He spun in his chair to face her.

“The way I see it, we have two choices, maybe three.”

“Go on.”

She licked her lower lip. This would be so much easier if he weren't so remote.

He remained in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “You can ask for a new partner. We can stop playing BDSM games.”

“And the third?”

“We can end both.” She gave a brave, fake smile that faded instantly. Her voice shook as she added, “But we can't go on like this. I'm almost completely recovered.

And I have this to say…” She tucked her wayward hair behind her ear and pretended not to notice her hand trembled. She drew a breath. She had to say what was on her mind, had to get it out. She didn't want to live with the regret of having kept her mouth shut. “I want it all. I want to remain partners. I want you to spank me. I want you to fuck me hard.”

“Mira—”

She interrupted. “All of life is risk, Torin. All of it.”

His posture didn't invite her to continue. His spine was rigid, his mouth unyielding.

“You cannot go off half-cocked. You didn't trust me.”

“I didn't trust me,” she corrected. “There was just something about her… The way she was looking at Sinclair…”

“You didn't trust me,” he repeated. “Partners run ideas past each other.

Hawkeye might have found you were not at fault, the press may call you a heroine, and the police department may give you an award, but I disagree.”

Her blood seemed to slow in her veins.

“You put your own self-interest ahead of the partnership.”

His cold words fell harder than any lash he'd ever used. “When I believed I was likely right, you were there instantly. No harm. No foul.”

He stood and took a few steps toward her. “And that's the problem. You see it your way and no other.”

“And you see it yours,” she protested. “Like you said, Hawkeye's investigation found that I'd acted appropriately. We can talk about this. Reach a compromise.

Isn't that what partners do too?”

His arms were folded implacably. “Partners trust one another. As for BDSM

games—” He flicked his gaze down her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, lingering on her breasts and crotch. “Without trust, I have no interest in those either.”

“Torin—”

“I won't beat you senseless at Dark Haven whenever both of us happen to be in San Francisco at the same time, and I won't spend my nights wondering who you're fucking, whether you're taking stupid risks with a new partner.”

Her heart stopped momentarily, and her knees felt weak. “So option number three?” Her voice was hardly a whisper.

“You're not going to give up working for Hawkeye,” he said flatly.

“No.”

He nodded.

How could she have been so blind? Of course he'd already chosen option number three. He'd already left their relationship. He was only still here because Hawkeye had placed her on a leave of absence. He wouldn't walk away until she was completely healed and his reassignment came through.

He might have been a wonderful caretaker, but she should have realized the significance of his refusal to touch her. Everything he'd done had been out of a sense of obligation. It was what partners did. Her heart seemed to break into a thousand tiny pieces. “I mean nothing to you?”

“Not true. You mean too much to me. I can't live with your recklessness.”

“So that's that, then?”

Instead of answering, he walked around her. He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Shattered, she collapsed in the chair he'd just vacated and stared numbly out the window, no longer able to think.

* * *

Torin cursed himself for being ten kinds of fool.

He was five miles into a punishing outdoor run, and he wasn't even close to leaving the demons behind.

She was right that he was rigid in his thinking. No one but him would call her a fool for her actions. No one but him was in love with her. And that was the biggest problem. Somewhere along the line he'd fallen in love with the stubborn Mira Araceli. It'd be easier to cut off a limb than leave her, but he didn't have a choice.

Eventually they'd both get on with their lives.

He just wished the devastation on her face didn't haunt him.

Finally, after another mile, winded, he turned back around. She'd be cleared to return to duty in a few days, a week at the most. He'd get a new partner, a new assignment.

And so would she.

The idea pissed him off.

If he were honest with himself, he would admit there wasn't much about her that wasn't pissing him off at the moment.

She couldn't be cleared soon enough to suit him.

When he returned to the house, he discovered she'd closed herself in her bedroom.

He didn't like the lack of interaction. But he needed to get used to it.

He stayed up later than he usually did, waiting to see if she'd join him in the living room or maybe head to the kitchen for an evening snack. As far as he knew, she hadn't had dinner, not that it should matter to him. She was a big girl, capable of making bad decisions all night long.

Finally he gave up and headed for the shower, remembering the sex they'd had in the small stall, the way she'd ground her hot little cunt against his thigh, the way she'd screamed out her orgasm as he'd inserted a finger deep in her rectum.

His cock was hard, demanding. He'd gritted his teeth and endured it most nights since her injury. Some nights he'd masturbated, but the vixen had supplied the fantasies that made him ejaculate in a hot spurt.

He turned the water to a colder setting and then waited until goose bumps raised on his skin and then turned off the faucet. He towel dried his hair but left his body wet and went into the bedroom.

She was there, waiting for him. She was naked, on all fours, his belt held between her teeth.

His body reacted instantly, his cock straining with an erection.

His mind lagged a few seconds behind.

When rational thought returned, he knew he should send her back to her room. But his body was having none of that. Blood surged, demanding release.

“Why are you here?”

She removed the belt from her mouth. She kept hold of it, though. “You said I mattered to you.”

“It's too late.”

“You were right,” she admitted. “I was foolish. Reckless. I wanted to prove something, that I'm strong, capable, independent.”

She kept her legs parted. He forced himself to focus on her words, but he had a hard time not responding as a dominant. Her pussy was spread wide, and he wanted to possess her. He wanted to use that belt on her rounded ass, punish her hard for the stupid risk she'd taken. He wanted to return things to the natural order.

“And the truth is…”

He saw her swallow and look down before continuing.

“The truth is I love you. You—we—matter more than what I want. I realize I am stronger, more capable when you and I collaborate.”

“I'm not a bastard, Mira. I was well within my rights to expect that you would share your thoughts and feelings with me about what was happening that night downtown. Despite what you may think, even if you're in a submissive role, I don't think of you as weak or stupid. I'm not the type of man who expects his woman, his sub, to keep her mouth shut. I respect your brain. I'd be insulted if you thought I didn't want you to use it.”

“Thank you for that.”

“I never expected or wanted you to lose yourself to be with me.”

“I'm asking, begging, for a second chance, as your partner, as”—she took a breath—“as your submissive.”

“Mira—”

“Beat me,” she pleaded. “I heard what you said, and I believe you. You weren't the problem; my own beliefs were. Of my free will, I'm asking you to allow me to submit to you.”

He was undone.

She looked up at him.

“You will be punished.”

“Yes…”

“For your lack of trust.”

“Yes…”

And then the truth. “For scaring the shit out of me.”

She leaned back on her haunches and spread her legs even farther apart.

“Because of your wound, I won't restrain you,” he said.

“It's healed.”

“You will be tied by my will.”

She was silent.

“Your choice, Mira.” He knew what he was asking from her, and she knew it too. He'd put her in position, and it would be up to her to keep herself there. Being restrained was often easier, because the sub could let go emotionally and physically, surrendering to the pain. He was demanding she be a full participant the entire time.

Without saying another word, she offered him the belt. He took it.

She crawled to the bed and positioned herself, her torso on the mattress, her feet on the floor. She stretched out and crossed her arms at the wrists.

She spread her thighs wide and turned her toes inward, exposing her ass and her pussy to his punishment.

“How many strokes do you deserve?”

“Ten, Master,” she said without hesitation.

His cock tightened. He'd expected an answer of six, maybe eight. But ten would have been his choice.

He landed the first stripe from the leather just beneath her buttocks, across the top of both thighs. She gasped but remained in place.

He placed the second one slightly higher than the first. This time she moaned.

Inexorably he worked up a bit higher with each of the next four stripes.

“Are you counting, Mira?”