“How good?” Kyrie asked.

“Gold medal. You didn’t even scream.”

“Surely that’s worth a few points, isn’t it?” Kyrie asked. “One or two...or ten?”

“You want me to give you points for losing your virginity?”

“No, I want you to give me points for having my first kiss and losing my virginity all in one night. And extra points for not screaming.”

Elle laughed. “You have a one-track mind.”

“I should get points for that, too.”

“Okay. Three points for the first kiss. Five points for not being a virgin anymore. And a bonus two points for not screaming when I broke your hymen with my hand.”

“Nine plus three plus five plus two is...nineteen. I’m only six points away from getting the truth out of you. So close. Let’s have sex again so I can win more points.”

“You already know most of it.”

“But not all, right?”

“No,” Elle admitted. Not all.

“So is that a yes for more sex?”

“You need to recover. You’re bleeding a little.”

“I know,” Kyrie said, sighing. She closed her eyes and the smile on her face faded.

“Are you okay?” Elle asked, pulling Kyrie’s nightgown back up to cover her breasts. She’d be cold any second now as her temperature plummeted. “You don’t have to answer until you’re ready. And when you’re ready there’s no right answer. If you’re not okay, you can tell me that, too. I’ve had ‘not okay’ sex, too. We can talk about it.”

Kyrie still didn’t speak. Not a word.

“Kyrie?” Elle prompted. “Are you okay?”

Kyrie rolled onto her side and stretched an arm over Elle’s chest and threw her leg over Elle’s leg. Elle gathered Kyrie’s small shivering self close to her and kissed her on the forehead. She felt a wave of happiness flow through her and a surge of possessiveness. Hers. All hers.

“Elle,” she began, “what you just did to me?”

“What?” Elle asked, bracing herself.

“Do it again.”

“That’s my girl.”

23

Haiti

THE SUN HAD set by the time they made it back to his beach hut. The moon was on the water. The stars had woken up and come out to watch them. And the instant they were inside his beach hut, Kingsley grabbed Juliette by the arm and pulled her hard against him.

She went limp in his arms, resting her weight against him in an act of total surrender.

He kissed her deeply and she wound her arms around his neck. Her height brought her body into perfect alignment with his. She had substance to her, warm flesh and lean muscle, rounded hips and full breasts. He felt her strength even in her surrender and he adored her for giving it up for him, if only for the night.

“You want me to beat you?” he asked her, sliding his hand down her hair and pressing his palm against the small of her back.

“Please,” she said. S’il vous plaît. “I’ve dreamed of you doing that to me.”

“Has he beaten you?” Kingsley asked when he pulled back from the drugging kiss.

“Yes.”

“Was it his doing? Or yours?”

“Mine,” she said. “I asked him to hurt me.”

“Why? Did you have those fantasies?”

“Sometimes.” Juliette sighed heavily. “But the truth? By the time I was twenty, I had been his lover for six years. I was tired of him, bored. My love for him was fading. It was hard to pretend, especially since his interest in me had only grown in that time. I’m the center of his life now and he...” Her voice trailed off. “I used to love him and hate him in equal measure. Now...now the scales have tipped.”

“So you asked him to hurt you.”

“I did. A few years ago. I needed something, anything to make me look forward to going back to his bed every night.”

“Did it?”

She nodded. “It did. It does. I didn’t want him anymore, but I wanted it, wanted what he gave me at night—pain and fear and power. I wanted that even if I didn’t want him.”

“Did he like it as much as you did?”

“He didn’t want to hurt me at first. I had to beg him to do it.”

“Why didn’t he want it if you did?”

Juliette shrugged. “He’s white. I’m black. He’s French. I’m Haitian.”

“And that’s what pricked his conscience? Skin color and French colonialism? Not that you were fourteen and bargaining for your mother’s life when he took you the first time?”

“Don’t judge him,” Juliette said, pointing a finger at the center of his chest. “You didn’t see me when I was fourteen. I would have fucked me, too. And so would you.”

“I have a conscience,” Kingsley said.

“Is that what you call yours?” she said with a wicked grin.

“You do want me to beat the hell out of you, don’t you?”

“Bien sûr,” she said with a wide smile.

“Is there anything you don’t like, don’t want?” he asked. “Any limits?”

“He’ll be back in a week. I need to be healed by then. That’s all. He and I, we’ve done everything.”

“Does he rape you?”

“When I want him to. He hates it but it’s my favorite. If I make him angry, he’ll do it, and then he hates us both afterward. I like making him hate himself.” She smiled, and Kingsley caught a glimpse of the darkness in her, the mirror image of the darkness in him.