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He collapsed on top of me, breathing hard. We were both wet with sweat and I was both laughing and humming under my breath, shocked and happy and a tiny bit afraid.
"Let me out of these," I said, shaking the cuffs.
Mark rose up on one elbow and looked down into my face, considering. "No," he finally said and got up, naked and shiny with sweat, and walked into the bathroom, shut the door, and ran a shower.
By the time he came back I was livid. He stood at the end of the bed, looking calm. Water still beaded his skin and he absently used his bath towel to dry off.
I shook my hands at him, making the cuffs sing. "Take. These. Fucking. Things. Off of me."
He looked at me, completely impassively. He sat down on the bed near my hip and reached out to stroke my face with the backs of his fingers. I yanked my head away and glared.
"So this is what you want?" he asked. His voice was calm. The voice of a doctor imparting bad news that doesn't affect him.
"Goddamn it."
He blinked, very slowly. Somehow he felt like a man in a dream to me. "So this is what you want?"
"Mark."
"Answer the question." His hand trailed down until his fingers rested on one nipple. Lightly, but with threat.
Despite myself I felt the heat begin to rekindle between my legs. I drew in a breath as slowly as I could. "Yes."
"Every time?" His fingers tightened, as if daring me to lie.
"No."
He relaxed. Considered. "Why?"
Jesus. Fuck. "How would I know? Why do you like blow jobs?"
"Because it feels good. This hurts." He raised his hand and slapped the hell out of my breast. "Doesn't it?"
I let out the breath between my teeth. "Fuuuuuuuck."
Mark let go of me, got up and ran both hands through his hair, and abruptly got dressed as fast as he could. He sat back down beside me.
"Please uncuff me," I said, suddenly scared he'd just walk away and leave me there.
He nodded absently. "You're going undercover again."
I'd tried to tell him during dinner. In between the weirdness of being fed spaghetti. "Yes."
"For how long?"
I'd covered that too.
"I don't know."
"How long?"
"I don't know."
"One week? One month? Two months? Six? A year? Forever? Are you just going to join the other side and sometimes report them? Are you ever coming back? Shall we plan the wedding? The honeymoon? The divorce? Should we buy all the houses now so you don't have to come back and sign papers? Do your parents know?" A considering second. "Does your father know?"
"Mark!"
He seemed to shake himself out of some kind of fugue or maybe into a different one. He rose like an automaton and fetched the key from the dresser, inserted it into the cuffs and unlocked them.
