“Lubricating it,” he explained. “You’re very wet.”

I tried to relax when he slid the plug up my crack and began to apply gentle pressure. I’d taken him there, after all; I could take the plug. But my mind refused to cooperate. I kept picturing the raw gash on his cheek and remembering the things Katie said: Too rough. He’d hit her. Really hardcore stuff. Whips.

The plug popped into my bottom and I gasped. The stopper nestled against my skin. It felt … foreign, full, but pleasant, a cool and heavy pressure.

Matt moaned and kissed the tail of my spine. I felt him hardening beneath his towel.

I am not afraid of my fiancé, I told myself. I love this man. I know this man.

But I didn’t know this new bedroom etiquette—at least, not in the context of punishment. I’d hurt Matt by keeping a secret from him. Now he wanted to hurt me … physically. How did I feel about that?

He slapped my backside, jarring the plug. I jumped.

“Matt!”

“Shhh,” he crooned. “I had to, Hannah.” His touch immediately turned gentle—caresses, a finger inside of me, one on my clit. I sighed and panted, giving myself over to those sensations. Then he spanked me again and I yelped.

He moved me off his lap and left me sprawled on the bed. He stood and stared down at me. “Play with yourself,” he said. “Make sure I can see that plug while you do.”

I fumbled onto my knees, my ass in the air. Matt made an appreciative sound. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his towel drop—a flag of surrender spiraling to the floor.

He can’t resist me.

Feminine pride bloomed inside me and I spread my knees. Let him get a good look at my sex. I began to finger myself, grinding on my hand, and I rubbed my clit in a slow circle.

“Ah, Hannah…” His voice was strained.

I stripped off the T-shirt and glanced over my shoulder.

Matt stroked himself—a sight that made my body clench—and stared wantonly at my backside, at the skin between my legs. There, I felt an acute ache for him. Arousal slid down my fingers. My blood turned to fire.

“Please,” I whispered.

He shook his head.

“Don’t come, Hannah.”

I balked, my hand going still. Don’t come?

“Keep going,” he snapped.

The edge in his voice made me flinch. My fingers resumed their motion, my body trembling. What is it about denial? I suddenly wanted—needed—to come.

Matt pleasured himself at a leisurely pace. Once, he grasped my hips and brought his mouth close to my sex, his breath fanning over the heated skin. I felt incredible tension in his hands. The strength of restraint.

“You’re hard to resist,” he hissed. He climbed onto the bed and flipped me over. Wild for release, I spread my legs invitingly and lifted my body, but he pressed me down. With one hand against my abdomen and the other stroking his length, he came.

He never entered me. He didn’t even moan. His dark, angry eyes raked my body, his cum wet my sex, and then he backed away.

I lay on the bed panting as Matt picked up his towel and ruffled his hair.

He glanced at me. “Don’t. Come.”

I swallowed and sat up. The plug shifted inside me, making me moan.

“Oh, and you can take that out,” he murmured. His gaze loitered on me. I knew how I looked—my lips slightly swollen, skin flushed, wearing nothing but a string of pearls and a plug—and I made one last play.

“Please,” I whispered, lowering my eyes. “Fuck me, Matt…”

“Hannah.” His voice was a growl. He kissed me swiftly, devouring my mouth, then pulled back and stalked out of the room. I whined, reaching after him. Was this my punishment? It was the worst, the best punishment. The most affecting punishment. His absence.

*   *   *

I fell asleep without Matt—he stayed up late, a soft light emanating from the sitting area—but I woke beside him, his body curled around mine.

Morning sun spilled over his back. I stroked his golden hair.

I’d gone to sleep confused and a little angry—but when Matt’s eyes opened and he smiled at me, I knew we were going to have a better day.

The hell with yesterday. A bump in the road.

I fluttered my lashes against his cheek and pressed the gentlest kiss to his wound.

“Mm, I’m”—he touched the scabbing gash—“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he grumbled.

“Oh, baby, no.”

“Yes. I am.” He climbed onto me and settled down. I stroked his bare sides, reveling in the way his body pressed into mine. Every morning with Matt, I felt the same giddy thrill. Is he really mine? Yes, he is. “Shouldn’t have fucking … gone to see him…”

“Why did you?” I whispered.

“Some weird e-mail. I got some weird fucking e-mail from an address I didn’t recognize.” He nuzzled my chest as he spoke. He was feeling good and communicating, so despite the chill I felt—Weird e-mail? From whom?—I played it cool.

“Oh yeah? What did it say?”

“I’ll show you later. Basically it said your sister was pregnant and Seth got her that way. Strange fucking tone, kind of taunting.” He seemed less disturbed than I felt. Then again, he probably got a lot of odd messages. “I should have talked to you about it, but I think I’ve been waiting … for an excuse to hit him. Nate told me Goldengrove was at the Plaza Hotel, and I went there and … we fought. He’s fine. He’s lucky. I could have fucking killed him…”