“I said go. Leave me alone. I know you want to, so do it!” My words bounced off the brick walls, making his seem unnaturally quiet.

“I’m not leaving you.”

Unable to face the intensity of his stare, I looked down, only to feel a warm, strong body encase me. I stiffened only a moment before relaxing into his arms, because I could only fight myself for so long. Safe. His chest hair tickled my face, but I rubbed my cheek across it like a cat leaving her scent.

After a few minutes Colin led me to his truck and bundled me in like I did for Bailey, snug and secure. We left the club and my car behind, driving toward my apartment without me having to give directions. The light from the streetlamps only served to make the dark roads more intimate, as if we were the only ones in the city.

It was the perfect mood for confessions, not that I wanted to make any. “How did you know where to find me?”

“The bartender.”

I pondered that for a minute. “That guy. The one who… He seemed really scared of you.”

A pause. “He just didn’t want any trouble.”

“It kind of seemed like he knew you.”

He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m a mean son of a bitch.”

“You’re not mean, Colin. You’re a good guy.”

He smiled faintly. We drove the rest of the way in silence. Despite its inauspicious ending, the whole encounter accomplished what I’d needed. I felt relaxed, sleepy almost.

Even though he’d come home with me, I hadn’t expected he would want to have sex. In fact, I would have thought he wouldn’t, either out of disgust at what he’d seen earlier or a misguided sense of chivalry.

So I was surprised when Colin led me to my bedroom and kissed me, just a touch of his lips to mine. His hardness pressed against my stomach, announcing his purpose. My feelings were a jumble, but I wanted to give him something. A thank-you, an apology. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was to let a man fuck me.

He pulled off my clothes carefully, his fingertips pausing at each bruise. I stood for him in the middle of the room, still in my mellow head space. He could have asked me to do anything for him, but what he asked was, “Will I see you again?”

God, please.

How did he do this to me? I’d told myself that men only wanted sex, and that they weren’t above using force to get it. And that made a sick sort of sense, because Andrew was a man. A good one, supposedly. One I had trusted, that was for sure. My friend.