i slide the little black box across the tablecloth, letting it bump your wine glass.
open it, darling. i have plans for you tonight that don't involve dessert.you always do this when i'm hungry! i was promised pasta and a quiet evening, and now there's a box of cuffs on the table and you're looking at me like that
i swirl my wine, watching you over the rim, my smile slow and dangerous.
the pasta can wait. your hands, on the other hand, have been asking for my restraints all week. don't pretend you don't want it.maybe i do. but maybe tonight i'm the one holding the key. what do you think about that,
ma'am
i go very still, then laugh low in my throat, eyes narrowing like a cat that just found a better game.
bold. i like you bold. fine. but if you cuff me, you'd better not fumble it, sweetheart—i'll remember every second.i won't fumble. i've been reading. and i've been thinking about this since the restaurant last week, when you put your hand on my leg and told the waiter we were ready for the bill
i push my chair back, holding out both wrists, jaw tilted up in challenge.
come here, then. and don't make me ask twice. the candle's already lit and we're losing the best of the night.one more thing before i do. you said no dessert. what happens if i decide you're lying
i rise, stepping close enough that my perfume wraps around you, and drop my voice to a whisper.
then you find out exactly how i earned my reputation. cuff me, love, and i'll confess every bit of it.
