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She’s shaking like a leaf, terror rolling off her lithe frame in waves.

“N-No.” The minx hastily scrambles back, her long legs barely keeping her upright. “Stay away from me.”

Her eyes widen in fear as they dart to the whip in my hand, then back to my face, then back to my hand again. Sweat glistens on her forehead.

“S-Stay back!”

I frown, and the unease I felt at ABTC last week when she screamed at Uncle Ian comes roaring back. I was furious then at how an opportunity to dance Odette was squandered by the likes of her, someone who didn’t even seem to care about the craft. Then she solidified herself on my shit list when she socked me in the face and had the audacity to insult the only parental figure in my life.

But now, seeing those stormy eyes flash with terror, her earlier fierce countenance nowhere to be seen, a flicker of concern gathers in my gut. Something is wrong. If she were a sub here, and I’m sure she isn’t because I’ve never seen her on the Rose floors before, these would be red flags of someone barreling past their limit.

I step toward her, wanting to do something. Comfort her? Hold her? Tell her everything is okay? Fuck, why the hell do I care about this hellion? She’s not your sub.

My fingers grip the whip for support—anything to tether myself to reality and calmness. I wonder if merely standing next to a hurricane will make you seasick.

But the gentleman in me can’t let a woman—even one I despise—be in this state of terror.

“Are you okay?” I move toward her.

“No!” she screams. “P-Please. St-top.” She eyes my hands, panic in those gray pools.

I freeze and slowly drop the whip from my hand. It clatters to the floor like a gong and she flinches. What the fuck happened to her? Did someone hurt her before?

The thought sends a torrent of anger up my chest, and I don’t know why.

“Taylor,” I murmur, and her eyes snap up to mine, clearly surprised I know her name. Well, of course I had to find out after her crazy outburst at ABTC. “No one is hurting you.”

She lets out a shaky exhale, her eyes bright with fear.

“You are fine. We’re all adults here…just having some fun.”

Taylor gasps. Then her entire posture changes as if my words woke up something inside her. Her nostrils flare, her hands balling into fists, and she straightens up.

There’s my fierce minx.

What? I recoil at the direction of my thoughts.

“You rich men are all the same. You guys think you can use women because we’re physically weaker than you.” Her words are murderous, laced with venom. She darts a glance at Kristi behind me, who I’m sure, along with Colt, is gaping at this ridiculous turn of events.

Taylor’s face turns redder and her body vibrates—this time, not from fear. I can practically see the flames sparking from her eyes. “It’s disgusting and sick how you guys get off on hurting women, just like—”

I reach her in two strides and her eyes widen as I tower over her.

Leaning down, I rasp, “Say that again. I dare you. Words have consequences.”

I’d never maliciously hurt a woman. Never raise a hand on them in anger. Even in BDSM, the pain I dole out is only to give my partner pleasure—while I love the ability to control their orgasms, the women hold all the power in the scenes. It’s also for me to let go of my carefully curated image and embrace the darker desires inside me. But I’d hurt myself before hurting another woman. It’s something I firmly believe in.

I fucking despise abusers.

My mind flashes to when Dad would slap Mom across the face when they got into yet another heated argument, how she’d cry as she pulled me into her arms, the rare moments when somehow I was in her orbit again…useful, a child to comfort her.

“I dare you,” I grit out, leaning further down, so close I could smell the sweet scent of alcohol drifting from her parted lips, once again painted in dark purple.

Her breathing comes in quick pants. Her smooth, pale skin flushes pink as her eyes dart across my face like she doesn’t know what to look at first. A pulse flutters rapidly in her neck and it’s like a beacon drawing out the beast I’ve tethered tightly within me. I have the strangest compulsion to touch it. To wrap my hand around that slender neck and feel her pulse hammer into my fingers.

What’s wrong with me?

Maybe you’re your parents’ child.

I rear back and she lets out a huge breath.

“Hey, I’m fine. I really am,” Kristi’s soft voice sounds from behind us. She obviously senses Taylor’s terror too. “Charles is just teaching my husband a few tricks as a Dom. I’m fine. We’re all good here.”

I see the moment when her words click for Taylor, when she realizes she has misread the entire situation. She rakes her hand through her hair.

“I…I see,” she whispers before swallowing, a flush creeping up her face. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

I curl my fingers into my palm to stop myself from doing something insane, like reaching out and shaking her for sending me on a maddening rollercoaster of unsavory emotions.

Instead, I can’t help myself and say, “Are you done here? You barged into a private scene.”

Taylor’s lips flatten and her eyes narrow into slits. Stiffening, she turns her attention back to me and sneers, “I’ll never understand twisted men like you. Can’t get hard without hurting women?”

With that parting backhand, she spins around and glides out of the room like a fucking queen.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, my pulse rioting in my veins. I feel out of control. This woman drives me insane, and I’ve only met her twice.

“Well, that was wild,” Colt comments. The entire mood of the scene is completely ruined.

“Sorry, guys.” I let out a halfhearted chuckle and turn back to my friends. “On behalf of her, I apologize for ruining your night.”

Kristi grins and buttons her shirt—well, the buttons Colt didn’t rip off earlier. “Don’t worry about it, Charles. Seriously, who is she? I’ve never seen anyone set you off like this before.”

“Or anyone who doesn’t like Charles.” Colt snorts before pulling his wife to his side.

My forced smile twitches on my jaw. “I have no clue.”

No fucking clue.