I push off from the table and yank open the cupboard that holds my alcohol. I drag out the bottle of vodka and pour some in a short glass. I throw it back without thinking. The hot burn of the spirit sliding down my throat is better than the burn of my realization.

The burn of alcohol will always be better than the burn of a maybe-love.

Alcohol doesn’t hurt half as much as love. And the pounding head alcohol will give you is fixed with a glass of water and a couple of Tylenols.

If only Tylenol worked on the heart, too. They’d make a mint.

The glass clanks on the counter as I put it down. The vodka settles into a warm ball in my lower stomach. Shit, shit, shit. Fucking shit!

I kick the cupboard shut and look at the clock for the first time since leaving the studio. At least I lasted most of the shoot. That’s better than running at the first glance.

Ha. Running. I’m good at running. So much so that I should live in my fucking sneakers.

I pour another drink and drink it as quickly as the last. Shit. What if I am falling in love? What kind of fucked-up bullshit would that make our relationship? It certainly wouldn’t be a fairytale.

It would be nothing close to a fairytale. Not even good ol’ Walt could spin it into a Disney-esque happy ending.

Another clank of the glass against the side and I storm into the bathroom. I turn the shower on—full heat and full power—and strip off. I step beneath the burning flow of water and let it wash over me as it almost scalds my skin.

Like it can wash away what I feel inside, on the outside.

Like the red-hot sting can seep into my skin and burn through the clusterfuck of emotion I don’t want to feel.

Because, god fuckin’ dammit, I don’t want to fall in love with him. I don’t want to feel the way I do because of real emotion. Unmanageable feelings.

But I do. I want this sickening feeling in my stomach to be because I’m falling for my twat, as he calls himself. I want it to be because my heart and soul are in agreement and there’s nothing they want more than him.

Just him.

Mostly, I wish I didn’t feel a thing.

Love or addiction, it doesn’t matter. It still fucking hurts.

I kill the water without washing my hair or soaping my body and wrap myself in a towel. Feeling no calmer than before, I walk into my room and pull on some underwear and some shorts. Then I roughly tug a tank over my head.

My temples are throbbing. Pounding. It’s almost painful, and I rub the towel across it. I grab my brush and yank it through my hair. Every movement shows the unending conflict and pain inside me.

I throw the towel to the floor and walk out into the front room. Angus is whining at the door, so I open it and let him out. He’ll just jump out the open window in the lobby.

The door slams too harshly, but no sooner have I closed it than it opens again.

I spin at the same time that I’m grabbed and slammed into the door. Lips cover mine harshly, the feel of fingers digging into my biceps painful and sweet at the same time.

The material of Tyler’s shirt curls beneath my hands as I fist it. I pull him closer. His tongue sweeps through my mouth, battling against mine. His teeth nip my bottom lip and he gently sucks after each bite, soothing the sting, but right now, I don’t care.

I want the sting. I want the physical to overpower the mental. I want him to tear off my clothes, pin me against this wall, and fuck me so hard that I can’t feel anything but him moving inside me.

He dives his hand into my hair and tugs. Hard. I whimper into his mouth as the jolt of pain registers through my nerves. And despite what my body is screaming for, my mind is yelling that this is the worst thing I should be doing.

I shouldn’t be surrendering to him this way. I should be fighting him.

I should be pushing him away from me because sex won’t solve it.

With one final deep kiss, I release his shirt, flatten my hands against his shoulders, and shove hard. He steps back, letting me go. I shake my head and move around him. Away from him.

“What the fucking hell was that, Liv?” he says between clenched teeth.

I run my fingers through my wet hair to untangle it. “I used the door. Just like you told me to, remember?”

“I didn’t mean use it halfway through the bloody shoot and fuck me up for the rest of it!”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry if needing to get the hell out of there before I murdered your model was a burden to you!” My voice echoes around my apartment.

He takes a deep breath. His nostrils flare, his chest heaves, and his eyes pin mine with an intensity I feel rushing through every single one of my veins.

“Explain. Now.” Not a question. A demand. A harsh, final demand.

I storm past him and stop in the middle of the room. “That. Her. I couldn’t watch it! The way she was throwing herself at you. She wasn’t even playing the camera. She was playing you!” My gut wrenches with the thought.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m a model. I know how it works. She wasn’t interested in anything except what’s in your fucking pants!” I wrap my arms around me like a safety net, turning. “I couldn’t fucking watch her sitting there drooling over you and shoving what are probably fake tits toward you, knowing you were looking at her. Knowing you were watching her every goddamn move!”

“I’m not interested in her!” He steps forward. “Fuck. All I see is you, Liv. Every time, it’s you!”

“That doesn’t matter!” Tears really do burn my eyes now. “You were watching her. Her…” My voice trails off on the last word.

Tyler walks toward me, and I back up until I hit the wall. With nowhere for me to run, he lays a hand on either side of my face. Leaning in, breathing harshly, each one seemingly pained, he consumes me.

“Stop,” he whispers. “Please, baby girl. Stop. Stop these stupid, irrational thoughts.”

“I’m not irrational. My addiction is irrational. My need for you, my crazy, overwhelming need for you, is irrational. But I am not.”

“You don’t think I feel the same? You don’t think I don’t bloody well need you either?” He wipes his thumbs beneath my eyes.

I look at him. Shake my head. How can he need me the way I need him?

“I do.” He steps closer, his body flat against mine. “It took everything I had to not follow you out that damn door. To stay and take pictures of that woman.”

“I would have gone,” I whisper. “If it were the other way around, I wouldn’t have been able to stay.”

“I stayed because I was made to.” He finishes his words with a firm kiss. The warmth from his mouth seeps through me from my lips to my toes. Every part of my body feels it.

“You don’t get it, do you?” I look up, my eyes wet. I can feel the sting every time I blink.

“Yes, I do. I get it.”

I wrap my arms around his wrists and pull them down. “No, you don’t. What if I get like this every time you shoot another woman? That happens, what, four times a week, at least? It’s been five days and I’m already falling apart over it. This isn’t normal.”

“And when you go for the Balfour shoot in two weeks? Then what, Liv? I know the guy shooting it. How do you think I’ll feel knowing you, my bitch, my girlfriend, my Liv, is on a beach in front of some other knobhead while he takes her picture?”

“I’m not shooting in two weeks.”

His lips curl up. “Yes, you are. Sheila just didn’t call you yet. You got the campaign. And while you’re on a beach in fucking Mexico in a fucking bikini in front of some fucking knob, I’m stuck here, waiting for you to get back.”

I can’t even be happy. I can’t be thrilled about getting the campaign. All I can hear is the thickness in his voice. The one he’s trying to hide.

“You are mine, Liv. Don’t ever doubt that. Every part of you is mine. And I’m yours. Every part of me is yours. Don’t doubt that either.”

I bury my face into his chest. He’s right. We belong to each other, even if it is in the most fucked-up way. In a way that makes no sense at all.

“I don’t doubt it,” I whisper into him. “I never doubt it. Not when I feel this way. I can’t. It’s impossible, Ty. I can’t not believe it.”

“Then listen to it. Please, baby girl. Please just fucking listen to it when I make you crazy.”

“You don’t make me crazy. Other people make me crazy.”

He laughs softly. His chest rumbles and vibrates beneath my cheek, and I find myself smiling a little. I love the sound of his laugh.

“I take offense at that. Don’t you know I wake up every morning and figure out a thousand ways to make you go crazy?” he asks, kissing the top of my head.

I squeeze his waist. “I can believe that. I have a question.”

“Have you calmed down now? Can we have a conversation without shouting?”

I nod. “I just needed to get the crazy out.”

Tyler pulls back and runs his hands up my body until they reach my face. “What is it?”

I swipe under my eyes, wiping away the remaining wetness, and look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me your sister was staying with you?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “I didn’t want you to freak the hell out. Like you did when Day told you.”

I bite the inside of my lip. “It was a surprise.”

He laughs and releases me, heading toward my kitchen. “No shit. She wants to get away from London. I told her she could stay at my place for a few weeks. She’ll stay, go home for a couple weeks, then come back for the wedding.”

The wedding?

Oh, Aaron and Dayton’s. Right. Phew.

Little mind-jump there.

I follow him and sit at the table, bringing my feet up onto the chair and hugging my knees. “Do I have to meet her?”

“If you think you can avoid her, I’ll give you a medal.” He opens my cupboards one by one.

“Okay. I guess I’m resigning myself to the seriousness of our five-day-old relationship.”

His brown eyes shine with amusement. “I love how you think this just started.”

“It only just officially started. I’m going with official.”

“The day you walked into that damn shoot and didn’t fight me, you were mine. It’s been way longer than five measly fucking days.” He shuts the fridge and sighs, turning. “Do you have anything to cook in this place?”

My gaze flicks from side to side before finally finding his. “Um.” I chew the inside of my cheek and shrug in a way I hope is cute.

He fights his smile, shakes his head, and pulls out his phone. Muttering the word, “Dominos,” he holds the phone to his ear and grins at me.

And as he reels off an order, it doesn’t escape my notice that, despite my breakdown, we didn’t really sort anything out at all.

I open my legs and arch my back. And hit a solid wall of muscle.

The solid wall of muscle groans, and I roll onto my side at the same time that it—Tyler—makes a grab for me. Unfortunately for me—or fortunately, depending on how you look at it—he’s quicker. He loops an arm over my body and physically yanks me back into him.

I squeak as my back hits his chest.

“Morning,” he mumbles into my shoulder, leaving a line of kisses along my skin.

“Go away,” I reply, shuffling away. “I need the toilet.”

“Sexiest thing I’ve heard in a while.” He laughs, releasing me, and blood rushes to my cheeks.

Shit. Note to self: replace brain-to-mouth filter.

With my cheeks still flaming, I climb out of bed and run into my bathroom. I flatten my palms against my cheeks while I…take care of business. Then I slowly walk back into my room.

Tyler’s leaning against the headboard and has turned the TV on. “Be a love and get me a cup of tea.”

“That has to be the most British sentence I’ve ever heard,” I reply, whipping the covers away from him. “And the answer is a big fat no.”

I jump into the bed next to him. The controller hits the ground with a thunk and Tyler’s hands grab my waist. He tugs me down the bed until I’m flat on my back and leans over me.

“I wasn’t asking you, babe. I was telling you.”

His voice hums over my chest, making my pulse thrum in my neck.

“Unless you’re telling me to get on my knees and suck your cock, I’m not good with being told what to do.”

His lips twitch up. “Oh, believe me. I know.” He trails a finger across my bare stomach, up to my breastbone. He teases it between my breasts until it climbs my neck, ghosts the curve of my jaw, and rests on my bottom lip. “And being told what to do it isn’t all you’re good at.”

“Honey, you’re telling me things I already know. This conversation is completely pointless.” I kiss his fingertip then bat his hand away.

“Had much experience with it?” His eyes spark with heat.

I roll out from under him, get up, and slide my panties down my legs. I grab some clean underwear from the drawer and proceed to get dressed. All the while, his eyes are roving over my body like he’s been starved of me.

Finally, I turn, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Experience means shit. I know I could give you the best damn blow job of your life.”

“Is that so?”

“I challenge you to find out.”

“Accepted. My place. Seven p.m.” He swings his legs out of bed and grabs the navy lingerie he bought me. “Wear this. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else I’ll smack your arse so hard you’ll feel my hand there for a week.”

“Tempting.” I catch the thong and tuck it into my palm. “I happen to be fond of your spankings… And your hands.”

I laugh and run out of my room. Tyler’s own quiet laugh follows me, and I flick the kettle to boiling. Brits and their fucking tea.

He wraps his arms around me from behind and buzzes his lips down my neck. “You’re a dirty, rotten tease, bitch.”

“And you’re awfully demanding.” I smile and throw a teabag into a mug for him. I spoon coffee into the second.

“It’s hard not to be when you give in to every single one… Especially if handcuffs are involved.”

“Or ties. Or scarfs. Or maybe chains,” I tease.

“Chains, hmm?”

“Are you getting ideas now?”

He reaches out and grabs his tea. He curls his fingers around the mug handle. “Liv,” he breathes close to my mouth. “All you have to do is exist and I get ideas. About you over my sofa. In the bath…. My balcony railings.”

A shiver runs through me from head to toe. “Balcony?”

“Where everyone could see you. I’ll give you three guesses where you’ll find yourself tonight.” He steps away as another shiver grasps my body.

I turn and watch him as he walks to my sofa. His steps are so steady, so smooth. Yet me? I don’t dare take a step because I know my legs are trembling.

The balcony? Over the railings? On the chair? On the table? Against the wall?

The possibilities are endless, and each idea scoots through my mind with a blinding flash. And I ache everywhere, already desperate for his touch.

The man is destroying me. And I’m relishing every second.

Tyler props his feet on my coffee table and looks over at me. His dark eyes glint knowingly, and the mug he raises to his mouth covers his smirk. “Aren’t you joining me?”

“Now or later?” I quip back.

“There’s no question about later, Liv. There never is. We both know you’ll be there.”

“So sure?” I cock an eyebrow.

He shows me his smirk now. His full, shit-eating, smug-ass smirk. “Positive. You’re forgetting one tiny detail.”

“And what’s that?”

“Our previous agreement still stands. When I call, you come running.”

“I’m your girlfriend. Not your fuck buddy.”

“So the only thing that’s changed is I get to buy you dinner before I fuck you how I want to.” He shrugs his shoulder. I bite my tongue. Damn him!

I bite my tongue. Damn him! “You’re hard work, you know that, Tyler Stone?”

He grins, showing his dimple. “Is hard the operative word in that sentence?”

I run my tongue across my teeth, fighting my smile. “I’m going to get ready for work before you decide you need yet another cold shower.” I set the mug on the counter and turn away.

“Liv? Don’t forget the underwear.”

My eyes cut to him and I snatch it from the table. “I never do.”