I don't know what I'm doing.

That's the only thing running through my mind as Bas swipes his keycard and pops the door. My hands do this awkward little jerk by my sides, teeth gnawing nervously on the inside of my cheek. My body's coiled tighter than a bowstring.

Bas waits for me to enter, then closes the door and flicks the lock into place. Something about that noise triggers panic somewhere deep inside. I swallow, grip the wall and stumble forward.

He notices. Of course he does. "Reecie."

"I'm good."

"Babe," his hand rests lightly across my back. "We can just go to bed. Nothing has to happen."

I slink away from him. "Bathroom." I kick off my heels and spare him a backward glance. He's staring at me, pierced eyebrow raised. "Just give me a minute." I say, slamming the door with more force than necessary.

The second I'm no longer staring him in the face, I feel my lungs expand with oxygen, heart thump into a less unsteady rhythm. Heat spreads over my flesh, bringing a thin coat of perspiration. I shed my shawl, tug the dress over my head and discard both carelessly on the floor.

I want this. I've dreamed of this. And now that the moment has come, I'm acting crazy.

"Stop it," I command myself, flipping on the faucet and splashing water over my face. "Stop it right now. There is no reason to panic." I stare down my reflection, will it to obey what my brain knows but doesn't believe.

This will be the first time since Asher. Since I suffered in silence, a slave to his whims and violent needs. And, moreover, it's with someone I care about.

Someone I love.

I shake my head, splash more water on my face, and banish the terrifying realization with a definitive nip at my lower lip. The shallow wound stings and a thin hint of metal coats my tongue. My eyes close, blocking out the pathetic form of a girl in the mirror before me.

I need that damn blade.

An unwelcome bout of anger forces the panic down. I open my eyes, flip the water off, and tilt my head at the mirror. Defiant brown eyes burn, scarred hands become fists, and beneath the black lace of lingerie pale white lines crisscross over my stomach. I attempt to tame my slightly dampened hair, brush it semi-neatly over one shoulder.

"You're done being a victim," I tell the girl, wait for my declaration to sink in. I flatten my hands over my thighs, press on the healed, yet tender, skin. A shock of subdued pain kickstarts my mind, draws my focus in and sharpens it.

My reflection straightens, breathes in, and releases the marks without breaking the skin.

I twist away and slip back into the room, it's darker than before. Only a lamp burns, casting a dim glow over the bed and the figure lounging on it. Bas has his hands behind his head, ankles crossed, and a casual expression on his face. He's bare-chested, clad only in a pair of sweatpants.

Golden light bathes his dark skin, making art of the ripples of his abs and the contours of his pecs. I admire the way his muscles flex as he breathes, the deep V that descends below the elastic of his pants. I've seen the treasure beneath, ordered him to pleasure himself for me. That realization makes me less afraid.

This is Bas. He's not going to hurt me. He has never hurt me.

When his eyes find me, they darken. He pushes up onto his elbows, voice all need. "Ma belle."

Before I have enough time to process, lose my nerve, or otherwise back myself into the wall, I move toward him. Bas tracks my movements with desirous hazel eyes. Like I'm the greatest treasure he's ever wanted. I straddle him, find him already hard. That makes me grind my core into his erection through his sweatpants. Bas groans, his hands find my hips and squeeze, drawing my body back into his.

His voice is roughened. "Fuck—"

"Shut up."

I don't realize I've spoken until Bas's foggy eyes zero in on me, a smirk playing across his lips.

"I'm sorry, that was a little too quiet. What did you say?" He taunts, lifting up from the bed using only his abdominal muscles.

I breathe in sharply, span my fingers over his chest. This is so unlike anything I've ever done, anything I've ever wanted. It's always been me who submitted. Control was unwillingly wrenched from me. Then there's Bas, giving his to me on a silver platter.

And I'm just greedy enough to take it. "I—" Heat stirs in my belly, desire surges through my veins, and my nails dig into the skin of his hard chest. Gracious, no part of this man is soft.

His voice rumbles through my fingertips. "Couldn't hear you, belle."

I drag harder, red flaring in the golden lamplight against his pecs. Bas's jaw works, his breath coming in hot gasps. "I said shut up." I repeat, louder and more confident.

He smirks, grabs onto me with more force, taunting. I shove him, forcing him back to the bed. I lean over his big body, all that power made helpless by little old me. My fingers dive into his hair, pull so his head tips back and expose his strong throat. His Adam's apple bobs and I bite it. Bas's lips part and he groans.

I like that sound, so I repeat the action. When I feel him try and move, I tighten my hold on his hair, pin him. At his tortured hiss, I draw my lips over his neck, sucking, nipping, and teasing as I climb the angles of his jaw with my tongue. Bas growls, fights my hold and tilts his head so our lips meet. There's nothing soft or sweet about this kiss, it's all consuming and doused in fire. I feel what the pain does to him, taste the euphoria from giving me such power. It makes me drunk, high, desperate. Even at my strongest, before Asher, I'd never felt like this. Exhilarated and accomplished.

Teeth clash, our tongues dance, and my breath comes in ragged rasps. Even though his hard body obeys me, his mouth is naughty and defiant. He fights my control, battles me thrust for thrust. And no matter how hard I yank his hair or dig in my nails, it only seems to egg him on.

"What do you want from me?" Bas asks, each word punctuated with a heavy kiss. He nips at my lower lip, the corner of my mouth, my neck, the ridge of my breast. Bas arches up in the same moment that I press down, our bodies fighting for dominance.

My mind spins, trying and failing to come up with a response. Bas senses my hesitance. The same way he senses movement on the ice. That moment of weakness sees him using his weight as a counterbalance and rolling on top of me. I yelp in surprise, curl my legs around his waist.

Bas braces his arms on either side of me, chest rumbling as he chuckles. "Détends-toi, tu as le contrôle." Bas whispers, I make a confused noise to which he smirks, says, "Relax," he translates, lifts my wrist to him mouth, skirts the edge of his teeth and tongue piercing over the marks. "You're in control."

I shudder, arch up into his touch. Bas's arm slips behind my back, palm open over the clasp of the brassiere. He toys with the fabric, eyes full of molten desire as he holds me to him. I draw my free hand down his chest, skim my nails over the marks I made against his lean muscle.

Bas reacts with a low growl. "Tell me to take this off you."

"Take it off me." I gasp, hypnotized by the fire in his eyes.

That stupid, bratty smirk. "Say it like you mean it, Reagan."

I have no idea why that smile, that attitude brings out the queen bitch in me. Hell, I didn't even know she existed in this capacity. Somehow, I end up with my nails in his forearm, gritting between my teeth. "Take. It. Off."

His pupils dilate, and he deftly releases the clasp. Bas lowers my back to the bed, bends his head and uses both his fingers and teeth to pull the lace from my flesh. Sudden cold burns my exposed skin. Whatever ferocity existed before disappears, leaving me cold and exposed. Without the flimsy fabric, all my scars are bare. All the torment. All the shame.

I've been shirtless in front of him before, but it was dark. I had the illusion of amnesty. Now, in the dim lamplight, I know he'll see everything.

I cross my arms, protect myself.

He allows the act, lifts up on his elbows to stare into my eyes. "Don't hide from me."

My breath comes out in airy wisps. I both delight in and despise it. Bas's eyes twinkle with a sort of defiance as he watches me.

"Should I put it back on?" He questions, doing something salacious with his mouth that makes his tongue ring flash.

I fiddle with the lace, chew my lip. "I don't—"

Bas cuts me off with his lips, one hand twirling itself into my hair while the other remains in place. The overwhelming sensation of him interrupts the thoughts spiraling through my head. Then he pulls back slightly, waiting.

Slowly, I shift so that my arms are curled over his back, fingers itching to pull on his skin, the lace falling carelessly beside our bodies. "Good boy." I murmur. I told him to take it off. He did just what he was told.

I feel his assent as a moan beside my ear. "Tell me what you want," Bas says again.

I writhe as he licks and sucks on my neck, his fingers brush my breasts, caressing them, squeezing gently. "Bastien—" I rake my nails over his back.

He draws away with a groan and lowers himself on top of me. I feel his length brush over my inner thigh, teasing me as I dig my nails in harder. He's like a furnace, scalding away all vestiges of my sanity.

Bas tucks his head into my neck, something between a growl and the word 'fuck' on his lips. "You have to tell me what you need." He mutters breathlessly, upper body quivering with desire.

"Your mouth." I demand, slip my hands to his stomach and press back slightly. He relents, starts those damning circles with his tongue as he traverses my chest.

"Here?" Bas whispers, sucks the skin on my neck.

"Nuh-uh." My response is weak, lost in delirium.

Bas kisses down between my breasts, "Here?"

"Nm—" The single syllable is neither a confirmation nor a sign of rejection.

Bas takes the answer in kind, swirls his tongue over my left breast, pulling the perked nipple between his teeth and capturing it on the roof of his mouth.

"God! Bas!" I push up into him and he groans.

"There, I'd guess," he mutters, the smirk obvious in his tone. I have the odd inclination to smack him.

"I didn't say stop." I snap, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling, forcing his head back to where I need it.

Bas chuckles, fights me long enough to flash a devilish grin. He takes the right nipple this time, using his hand to occupy the left. I can't control my body when it gyrates against him, absolutely mad with pleasure. Bas's breathing hitches.

"Lower," I moan.

Bas slowly moves to my stomach, piercing skimming the scar with expert precision. His hands are like vices on my hips, holding me to the bed, refusing my attempts to push closer.

"Tell me." Bas demands with a sharp glance up. Our eyes lock, and the intensity of it sears my very soul.

"I want—" Bas nips at the crease of my bottoms, sending heat coursing over my skin in pinpricks of wonder and elation. "I want you to eat me out." I gasp, cheeks heating with the admission.

Bas's lips curve into a grin and I feel the action against my inner thigh. "I thought you'd never ask."

Without preamble, Bas hooks his fingers in each side of the lingerie bottoms and pulls. Whoosh. Gone. He tosses them carelessly over his shoulder, lowers himself, and wraps his arms around my thighs.

I tense with anticipation, nerves, and a sudden sense of self-consciousness. I'm so, so embarrassingly wet. I probably owe Kaila a new set of lingerie. He's going to think I'm so gross. Or pathetic.

Those thoughts dissipate as Bas draws his mouth over my scars, savoring each red line on both thighs before moving in closer. "Merde, tu es trempé." I can't be bothered to ask for a translation when his lips touch my skin. I yelp, curl my hands into the sheets, arch up, squeeze my thighs. Bas takes my cues well, reacts with equal vigor. Just like the first time.

My vision blurs around the edges, breath coming in puffs of air that leave me desperate for more, fingers biting into the bed so hard it hurts. "Bas—!" I try, but he presses in even more. I lose my train of thought, caught in a loop of moans, shouted syllables, and jagged twitching as I bear down on his tongue.

"I'm—" I try again, body coiling against him, legs tensing. Words and thoughts are impossible. I'm in a purgatory of pleasure and sensation. And Bas is the one who condemned me here.

He makes a noise in his throat, uses one hand to press my belly down onto the bed, the other to loosen my legs. I sag as he pulls away, lays kisses over my hips, stomach, and breasts.

So fucking close.

I'm torn between shoving his head back down or pulling it up to meet my mouth. My fingers twist in his hair, arm shaking with indecision. Bas crawls up my body, admiring every inch with his mouth and hands. He presses his knee between my legs, applying pressure exactly where I need it.

"Oh—nn!" I cry, capturing his hand as it roams up my side and interlocking my fingers with it. Bas obliges, lifts our entwined hands over my head as his mouth finally, finally, reaches my neck, then the shell of my ear, the corner of my mouth.

His lips are soft, sweet, and cherishing in this kiss. I melt under his touch, shiver as his free hand skims down my stomach, fingers teasing me apart. "Vos goûts. Vos bruits. Dieu, Reece, je t'aime."

"English," I practically sob, rolling my hips, desperate to feel him.

"You're so soft. So wet." He groans. Then one long, thick finger slips inside. Whatever noise I make isn't human, neither is the feral way I bite down on Bas's lip, scrape my teeth over his chin.

"Fuck," he moans, dropping his forehead to my chest. A second finger joins the party and I let out a low, keening noise. He's hitting a deep chord inside me with gentle curls and strokes. Every noise I make, he drinks. Every move I make, he antagonizes. I thrust, he pins. I roll, he stills. It's a slow, heavenly torture.

And I tell him, too. With my nails, my teeth, my screams. His mouth, his skin, his throat, nothing is spared. He's got me wound so tight, so delirious. Then he removes his mouth from mine, fiery hazel eyes fixed on my face. "Come for me, ma belle."

I'm too preoccupied with the feel of his fingers to do much more than whimper at the loss of his mouth. And that command is all it takes. Color explodes behind my eyelashes, fingers clamp around his, my muscles coil. I buck against his touch. He uses his torso to press me back down and the deprivation both electrifies and infuriates me. I tighten and flex around his fingers, moaning all sorts of obscenities.

I slacken, head lolling, body spent. Bas pulls out, presses a kiss to my cheek, and slips away from my grasp. I reach for him groggily, still too high on endorphins to pursue more than that.

There's a rustling, the tear of foil. When Bas reappears, hovering over me, he's shed his sweatpants and his bare skin brushes mine. I shiver at the sensation, stretch and capture his hips between my legs.

My fingers roam over his chest, up to his jawline. "Kiss me." I order on a light gasp. Bas curves his head down, presses expert lips everywhere except my mouth. I growl in discontent. "My lips."

"Oh, my bad," Bas mocks with a chuckle. When he finds my mouth, I all but devour his taste, the heat he gives off, the strength and assurance his presence offers me.

"More."

"More what?" His voice is an animal sound, guttural and deep.

"You." I tighten my legs around him, pull his body flush to mine. He teases me, the tip of his erection just barely penetrates my entrance, and the I arch up with delight. "God Bas, fucking now." I demand, I turn my head, teeth finding his bicep.

"So eager," he breathes, shivering where I bite. He pushes in, slowly, and with extreme care. He's huge and hard and everything.

I yelp in pain, see flashes of another life, one with a different boy, a lesser existence.

"No!" The word leaves me before I can think.

Bas freezes, tries to pull back. "Sorry."

"Wait." I hiss, fighting the then and now. "Don't...don't move."

"What's wrong?" His voice has taken on a worried lilt, one born from knowing my grizzly past.

I fight him, hook my ankles behind his back and hold him in place. "Don't move," I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut tight.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Shut up." I grit. "Just stay."

Mercifully, he obeys, an anchor as images flash through my mind. Sordid emotions rise to the surface. Fear, dark and rancid, seizes me in a terrifying swirl of black and blood. I cry out, caught in the thrall of agony.

"Reece." The voice calls to me like a beacon in the storm. Soft, strong hands caress my face. Gentle lips brush along my jaw. "Je t'aime." The baritone accent pulls me back through the darkness, offering nothing but care when I surface.

"Bastien?" I question on an exhale.

There's a nod against my cheek, hot breath on my neck. "Do you want me to stop?"

I shake my head. "N-no."

He places a tender kiss on my brow. "Reece. It's okay. I'm happy to just hold you."

Again, I shake my head. "I want this. I want you."

He emits a soft moan, peppering my chest and neck with kisses. "Tell me what to do."

I fist my hands in his skin, use his sharp inhale as my center. His scent of winter and alpine, sweat and sweetness coat my mind in a heady whirlwind. "Keep going."

His voice is reedy with caring. "I don't want to hurt you." He repeats.

"You won't." I kiss his neck. "I'm back. I promise. I want this."

"Reece."

"Please," I whisper. "Show me how to feel good again."

Bas does, slowly. I hold onto him like my life depends on it through the phantom shocks of pain, the memories that try to intercept this moment. But this isn't like before. He's gentle and tender and so good. Buried to the hilt, he lavishes me with adoring touches and gossamer kisses, murmuring sweet words in English and French.

I relax, welcome, bathe in his praise. He fills a void in me I never knew I had. Then pleasure soars above everything else in a shuddering display that completely obliterates my other senses.

"Reece," he whispers against my ear. "Talk to me."

I moan. "I need you to move."

He's hesitant, deliberate where he slides in and out. "Okay?" He checks in after a few thrusts.

"Mhm."

Bas moves with me at a dizzyingly gentle pace, one that makes my heart race with affection and warmth. His breathing comes faster and faster, tension builds in his body, the effort that it takes to stay at my rhythm makes him shake.

"Reece—" he starts, moves jaggedly. The action sparks something and I press into it, wanting more.

I wrap my legs around him, dig my heels into his ass. "Faster."

My demand is long overdue, and Bas doesn't need to be told twice. Sweat mingles on our skin, makes a wet slapping sound every time we meet.

I dig in deeper, bear down, hold him tighter. "Harder."

His voice is gravelly, breathless, unhinged. "Jesus, babe. You're too good. I won't last two minutes."

I rake my nails up his chest, down, back up. Then his back, drawing furrows along his spine, tracing each defined muscle with the tip of my fingers. "Fuck me."

"Ungh." He pants. "One minute, you keep talking like that."

It doesn't matter. I'm already so close. And I want him lost and spent, mindless with the pleasure that I gave him.

Bas hits a particularly deep spot and a keening moan starts in my throat. He hitches my hips, angles me so each thrust strikes that place anew. And, oh my god, I'm not just seeing color, but stars.

And how do I show my approval? Raking my nails down his arms while he holds me like I'm made of glass. "Bastien, fuck. Yes."

"Reece, I—"

I press upward, capture his words, fully aware of what they mean and using my tongue to convey the same message. Bas bites down; one, two, three powerful thrusts that leave me aching. A handful of scratch marks over his body, tangled moans, and whispered exaltations.

We come undone in the same moment, all heat and power and emotion stronger than anything I've felt before. Bastien seems to loose his competence for language, is reduced to whimpers and growls where he rides out his orgasm. Then he collapses on top of me, panting. Surprisingly, I don't find it uncomfortable as he quivers, soaking up my climax as greedily as I do his.

Then he rolls over, clumsily removing the condom through his twitches. I can't help but react in the same way, lost and floating in my own personal heaven. After several long moments, Bas starts moving around. When I peek at him under my eyelashes, I catch sight of his towering form with a warm washcloth in his hand. He cleans me up reverentially, kisses my cheek and turns away.

My eyes shoot open with a gasp, heart plummeting to my toes. "Bastien!" The outburst shocks him, and he turns, grimacing with the action.

"Reece." He returns, all handsome smiles and wicked charm.

Except I can't see it. Not really. My eyes are full of the marks on his skin, radiant even in the half-dark.

"Your back, your chest, your—God." I did that.

I did that.

His torso is marred with red lines that crisscross in all directions. They travel from his neck to his waist, over his spine, and up into his hairline. Even his neck shows signs of clawing. There's a bitemark on his arm that's starting to bruise.

I feel suddenly shameful, unbelievably awful, and no better than him. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." My voice comes out in a watery warble.

Bas frowns, crosses to the bed, and curls me into his chest. "Don't be," he chides, kissing my head. "Really, if I thought this was more than I could take, I'd have told you."

I can't help but feel crushing despair over my actions, despite his assurances. "But I—I'm just like—oh Bastien."

"No." Bas states, his voice takes on a commanding air that makes my sniffles come to an abrupt halt. "You're not like him. I'm not hurt like that. I love this." Bas taps the underside of my chin. "Look at me."

I cringe, regretfully lift my gaze to meet his. I expect hatred, disgust, and betrayal. The actuality is kindness, encouragement, and trust. His emotions surge into me, banishing the darkness, ridding me of every insecurity.

"You promise you're okay?" I ask on a sob.

Bas chuckles, pushes me back down on the bed. "I've never been better." His eyes burn, glinting like razors as he presses in for one more kiss. Which turns into two...turns into ten...