And then I went back to laughing, and he went back to watching me.

He didn’t even smile much, but something about the way he was staring at me, his eyes losing some of their usual shutter, had me feeling things I hadn’t thought I’d ever feel again.

When he looked at me like that, it’s hard to even describe, but I’d never felt more beautiful, never felt more desirable, never more joyful, or hopeful.

How could the way someone looked at you change the way you saw your life?

And how was I just now finding this?

And—what was it?

But I knew.  It was different from the first time, I was different, but, regardless of how fast it was happening, I knew what it was.

That first sweet blushing bloom of the L word.

I was embarrassed to even think it, but we did have a moment in there, where something occurred.  Both of us softened toward the other just that little bit more, that profound distance between intense interest and true affection, between adoration and endearment, and suddenly the future looked very bright and exciting.

This new, familiar, alien feeling was as scary as it was utterly addictive.

“So that was a date,” he stated.

We were driving back to my house.

“Yes, it was,” I agreed, tone wry.

“Was it a good one?”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing.  “You tell me,” I urged him.

“Depends.  Do I get to fuck you soon?”  He sounded surly.

I tensed.  Just when I thought things were going so well that I was giddy with it, he had to open his big mouth.

“It seems likely,” I told him slowly.  “Though the more you talk, the less likely it is.”

“Noted.  Shutting my mouth until you’re ready to fuck.”

I tried not to grit my teeth.  He could be such an asshole.  The only redeeming part of that was that I didn’t think he had any idea how to be any different.  For whatever reason, he’d never developed that kind of a filter.

“Do you enjoy spending time with me, doing anything besides fucking?” I asked.

He sighed.  “I hated that movie.”

My mouth twisted.  He hadn’t had to tell me.  I’d known that.

“Fuckin’ hated it.  But I’d sit through it again.  I’d put that thing on repeat just to watch you watching it.  To see you laugh like that.”

And just like that, he turned it all around.  Sneaky man.

“I love it when you say sweet things to me,” I told him, voice breathless.

“I’m not good at sweet.”

“You have your moments.  Tell me another sweet thing.  Let’s see if you can do it again.”

He didn’t even miss a beat, like it had already been on the tip of his tongue.  “You’re the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Wow.  That shocked me into silence.  And made me feel good, really good, because I believed him.  I didn’t think he’d lie about something like that, didn’t think he’d waste the energy or the breath.

“You too,” I finally managed to respond.

“Good,” he growled, his hand going to my knee.

And just that easy, from that one simple touch, hot life flooded inside of me.

I realized that he hadn’t had me since this morning.  Nearly a full day and it felt like ages.

I felt deprived.  Needy.  Desperate for him.

I leaned toward him, hand going to his chest, touching softly because I knew the area was sensitive.  “Drive faster,” I breathed into his ear.

He floored it.

When he parked at the curb in front of my house, I pretty much shot out of the car and ran to the front door, fumbling to unlock it fast enough.  But I needn’t have rushed.  He was still at his car fishing a big duffle bag out of his trunk, by the time I got the door open.

I stopped what I was doing to stare at him.

“I’d like to stay a few days, if you don’t mind,” he said as he approached and saw that my gaze was transfixed on the bag.

“Not at all,” I said, voice faux casual and went inside.

“There’s not much extra room in my closet,” I told him.  Which was a huge understatement.  Due to my lifelong love of shopping, the thing was stuffed.  “But there are other closets, and feel free to put whatever in my bathroom.  Just make yourself at home.”

I cringed inside.  Did I sound too needy?  I didn’t know.  I’d never done anything like this.  Sleepovers were out of my realm, one of the many quirks of marrying young and staying married for too damn long.

This relationship, for lack of a better word, was unprecedented for me.

He didn’t seem interested in unpacking.  The second we got into my bedroom, he tossed the duffle in the middle of the floor and started rummaging through it.

I saw why a few seconds later as he straightened, grinning at me, a pair of padded handcuffs hooked on one of his fingers.

Oh yeah.  That.

I’d almost forgotten about our little agreement.

“Undress,” he told me gruffly.

I did it leisurely, slipping the shoulders off my dress and dragging it sensuously down my body.

I stood straight when I was left in just my bra, panties, and stilettos.

“All of it.  Except the shoes.  Keep the shoes on.”

I smiled at him as I shimmied out of my lacy underthings.

“Get on the bed,” he enunciated slowly.

I took a deep breath and obeyed, climbing onto the bed in my platforms, doing it seductively, gazing at him over my shoulder to give him a sultry smile and take in his reaction, which made me feel as beautiful as I knew it would.

“On your back.  Arms above your head.”

I lay down on my back, throwing my arms up above my head, a willing lamb to the slaughter.  An eager one.

I’d never done kink, though I knew a lot about it, thanks to having made some very kinky friends in recent years.

I’d never done it, but I wasn’t against it.  I thought it was hot, in a vague, probably not my thing sort of way.

But right then, I was thinking, maybe it’s just my kind of thing.  Or at least, the part that Heath seemed interested in.

“Just handcuffs, right?” I asked to be sure.

Handcuffs I was pretty comfortable with.  The idea of him having me helpless the first few times we were together had been too much for me, but I felt like I knew him well enough now.  I mean, if he wanted to hurt me, if he was even capable of it, I’d have gotten some sense of it by now.

And I trusted him, in a way.  In a few important ways, actually.

“Yes.  Just handcuffs.  Now spread your legs,” he ordered.

I spread them wide, flexing and angling my body to its best advantage.

It seemed to do the trick.

He fell on me, shoving his tongue down my throat as he cuffed me to the bed.  He did it so fast, like he’d trained for it, and hell, maybe he had.

His big hands grasped at me, fondling my breasts, then twisting and pinching roughly at my nipples.

He reared back abruptly, grabbing my ass in both hands and pounding into me with a guttural moan.

He didn’t take me slow or gentle.

He took me like he had a point to prove, a point that could only be found by hammering so hard into me that he reached the other side.

It was heaven.

I screamed.  And came.  The most explosive orgasm of my life.

“Are you okay?” he asked a few beats later.

I couldn’t really blame him for asking.  I’d let out a racket for a good minute back there.

“Yes,” I panted back.

“Good,” he grunted and seemed to take it as permission for the next round.

He freed my hands, turning me onto my stomach while I was still catching my breath.  He forced me up onto my knees, and I felt him at my entrance again, his stiff, thick length pushing at me already, while I still twitched from the last invasion.

He fucked me again, jolting into me roughly from behind, both of us on all fours.

It was a long time later, when we were capable of getting out full sentences again, that he spoke.  “I do like spending time with you out of bed.  But for the record, if it’d been up to me, we’d never have left your bed today.”