I want to see her at the end of a leash. I want to tell her what to wear—tiny, strappy, revealing things. I want her begging, struggling, and

Midsentence, I dropped my pen.

“God damn,” I whispered, my hand shaking.

Erotic images flooded my mind—Hannah, the star of every scene. I flicked open my slacks and my cock swelled into my palm. I closed my eyes and gripped the desk. How could I be unfathomable to myself? Dark water. Disturbing things beneath. I didn’t want to see.

I jerked off quickly, hunched over the desk and gasping.

When I came, I felt a surge of shame, which crowned my pleasure. If only Hannah could see me now, and see into my mind. She was an innocent accomplice to my passion.

I cleaned up and stripped down to my boxers.

In the long, lucid moments after orgasm, I gazed at the print on the wall—A Street in Venice, 1880. The woman in the painting stared back at me. Her subtle smile unnerved me. She was caught in the act, or she had caught me in the act.

Hannah gave me that same smile and dark-eyed look.

I was the fool, mesmerized.

Around midnight, I climbed into our bed. I moved as quietly as possible, but as soon as I stretched out alongside Hannah, she rolled to face me.

She nuzzled her features into my neck and kissed my throat.

I fit her body to mine.

She sighed—sadly, not contentedly—and said, “My sister is pregnant.”

Chapter 7

HANNAH

I scanned the tables outside the Mediterranean deli, searching for my sister. She was supposed to meet me on my lunch break. And she wasn’t here.

My phone chimed with a text from Chrissy.

Running late. Be there in 10.

I huffed.

My sister and I needed to talk—properly. Last night at home wasn’t the time or place. Chrissy didn’t want Mom and Dad to hear, and I didn’t want Matt to know everything … yet.

A flash of gold caught my eye, the accent on a stranger’s handbag. My gaze focused. Bright interlocking C’s … Coach.

I sucked in a breath.

She was here.

The brown-haired woman sat alone at a table, preoccupied with her phone.

Matt’s proposal, my promotion, and Chrissy’s news had put the woman out of my mind completely. Now the memory rushed back.

You are so brave to be marrying him. Is he really into all that weird stuff?

I approached her table and she blinked up at me.

“Hi,” I said.

“Oh, hey.” Her face relaxed into a smile.

“Could we talk for a moment? I’m expecting someone, but—”

“Of course.” Her eyes swept my left hand. No engagement ring, still.

“Thanks.” I took a seat across from her, fiddling with my phone and trying to organize my thoughts. I had ten minutes, more or less, to grill her about Matt. Where to start? “Um … sorry to interrupt your lunch…” I gave a meaningful pause.

“Katie,” she said.

“Katie. Thanks. I can’t stop thinking about what you said last week. About Matt and…” I forced a laugh. “The weird stuff he’s into?”

Katie’s brow rumpled. Her smile tightened and she took a sip from her drink.

I hadn’t ordered any lunch; Chrissy’s news had killed my appetite.

“I probably shouldn’t have said anything,” Katie murmured. “I thought you knew.”

“Is your friend who dated Matt … Bethany Meres?”

She nodded.

I dug my fingers into the edge of the table. Stay calm. Milk this stranger for info. Then forget about her forever.

“I know you must hate her,” Katie said. “That’s understandable, but she’s not the witch that book makes her out to be.”

“I just want to talk about the ‘weird stuff.’ I know Matt’s a little kinky.” My face heated and I lowered my voice. “I think anyone who’s read Night Owl knows that.”

“It’s more than that.”

“Could you tell me?”

“I don’t even know if it’s true.” She chewed on her straw. “Beth’s pretty bitter about how things went down with Matt. Maybe she’s mouthing off, you know? I wouldn’t worry about it. You two seem really happy, and I—”

“Please, just tell me.”

Katie swallowed and stared at the top of her soda cup.

“Okay. She said he went … too far sometimes. Wouldn’t stop when she asked, got too rough. Like he’d hit her when they were, you know. And he…”

I leaned forward, willing my posture to relax. She might stop talking if I looked too tense, and I felt poised to snap.

“Go on.”

“I guess he wanted to do things she didn’t want. He’d get angry about it.”

“Like what?”

“Weird stuff. Too crazy for Beth.”

“Come on.” I gave a feathery laugh. “Like … threesomes?”

“God, no.” Katie smirked. “That’s tame.”

“Uh, true…” I shrank in my chair.

“He wanted to do some really hardcore stuff with her. Think whips.”

Whips? I searched for any memory of Matt mentioning whips. He’d mentioned riding crops, half-jokingly, and plugs … and last fall he took a belt to my bottom. Nothing about whips, though. Katie was right. Whips definitely fell under the “hardcore stuff” category.

An image surfaced in my mind: Matt standing at the foot of our bed, shirtless, a whip coiled in his hand.