“For her, an orgasm felt more like a sneeze, certainly not the earthquake her friends described, and nowhere close to the shrieks of pleasure from the apartment next door. What would that feel like? To be so overwhelmed as to actually scream?”

“He liked to touch, she realized. In bed, he kept his arms around her or a hand on her like now. The way he played with her breasts, or just touched her, or ran his hands over her body, made her feel so...so beautiful, Desirable.”

“Dios, she'd never come so hard in her life. How many people died this way? How would he ever explain to the ambulance crews that he'd chained his girlfriend out on the deck and killed her with too many orgasms?”

“She could just imagine, all her friends and family mourning around her grave. The tombstone would read Kari Wagner, Died of Sheer Stupidity. It would be almost as bad to have her grave marker read Died of Terminal Bedroom Boredom.”

“Put me down.”“Nope.” He held her snuggled to his bare chest, tipping her up so he could rub his cheek against hers. “I like carrying you.”

“I want my glasses.""No." The absent way he said it, as if she didn't have a choice, set off an odd shimmer in her bones. He regarded her soberly. "You're scared without them? More than being bound to a table?""I'm trying not to think about bondage," she said grumpily.He grinned, swift and wonderful."And yes, I'm scared. What if something happened, like a fire?" She wouldn't be able to find her way out. "Or a terrorist attack. Or zombies."He chuckled. "I do like submissives with imagination.”

“Some man would come to her room. Maybe she would hesitate, and he'd grab her, pin her to the mattress, force her to cooperate.”