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being at the club and in the dungeon with you.”
    “That day in LA… When I asked you what was wrong and I thought I’d said something in my sleep that had upset you…”
    “I’d had a dream that left me out of sorts, but I worked it out.”
    She is quiet for a very long, unsettling moment.
    “What are you thinking?”
    “I don’t know if I can do this.”
    Her words strike fear in my heart that ricochets through my entire body. “What can’t you do?”
    “This. Us. Any of it.”
    “Natalie, come on. This is only one part of our relationship. The rest of it is fucking perfect. You’d really throw all that away because of this?”
    “I can’t possibly answer that question without knowing what this entails.”
    “So, what? You want details?”
    “That would be a good place to start.”
    I can almost feel my blood pressure inching into the danger zone at the thought of detailing my kink to her. My sweet, beautiful Natalie hasn’t the first clue what she’s asking for. She’ll never look at me the same way again if I tell her, and I can’t risk that.
    I get out of bed and pull on a pair of sweats.  
    “Where’re you going?”
    “I need a drink.” I leave the bedroom and go into the kitchen, where I pour myself a couple of shots of Bowmore, my favorite Scottish single malt. It burns all the way through me, reminding me I haven’t eaten much of anything in the last twenty-four miserable hours.
    Natalie appears, wearing my robe, which is huge on her. She’s like my conscience, putting me on notice that she’s not going to let this go.
    I feel cornered, trapped, unable to escape from the mess I’ve created for myself. I’ve promised her the truth. But how do I give her that and still preserve our precious bond, which has been made fragile by my lies?
    After pouring another half glass of whisky, I bring it with me into the living room, brushing past her as I leave the kitchen.
    She follows me.
    “What do you want me to say?” I ask her in defeat. There’s nowhere to run from her or this conversation she’s insisting we have, even if I’m certain it will ruin everything between us.
    “Tell me about your dreams, the ones you had about me.”
    I shudder as a chill runs through me, and the whisky threatens to come back up. Turning away from her, I focus on breathing my way through the nausea. “I don’t know if I can tell you.”
    “Why not? They were about me, weren’t they? Don’t I have the right to know?”
    I want to argue with her. No, she doesn’t have the right to my every private thought, just as I don’t have the right to all of hers. But I’m on a slippery slope here, well aware that despite our passionate reunion and her words of love, I still have a long way to go to fully repair the damage I’ve done.
    “When I was married before,” I say reluctantly, as the thought of Valerie still infuriates me, “it took me two years to tell her what I really wanted. In bed… She… She said I was depraved and disgusting and sick. Then she cheated on me and made sure I caught them in the act so I’d know just how disgusting she found me. I had to threaten her with lawsuits up the ass to keep her from going public with what she’d found out about me. I’ve actually been afraid ever since that she would give in to temptation and tell the real story behind our split, and my career would be irreparably harmed by her version of the truth.”
    Natalie comes to me and lays her hands on my chest, the heat of her hands warming the part of me that’s gone cold. “I would never, could never, will never tell anyone what goes on between us. Ever .”
    “You say that now when you’re wildly in love with me. What happens if that changes? If you’re so turned off by me that you don’t love me anymore?”
    “Flynn… I’m not Valerie. Even if everything were to go bad, and I can’t see that happening, I will never speak of our private life to anyone.”
    “What about when I scare you so badly