“Oh, no,” he objects. His expression alone makes me take my seat again. “You were right to tell me—or rather Bernard was right to insist. I suppose you never would have. Makes me feel like a real i***t. I suppose some afternoon I would have come home unexpectedly and there’d you’d be tied over my dining room table, some prick smacking your ass while you were being f****d with a foot long dildo. Better yet, I might have surprised you at the shop one of the nights you’re there, working late,” the twist in his voice makes me cringe, “I find you pressed against a bookshelf, gagged, bound with ropes, some leather clad stranger running a lash over you…” He stops and stares at me. His anger is quite apparent now. “Yes, I think it’s a good idea you told me so when I feel your skin and find welts t
