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A shiver rushes through me. I’ve been soaking wet since he carried me out, but it became worse with his touch and the back-and-forth. I’m burning for him in ways I’ve never felt toward anyone else. In ways I can’t truly control. It will feel good when he touches me. I know it will, but I simply can’t tolerate what happens afterward anymore. I slap his hand away. “Don’t touch me unless you’re ready to fully commit. And this is not a ‘don’t touch me that means you can use me.’ This is a ‘red,’ Kane.” He freezes, his index finger twitching, then he steps back and runs his hand through his hair. “Fuck!” I’ve never used the safe word, not even when I thought it could get to be a bit too much. I loved it when it hurt, when he fucked me so hard I couldn’t walk for a while. But I’m using it now. This is the red line I didn’t know I had. I refuse to have his body without his heart—and soul, if need be. I refuse to be another stop on his journey. And even if I end up being that, I want to be the