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But I would love to take what he had and can no longer contain. Because as much as he’d like to corral Dorothy in, I think he will find that no stone, no steel, no mountain can stop her.

I have told her again and again that I think she will die before she begins, but every minute my opinion on that changes. Every minute she surprises me and proves maybe she is more powerful, more capable than any of us realizes.

And if that’s true, maybe she really can defeat my brother. Maybe his ego will be so bruised, he will hide for the rest of his sorry life.

And I’m all for it.

Does it matter? she asked. Maybe not. Perhaps our goal is the same: punish my brother by any means necessary.

My left arm is not far from being locked up, but my right arm is still moving, and there’s still feeling in my fingertips, so I grab her ass and push her down on me, knowing damn well that I’m edging into the kind of territory that could easily shift beneath my feet, the bottom falling out from under me.

“I want to stop caring,” she admits, the words just breath between us. “I wish I was heartless.”

“You don’t want that.”

“No?”

“No.” I let my hand trail up her back, enjoying the tiny little shivers that run through her as I do. “I think what you want is to be free.”

Her mouth finds mine, her lips, her tongue, driving the fervent need building between us. She’s tasting me in an instant and my hand comes to her nape, pulling her closer, driving her down on my cock. Her moan hums between us and the hunger of it has me throbbing.

I have underestimated her, this girl who fell from the sky.

And as she reaches between us and grips my cock through my trousers, stoking my own need, I realize that my brother has underestimated her too.

FIFTEENDorothy

Edward and I were seventeen the first time we had sex. It was in the heat of August on the night of a full moon. We’d just come home from the state fair where we’d gorged ourselves on cotton candy and red slushies. By nightfall, we were sunburnt, exhausted, but satiated by the taste of a day well spent.

And we didn’t want it to end.

I can still see us fumbling around in the hay loft, unsure of what we wanted or where we needed to go. We were blindly following instinct surrounded by the night air and the silver shine of the moon.

Em had never led me to believe that my virginity was something to protect. She’d had frank conversations with me about sex, about consent and safety and open communication.

I had no reservations. No fears or worries.

I had a need and Edward had a need and I felt safe with him to chase it.

But the next day, and the days that followed, Edward wallowed in shame, guilt, and despair. He apologized to me profusely, shouldering some perceived burden of what we had done, like I was some poor, helpless creature caught in his trap and not a woman of flesh and blood and desire.

The bubble had burst and we spent months avoiding anything that felt too close to pleasure.

There is no such hesitation from the Tinman.

Once I have invited him in, he crosses the threshold and does not look back.

As our mouths descend on each other, I reach between us, undoing his belt buckle, then the button on his pants. He’s free in an instant, hard flesh in my hand, his breaths turning rough and ragged as I stroke him.

His hips shift, his cock seeking the pressure of my closed fist.

I run my hand back through his hair, nails scraping over his scalp.

I swallow the groan that vibrates up his throat.

Edward and I danced around sex and pleasure for months and months, but I am no longer interested in being timid.

I stand up, pulling my shirt off. The Tinman helps me with my pants with his left hand, baring me in an instant, and he leans forward, kissing the plane of my stomach, down over my hips.