Part 2The Kiss That Hurt

The tears were an involuntary reaction. I couldn't control them.

But the twisted pleasure rising inside me was real, too.

Being treated this way by him gave me a sick sense of satisfaction.

He suddenly let go.

I stumbled backward, grabbing the table as I coughed.

"Take it out."

He pulled a tissue from the box and wiped his fingers. His tone left no room for argument.

"No."

I wiped the moisture from my chin.

For the first time, I openly defied him.

He turned to look at me as though he were seeing me for the first time.

"Why?"

"Because I like it." I ran my tongue over the sore piercing. "It's my body."

He laughed.

It was a cold, humorless sound.

"Your body?"

He walked toward me, one deliberate step at a time.

"When you were eighteen and running a fever, who carried you to the emergency room in the middle of the night?"

"When you got into a fight at twenty, who came down to the police station to get you out?"

"Tell me, Ryan. What exactly have you ever handled on your own?"

Every word struck somewhere deep inside me.

I had no answer.

"Take it out," he repeated before turning toward his office.

"No!"

I shouted after him, reckless enough now that I didn't care what happened next.

He stopped in the doorway.

He didn't turn around.

Then he said something that froze me to the bone.

"If you like it so much," he said, glancing back at me, his profile hard and cold, "how about being my best man when I get married?"