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After last time, I have no idea what to expect when he calls me into his room. His actions are personal in a way the others’ aren’t. Sex with him was so…vengeful. He doesn’t just want to fuck me, he wants to make me suffer.

After dressing for bed and washing my face, I lean back against the marble counter, wringing the washcloth in my hand. “Does it get better?” I wonder.

Stella looks up from the array of facial creams. “Does what get better?”

My mouth screws up. “Sex?”

“Oh.” She blinks, brows knitting together. “It still hurts?”

I squeeze the rag, grimacing. “Sometimes. But mostly it just feels so…” I glance up at her. “Cold.”

She tilts her head, obviously considering my words. “Do you want it hotter? Because I sort of got the impression you didn’t.”

“Maybe it’d make it easier,” I say, thinking of the way it felt to have Wicker on his knees, eating me out. It’s the closest I’ve come to having a satisfying moment, and even that was tainted. “Or maybe I’d just hate myself more.”

“Verity, look at me.” Stella’s stern voice draws my gaze to hers. “I’ve never been a Princess, so I don’t know what it’s like. But I’ve been a whore.” She rolls her eyes, flapping a hand. “Okay, for like five seconds, but still, I know some things.” Lifting a finger, she lists off, “I know what it’s like to have rough sex with rough men. I know finding pleasure in that makes it easier to get through it. And the most important thing I know is that it doesn’t make you weak. It makes you the master of your fate.”

“But,” I say, cheeks heating, “is it always like that? Is sex just something we endure? Or can it ever be…”

“Sweet?” Stella absently twirls her braid around her wrist, eyes going dreamy. “God, I hope so. With someone nice, who really likes you. Someone who holds you afterward. Someone whose eyes you can look into, and when he looks back, you can feel how much he wants and loves you, and it’d be scary, except you can’t feel scared with him, because he’s the epitome of safety, and you can still feel his arms around you even when you’re not together.”

Blinking, I say, “... yeah. I guess.”

She snaps out of the daydream, shrugging with a bright grin. “I think it’s out there! Somewhere.”

Suddenly, I feel bad. Even if Stella was only a whore for ‘five minutes’, she still probably had to put up with far more than three men. I’m just about to apologize when we hear a loud crash coming from the bedroom.

We both jump, eyes locking warily before we begin inching toward the door.

The glow of the fireplace reaches toward the bathroom, and it’s the only thing illuminating the bedroom when I peek out, scanning the room. The shadows dance, swaying and flickering in time to the flames, but I can still see the figure standing beside the bed. With his back to us, I can only tell that he’s tall and shirtless, standing eerily still. His loose, wild hair grazes his shoulders, and when I look downward, I see that he’s only wearing a pair of white boxer-briefs.

At first, I’m convinced it’s a stranger–that someone has broken in.

And then I realize.

“...Lex?”

I’ve never seen him like this, so bare and unfettered, and I curse my heart for ratcheting up at the sight. Because when he turns his head, the glow of the fireplace cutting his cheek in sharp relief, I have one clear, unmistakable thought.

Lex Ashby isn’t just cute.

He’s fucking gorgeous.

“It’s not his night,” Stella whispers, glancing at me. “Right?”

I shake my head. “It’smynight–for another hour or so, at least.”

A strange look passes over her face. “So, do you think he’s…”

“Sleepwalking?” I know that’s why he has the lock on his door.

“Oh no,” she moans, but when I step into the bedroom, she grabs my wrist. Eyes widening, she hisses, “Verity, wait! You can’t go out there.”

I gesture to his figure, still eerily motionless. “Someone has to get him back to bed.” But it’s then that I finally place that odd expression on her face.

Terror.

“You don’t understand, Princess. This isn’t the man you know.” Stella tugs me back. “He’s dangerous like this.”