What Lovers Do

“Are you claustrophobic?” He twists his lips to the side while he slips off his sneakers and socks.

“No. Why?”

“Well, my new bedsheets…” he saunters to the closet “…came folded and tied with these matching sashes.” He turns, holding said sashes. “I’m going to tie your wrists to the headboard before I fuck you.”

This is new. Not new as in Shep just invented a new way of having sex, but new to me. I’ve never had anyone ask to restrain me. Now that I think about it, Shep’s not asking; he’s telling.

“Why?” I have to ask. I’m curious by nature. Not curious about his full name, but sexual positions and restraints pique it for sure.

“Why not?” He shrugs.

That’s not the response I anticipated. I’m not sure why. Silly me, I forgot to ask the OB this morning if pregnancy was a contraindication for being restrained during sex. Might it cause me to feel unnecessary stress and therefore stress the baby? I don’t know. What are the chances anyone has studied this with great detail? About zero, I’m sure.

“Have you tied other women to your bed?”

“Not this bed.”

My eyebrows lift in response.

Shep chuckles. “No. I have not. I’m unclear as to when the appropriate time is to suggest tying a lover to the bed, but we’re just friends. And friends do weird and stupid stuff together. Right?”

Sure, I think to myself, when they’re fifteen or maybe during a second round of Stupid Things College Edition, but I’m not sure the same could or should be said of grown-ass adults like us. I lift onto my elbows and give it some more thought. Does love get in the way of being sexually adventurous? Have we, as friends, already reached a level of trust and comfort with each other that surpasses anything between lovers? At this point, should we just hump in public because it feels good?

“What if I tie you to the bed?” I suggest.

“You said I could be on top. How is the top person supposed to be tied to the bed?”

Trapping my lips between my teeth, I fight the laughter bubbling in my chest, the sheer joy this new friend of mine gives me. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Yet, I love that we are so easily having this conversation—like two friends deciding on whether or not to go to a club for the night.

I lie back, stretch my arms above my head, and smile. It’s just me, my panties, and my submission for the night.

Shep scrapes his teeth along his lower lip several times. He can hide his grin, but he can’t hide the victory in his eyes. With deft hands, he ties my wrists to his headboard and steps back to inspect his handiwork. “Tomorrow, I’m sending out emails to all of my other friends, cutting ties. I have no need for anything more than this. You are the only friend I need.”

“Shut up and take off my panties, Marcus.”

Shep obliges, dragging them slowly down my legs.

“Now kiss me.”

He rests a hand on his hip and stares at the floor. “Really? Are you really trying to be on top from the bottom?”

“Sorry.” I close my mouth and grin.

As if he needs to make his point that he’s on top and in control, he doesn’t kiss me. He teases his lips along my legs, my inner thighs, and right down my middle, causing me to buck. That pulls an evil grin from him. His fingers find all of my sensitive spots, and he tests that line between pleasure and torture.

“Shep …” I sigh on a harsh breath. “You’re not naked.”

“So?” His thumb circles my clit while his gaze remains glued to said clit and his fingers teasing me there.

“What are you doing?” All of my words come out a little breathy.

“Admiring you because I can.” His fingers relocate, gripping my knees, bending them more and spreading them wider.

I’m so intoxicated by him right now, I can hardly see straight. And that’s where my mind goes crazy, feeling more than it should, feeling possessive. I don’t say it, but it makes me a little twitchy to think of him with another woman, to think of him kissing someone else the way he’s kissing me, looking at someone else the way he’s looking at me. My psyche begins to crumble, obliterating Shep World. A snow globe shattering on a tile floor.

“I gotta go. Untie me.”

Shep pauses. “What?”

“Untie me. I have to go home.”

“Now?”

“Yes, Marcus. I have to go home now.”

“Why?”

I bring my bent knees together, forcing him to back up, kneeling at the end of the bed, hands on his jean clad thighs and bare shoulders curled inward.

“Because I can’t have sex with you.”

He coughs several times, more like a laugh of disbelief. “What changed?”

“It doesn’t matter. A woman has a right to change her mind, even if it’s at the last second. A man could too …” I twist my lips. “I wonder if that happens very often? Anyway, I don’t have to give you an answer. And as my friend and a non-rapist gentleman, you need to honor my request.”