Sitting like this, on the arm of the chair, his back straight, we were practically the same height. It occurred to me that this was the closest we’d ever been to having equal footing, and somehow that made me both heady and encouraged.

 I reached out to rub the collar of his shirt between my thumb and forefinger, my breath stuttering under the thick weight of apprehension, my mouth watering from how close I was to touching his skin. This close, I could smell the liquor on his breath and the musky scent of his cologne and the fainter scent underneath of pure man.

 “Tell me your requests.” Was it my imagination or did his voice suddenly seem darker? Less steady? 

“There’s only one.” I leaned in until my lips were near his ear. “I want to add sex to the deal.” 

He made a sound low in his throat, half like a laugh, half like a moan. “What, now?” 

He turned his face toward mine, and now our mouths were only inches away from touching. I could feel the warmth of his exhale on my skin, sending a trail of goosebumps down my arms.

 “Now, sure.” Fuck, I was wet already. “But I meant in the marriage, too.” 

His lips danced around mine. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. You want to be humiliated, degraded, and hurt?” 

Yes. 

Because that was the goal of The Game. 

But, also, YES! 

Because, in that moment, there was nothing more I could imagine wanting than to be all those things, to be humiliated and degraded and hurt, by him. I wanted it so much I ached. Ached in places I hadn’t known could feel. 

I reached my neck forward, pushing my mouth toward his. 

Just when I thought the kiss was inevitable, he leaned back. “You couldn’t handle it.”