In love.
Completely, stupidly, terrifyingly in love with him.
My chest ached with how much I loved him because I knew he would never love me back. That was the one thing he’d made perfectly clear from the beginning.
This was just supposed to be a bucket list. An arrangement. A way to prove to myself that I wasn’t boring, that I could want things without being too much. Liam was supposed to be safe—emotionally unavailable, commitment-phobic, and the last person on earth I’d fall for.
And I’d fallen anyway.
And now I was going to end up heartbroken.
TWENTY-SIX
I got to the barn twenty minutes early, which was the first sign something had changed on a fundamental level.
I was never early, with hockey being the only exception. I was the guy who rolled up exactly when I was supposed to, maybe five minutes late if I could get away with it, especially with a woman. Punctuality implied eagerness, and eagerness implied caring, and caring implied…things I didn’t do.
But here I was, pacing the length of the old horse stalls like a caged animal, checking my phone every thirty seconds even though I knew Ava wouldn’t be here for another fifteen minutes at least.
The Yes Day had wrecked me.
That was the only explanation for this restless energy thrumming under my skin, this constant low-grade buzz that hadn’t faded since yesterday. Since I’d spent most of the day and night doing nothing but worshipping every inch of Ava Dumontier and watching her come apart again and again and again until I’d lost count.
But it wasn’t just the sex.
It washer.
Her laugh.
Her opinions on things I’d never considered.
Her gentleness.
Her big heart.
I’d never spent all day with a woman before, and yet, somehow, it still hadn’t been enough. I’d driven away from her house craving her more than my next breath. And again, not just craving her body. Craving her time. Her presence.
I’d stayed the night. Even more concerning than that, I hadn’t wanted to leave the next morning.
And that terrified me more than anything had in a long time.
I ran a hand through my hair and forced myself to stop pacing. This was fine. Everything was fine. So we’d had a good day together—that didn’t mean anything.
It just felt different because I knew her so well.
That’s all this was. I needed to stop freaking out.
This wasn’t me.
I pulled out the supplies I’d brought and laid them on the blankets I’d spread in the corner—soft cotton rope, a black silk blindfold. Tonight, we were checking off another item on her list—bondage and sensory deprivation. I’d suggested it earlier today when I’d texted her, already planning and needing something to focus on besides the chaos in my head.
Because what I needed most right now was control.
Sex had always been the one place where I felt completely in command. I knew what I was doing in bed. I knew how to read a woman’s body, how to give pleasure, and how to take it.
Most importantly, I knew how to keep it surface level. How to never get too deep with a woman.
Because I refused to become my dad. I refused to break a woman’s heart like that.
