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This time, I'm the one who's going to walk away with a broken heart. But I don't care.
She finds her thoughts. "They think it kills the mood. Or they think it means they're bad in bed. Otherwise, why would I bring it up? Men are like that, sometimes. They think everything you say is a criticism. They take every single unhappiness in your life as a personal fault."
"You sound like a married woman," I say.
She laughs. "I do, don't I? But our marriage will be different. Or is that what everyone says?"
"It is. But it will."
"They say that too," she says. She leavesbut we're only doing this for three weeks; that's not enough time to get sick of each otherunsaid.
I can't imagine getting sick of Daphne. But I leave that unsaid too.
"So, uh." She sits up a little straighter. "Is there a particular way you like to do this?"
"Have you ever been tied up before?" I ask.
She shakes her headno.
Blood rushes south. I want to be her first here. I want to introduce her to all of this.
"But I've fantasized about it before." Her cheeks flush. Her chest too. She's nervous, but she still speaks with a clear, calm voice. "I think I know what I want. Not a role play this time. Just you and me. You're in a suit and I'm in something casual. And you order me out of my clothes and then you tie me up on the bed."
She fantasizes about me.
That is way too fucking hot.
"How do I normally do it?" I ask.
"Sometimes, I'm on my back. Sometimes, I'm on my stomach. I'm always naked. And you stay mostly dressed. The rest is, flexible." Her cheeks flush as she shifts from a memory to the moment. "I don't want to script it. For good sex, you need to be present. But that, uh, that sounds good to me. No pain yet. Not this time. And no edging or anything. Just you, doing what you want with me."
She's thought about this.
And she's sharing all of it with me. Everything she wants.
The vulnerability of it makes my chest warm.
And my dick hard.
But now isn't the time to follow that. I need to make sure she's comfortable first. I need to set the ground rules.
"Did the traffic light work?" I ask. "Or do you want to use a safe word?"
"The traffic light."
"I'll have to check in," I say. Some women don't like that. It takes them out of the scene. Others need it.
"Let's do that this time," she says. "If it goes well, we can do something else next time."
Next time. She wants next time. Three weeks. Twenty-one days to have my way with her. I want more, but I want that too. "When is next time?"
"This is our honeymoon, right? That means we can turn off our phones and spend the next three days in bed," she says.
"How about we turn off our phones, spend today in bed, go back to Los Angeles early?" I offer. "Before Zack and Laurel can ruin things."
"They'll follow you back to Los Angeles," she says.
"Yeah, but it will give us a day."
