“And for you,” I remind her, suddenly feeling hotter than I’d like.

My fingers itch, eager to keep her here. Again, they skip across the sheet, this time with more desperation.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” I say, barely getting out the words. Even though it’s nearly pitch black and the sounds from beyond the door fill the silence with both the chirps of crickets and the rushing of cars passing along the road, all I can hear is my heart beating as she crosses her arms against her chest.

At the sight of her breasts rising, my cock stiffens.

“I owe you,” she tells me, but she already owes me more than she could imagine.

“You do,” I say, agreeing with her admission and my tone gives her pause.

The day she came into that barn is the day he stopped. Every monster has a boundary. Look at what good came from such an awful man. At first, my fascination was simply due to watching out for her. She was his keeper in a way and I had so much to learn from him.

But it grew to be more. I don’t know how or why.

I had a chance to kill him years ago, and didn’t. So many chances and at some point I had to admit, I allowed him to live because of her.

I settled on a threat instead. The fool should have never set out to pick up his old habit.

Rather than counting up her debt, I happily contribute to it and say, “I have something to help you sleep if you need it.”

I can hear her swallow from all the way over here.

“It’s called sweets.”

“My father told me not to take candy from strangers—” she starts to say but then stops herself midword. With an instant pang of sadness and regret evident on her beautiful face.

With her head falling back, her bottom lip drops as her mouth opens and sorrow overwhelms her inhale. She’s trying to stifle her cries.

“Come here,” I say. It’s a demand and I’m not sure how she’ll take it, so I soften my next words as I add, “Let me make you feel better.”

Delilah

It’s not the wine. I can’t tell you the number of defendants I’ve seen in the courtroom who blamed their actions on alcohol. It’s never the buzz of a night out that’s to blame for what they’ve done. Never.

We do the things we want to do. It’s that simple.

If it wasn’t already planted in the back of our minds, the seeds of the action wouldn’t exist.

So it’s not the wine. As much as I’d like to believe it is. The sweet taste is still on my lips as I stare across the dark room at a man who terrifies yet excites me.

I could claim my actions before were due to curiosity. I could claim that I wanted information, not unlike an undercover detective. In fact, that excuse had lingered on the tip of my tongue ever since those first unforgivable thoughts entered my vivid imagination.