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Once I’m fully ready, I climb onto the bed, between her legs, and thrust inside her.

The dull vibration from the plug in her ass is every bit as fantastic as I expected.

Her hips gyrate below me, and I press up into her core, balls deep.

I have to hold myself above her, on my forearms. She’s still as I rock into her.

The sensations threaten to overwhelm. She looks up at me, eyes wide, and I lose any semblance of control.

I’m kissing her, claiming her breasts, her mouth, her entire body.

The orgasm that rips through my body blows my mind.

Her screams are the only things that keep me blanketed to reality and chained to our bed.

Her eyelids flutter closed, and she drifts to sleep as I lie plastered on her spent form.

With great effort, I get up and run hot water over a washcloth and clean her, providing aftercare.

When I remove the plug, she squirms and wakes.

A soft smile plays across her lips, and she stretches languidly.

My muscles are the most relaxed I think they’ve ever been, and I slide across the silk to her side, pulling her into my arms. With one quick tug, the comforter falls around us, cocooning us in silky, blissful warmth.

“Do you do this a lot?” Her question comes across as slow and relaxed, but there’s a weight to the words.

I don’t do this a lot. After my divorce, before Cassandra died, sure.

I had women over. No relationship to speak of, but I had an active sex life.

Cassie’s death hit me like a freight train.

The unexpected upended my world. And then Sophia came to live with me, and I vowed to be a better father.

As her only living parent, I had to change.

I let work consume me. Until the day I received that fateful phone call.

And I had to pick up Sophia from school and tell her she wouldn’t see her mother again.

She didn’t come to me for comfort. It was like I was a stranger delivering horrific news to a family relative I saw once every month or two.

I still relive the moment sometimes. The shock on Sophia’s face. The slow crumbling and the denial, followed by tears. Her shoulders caved in, and her head bowed, and her shoulders convulsed as she sobbed. I sat there for minutes, watching her, wanting to hold her but unsure if I should.

“Do you have this arrangement with a lot of women?” Ava rolls onto her side, aligning her naked body against mine, skin against skin.

She balls her hand into a fist and rests it on my chest, then her chin rests on that.

The space between us offers a view of her breasts, pressed softly against me.

Under this light, those bewitching eyes take me in.

I blink to pull myself back from the tangent my mind traversed, one so different from hers.

“I haven’t used this room in years, if that’s what you’re asking.

” I’ve never paid someone for sex before either, at least if you don’t count a massage parlor that offered happy endings that some of my fraternity brothers dragged me to.

But I won’t tell her that, because I’d prefer we not reference the financial component of our relationship.

I reach up and curl a piece of her silky black hair around my finger.

Her bangs crowd her eyebrows, and on a whim, I brush my hand across her forehead.

I pause, holding those bangs away. She’s truly beautiful.

She drops her head to my chest, and the fisted hand loosens as her arm drapes across me. This is more intimacy than I planned with her, but my muscles are spent, and I have no desire to get out of this bed.

“What about you?” I leave the question open, so she can answer it however she likes.

“No. I mean, you know about me, right?”

I do, and I don’t. So, I prod. “Know what about you?”

Her chest expands as she inhales. My fingers comb through her hair.

“I was an addict.” She lifts her head and looks me in the eye. “I am an addict.” Her shoulders flinch, and she lowers her head back down. “I had a relationship after rehab, and it didn’t go well. I’m better off focusing on, well, me.”

I had an old military friend who went through rehab. I remember some of it. Relationships are frowned on during the rehab phase. But Ava founded the center Mark’s been funding for what seems like forever. I assumed she’d been clean for a long time.

“How long have you been sober?”

“Ten years. Eight months. Three days.”

“You’re coming up on eleven years.” How many of those years was she in a relationship? “Do you still have cravings?”

“No.” Her chest expands again on a deep inhale. “And yes. But I will not relapse. I don’t ever want to go back to… that.”

“And what is that?”

“Sticking needles in my neck. Homelessness. The worst you can imagine. It got bad.”

My fingers continue toying with her hair, and I occasionally scratch her scalp the way Sophia used to like for me to do when she was little. My eyelids are heavy, and I let them close.

“You’re probably second guessing letting me near Sophia.”

My eyes pop open. I squeeze her, prompting her to raise her head and look at me.

“I have zero regrets bringing you into our home. From what I can tell, you’ve been good with Sophia.

” I brush my thumb across her cheek. It’s my turn for some honesty.

“If anything, I feel guilty for having you live here. For uprooting your life.” For treating you like a prostitute .

I look off to the corner of the room where leather restraints hang from a hook.

Having her here has been more beneficial for me.

It’s a sexual release I’ve craved. And as things at work have intensified, it’s been liberating knowing someone was with Sophia.

I love seeing her with Sophia. She’s good with her. “I can only thank you.”

She rolls away from me, onto her side, and pulls one pillow under her head. I roll in her direction, so I’m on my side, next to her. My fingers comb along her arms, over the web of tattoos.

“You’ve got less than two weeks remaining. When your time is up, will you go to Norway?” She’ll have the money.

“Norway?”

“You said you wanted to go there.” I want to know more about her. How she plans on spending her money, what she plans on doing, and I want to know about every single tattoo covering her sensuous body.

“I won’t blow it on travel. I’m playing around with ideas. Researching real estate options.”

“For a home?”

“No. To expand Buena Vida. I’m also working with our financial advisors. I’d like to ensure we don’t need to go to your uncle every year for additional funding. And with your sizable contribution, I feel pretty confident I can do that.”

“You’re a part of Mark’s annual giving campaign. To my knowledge, he’s incredibly proud of the work you do.”

“Hmm. He believes in our mission.” She kicks her leg back, and her calf slides over my lower leg.

Her breathing regulates into a mellow rhythm, and I breathe her in.

Her scent is musky, her skin soft. She’s a walking contradiction.

Her tattoos and piercings render a hard edge, but those gargantuan chocolate eyes and mass of silky hair render her a fantasy.

She’s been through hell and not only survived but thrived.

It’s easy to see why my uncle is so besotted with her and would recommend her for Sophia.

She bears the strength and wisdom of scars.

I will lie here for a few minutes, soaking her in. It’s been so long since I lay like this, holding someone, lulled into a blissful state of warmth and relaxation. Just a few more minutes, and then I’ll get up and go to my bedroom.