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I can’t get enough of her.

“Yes! Oh my God, yes!” She bounces on my lap as I grab her tits with both hands. I stare at our reflection in the mirror—us perched on the edge of the bed, her moving her tight little pussy up and down my cock, her little barbell winking at us with every motion.

The storm batters the windows to the sound of my cock pounding into her from below.

“Charles,” I rasp, my fingers playing with her rosy nipples, squeezing them hard and feeling her inner walls strangle me some more. “Remember what I told you on the dance floor—it’s Charles, not God. Moan my name, curse it, scream it when you’re with me.”

Taylor shudders. Her body arches back so her tits are thrusted upward, and her head rests on my shoulder.

“Ch-Charles, shit… Is this what I’ve been missing?” she moans again as I slide my hand between her legs and play with her piercing.

That little barbell drives me wild.

We’ve sequestered ourselves in the hotel room for the last week as a blizzard blows through St. Petersburg. The rest of the tour company left before the storm hit, but Taylor and I were more than happy to indulge ourselves with each other in our little slice of paradise.

Other than a few mandatory work calls and a terse exchange I had with Elias telling him I’d contact him once I was back in the city, because I know I’ll need his help if I wanted to find the assholes who hurt Taylor, I’ve spent every waking moment with her.

I told her about my family and how much it devastated me that Liam had written me off from his life since Firefly’s accident. How I missed the happier days of the past. How tired I am with acting like everything was fine. She listened and didn’t judge me. She shared stories about her childhood and her mom. How she felt like ballet had saved her life at her lowest.

I’ve never felt closer to anyone else before and I think she feels the same way because in the last seven days, the darkness I typically see in her eyes is gone.

Then there’s the sex.

While I haven’t introduced her to the rougher side of sex yet, because it’s far too soon for that, sex between us has been transcendent. As if by telling me her past, she’s unlocked a part of herself long hidden, and now we can’t get enough of each other. It’s not just physical pleasure coursing through me, but a possessive need tugging at my heart.

I can let go of everything with her.

My cell phone has been pinging nonstop, my PR manager sending me article after article of photos taken of Taylor and me outside of Mariinsky Theatre, with headlines ranging from “Hypocritical CEO? Inappropriate relationships at work?,” “Is Bank of Columbia a breeding ground for illicit relationships?,” to “Anderson ballerina taking golden bachelor off the market!”

I should be concerned. The stock has gone nuts—plummeting one moment and rising the next—the public not knowing how to react to the news of a Vaughn kissing an Anderson. The old Charles would be disappointed in himself. My actions were impulsive and emotional, not driven by logic and strategy. This takes us back a few steps, especially given what I said in Prague about unequal power dynamics in relationships being frowned upon.

But I don’t give a shit.

Logic flew out the window the moment a certain black-hearted ballerina flew into my arms and kissed me in front of everyone. I was ready to give her the world then and now, after she told me what she went through and how she survived?

Screw everyone else.

“Look in the mirror,” I rasp. “Look at how sexy you are, your tits swaying, your pussy sucking in my cock so well.”

Taylor whimpers, her eyes fluttering open as she stares at our reflection. Her motions falter.

I drag my teeth down her neck before sucking the sensitive spot under her ear. My fingers pluck at that naughty little piercing as I slam into her from below, each thrust loud into the room.

Her mouth drops open, her eyes rolling back, and she grips my arms for dear life.

Fire burns up my spine as the pressure gathers in my balls. I bite her neck and pinch her clit. She screams, her juices gushing out of her—my minx likes a little pain in sex—I don’t think she realizes it yet, but I intend to teach her, to have her love the different sensations coursing through her body.

“Oh fuck,” she mewls, coming down from her orgasm, but I don’t stop. Instead, I pound harder, feeling her walls throb and clench around my dick.

“To answer your question,” my breathing is loud against her ear, “you are missing sex. That’s true, but it’s never like this.”

I place her hands on top of her tits and curl mine over them, our fingers interlocking as she thrashes against me. Gritting my teeth, I force myself not to come even as my cock lengthens inside her.

“It’s so good, oh fuck, Charles!” she cries, her legs shaking again, and I know she’s close.

Black dots form in my vision and this time, I let the final restraints holding me back snap. Clasping her tightly against me, I heft her up and walk the few steps to the mirror before setting her down.

“Hands against the mirror, minx. Watch yourself as you flood my cock with your cum while I go feral over you.”

Our bodies are slick, and I grip her thick black hair and pull as she arches her delectable ass against me, her hands against the shaking mirror.

Her beautiful eyes are wide with lust, her perfect lips swollen, her creamy tits slap against the mirror with each snap of my hips.

“ This is what it’s like between us, minx. Insanity, blissful fucking insanity.” Fire races up my balls and my cock and I rub her clit before inserting the tip of my index finger inside her, on top of where we’re joined, and that extra sensation sets her off.

“Charles!” Her legs give out from under her, but I hold her against me as I roar my release, my vision blackening, blood rushing straight into my head as waves of orgasm pull me under.

For a few minutes, I can’t speak, can’t think. All I can do is pull her onto the ground with me, our bodies heaving, sweaty, completely satiated. She melts, her head resting on my chest as she splays a shapely thigh across my torso.

My feral kitten is a softie underneath her scars and claws.

Just like I knew all along.

A surge of emotions clamor in my chest and a strong sentiment is perched on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t say it aloud. Because deep down, I’m still afraid of admitting what I’m feeling—that little boy hidden inside me is still traumatized at how a four letter word is an excuse for his parents to neglect him and his siblings.

I push the thought away and smile at Taylor instead. She snuggles deeper into my chest and lets out a satisfied sigh. She’s been smiling more.

The other day, she asked me why I was interested in BDSM and I told her it was an outlet for me, to let go of the day-to-day restraints I had on myself, that I enjoyed the control and valued the trust subs gave to their Doms. Her eyes lit up. She was curious and full of questions. I laughed when she pulled out her phone and started researching. Her face turned a cute shade of pink as she read about limits, safe words, and the different types of play. I promised her one day we’d explore it together.

She also told me she hired a private investigator to look into what happened to her because she wanted closure. She wanted the monsters to stop appearing in her dreams. A pinch of guilt landed on my chest when she mentioned that, because of what I found out about Ian and Hotel Renegade. And the occasional nights when I heard her moaning in her sleep, bathed in sweat, I’d wrap her up in my arms and tell her she’s safe because I was there with her.

I’ll fight her demons for her.

And so I can’t bring myself to ask her, not when she smiles at me during the day, when those demons seem to have receded in the background and she appears happy.

Frankly, I’m afraid of the answer.

Lately, she’s been talking about her dreams of the future. She wants to volunteer at sexual assault support groups. She wants to set up endowments for dance scholarships for kids from disadvantaged neighborhoods. There’s a spark in her eyes I’ve never seen before and I need to keep that softness, that drive in her.

She deserves everything.

“It’s only ever been this way with you,” I murmur, watching a blush creep up her face. Her eyes flutter open, a smile tugging her lips. “I have a feeling,” I play with her hand, intertwining and locking our fingers together, “I’ve been trapped in a cave, waiting for you to rescue me.”

“Charles,” she murmurs, “You’re the one who saved me, not the other way around.”

I shake my head and kiss her hair before pulling out of her. She has no idea how much she’s changed me. After taking care of business in the bathroom, I gather her in my arms and deposit her on the bed.

“You aren’t ready for another round again are you?” She eyes my torso dubiously. “Don’t men need to rest between rounds, especially older men? That’s what I heard before.”

“Think I’m too old for you?” I smirk. I lean over and kiss those berry lips of hers. She moans and my cock stirs. “Don’t tempt me, because I can definitely keep going.”

She mock groans and throws her arm across her face, the pink flush spreading over her pale ivory skin. “I take back all the mean things I’ve ever said about you if you and your hard inches will spare me.”

I laugh. “What did I tell you before? My inches are very much real.”

Taylor snorts and shoves me before she rests her head on my shoulder. My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I groan.

“I don’t want to know what awaits me,” I murmur, reluctantly picking it up.

Maxwell

Charles Fucking Vaughn, you better answer before I fly over to Russia. What are your intentions toward Taylor? You didn’t even have the decency to let us know about it beforehand?

Rex

I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.

Rex

That’s it. That’s my message. *Gloating in satisfaction.*

Lana

I’m happy for them! They’re cute together! Charles, don’t sweat the PR stuff. I can help if you need me. We got this. We Andersons take care of our own, and you’re officially one of us now.

Ryland

I seem to recall someone sending a text last year complaining he is in this text group, even though he isn’t an Anderson. Look how the mighty have fallen, dipshit.

Lana

Oooh! I am changing the chat name! “Charles is whipped.” Simple and to the point. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

Rex

This is why I love you, Lana. You’re my favorite—always know exactly what I’m thinking.

Grace

Hey! I thought I was your favorite! And Tay, I’ve been fielding messages from the other girls. You and I need to have a nice looooong chat when you get back.

Taylor snorts next to me, and I see her typing away on her phone.

Taylor

You’re in deep shit, Rex, because you told me I was your favorite sister.

Rex

Well, well, well, look who’s resurfacing from her love nest? Shit. Don’t tell me. I don’t need that image in my head.

I growl and add my two cents to this ridiculous conversation.

Charles

No one is imagining anything about Taylor. Unless they want to die a painful death.

Maxwell

You haven’t answered my question, Vaughn.

Shaking my head, I set the phone on the nightstand as it continues to buzz.

“What are you thinking?” she asks as I stare at the sea of white outside the window.

While my heart is filled to the brim for this woman next to me, reality is knocking on our door, begging to be let in. I take Taylor’s hand in mine and kiss her fingertips. “I need to talk to your family first. They deserve that. Everything else can come second.”

“What are you going to tell them?” she whispers and I hear a twinge of fear in her voice. That fucker Camden really did a number on her.

Frowning, I turn toward her and answer, “That I’m head over heels crazy about a ball busting woman and with or without their blessing, I’m having her by my side.”

Taylor swallows, her eyes misting again. “I…I really like you. You’ve no idea what you’ve given me.”

My heart pounds at her admission because I know this is an enormous leap for her and I’m going to try my damned best not to let her down because the men in her life before she met her brothers have been sacks of shit.

Then a small kernel of disappointment surfaces. She likes me. That sounds so trivial compared to how I feel about her. What are you disappointed about, when you can’t even say the four-letter word yourself yet?

I want to take the final leap with her, to have what my friends have with their wives and girlfriends. I want her to know my world and my history.

“When we get back, can I take you to see Firefly?” And Liam, if he’ll return my calls.

“Your sister?” Taylor’s eyes widen. “Yes…of course. I’d love to meet her, even if she’s…”

In a perpetual sleep.

Pain slices through me as I think of Firefly’s still figure on the hospital bed—a sleeping beauty who wouldn’t wake up.

“Can you tell me more about her? About…what happened?”

How will Taylor feel about me once she learns the truth? Will she still look at me like I’ve hung the moon in her sky?

Panic seizes my chest and for the first time since we’ve opened our hearts to each other, I strain a halfhearted smile. “Of course. I’ll tell you everything when we get back, but for now, let’s not talk about it.”