Chapter Nine

I wake up with a startle, pushing against the unfamiliar mattress to sit up. Everything is so foggy and disorienting that I might as well be waking up from a coma. As my gaze falls on a room that isn't mine, everything comes back to me at once, flooding me with carnal images of the most intensely sexual night of my life.

Ladder Guy.

Jake, the tattooed devil, proved much more accomplished than I expected. Heaven's sake… Four. We went at it four impossibly intense rounds. And I practically begged for it every single time.

I look around at the brightly lit room, searching for him. The side of the bed he slept on is cold when I reach out, and the sun is shining outside, meaning it's much later than my usual waking hour. Crap, I missed my Saturday morning yoga session. But given how sore I feel everywhere, it's for the best.

I can see that the bathroom door is open, but no sounds come from it.

"Jake?" I softly call out. Nothing. Not even when I call a second time, louder.

With a sigh, I fall back onto the pillow. He left, and I don't know if I'm glad about it or annoyed. I didn't plan on spending the night here, but after he granted me a break following our second shattering round, he took me twice again, and I pretty much passed out. The man's stamina was out of this world.

Now, as my core feels raw and overused, the magnitude of what I did hits me. I had sex with a perfect stranger. Well, I know his full legal name, but that's about it. And it wasn't just sex, but a cataclysmic experience that will leave me changed for life.

A coy smile slowly claims my lips as I stare at the white ceiling. I did it. I crossed out one item on my list. Well, actually, two. Have you ever been edged until you begged to come?

Now I have. And I get the hype. It was uniquely erotic to be at his mercy like that, a mere puppet in his dexterous hands. He denied and gave with precision, and I shattered more times than I can count.

To think I just had the best night of my life, and it was just two out of fifty on my list. Going through all the questions from that quiz might not be as terrible as I thought. All I need is a way to meet men for it. But that stupid profile attracted 153 of them overnight, so I'm sure that won't be too much of an issue.

Nested in the warm comfort of the luxurious bedding, I slowly drift back into slumber, exhausted from the intense night. With my eyes closed like this, I can vividly see Jake ramming into me with all his might, his tattoos glistening with sweat, his raspy voice uttering the most salacious words with that cursed accent, his piercings rippling against my walls… Although it shouldn't be possible, warmth spreads into my core. I can't possibly want more sex. Not after last night.

Forcing my eyes to open, I rip myself out of my naughty thoughts.

"Siri," I call out into the vastness of the room. "What time is it?"

"It's eleven thirty-five a.m."

Crap. I need to be in the lobby by noon.

With a grunt, I force myself out of the bed. The lingering ache between my legs gets worse when I stand, and I notice how sticky I am everywhere. I'll need three showers to feel clean again, but a quick one will suffice for now. On my way to the bathroom, I retrieve my phone from my clutch.

Since Hana knew what I was doing yesterday before going MIA, she sent me twenty-three messages asking if everything was fine. I quickly type a reply, telling her I'm okay and will call her in a bit.

Then, I see a text from Ladder Guy, which he sent over three hours ago. My heart skips a beat when I open it and then speeds up as I read it.

Ladder Guy

You know where to find me if you change your mind.

I read it three times, standing naked and still feeling his influence all over my body. And inside, too. I'm definitely flattered that he wants more of me. I thought he would have had his fill after all that. The offer is tempting, but it feels like a complication waiting to happen. I take him up on his offer, and then what? We meet up once more? And again?

No, that won't do. I'm in this to explore and experiment, not meet new people, learn about them, and grow attached. The rule I gave myself, one man, one item—or as many as can fit in a single encounter—is the way to go.

Twenty minutes later, I'm making my way out of The Plaza, wearing my gray dress from yesterday and doing my best not to appear as sore as I feel. I removed my ruined makeup, so my face is bare, which I'm not used to in public. Next time I do this, I'll have to bring an overnight bag because this is embarrassing.

As soon as I'm into a taxi on my way home, I dial Hana. She picks up before the first tone is over.

"Gen, oh my God! I've been worried sick all night!"

"I'm okay, Mom," I humor.

"Where have you been? You were supposed to meet that guy again and tell me about it, but then, nothing!"

"I was busy."

"Doing what?"

"Doing him," I whisper into the phone so the driver can't hear. "Or rather letting him do me."

There's a long pause on the other side of the line, where I can practically hear the gears in her mind running. "All night?"

"Most of it."

She lets out a long, excited shriek, which forces me to push the phone away to preserve my eardrum. "I can't believe you did it!" she screams. "How was it? Should I beg Tyrone to get those piercings?"

"It was good."

"Could you sound any less enthusiastic? Was it meh, or was it mind-blowing?"

I sigh, rolling my eyes before looking out the taxi's window. "It was devastatingly amazing. I'm forever ruined."

Another shriek, another enthusiastic question. "Will you see him again?"

I hate how my throat clutches when I answer, "No."

"Why?"

"It was just a one-time thing, Hana. It's simpler if I move on to someone else."

During the entire ride, which thankfully doesn't last very long, she asks me more questions about Jake and my night with him. All she gets from me are vague replies though, because I don't feel like disclosing too much, fearing she'll read into it. But it's also in the contract. I'm not allowed to speak of what happened between us. Nor can I give Hana his identity to check him out herself. That, again, wouldn't be a good idea because she'd probably beg me to see him again.

As soon as I get home, I hop in the shower for a second time, feeling like Jake is still all over me. While I scrub every inch with a soapy loofah, leaving my skin pink and cherry scented, I can't stop myself from reliving parts of our night. Especially when I pass my hand between my legs, where I can still feel the ghost of his shaft.

His text, the offer to meet again, lingers in the back of my mind. Of course I want to. I'm not stupid enough to think that any other guy I'll meet will be as impressive as he was. But work and life are too intense for anything other than no-strings-attached, and given how strongly I reacted to Jake, I'm worried things might not stay so simple if we keep seeing each other.

Not that we could ever evolve into something serious. He couldn't be more different from me. And he's the opposite of my type, really.

So, once I'm out of the shower, I'll create a profile on a less unhinged dating app and find whoever comes next. I don't need sex gods to go through my list, just men willing to engage in sex.

That shouldn't be too hard to find.

Almost two weeks later, I have to accept that this isn't working as well as I'd hoped. The faceless profile I created isn't the problem—it's attracting plenty of potential partners. The issue is that as soon as they message me with those cheesy and reheated pickup lines, I lose all interest in them.

With a long sigh, I scroll through the conversations I've been entertaining so far. Three days of that were enough to make me wonder if I genuinely like men. The more I speak to them, the less I want them. That doesn't feel very heterosexual of me. Or maybe I just have standards that are way too high, and I need to lower my expectations to near zero. But I'm not asking for the moon, just for a guy that doesn't make my vagina dry the second he messages me.

I guess I could try harder, though. It's just for sex, after all. I'm not trying to build a life with these guys—just spend an hour in bed. Or, if they prove as exceptional as Jake, an entire night.

The fact that he pops up into my mind irritates me, and I look away from my screen with a groan. He's the real reason why none of this is working out. That's why I'm still at work on a Friday evening despite having connected with over thirty acceptable candidates. Each of them should be enough, but they all seem so boring compared to Jake.

I tried envisioning items from my list with those guys, but it only brings shudders and winces. In fact, every time I go over the list, I can't stop fantasies of Jake from filling my mind. Ever had sex tied up? I can see Jake expertly securing my hands and feet to bedposts. Ever gave anal a try? As scary as it sounds, given his size and piercings, he put the idea in my head, and I can't shake it off. Ever tried breath play? I imagine his hand around my neck like he did that night, but this time, he squeezes to rob me of oxygen.

It's actually worrying how often that last thought popped into my mind. I've become obsessed with the idea of his large, inked hands wrapping around my neck and choking me. Maybe because the gesture is so domineering, or maybe because I've heard about how good it can feel… But this isn't normal. None of this is normal.

Several times in the past two weeks, I fantasized about him while lying in bed, trying to dismiss my needs before giving up and fishing out my vibrator from my nightstand. Out of pride, I stopped counting how often I masturbated thinking about Jake and his tattoos, piercings, and devious tongue.

He ruined me when he showed me what was out there and how amazing intercourse can be. I honestly would rather stay home with a bottle of chardonnay and a documentary than have the kind of sex I've had for the past five years.

Aware that Jake might not be the only man with something to offer, I open my private messages and tap on the most promising candidate. Owen, twenty-three, is a little too young for my taste, but like I said, I'm not trying to build a life here. He's a med student who doesn't have time for anything more than what I need him for. He's also easy on the eyes, and his humor is alright. But again, those are extras, not actual requirements.

This is just a leap I must take, and then everything will be fine. Like with Jake, this is the hardest part, and the rest will flow. After a deep breath to gather my courage, I send him a message.

Me

Hey, would you still like to meet up?

Now, I wait and see. Not too long though, because Owen is always quick to respond—another thing to appreciate.

Owen

It's like you read my mind. I need a break from revisions.

Me

Do you want to meet up tonight?

Owen

Yeah, if you're free!

I didn't expect it to be so soon. Then again, I like the idea of getting it out of the way. If I don't want to spend a whole year going over the list, I need to speed it up. A quick check of my phone tells me it's already late, so the evening will be well-advanced by the time I get home and change. I look down, gauging my outfit. I'm wearing a black dress with just enough cleavage—I had a meeting that required feminine diplomacy. It's enough for what I have in mind.

Me

I'm free. How soon can you be at The Plaza on 5th?

Owen

Wow, that is way out of my budget.

Me

Don't worry about it. I'm paying.

Owen

Sugar mama vibes, I like it. Well, I'm all the way in Brooklyn, and I have something I need to finish before I go. Maybe an hour or so? Or if you can't wait to get your hands on all this, I guess you can come over ;)

I pinch the bridge of my nose, taking a moment before I reply. This is my best option? Really? Before I can reconsider everything and put an end to it, I come up with a new strategy.

Me

I'll come to you. Do you know a good place to meet?

Owen

Yeah, for sure. I'll send you the address.

"It's just for a drink," I tell myself as I gather my things. If I don't like him, we don't have to have sex.

I need to lower my standards, not dismiss them entirely.

The name of the bar is eerily familiar, but I can't quite place it. I rarely ever come to Brooklyn, and this is definitely not the kind of establishment I would frequent. It looks popular, so maybe an article mentioned it.

Ultimately, it's a good thing that I didn't go home to change because I'm already overdressed as it is. Everyone's in jeans, T-shirts, or plaid shirts, and most also wear leather jackets. This is what happens when I don't take charge and decide where to go—I end up in weird places. Next time, I'll stick to The Plaza.

While I wait for Owen to arrive, standing by the side of the entrance, I watch the patrons come in and out. It sounds like there's live music in there, some rock band playing. I haven't listened to rock since high school, so this feels like a step back in time.

"Jessica?" someone calls to my right.

It takes me a second to remember that's me, and I twist to meet Owen's warm brown eyes. "Hi," I say with a polite smile. He looks even younger in real life, but the scarce stubble on his jaw helps. He's certainly not 6'2" like he said in his profile, because I'm 5'7" in four-inch heels, and he's exactly my height. While I dislike the deception, it doesn't matter.

"Wow, you're gorgeous," he says, looking me up and down.

"Uh, thank you."

"You definitely don't look your age."

My eyebrows come together, unsure if the comment is warranted. I'm four years older than him, not an entire decade.

"Shall we?" he offers, gesturing at the door.

I nod, and we head inside. A hallway leads further in, and the music grows louder with each step we take. "Do you come here often?" I ask.

"Never, but I pass it all the time and wanted to check it out."

"Oh." I definitely should have been in charge then. We don't even know if it's a good place.

When we reach the crowded room, I worriedly glance at the people. It's not a bikers' bar, but it also isn't not a bikers' bar.

One drink, and then I'm on my way home.

Owen puts his hand in the middle of my back, pushing me slightly, and when I follow his gaze, I see a free booth. It's close to the bar and far from the stage, where four musicians are skillfully interpreting "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns and Roses—a rather apt choice of song. A couple of coasters are on the table, and I frown at the slogan printed on them—Good whisky, good rock, bad company. That isn't a good sign.

"I'll go get us drinks," Owen offers while I remove my blazer. "Is a beer okay?"

"I would rather have a lemon drop martini. And if they don't have it, just a vodka martini with lime."

"On it!"

I sit in the booth, watching him elbow his way through the crowd. Strategically, this place wasn't the right choice for him. He looks terribly uninteresting compared to the eclectic patrons.

The numerous tattoos and other body modifications inevitably make me think of him.

Annoyed that Jake yet again bursts into my mind, I pull my phone out of my Dolce Gabbana purse to distract myself. In the search bar, I write the name of this place, curious to see its ratings. Oh, it's a solid 4.6 stars, with over five thousand reviews. Maybe I misjudged it after all. I'm going through the pictures when someone smoothly sits on the bench opposite mine.

Before I can even look up from my screen, a deep voice says, "Look what the cat dragged in."

If it wasn't terribly familiar, the accent would be enough to recognize its bearer. My whole body tenses, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. Slowly, I force my gaze up, only to meet two light green irises.

This is why the name sounds so familiar. The Devil's Court. Jake mentioned it during our night together, but I was too sexed up to remember.

He says nothing, merely stares, and my skin prickles with a mix of excitement and embarrassment, warmth spreading from the inside out. He's right there. Out of some lousy karmic luck, Ladder Guy is sitting right in front of me, right as I'm giving another man a shot.

"I don't think I've ever met a lawyer who gets as tongue-tied as you do, red," he amusedly says after several seconds.

"What are you doing here?"

He cocks his eyebrow up, leans back, and crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest. The sleeves of his Iron Maiden hoodie are bunched up, revealing his tattooed forearms. "Me? I'm here every Friday evening, love. But you, why are you here? Were you missing me terribly?"

"I've barely given you a thought, actually," I boldly lie. I might get tongue-tied, but lying is something I've been perfecting since childhood.

His intense gaze darkens, his jaw ticking. "Really? You haven't been thinking about me fucking you? About me ravaging your tight and drenched little—"

"I'm here on a date," I interrupt before he can finish his question. Somehow, his cocky assurance pushes me to fight and show him he isn't all that. "He picked the place, so I had no idea we'd end up here."

Jake switches positions, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the side of the table, interlacing his inked fingers together. I can't stop my eyes from dropping to them, vividly remembering how they were inside me, deftly pleasuring me.

"You expect me to believe that, Genevieve?" he asks.

"Believe whatever you want, Jacob. The fact of the matter is that I'm here with someone, and I'd appreciate it if you were gone when he comes back."

"Why? Are you worried I'll scare him away?"

I open my mouth to reply, but Owen picks that exact moment to return with a pint of beer and my martini. I look away from Jake's cavernous gaze to witness his confused expression. "Uh, Jessica, do you know this guy?"

"Yes," Jake replies right when I say, "No."

I glare at him, far from being as amused as he is. "He was leaving," I say, offering a fake smile to the invader.

"Was I?"

"You were."

To my surprise, he chuckles, raises his hands in surrender, and steps out of the booth.

"Have a nice date, Jessica," he offers, clearly entertained. Then he pats Owen's shoulder harder than needed, which shakes him enough to make beer spill on the wooden floor. "Good luck with that one, mate."

The entire time Jake walks to the bar, my eyes throw daggers at his back. Something about his impunity stirs at my core, making me want to prove him wrong, to show him he isn't the demigod he clearly thinks he is.

"Small world, eh?" Owen says, tearing me from my thoughts. He's sitting in front of me now, and the first thing that comes to mind is how frail he looks compared to the man who was just there.

"Too small, if you ask me," I reply sardonically.

"It's nice that we got to do this. I seriously needed a break after the awful week I had."

"Oh?"

That's all it takes for Owen to launch himself into a lengthy monologue, telling me how his courses are too complicated and how he can barely keep up with his assignments. He picked the wrong person because while med school is challenging, I had it harder—a JD/MBA joint degree with a triple specialization in corporate law, international law, and labor and employment law. That was inhumane, but I managed.

As much as I want to pretend that any of this interests me, my attention keeps drifting to Jake, who stands by the bar five paces away from us. He's leaning back on the counter, his tall frame dressed in black, jeans molding his powerful legs to perfection, while his hoodie barely hides the broadness of his chest and shoulders.

To make matters worse, it seems he's decided to stare at me all night, his razor-sharp focus fixed on me every time I dare to meet his eyes. Under their influence, I sense myself growing embarrassingly hot, that space between my legs slowly awakening. Of all the bars in Brooklyn, we had to end up in this one?

When ten minutes have passed and Jake hasn't stopped staring, I decide I must do something about it. My martini is already half gone, and I empty the rest in three gulps. "Excuse me," I cut Owen off. "I need to get myself another one."

Without waiting for his reply, I slide off the cushioned bench and make my way to the bar, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill from my purse. Jake's impudent smile as I approach is hard to miss, and when I squeeze into the space by his side, he turns to face away from the room, too.

"How's your date going, red?" he asks while I try to get a bartender's attention. The woman is pouring a row of shots, and the man, a broad and dangerous-looking guy, is busy serving draft beers.

"Great. He's very interesting."

"Could have fooled me with how you keep looking in my direction."

"That's because you stare too much. You need to stop."

"Why?"

"It's distracting."

"How so?" he asks with feigned innocence. I glare at him but don't answer. He knows exactly what he's doing, and there's no way I'll inflate his ego by spelling it out. "Will you make him sign a contract, too?"

"It's none of your business."

The woman finally notices me and comes to take my order. Once it's placed, I watch as she prepares it.

"Did you really not think of me?" Jake asks, his voice like warm honey pouring down my ear.

The tips of his fingers graze up my spine, where the zipper of my dress is, and lustful shivers run across my entire body. When something pulses between my legs, I press my knees together, adamantly shushing it. I shake my head, aware that my body just gave the opposite answer.

"I see," he whispers. "I, for one, have been thinking of you a lot, red. Every time I'm fucking another woman, I find myself regretting she isn't covered in freckles, with fire for hair and legs for days. That taste of yours haunts me, and when I close my eyes, I can still hear your sweet moans, those whimpers when you begged, how you screamed my name…"

This time, I can do nothing to muffle the way my clitoris palpitates. Wetness nearly gushes out of me, my core begging to give in and accept the invitation he's so brazenly issuing.

His hand is on my hip now, pressing me closer to him, and I can't think past the lust to pry it away. "Ditch the boy toy and spend the night with me, red. I promise you won't regret it."

But I will regret it. One night with him and he's been in my head ever since. A second night would be a stupid decision because how am I supposed to move on then? It would be like tempting the devil, and I know better than to do that.

The bartender sets the drink on the counter before me. "Fourteen dollars."

"It's on me," Jake tries.

"No." I set the bill on the counter and grab my glass, eager to escape him. "Keep the change."

My knees are unstable as I make my way back to Owen. Crap, my enterprise couldn't have gone worse. I'm even more likely to get distracted by Jake's looming presence now, and my mind is filled with the lustful desires he ignited.

I still haven't recuperated by the time I sit back down, but two long sips of my drink are gone. Soon, the alcohol will help me relax, and I'll be free of Jake's invisible hold.

Owen looks tense, and I realize he could see everything from here, including Jake's hand slithering up and down my back. When he speaks, my worries are confirmed.

"You and the guy at the bar have history, right?"

My eyes instantly dart to Jake, who's looking at us again. "No. I mean—it's complicated."

"I told you I can't do complicated."

"He won't be an issue."

Owen discreetly glances at Jake, who gives him a dark, dangerous glare. "He looks like someone who owns a shovel and knows ten good spots to bury a body." I want to deny, but yes, Jake does look like that. "I think I should head home," Owen decides.

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, it's better. You told me it would be a simple, no-strings-attached thing, but it looks like more than that."

"We can go to another place if you want. Another bar."

"No, I think—I think it's safer to leave it at that."

Baffled, I watch as he gets up from the bench and picks up his jacket. Is it cowardice, or is Jake much more intimidating than I give him credit for? Or maybe I'm not tempting enough to make up for the potential complications.

"Whatever's up between you and this guy, I hope you sort it out."

And then he's gone. Gone. I came all the way here, and he leaves like it's nothing.

I'm still trying to process what happened when a broad, familiar silhouette sits on the bench. Jake looks very smug as he sets his full pint on the table, pushing Owen's half-empty one away.

"Are you proud of yourself?" I ask, irritated.

"For what?"

"You scared my date away."

"I didn't do anything, red."

I snort, unimpressed by his failed attempt at appearing innocent. "You knew exactly what you were doing, with the whole…" I'm unsure how to explain it, so I gesture toward his general demeanor.

"It's not my fault if he was a wuss, love."

"But it's your fault for acting like a territorial caveman."

He pinches his lips, aware there's nothing to reply to that. Because it annoys me that he thinks he can decide who I hang out with, I ignore him and look around instead. Out of spite, I want to find a guy and flirt with him all evening while Jake can do nothing but watch.

That sounds insane, but I can't help the crazy thoughts this man triggers in me. It's like he accesses the deep confines of my mind that I so fiercely try to keep locked. In his wake, I'm careless, impulsive, and uncontrollable. And I hate that. I hate not having a hold of myself and not being in charge of my mind and body.

I'm not that person anymore.

"If you're looking for a replacement date, you should know that half of the people here are convicted felons."

It works like a charm on me, and I swiftly halt my search, focusing back on him instead. "Well, since you're the reason I'm dateless, the least you can do is point me in the right direction."

He tilts his head to the side and gives me a look that clearly says, "And why would I do that?" Instead, he offers, "Spend an hour with me, red, and if you don't want more when we're done, I'll tell you which blokes here are worth a shot."

His suggestion is tempting, even just to move on after that hour and show him he doesn't have nearly as much dominion over me as he thinks. But in all truth, an hour might get the best of my resolve, so it's a risky bet.

"Half an hour," I counter.

"Forty-five minutes."

"Half an hour."

He smiles one of his lopsided smirks, and I feel it echo within me. "A hard bargain you drive, Miss Kensington. Half an hour it is."

And just like that, I made another deal with the devil. Whenever will I learn?