Chapter 12: Four Years

"Then you owe me four years," I said.

He didn't move.

"Tell me what you want."

"I want you to stop deciding."

I put both hands flat on his chest and pushed him backward.

He went without a fight. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he sat down on it, looking up at me.

The duffel bag slid to the floor.

I took the tie off his neck. It was black silk, still knotted from the party.

"Hands," I said.

"Kate."

"Term two, Malachi. You don't touch me unless I say so. I'm saying you don't touch me at all."

His eyes went very dark.

He held out his wrists.

I wound the silk around them twice and pulled it tight, and tied it to the iron rail at the head of the bed.

He lay back against the pillows with his arms over his head and his chest heaving.

"Too tight?" I asked.

"No."

"Tell me if it is."

"It isn't."

I stood at the foot of the bed in the green dress, and I took my time.

I reached behind me and slid the zipper down.

He watched every inch of it.

The dress dropped to the floor.

I stepped out of it in my underwear and my heels, and he breathed in through his teeth.

"You're killing me," he said.

"Good."

I climbed up onto the bed and straddled his hips.

He was already hard.

I could feel him through his trousers, hot against me.

I rocked once, slowly, and he made a sound low in his throat.

"Four years," I said. I undid his shirt one button at a time. "You listened to me beg, in a bunk, with a towel on your head."

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