Joanna smiled at the way her boyfriend stood by the couch in his board shorts and a red Hawaiian shirt that hovered over his bulging midsection. He reminded her of those British telephone booths you see in the movies. 

“Just don’t pressure me, Sam,” she said. 

“I know we’ve agreed that you have to want it, Joanna, but really, it’s only logical.” 

The man had made his fortune selling hedge funds. Now, he was an angel investor with only a moderate stake in slasher films, neither of which interested Joanna. Yet, she found him oddly attractive, stocky, strong, and irresistibly seductive when he put his mind to it.

“We’ve had this conversation before,” she told him, “and the answer is still no.” She turned her back to him, intentionally blocking his view of the flat screen on the wall.

“Hey, you’re making me miss the best part!” he said.

Joanna spun around and caught a glimpse of him bent over, fumbling for the remote among the cushions. She reached for it and hit pause. “You can watch the rest later,” she said, restraining a smile.

Sam ruffled his hair, streaked with yellow from hours spent surfing off Maui’s rugged coast. He stretched out his hand, asking for the remote and laughing. “Look, much as I’d like to, I certainly won’t force you.”

“I have to want it,” she said.

“Exactly.” Sam plopped onto the couch empty-handed. “You’re not scared, are you?”

Joanne felt the fuzz on the back of her neck bristle, and she couldn’t ignore the faint but increasing feeling of dampness between her legs. “Not scared,” she said, “just hesitant.”

Sam smiled. “You’re a veritable kaleidoscope of personalities,” he said. “No wonder I’m in love with you.” 

Joanna watched him stuff a pillow behind his shoulders and put his legs matter-of-factly on her coffee table. 

“Now, be a nice girl and get me a drink,” he said, ruffling his hair again, “and hand me that remote.”

Seconds passed, maybe more. Joanna glared at him, feigning anger. “Say please.”

When she bent over to scratch her toes, Sam shot up, stretched out his arm, and grabbed the remote from her hand. He plopped back onto the couch, laughing. “No harm intended,” he said. 

 “Fuck you,” Joanna said. Then louder, “fuck you.”

Sam laughed again. “Come on,” he said, “don’t get yourself in a tizzy, you know I’m kidding.”

“I know you want me to, that’s what I know,” she said. “Whether it gets me into a tizzy is beside the point.”

“Turn around,” he said, “let me see.”

Joanna shook her head. “All this actually turns you on, doesn’t it? I told you, I’m not ready.” 

Sam stood to face her. “Don’t you love me?”

“That has nothing to do with it,” she said.

Sam took her hands in his. “You didn’t mind being spanked and blindfolded…”

Joanna lowered her eyes. “That wasn’t a problem for me.” 

“And handcuffed too,” he said. Joanna might have thought he was mocking her, but there was a smile on his lips and a tender sparkle in his eyes. Sam’s voice was soft. “Yet, for the rest, you’re hesitant?”

Joanna pulled her hands away, did a prompt about-face, and left the living room. “Because it all seems so formal,” she shouted over her shoulder. Entering the kitchen and out of Sam’s sight, she opened the liquor cabinet to reach for the Scotch. After pouring him a double, with a ghost of water to bring out the savor, she took a long swig from the still-open bottle and walked back toward the couch. Sam grabbed her by the wrist before she could sit. He took the glass from her hand.

“What’s really going on?” he said gently.

She pulled from his grasp and inched away, tugging her T-shirt upwards playfully. When she turned, her ultrathin G-string was barely visible, but she knew he could see the malachite anal jewel with dangling strands of gold infinity chains between her buttocks, then she disappeared again from his view. She didn’t want him to notice her excitement.

“What’s going on, Joanna?” Sam had raised his voice so she could hear him, but Joanna was already back in the kitchen. She pulled off her camouflage-style tee and gazed at her small yet shapely cupcake-like breasts. A perfect fit for the cup of my hand, Sam always said. She wanted to be his, forever, but this felt like something more, and she feared that afterwards, she might have nothing left to give. Shivering slightly, whether with anticipation or as the result of a draft from the open kitchen window, Joanna stretched her naked torso onto the cool marble countertop. She reached for the porcelain honey jar on the windowsill and, while propped on her elbows, dipped her fingertips into the container. First, she dabbed some over her nipples, admiring the Silvie Monthulé piercings Sam had brought her last year from Paris. Then, after licking what remained of the honey from her fingers, she decided that perhaps…yes, perhaps indeed, she would stop teasing him and allow herself to be collared.