And having that choice? It felt good.

“I can smell your pussy on your breath.” He licked his lips, his hot tongue almost touching my mouth.

“Yeah?” I croaked.

“Yeah.” He stared down at my mouth, his eyes heavy, his lashes thick. “It doesn’t smell like green apples or rain. It smells like a needy cunt, my favorite food category in the entire world. And I can’t have you.”

The way he said that made me want to laugh. Like he’d made a promise. Like I was forbidden. Maybe to him, I was. I couldn’t fault him for that. People said that I was damaged. Fragile. Complicated. They weren’t wrong.

“But you want to.” I slid the tip of my nose down the length of his, and he let out a shaky breath. Our knuckles touched every time I pushed my fingers into myself, and he stroked his cock, roughly pulling the PA as he ran his hand over the tip. My hand briefly brushed the velvety length, and my eyes rolled in their sockets. One time, our fingers lingered together a second longer, sending jolts of electricity to the back of my skull.

“I need to,” he said.

“What do you have to lose, then?”

“Too fucking much. Come for me, Snowflake.”

We were thrusting, panting, breathing into each other’s mouths without crossing an invisible line. The room around us was cluttered with cardboard boxes and beverages and industrial fridges, and yet, my soul felt light at that moment. A shudder ran through my spine down to my toes when my orgasm hit me for the second time in a week. I felt it bone-deep, slicing through me, reminding me what sex was all about.

Pleasure. Power. Control.

“Shit, I’m coming, too,” he panted. We were so close. Physically and otherwise. I pushed against him at the same time his cock began to jerk in his hand, and he found his release. He yanked my shirt up and came all over my scar, strings of white cum decorating the word I wished I could forget.

And yet, I didn’t feel dirty.

Our eyes met, his cum between us, my fingers wet with my arousal. He took my hand, brought it to his hot lips and kissed my knuckles, never breaking eye contact. The way he held me—clutched my fist in his, almost brutally—showed me how he felt. He was no longer calculated, good-natured Bane. He was the savage I’d heard about. The man I was supposed to fear.

“The queen is the most powerful piece,” he hissed. “Don’t let the pawns bring you down.”

I wanted to ask him if he was my king.

Because I knew how to play chess very well.

But the answer was crystal clear to me.

Roman ‘Bane’ Protsenko was my knight. The piece of the chess game that needed to be moved sooner than the pawns, the bishops, and the queens.

The piece that could have saved me, had he just approached me on that beach the day he’d seen me with Emery.

The day Emery had pulled me close and whispered into my ear, “And for my next trick, baby, I’m going to take your virginity.”

I TOOK MY MOM OUT for lunch the next day.

The entire time, she stared at me across the table like I had an ulterior motive, or some shit. We were at a seafood restaurant, sitting on the balcony overlooking the golden, pulsating sand and endless ocean. She had the lobster, and I opted for fish tacos and a scowl from hell. I couldn’t erase it even if I tried, which, for the sake of full disclosure, I didn’t.

“What’s going on?” she asked with her mouth full when my frown deepened. I flicked my Wayfarers down and watched the water with the kind of longing only surfers could relate to.

“Nothing’s up.” Other than my cock every time Jesse breathed in my direction. Naturally, I chose to omit that from my answer. Mamul and I were close. But not, thank God, that close.

“Is everything okay?” She patted the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

“That’s another version of ‘What’s going on?’ I’m still fine.”

“I’m just wondering why you took me out for lunch,” Mamul said honestly, pushing her half-full plate toward me and patting an invisible bump in her flat belly. She took another sip of her wine. I was about to tell her just what it was about, when she added, “Oh, Roman. Please tell me you didn’t get anyone pregnant.”

“Fuck, Mamul, are you ever gonna stop asking that?”

“Don’t curse.”

“Don’t be insane, then.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.” The entire conversation was in Russian. At least I had this going for me. My mom didn’t know my dick was for hire—or, if she did, she hadn’t said anything—but she was always worried I’d end up getting people pregnant. I was half-tempted to tell her I needed to buy shares at Durex I was being so safe. I finished the last bite off my plate and took whatever she’d left. I could hoover two more plates without batting an eyelash. I washed the food down with my beer.

“I didn’t get anyone pregnant.” Although it should be said that coming on Jesse’s stomach and watching my cum drip right down her slit wasn’t exactly Family Planning 101.

“What is it, then?”

The waiter emerged with the bill, and I took the opportunity to tuck my credit card in and stall. Normally, I had designated my Friday evenings for takeout with Mom. It was the one evening where I didn’t entertain anyone and focused on pursuing the heart of the one woman I actually gave a fuck about. It was easier to chill at home and watch one of her weird Russian shows than to book a place and see all the desperate wannabes of Todos Santos flocking to the local restaurants and bars. Her crack was the Russian version of Big Brother. That shit was crazier than a condomless party at an unlicensed brothel. Every five minutes, a huge fight would break out. My mom would tsk in horror, but I knew she secretly enjoyed it. And I enjoyed watching her enjoy it. Anyway, we rarely hung out in public together, so her suspicion wasn’t completely unwarranted.

We stood up, and I laced her arm in mine. “I need help.”

“Is it drugs?” She gasped, going for the next-best-thing after surprise pregnancy. I let my jaw tick without snapping at her last comment. Yes, I was a saint. And yes, she was forgiven.

“Actually, I need help choosing a gift, but thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“A gift for who?”

“That girl I told you about. It’s her birthday.”

“The rape victim?”

The word almost made me flinch. I hated that Jesse was reduced to this. Least of all by my mother. A flashback of that scar zinged through my mind. The bastards were going to pay. It wasn’t a promise, but a simple fact.

“Yeah. Her.”

“Do you have an idea what she likes? Where to start?”

I did, and that worried the hell out of me.

We went to Vicious’ fancy-ass mall and browsed the stores, which, any man could tell you, is the equivalent of throwing your time down the shitter after kissing it goodbye. I’d never shopped for a gift before. I mean, I had. I wasn’t a crappy boyfriend. I got Edie gifts all the time. But I always did the usual thing of getting her gear or a new surfboard whenever it was time to celebrate whatever shit date society deemed as important. With Jesse, it was different. I didn’t want to give her something she needed; I wanted to give her something that would show her that she didn’t need anyone but herself.

Jesus, what?

By the time I escorted Mom back to her car, she looked like she needed a two-week vacation on a Caribbean island. I may have taken the task a little too seriously, but since I couldn’t exactly show Jesse how I felt about her with my dick, I figured a gift was a good place to start.

“You chose the perfect present.” Mom swiveled to face me, flattening her palm over my chest and smiling up at me. Her sensible Prius was parked behind her, ready to take her back to the office building where she accepted clients as a star child therapist. “I’m so proud of you, my sun.”

“Damn straight you are. You thought I was a drug-addicted, deadbeat dad just an hour ago. Bet you’re feeling pretty awful about yourself right now.”

She swatted my chest and laughed. “Does that mean I get to meet her soon?”

I gave it a second of thought. “She is not big on people. I’ll ask.”

“Neither are you. Maybe that’s why you like each other so much.”

“Maybe.”

Maybe it’s because I promised to like her, didn’t understand just how much I would, and now I’m in too deep.

“By the way, how’s the hotel going? And the surf park? Are you going to bid on that?” Mamul fished her sunglasses from her handbag, her hand already on the door handle of her car. I very rarely talked business with my mom. First of all, she didn’t particularly care for the specifics. She was just happy I owned something that was not a contagious STD or a lengthy criminal record at the age of twenty-five. Second of all, I dreaded the day my mom would ask me how, exactly, I funded all of my business adventures, because the answer was less than impressive. I shoved my hand inside my pocket, fingering the joint I knew I was going to smoke the minute she turned around. I’d fucking earned it, gift-shopping for a chick I hadn’t even slept with.

But you came close, asshole. And also: all over her stomach.

“It’s going well. I’m refurbishing the hotel and will probably put an offer on the land when it’s available for auction. Why’re you asking?”

“Now who’s the skeptical one between us?” Her smile stroked my cheek. I swear it did. “Just wanted to see how you are doing.”

“Are you going to see Luna Rexroth today?” Luna was Edie’s stepdaughter. Edie was crazy about her. Luna had come to my mom twice a week since she was practically a baby. She’d decided the whole talking gig wasn’t for her early on, but it was my understanding that she was talking to Edie, Trent, and my mom. Only a handful of words, so I guessed she still classified as a basket case at her school. Poor kid.

“Be good to your girlfriend.” Mom smoothed my wrinkled shirt, tucking my shark-tooth necklace into it. The doctor-patient privilege did not extend to the therapist’s son, apparently.