Against my numerous complaints and protests, Wolfe wouldn't drive me back to Brooklyn and I was forced to sleep in his bed. Was it his bed? Did he sleep there? It was his bedroom after all. Wolfe didn't seem like the type who wasted the wee hours of the night to sleep. He was more like the type to stay up all night and devise evil plans to destroy and overtake the human race while cackling madly and rubbing his hands together with a sinister look as thunder and lightning flashed in the background. You know, like the typical storybook evil villain. Was that too dramatic of an analogy? I told you I suck at them.

The bedsheets smelled of his familiar cologne. By now, I had associated his smell with danger, so I couldn't sleep a wink because of the awful feelings it brought to my chest. The bed was too big for me alone, and although it was stupid, the dark corners of the room the moonlight did not reach added to the ever growing trepidation. At one point during the night, I even forgot how mad I was at Wolfe and left the room to find him, only to end up getting lost. He was in the penthouse somewhere...I just didn't know where, and by the time I realized that, the darkness outside was fading.

After a sleepless night, I woke up with an ache in my shoulder. The bedsheets, since I never bothered to put them back onto the mattress correctly, had somehow wrapped around me so much that I became a human burrito. It took five minutes and 18 seconds for me to untangle myself and emerge from the mass of white like a drunk butterfly with ridiculous bed hair and a thirst for revenge. And water.

When I finally straightened myself up as best as I could, I went on an adventure to seek out my clothes.

The quest turned out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be.

First off, there were at least six or seven rooms in one hallway alone. Wolfe said it was his penthouse but to me, it seemed more like a castle than anything else. A castle in Manhattan. I think that phrase could classify as an oxymoron. And most of the doors were either locked or empty. I half expected the rooms to be filled with the decaying bodies of his victims.

Hmm. Maybe I was selling Wolfe too short. After all, he was nice enough to fix up my shoulder and draw frowny faces on them.

But it was his fault I got hurt in the first place.

But he's not really as big of an asshole as you thought he was, Florence.

Yes, he is.

No, he's not. You're being mean.

No, you're being ridiculous. Wolfe Sterling is actually kind of nice-

He's despicable-

Ah, yes. There was nothing like some inner monologue and an argument against yourself to wake a person up in the morning. I didn't know what time it was since there was no visible clock in Wolfe's bedroom. But I did do some snooping around (how could I not?) and I discovered that all the drawers were empty except for the top one which held several cases of bullets. The walk-in closet was also bare. It was almost like no one ever stepped foot into the bedroom. The balcony door was locked so I couldn't go out on it, but I could see the rest of Manhattan sprawled in the distance, with the Brooklyn Bridge in the horizon. It looked so far away. The sky was still pretty blue and the moon drifted along above some sycamore trees in the massive garden that lay on either sides of the stone driveway.

A penthouse this size? Figures. Wolfe must've been making millions each month with the drugs he was importing into the country. Not to mention the political crimes and being paid off from third parties to commit them, along with the purloin of international company names. The Crowns had more crime overseas, some that were kept secret to keep the public at ease. The last thing New York needed was a raise in the crime rate and copycats of the Crowns.

After several more minutes of fruitless wandering, I gave up the search to find my clothes and went back into the bedroom. I was afraid I'd get lost. So now started the next mission to find a bathroom. There was one ensuite one attached to the bedroom right next door, so I went inside.

The bathroom was as pretty as the rest of the penthouse, with white marble floors and a counter big enough to be classified as a continent all on its own. It looked like the department store bathrooms, you know? With automatic hand soap dispensers and sensory faucets. There was a glass shower with a whole bunch of buttons outside the doors to the left and a toilet in the far right. There was also a larger than life window, but it was chippered with reflective shatters of colorful glass so I couldn't see the view beyond.

I looked into the mirror and instantly wished I hadn't.

I looked every bit as terrible as I felt. There were bags under my eyes and my face was ghostly pale. That little bullet took more out of me than I thought. I had a habit of biting my lips in my sleep when I was anxious, and now they were bright red and almost bleeding. With a grimace, I carefully pulled the shirt collar down and examined the bandages. There were some spots of blood dotting the elastic surface. After a moment's hesitation and against my better judgement, I gently pulled off the bandages and tape to see the wound beneath.

Wolfe must have stitched the bullet wound, because there were five stitches running along the one inch incision, which was achingly pink and inflamed. My shoulder felt stiff, but moveable. As long as the numbness was there, I could barely feel any pain at all. It was a lot better than last night and I was incredibly grateful for that. Picking up the clump of bloodied bandages, I threw them into the trash can nearby and carefully pulled Wolfe's shirt back into place. There. I could almost pass as normal. Now, it was just a matter of hiding a bullet wound scar from my parents for the rest of my life.

After doing my usual bathroom routine, I wandered back out to the bedroom just as Wolfe entered.

"Good morning." Wolfe said. In one hand, he was holding a roll of Ace bandages, some gauze, cotton pads, a bottle of alcohol, and some other oddities. And, to my utter astonishment, a bag of cherry Twizzlers in the other. He put everything down onto the table beside the giant bed and smiled at me. It looked forced. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mm-hmm." I looked at Wolfe closely. He looked awful. I mean, as awful as a gorgeous man could get. Wolfe was dressed in his usual attire, a suit and polished shoes, but there was definitely something different about him. He still hadn't shaved. Wolfe looked as though sleep was playing keep-away with him. There were bags under his eyes and his face was deathly pale like mine. The habitual cold expression on his face was gone. Instead, it was replaced with the look of a boy who was lost in the cruelty of the world, even if he had the world in his hands.

But the most shocking change was the fresh bruises on his hands and faces.

Raw, biting scars, even worse than the first time I saw him decorated with them. His knuckles were scraped and red, erasing all the progress his previous wounds had achieved to be replaced with even crueller ones. But the damage wasn't just on his hands. The corner of Wolfe's jawline was ticked with an angry red scratch. One side of his lower bottom lip was cut, and I could see just past the cuff of his sleeve that a painful-looking black and purple bruise going who knows how far up his forearm began.

Wolfe looked worn and tired. Almost...vulnerable. Completely beaten up. As he sat down on the bed, without his customary hate-all mentality, I got an overwhelming desire to wrap my arms around him and give him a hug. Wolfe seemed like he could really use one at this point. Stupid thoughts, though. I couldn't tear my eyes off of his sudden injuries. "Are you okay?" I questioned, horrified at the sight. I thought I was hurt, and look at him.

Wolfe's eyes snapped up to mine. Ice cold. Blue. And utterly devastated. "I'm fine." He growled. His tone implied anger, but there was nothing to be angry at. I didn't understand it. Why was he so angry all the time? Just because I had the nerve to ask him if he was okay? "Don't worry about me, Florence-"

"How could I not?" I couldn't raise my voice higher than a whisper. With a deep ache whose roots were born from nothing but sheer despair at seeing Wolfe such a wreck, I closed the distance between us. Raising one finger, I carefully touched the corner of his jaw where his stubble was interrupted by the red scratch...almost like the tip of a knife had done it. Wolfe allowed me to make contact with his face for only so long- after a tense moment, he reached up and gently closed his bruised fingers around my wrist, hindering any further movement.

"Why care for someone who couldn't reciprocate?" Wolfe's gaze fell to our conjoined hands. He released my wrist but captured my fingers in his own quickly. I took a moment to reflect on the image before us. His fingers couldn't have looked worse- raw and red and torn apart, in comparison to my own relatively unharmed one. The difference was alarming.

"You don't care about me?" I widened my eyes, acting the innocent part he so dearly believed. It was a tease, but the words wracked a tiny, just a tiny  infinitesimal flutter of hurt to my bones.

He stared at me, contemplating something with a frown. Wolfe was trying to figure me out. His eyes went blank. "I think you know me well enough to answer that question on your own."

"So then you wouldn't care if I left?" I asked hopefully. "If I just walked out-"

"You know the answer to that question too. I didn't mean I don't care about you," Wolfe tightened his fingers around mine. "I mean that I don't care about your feelings because I don't know how to. You deserve better than me, Florence, and the thing that gets to me the most is that you know  that. I'm asking you why you care about me, about any of this. Shouldn't you run for the hills like everyone else? Why don't you?"

"Because I'm not so lost on affection that I can't spare a few inches of empathy towards a man such as yourself, Wolfe." I pulled my hand out of his grasp, frowning. "You can hate everything, but I refuse to. There's something to say for sin if we both end up in hell." A weak smile couldn't lighten the mood. "But there's an easy solution for that, right? Do no evil."

"I think I may have missed the deadline for repenting." Wolfe smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "But you're in luck, Florence."

"Good to know. Now tell me what really happened." I shook my head with disbelief. "You look like you took a real beating-"

"I said I'm fine."

"No, really." I insisted. "Did you get into a fight...oh."

Realization dawned on me with a vigorous panic. My mouth dropped open. 

"That wrestling match." I whispered angrily. His love for fighting, the amateur wrestling warehouse, the upcoming matches on the schedule plastered over the curtain of the ring. He looked so beat up because he did get beat up. That Twister guy must've been a real macho dude if he could take Wolfe Sterling out. Or maybe he came out looking worse than Wolfe did. "Dammit, Wolfe! You went to that? Why would you go to that? Are you serious? God! Come on, I know you don't go for the money. I can't believe you left me here last night to turn a man into a punching bag just for the heck of it!" I was starting to get mad now. "Tell me, was it worth it? I don't even care who won, I just want to see you explain all of these pretty little scars to your friends."

"It was worth it." Wolfe stared at me coldly. "Every fucking punch, it was worth it. I don't have to explain anything to you, Florence."

"Of course you don't." I snapped. "I just thought you'd have the decency to."

Wolfe let out a sharp breath, almost amused. "Decency." He said the word with such bitterness. "A word like that has no business being associated with me. Are you really so damn optimistic about every shitty thing that you'd think people like me have the right to be called decent? What's with you and all this happiness crap?"

"It's not that bad, Wolfe! The world is not that bad!" I threw my hands up into the air, beyond frustrated. "You're so pessimistic, like goddamn Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. You, of all people, have no right to be upset at anything. You have everything you could ever want! The world bows to your feet and you are still miserable. As the saying goes, absolute power corrupts absolutely. But it's still not too late to change yourself, Wolfe. Why are you so angry all the time? What's the point of-"

"That's easy for you to say, with your cute little happy-go-lucky attitude and this bright, overly exaggerated outlook on life." His voice was like the winter air. "The world treated you well, the world treats all  the good ones well. I've made my choices and now I have to live with them. As the saying goes," he mocked, "you reap what you sow."

"What have you sown?" 

"Absolute power corrupts absolutely."

"You think you're beyond help, Wolfe?" I glared at him. "That there's nothing good left in you? That's not true, not in the slightest, because if it was, Wolfe, my family and I would be dead. The fact that I am sitting here right now, after everything I've put you through, says it all. If you were as awful as the world thinks you are, I would be in a box under the ground."

"Who says you won't be?"

"Who says you'll be the reason for it?"

"You can't look me in my eyes, Florence, and say that I can be saved. Yes, I do think I am beyond help, even yours Florence. You cannot say with absolute sincerity that you're glad we met, that you wouldn't give anything in the world to trade the time we've spent together. I know you would, in a fucking heartbeat, rewrite history if given the chance. I ruined your life, Florence." Wolfe took ahold of my chin, bringing his face down to mine so that our eyes locked. "Can you forgive me for that?" 

"No."

"Then this entire conversation is contentious."

"You're not all murder-y and evil." I gave up trying to argue with Wolfe and pushed his hand away. "Like you think I'm keeping a good girl facade to hide my true desires, which is totally not true by the way, I think you're keeping up a front, too. There's a heart underneath all those layers of ice. And I've got an icepick and all the time in the world."

"Really?" Wolfe stood up, his towering stature adding to the intimidation that suddenly rose up in my chest. "You believe I can still be considered a good person after everything I've done? Everything I'm going to do?"

"Then maybe you shouldn't do bad things!" I exclaimed with frustration, inching back slowly. "You haven't missed the deadline. There is no deadline, Wolfe. Repent for your mistakes. Ask for forgiveness. Donate to the Red Cross, animal shelters, the homeless, anything! Go one day without murdering someone or committing some heinous crime, like smuggling in one thousand pounds of crystal meth on someone else's property. You've got to start somewhere, and you can start by taking me back home."

"It's six in the morning." Wolfe sighed deeply. "At least let the sun come up before you start making outrageous demands-"

"Outrageous?" I grabbed the box of tissues lying on the bedside table and threw it at him in anger. "I'm asking the bare minimum!"

"Bare minimum." Wolfe repeated in amusement. His teeth glistened when he smiled. Some of his unnecessary hostility was beginning to wear off. The box of tissues had hit his shoulder and fallen to the floor near his left shoe. He reached down and picked it, placing it on the pillow. "How's your shoulder?"

"Numb." I opened the bag of Twizzlers and chewed one slowly, but even that didn't taste as good as it used to. "Where are my clothes?"

Wolfe ignored my question and glanced at the supplies he had, picking out a bottle of pills with a red and white label. He held it out to me. "When the numbness wears off in a few hours, and it will, take two of these. It'll help with the pain. If you have trouble swallowing pills, I have the liquid form-"

Liquid form. Could he get any cuter? "Thanks." I took the bottle with a grin. "Now, give me back my clothes, you insecure waffle."

Wolfe smiled, too, but it was a different type of smile. A smile that held more than smiles should. A secretive smile, like he was in on a joke that I didn't know. Oh, I don't know.

He ran a bruised hand through his cropped brown hair and glanced at me. "Your clothes are in the wash. I didn't think you'd want to get dressed in clothes soaked with blood, but feel free to go downstairs and get them. Come sit. You need new bandages. Like you said, I have to start somewhere, right? Let's start with getting you fixed up, Florence."

"I think you need them more than I do." I mumbled softly. Nonetheless, I slowly walked over and sat down on the bed, where he was sitting only moments before. I learned the hard way not to argue with Wolfe Sterling. The bed dipped under my weight and my feet barely touched the cold marble floor, which made me feel ridiculous. Behind me, the sky was slowly turning shades of blue lighter but the brightness was still not enough to turn the lights off in the bedroom.

"I tried to find you last night." I picked up his hand and put it on top of my head, to his bewilderment. Wolfe patted me awkwardly for a second before letting his arm drop, so I grabbed his hand and put it on top of my head again. This time, he didn't move it away. "I got lost, though. All the doors look the same."

Wolfe moved his hand from my head and tucked a couple fingers under my chin, bringing my face up to his so we could look each other in the eye. I felt a deep blush redden my cheeks, but hoped to God he wouldn't notice. I think he did anyways, because a teasing smirk overcame Wolfe's usually passive expression. "Why'd you try to find me, Florence?" He asked, curiosity lining his tone.

"I don't know." I shrugged, trying not to show how much last night, wandering fruitlessly in the halls for Wolfe at 3 in the morning, had affected me. It was so stupid. Why was I so dependent on his company? Dumb Florence with her dumb feelings. "I was scared and didn't want to be alone. But I walked up and down the halls for half an hour, opening all the doors, and I couldn't find your bedroom. Of course, that's assuming you sleep in a bedroom. Should I have looked in, like, a tree branch or something?"

From amusement to immediate concern, the change in his eyes was alarming. Wolfe stared at me with unreadable eyes, the blue suddenly like ice. "Florence...why didn't you just call for me? My bedroom is right beside this one. I would have come."

I gasped. "Liar! That was a freaking linen closet-"

"The black door adjacent to the right of the closet-"

"Oh." I had never bothered trying that one last night because half the rooms ended up for storage, so I had assumed the black door was too. God, and to think, he was so close by...."But you weren't even home last night, so I don't know why I even tried."

"I came home around one in the morning. Florence, I'm sorry. If I had known you needed me-"

"What?" My voice cracked. "You would have stayed? Comforted me? Let me sleep with you? Told me it was all going to be okay? That's what a good man would do, and you are the farthest thing from that, Wolfe. You know, sometimes I really wonder, what's in it for you? What do you get out of all of this? It's not like you-"

"Fatal attraction." Wolfe grinned crookedly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're right, I wouldn't have stayed anyways."

Why was there a lump in my throat? "I wouldn't have expected you to. I don't need you-"

"Oh, yeah?" There was a bite in his voice that grated against my dignity. "Is that why you were running around in the middle of the night looking-"

"I don't care, I don't care." I shoved his hand off my face, suddenly furious. No Ade, no Wolfe. I didn't need them. They both could leave, rot in hell, for all I cared. Ade had already shown his true colors. I was just waiting for Wolfe to catch up. After all, our goodbye was inevitable. It didn't affect me at all, they were both like birds, never meant to be caged in with affections of Florence. No longer would I hurt myself by caring for the wrong person. Even if I did already. "I don't need you, not now, not ever. You don't mean anything to me, I don't love you, I can drown my sorrows in love from another, I can cry my heart out in my own hands, but never on your shoulder-"

His hand trembled as he reached for me, but I moved out of the way, not even listening to the ramblings of my own lies. I could hear my voice breaking, but I kept talking to avoid crumbling completely. The effect of my words, however little truth they held, was cruel to Wolfe, as he stared at me with pitch blackness despite their icy color. Never did I think I could evoke such a response from Wolfe, who curled his shaking fingers around my throat.

"You're such a bad liar, Florence." Wolfe said quietly, his fingers moving across my throat to my jaw, where he squeezed gently. "But I admire the resilience in you. Maybe you'll believe your lies if you repeat them enough....but I adore  the pride you hold yourself with, as if such innocence could forego all human emotion and adapt the empathy of a criminal. It takes years to create a monster. Love from another?" He repeated with a hint of amusement. "No, baby, there will be no one else because I am here. Drown your sorrows in me, cry your heart out on my  shoulder, because I will always be here. You just didn't look hard enough last night, Florence."

I had no response.

Wolfe crouched down on the floor, resting on his knees in front of me. To do this, he needed to be positioned between my own, which was incredibly awkward. We were too close. We were always too close, too near each other, too much in the other's vicinity. It wasn't an intentional thing, but it was consistent. Close proximity. It induced many fluttery feelings in my stomach, but Wolfe looked indifferent to it all. Or maybe that was an act, too. There was no way to tell what he was feeling. If he could even feel. Most humans had some level of connection to emotions, right? So why didn't Wolfe?

"I won't hurt you. I promise." Wolfe said softly. He was looking at me but I wasn't looking at him. I couldn't. I could see him out of my peripheral vision, I could feel his eyes piercing my very skin, but I focused all my attention on the marble floor over his shoulder as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. The gut clenching feeling came back. No attraction. No affection. He was a criminal, he was bad. I could not afford to have feelings for him. And I didn't. Or so I hoped.

His fingers brushed across the side of my neck, pulling down the shirt to reveal the stitched wound. Wolfe's other hand came up behind me to move my hair to one side. My neck was now completely exposed to him. If Wolfe was a vampire, I'd be dead already.

Finally, despite my better judgement, I glanced at Wolfe.

He was looking at the scar.

Torment.

That was the first word that came to me when I looked at him. Tormented. Wolfe was so good at hiding his emotions, shoving down the very stuff that made him human, but this was one time he couldn't fool me. There was no guard up, not right now. There was no one around to call him a coward, make fun of him if they dared, to see the man so highly ranked in the eyes of society crumbling. A man famous for his lack of empathy, now being suffocated in it. I didn't know what Wolfe was hurting from, but the urge to be in his arms came rushing back with renewed temptation.

A sudden ripping noise startled me out of my reverie. Wolfe had ripped open a new bandage, the empty packet easily crushed in his fist. His lips were pressed together, as if he was trying hard not to speak.

"Hey, let me ask you something." The words left my mouth before I could stop myself. I had to say something. Anything. The silence was suffocatingly awkward. Wolfe grunted to show that he was listening, but said nothing and continued to fix my shoulder. Now, I was stuck. Speaking out impulsively was one of my biggest flaws. So I said the first thing that came into my mind. "When do you plan on moving all that meth out of our cellar? Or do you plan on creating an entire drug trafficking system underneath a coffee shop? Because I'm totally serious about going to the cops-"

"The shipments are currently on route to Mexico City." Wolfe interrupted coldly. "They'll be delivered to the Sivian drug cartel by tonight."

"The cellar is empty?" I asked, holding back a tremendous amount of relief.

He smirked. "The cellar is empty."

I let out the breath I had been holding. "But you're not leaving."

Wolfe looked at me for only a fraction of a second, but the answer was given without words. He went back to fixing up my shoulder. Wolfe spread some sort of gel over the stitches. A moment later, an icy sensation took over the dull pain, providing some much needed alleviation. The only way I could describe the feeling was when you put a cough drop in your mouth and drink water afterwards. He placed a large white bandage and then began wrapping the gauze tightly around my shoulder, which required some awkward movements and shifts of the body that I complied to reluctantly.

When the last snip of tape was done, I let out another quiet breath of relief. I was afraid of what would happen if Wolfe spent another second so close to me.

But he didn't move away.

The hands that were so carefully fixing up my shoulder now suddenly fell to the bed, on the outside of my thigh, fingers digging in and toying the soft flesh. The look in Wolfe's eyes also changed, from one of regret to one of dark amusement. He leaned in closer, his breath dancing across the skin of my throat. Too close. A fraction of an inch apart, from his lips to my skin. Wolfe forced my legs apart, shoving his body between them and his fingers pressing on either side of my waist, sometimes wandering a few centimeters under the shirt. "You still think I'm a good man, Florence?" Wolfe asked softly. Quiet and deliberate. Close and dangerous. He was amused that I would think that.

I was frozen, a statue, a useless machine of flesh and blood that malfunctioned at the merest hint of danger. And this was very dangerous, what Wolfe was doing. My ability to think completely failed me for a moment. I was too distracted by his fingers travelling to places they shouldn't, his lips brushing across delicate, vulnerable skin, but I forced the answer off my tongue. At this point, I wasn't even sure if I still was going to stand by it. With a shaky voice, I answered a meek and quiet, "Yes."

A chuckle left his lips, more out of pity than amusement. Pity, because Wolfe Sterling truly believed having a soul made a person weak and vulnerable. Yes, it was a dog-eat-dog world, and he was the lone wolf amongst lambs. But I would rather live a life with love than a life with power that comes at a great cost. Power but no love. Power had a terms and agreement contract, too. Give up everything human for a glory in fame and money, written among the stars as a terrible legacy. What use was that?

Absolute power corrupts absolutely.  

His teeth grazed my collarbone for the briefest moment, but the moment was long enough to make me completely freeze again.

"Wrong answer." Wolfe's words touched my neck. "Would a good man almost get you killed? Would a good man kidnap you, drug you, threaten you? Would he allow the chance to get your parent's business and careers destroyed? Everything they've worked for? Their livelihoods. Yours. Would a good man want to hurt innocence? Would a good man-" His fingers dug into my skin, biting hard enough to make me squirm. He was breathing hard now, each exhale warming my throat. "-would a good man do this?"

Wolfe reached up and grasped my chin with one hand, the other firmly holding the back of my head in place so that I couldn't move. I wouldn't have, anyways. Through my befuddlement and shock, I could guess what was coming next. A second shot at what couldn't be the first time. The thing that got to me the most was the fact that I didn't want  to move. It was a matter of want for me. For Wolfe, however, it was a matter of need.

He needed me.

I wanted him. I didn't need him.

Wolfe's lips were hovering just a few centimeters from my own. His fingers were still entangled through my hair. He paused for the briefest second, and in that second, my instincts kicked in. I jerked away, the surprise movement almost causing Wolfe to release his grip on me.

Almost.

If anything, Wolfe's fingers tightened. He spoke against my lips. I could feel it, a shift in the cosmics, a disturbance in my nice and normal life. Wolfe stood for all the things I didn't want. Danger, breaking the rules, enemies, a ruined psychology. Wolfe's voice was just a growl now. Animalistic. Like a wolf. Unlike before, he wasn't going to let me move away. And I didn't have a Twizzler-filled purse to hit him with, not that it would do me any good now. I didn't want to make him any angrier than he already was. Anger made people dangerous. And Wolfe was already dangerous without the added factor of fury.

And then his lips brushed against my own, barely there at first, but growing more desperate.

Once more, out of instinct, I jerked my head away. It did little to take away the onslaught of his mouth. His fingers gripped the back of my head, entangled in my hair, holding me firmly in place. His other hand went to the hemline of the shirt I wore, toying with the edge and teasing the sides of my bare waist. My heartbeat resonating in my ears, I scrambled back onto the bed but Wolfe easily took advantage of the stupid move and in a flash, he was on top of me.

"You have a choice." Wolfe's mouth brushed against my ear. He pressed several soft kisses along my jawline and shifted slightly. He was close enough that I could feel every muscle in his abdomen hover above my own body. "You can stop me right here and I will never touch you again. Or..." Warm fingers tickled their way up my bare thigh. Wolfe kissed me again, closer to my lips this time. "...you can accept the fact that neither one of us are good people."

With that, he pressed his lips to mine.

Soft and warm. The cut on the corner of his mouth scratched mine. Gentle and desperate. Afraid. Of what? Wolfe kissed with such delicacy, as if I'd break if he put just a little bit more pressure. It was a lie. Wolfe Sterling didn't do nice and slow. He was a raging ocean, worn around the edges and crashing into things that destroyed his flow. Like me. He was a burning blaze, not a little campfire that smoldered and went out with the first wind that blew through. He was all the bad things bundled into one human form...right? Or was I wrong about him this whole time? God, this was such a bad time to start doubting myself...

Wolfe was kissing me. I was kissing Wolfe. Why wasn't I moving away?

Why did I want him so badly?

Stop him, Florence. Stop kissing him back.

I was kissing him back?

Oh God, I was.

There are many stupid descriptions I could go into at this point, all the sweet words to describe what a kiss it was. But to do something so very intimate with a dangerous criminal couldn't be put into words. Kissing was love. Wolfe Sterling doesn't know love. He knows sex. Heavy, hot copulation. But not love. Because love requires emotions, right? Right? Or was I wrong about that, too?

"Don't." I finally found my voice and it sounded unlike my own, a strangled, heated whisper. A plea, almost. Not for Wolfe, though. Not for him to stop kissing me, because I wanted him to kiss me, no matter how wrong it was. No, that 'stop' was meant for me, for me to stop the desires from running through my veins and wrapping its lustful fingers from around my heart. For the third time yet, I jerked away. His skin was electrifying. A rush of adrenaline, a wave of euphoria, whatever phrase you want to call it. I was terrified of myself. Maybe that attraction was turning into something more, something dangerous that I wouldn't be able to tear myself away from when the time came.

Wolfe stopped. His lips stopped inching their way down my neck, his fingers stopped wandering up my leg, and he lifted himself up above me on his hands to gaze at me with liquid blue eyes. For once, there was something in them. The lifeless stare in them was gone, the torment was gone, and the look in his pretty eyes was replaced with...something worse.

Ashamed, I covered my face with my hands. I could look at him no longer. It was easier to hide my mortification under something physical. I knew that we would never look at each other the same again, this had gone too far. We were in too deep now, and the thing I was precisely trying to avoid was now out into the open, available for the world to gawk at. Brooklyn teen in love with a wanted criminal, the headlines should read.

My heart leaped when I felt Wolfe's fingers wrap around my wrist. He could so easily pull my hands away to see the tears filling behind my eyelids, but he didn't. As it always was with Wolfe, he never fully played his games....he just gave enough to make the opponent break. Wolfe leaned down, forcing my hands away just enough to speak his next words against my mouth.

"Remember, Florence...you reap what you sow." 

I felt two fingers gently caress my neck, moving strands of hair away from my face. It tickled. I felt him carefully move off of me and step away from the bed. I hated the disappointment I felt right there and then.

"Maybe you are a good girl after all." Wolfe said softly.

His footsteps receded, and he slammed the door shut behind him so hard that it shook.