A smile, not quite nice and not quite bitchy, stretches across my face. I strip off my clothes and shimmy into the set, adding the white stockings I wore for the shoot with Dayton.

He already said that he hates white. He’s about to see me in head-to-toe white.

I stand in front of my mirror and snap a picture. Adding it to a text message, I type, Lingerie shopping was a success.

I drop my phone facedown and change again, this time into sweatpants and a tank top. The heating is on high in the apartment, so despite the rain and cold winds currently battering my windows, I can pretend I’m in the Bahamas if I close my eyes and try hard enough.

 

White? is Tyler’s response.

I assumed I was spending your money on blue. Since I didn’t spend your money, I got white.

Why didn’t you spend my money?

Because we weren’t in bed.

What difference does that make?

Last I knew, your control doesn’t stretch to outside Bria’s Bridal Boutique in downtown Seattle. Prick.

 

My phone is quiet after that. I get Angus some food and a scratch on the head—to which I’m rewarded with a rumbly purr—and make myself a mug of hot chocolate. With marshmallows and cream, because I’m in that kind of annoyed mood.

I settle on the couch with my mug and switch The Big Bang Theory on. When it’s raining outside and men are being assholes, you just need a bit of Sheldon in your life. If only to remind you that even geeks can be a bit of a dick now and then.

When the episode finishes, I decide that I’m not quite geeked out and put the DVD box set on. I’m on episode four, with Angus lying on my stomach, asleep, when my buzzer goes. I have half a mind to ignore it, but I don’t.

I deposit my now-grumpy cat onto the sofa and pick up the phone. “Uh, hello?”

“Delivery for Miss Olivia Warren?”

I’m not waiting for anything… “Come on up.” I let the guy in and wait by the door.

He steps out of the elevator, and the logo on his sweater is of a local private courier company. I frown, sign for the package, and walk back into the apartment. I set it on my kitchen table and study it. The box is plain aside from my name scrawled on it.

Tentatively, I open it and push the tissue paper aside. And I stare right at a fucking blue lingerie set.

Close your eyes, Liv. Deep breaths. Deep brea—

Fuck this shit. I shove my feet in my Uggs and tie my hair in a knot on top of my head, barely stopping to grab a zipped sweater before swiping my car keys and flying down the stairs. That assuming bastard. That annoying, assuming, forceful bastard.

I call Dayton and switch it to hands-free, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Miss me already?”

“Fuck off. Do you know where Tyler is?”

“Already? Really, Liv.”

“Oh, believe me. He’s about to get fucked. But not in the way he’s hoping.” I grind my teeth together. “Well?”

“He’s at our place. Do you want to speak to him?”

“I will be in approximately five minutes.” I hang up and turn in the direction of their apartment.

By the time I arrive in the building’s underground parking lot, it’s been fifteen minutes, not five, I’ve beeped my horn ten times, flipped someone off twice, and cussed more times than I care to count.

I jab the code for Aaron’s private elevator in and get in. The ride is quick, as if it’s in tune with my anger. When we reach the top floor, I push open the apartment door and storm in.

Tyler’s leaning against the bar, laughing at something. The smile drops from his face when he sees me. “Liv?”

“Who the fucking hell do you think you are?” I walk up to him and shove his chest. “What, I don’t do what you want so you decide you’re going to make me do it anyway?”

“Whoa, calm down, babe.”

“No. I won’t calm down, Tyler. I don’t have to do anything you fucking tell me to because that’s not what we agreed.”

He grabs my wrists and stills me. “Don’t you think we should have this conversation in private?”

“Why?” I challenge him. “It’s not like they don’t know we’re fucking. Although they might be surprised to know just how much of an assuming asshat you are!” I snatch my wrists back.

“Okay. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, Liv. It was a present. A gift. Okay?”

“Actually, I think you’re the one who’s got the wrong end of the stick. You buy a girlfriend, fiancée, wife, or someone you’re trying to romance gifts. You don’t buy them for no-strings. The only thing you buy for no-strings is fucking condoms.”

He rubs his hand down his face. “Bloody hell. You’re impossible.”

“I’m impossible? Says the one who’s crossing lines.”

“Crossing lines?”

I take his hundred dollars from my pocket, thankful I thought to grab it when I got my keys, and slap it into his hand. “Crossing lines. Crossing fucking rivers, Tyler. Keep it and go fuck yourself next time you feel so inclined.”

Leaving him, Dayton, and Aaron staring after me, I walk out the same way I came in. Quickly and in a loud burst. This time, though, instead of yelling, it’s the slamming of the apartment door.

Angry tears burn in the backs of my eyes. Of course—just when I finally find someone who wants what I do behind closed doors, he’s an asshole.

“Liv.”

“Leave me alone,” I say as I step into the elevator. He jumps in after me, and I turn away from him. The elevator stops.

“No. You’ve taken it completely wrong.”

“How did I take that wrong, huh? You tell me to buy something and I don’t do it, so you do. You don’t ask me. You don’t consider anything. You pushed a limit. I told you no strings, and buying shit adds another layer I don’t want.”

“Don’t want or are afraid of?”

I glance over my shoulder. “Don’t want.”

“Then why are you crying?” His voice is soft as he steps up behind me and runs his hands down my uppers arms, his touch warm and comforting.

“Allergies,” I offer lamely, swiping under my eyes. “Please, Ty, go. We’re fooling ourselves if we think this…thing…can work between us.”

“Really? I don’t think we are. In bed, we’re perfect for each other. You get me and I get you.” He wraps his arms around my shoulders and kisses my jaw from behind.

“And out of bed, we bitch like an old married couple.”

“You know what they say about old married couples who bitch.”

“No, I don’t.”

“They bitch because they care. When they stop fighting, that’s when they should worry.”

I swallow and look at the floor. Hasn’t he just hit the nail on the head and banged it right through the fucking wood? I care for him—I do. And not because he’s a great lay. But because, despite how infuriating he is, he’s funny. He can be tender, and no matter how much I kid myself, I kind of like his infuriating. He doesn’t hesitate to challenge me or push my buttons.

Seriously, the arguing really is a sick kind of foreplay.

Tyler spins me. His arms are still around my shoulders, and he rests his chin on top of my head. Despite my orders to stay by my sides, my arms creep up and wrap around his waist.

One tear falls. And another.

Because I’m petrified. I’m so fucking scared of what I was avoiding in the first place.

“See? It’s not hard,” he whispers. “We can be nice to each other outside of the bedroom.”

I laugh quietly. “Only because we’ve already argued.”

“True.” He pulls me tighter to him. “I’ll send it back. If you want. The lingerie.”

I sigh heavily and shake my head. “You don’t have to. I just freaked.”

“No, you didn’t, did you?” he says with false shock.

I pull back and smack his chest, a smile playing on my lips. His dark eyes sparkle down at me, amusement evident in them. Slowly, he presses his lips to mine in a full-bodied kiss that sends shivers down my spine.

This kiss is slow and soft. Tender and deep. It says a thousand things we can’t say out loud. Mine says that I’m afraid, that I can’t have more than what we have now. His responds that maybe I’m not seeing clearly what there is and that there’s no reason to be afraid. And mine says that there is, because he doesn’t know it all.

He might be addicted to sex, but I don’t think he’s ever experienced true addiction.

“Trust me,” he whispers. “You’re a little wild and I’m a little wild, and together, we’re a whole lot tempted. But just trust me.”

I say yes.