"Perhaps not financially, no, but your attitude and demeanor are one hundred percent billionaire-coded."
"Is that a bad thing?" I ask.
She frowns, shrugs. "Not necessarily, no. It can be, but it is not by nature a criticism. Just an observation." Brys climbs to her feet, grunting as she wobbles, arms windmilling as she finds her balance. "Geez, my legs don't work." She traipses to the window—peering out from the side, now.
"Is our friend still there?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "Nope. He's gone." She yanks the curtains closed and turns to face me; I'm still seated on the floor, legs crossed. "We need to talk about some of what just happened, Jakob."
I rise to my feet and go to her. Press a finger over her lips. "I will never cause you real pain. If something crosses the threshold from pleasure into discomfort, simply tell me and I shall stop whatever I am doing immediately."
"Like a safe word?"
I shrug. "If you wish. Or simply tell me to stop. But you must be certain you want to stop. I do not play games in that regard, Brys."
"I told you I couldn't take any more, yet you kept going," She points out.
"I stopped doing that particular thing, did I not?" I say. "And when I put my fingers inside you, did you want me to stop?"
"I…"
"Didyou?"
"No."
"I know you didn't. You didn't tell me to stop because you didn’t think you could take any more, Brys; you told me to stop because you were afraid of that edge. You could feel yourself reaching a breaking point which you have likely never had the courage to go beyond on your own, and which no one else has had the knowledge or skill to get you past."
Her mouth opens and closes a few times. "I was scared of it."
I inch closer. Hold her eyes. "I know. You trust me to keep you alive out there, yes?" I gesture at the window.
"So far, yes."
I point at the bed. "Then trust me to know your limits there, as well."
She shakes her head, pushes past me. "You don't know what you're asking, Jakob."
"Oh, but I do."
She whirls. "No, you don't!" She's in my space, angry and wild, eyes blazing fury. "You don't knowanythingabout me or my past. You don't know what I want. What I like. What I don't like. You don't know what I'm afraid of. You don't know what I fantasize about."
"Yet." One syllable, emerging from my lips unbidden.
It reveals truths I am terrified to examine within myself.
At that moment, tires squeal outside.
10
DANGEROUS TO MY HEART…OR JUST MY LADY BITS?
BRYS
Jakob is in motion instantly, bounding to the pile of his clothes and dressing so fast it defies belief. I'm not far behind, and by the time I'm shoving my feet into my boots, Jakob has the machine gun slung across his chest, handing me a bag laden with clothes and rattling cans of soda.
My heart is in my throat as I follow Jakob out of the room less than ninety seconds after the first sound of squealing brakes and skidding tires. We beeline for the stairs, but Jakob pauses just inside the stairwell, listening—male voices.
"De ja vu," I whisper. "This feels all too familiar."
