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Something had cracked open inside me on that ride home. Not grief. Not pain. Adventure. A spark of playfulness I hadn’t felt in forever.
I grabbed my phone and texted him, grinning as I typed.
Me:Hey.
Me again:I want to go to an adult store.
Me again again:Don’t make it weird.
His reply came in thirty seconds, as I watched him grin from across the room.
Noah:I’m already in the truck.
Noah:You’re driving. I want to watch you blush.
I laughed out loud, the sound bright and real.
Twenty minutes later, I was behind the wheel, Noah sprawled in the passenger seat, boots propped on the dash like he hadn’t stared down death. His knuckles were scabbed, his jaw bruised, but his eyes were alive, locked on me like I was the only thing worth seeing.
“Just to be clear,” I said, adjusting the rearview as I pulled out of the Dominion gates, “this is your fault.”
“My fault?” His voice was all heat and mischief. “You’re the one who suggested we go buy handcuffs.”
“I never said handcuffs.”
“Oh, but you meant handcuffs.”
I kept my eyes on the road. “You’re impossible.”
“And you,” he drawled, “are about to walk into a sex shop with a man who has no shame. Hope you’re ready.”
I wasn’t. Not even close.
The store was tucked off a side street downtown, nestled between a pawn shop and a tattoo parlor. Discreet enough to blend in, but inside, it was another world—sleek black shelves, soft red lighting, a low thump of music pulsing in my chest. I froze halfway through the door.
Noah leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “You can still turn around. No judgment.”
I glanced back at him. “I don’t want to turn around.”
His eyes flared. “Good.”
We wandered the aisles like kids sneaking through acandy store, except this candy came with leather and batteries. Noah was relentless, picking up a black satin blindfold and turning it over in his hands. “This one’s gentle. Easy to start with.”
“Start with?” I arched a brow.
He grinned. “Oh, Hallie Mae. We haven’t evenstartedstarted.”
I tried not to blush, but the heat crept up my cheeks, my skin tingling, a flutter low in my belly. We passed a wall of restraints—leather cuffs, colorful ropes, silk ties with gold clasps. He held up a red set, testing the buckles. “Good quality. Not the cheap kind that chafe.”
I blinked. “How do you know that?”
He just smirked.
Near the back, I stopped at a display—domestic, almost tasteful. A beginner kit labeled “Intro to Bondage,” with adjustable cuffs, a blindfold, and a soft flogger that looked more decorative than dangerous. “I like this one,” I said, tracing the flogger’s handle.
Noah stepped close behind me, his heat wrapping around me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “It’s … kind of pretty.”