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submission. I wasn’t. Hell, I’d gone for years without it. I just hadn’t enjoyed those years. Certainly not the vanilla sex that came along with eschewing a powerful, sensual partner. But I could live without it.
    Every day, though, had a huge gaping hole right in the middle of it. I’d been haunted by the deep dark suspicion that my life was wanting. Plagued by a secret ache for something more.
    And this man, this man had brought that passion, that hunger, that spark roaring back to life. Brought me roaring back to life. And I reveled in it.
    Did I want to go back to French-kissing fish-lipped props in the elevator? Pretending I liked having their mediocre pricks floundering around inside me? Almost getting me there…but not quite?
    Life with my ex had been exciting. Beyond words. But then he had changed. And our sex life had bled into the real world. And then started hemorrhaging. He had forgotten all about the lines. Forgotten the safety words and the reason we were doing it in the first place. He had forgotten his wife was a person.
    And it had become a nightmare.
    I didn’t want to go back to that place. I couldn’t.
    Would it be different this time? Would he be different?
    As I toweled off, I stared at that damn G-string lying on the bed and I weighed my options. Go back to the way it was before—miserable—or continue exploring this adventure.
    I picked up the device and dragged a thumb along the striations on the rubber. The striations that would scrape against my clit all day.
    Hell. I could walk away if things turned sour. I had before.
    I fingered the leather straps and shivered to think how they’d look wrapped around the tops of my thighs, my belly, my ass.
    Hell. I could always take the damn thing off if it became too much.
    Watching myself in the mirror, I steeled my spine and slipped it on. Adjusted the straps around my thighs and drew the thong between my damp lips. Settled the flange against my clit and…
    Ah.
    Ah.
    The rubber triangle, so like a tongue, lapped at me with each movement.
    Heaven.
    There was one more strap. One that slipped around my waist and held the whole contraption in place. I tugged it tight and snapped it shut and…
    Oh. It was too tight. Each step would be a torment. Each breath a caress.
    Panic flared. No. I had to take it off. And then to my horror, I discovered the snap at the back was a lock.
    It was locked on. I was locked in. Bloody hell.
    Panic flared. I got dressed in a flash and stormed across the hall. Pounded on his door.
    He opened it looking relaxed and svelte and way too handsome. He smiled. “Come on in. I made breakfast.”
    He had. I smelled bacon. All of a sudden, I remembered just how hungry I was.
    I put out a lip. “I’m not hungry.”
    He kissed me and tugged me over to the table set with crystal and china and…bacon. “Of course you are. We missed dinner. Sit.”
    I winced. I couldn’t sit. The damn contraption was too tight.
    He froze halfway to his seat when he saw my expression and he licked his lips. “Are you wearing it?” His voice was a guttural growl. A pulse throbbed visibly in his temple. He remembered to finish sitting but his attention was locked on me.
    I picked up a piece of bacon and crunched my way through it. It was perfect. Just the way I liked it. “How do I get this thing off?”
    He swallowed. “It’s not coming off. Not until tonight.”
    “You cannot expect me to wear this to work.”
    He sat back. A smug smile teased his lips.
    “Seriously? I’ll be mad, insane, by lunchtime.”
    “Come home early.” A raspy, resonant response.
    I threw up my hands. “I have meetings.”
    “Cancel them.”
    “I can’t. We’re meeting the new boss.”
    “Tell him to go to hell.”
    “Very funny. Come on. How does this come off?”
    He crossed his arms over his chest. His grin blossomed.
    “You’re a beast.” Was I laughing? Where the hell did that come from? One small gamine grin and I crumble into his arms?