Mr Perfect

Dating the perfect man was hell.

When we were kids, we all - well, most of us anyway - had dreams of meeting someone wonderful, someone perfect, someone so irresistibly bright, shiny and sweet that we'd want to take him home and keep him happy for the rest of our lives. Happily ever after. The real-life white knight of our dreams. The perfect Prince Charming of suburbia who'd charge up to our doorstep in his snazzy white limo, sweep us off our feet and offer us his unlimited credit, snazzy car and a beach house in Malibu.

Evil materialistic lil dreamer that I was, I cherished that dream as I cherished the two Ken dolls in my cabinet who frequently got married for no other reason than to look utterly fabulous in black tie. As the two Kens got dressed up for their unconventional marriage in front of a bemused GI Joe looking like angels, it certainly never occurred to me that getting my wish was going to be sheer hell!

It wasn't Christian's fault. How could it possibly be? No one could lay the blame on his faultless self, from the top of his exquisitely coiffed black hair, his perfectly crafted Armanis to his perfectly champagne-polished Bruno Maglis. Tall, dark, handsome, Christian Taggert was the perfect man who gazed out dreamily from the covers of magazines and scintillating bodice-rippers, the kind of man everyone dreams of. Close to cherubic looking when he was a kid and on to the adolescent years, he admitted once that he'd often wished for the deep, manly lines that age would bring him. As it was, his face didn't get the rugged looks that he'd wanted but settled into the dreamy, handsome leading man look that cameras adored.

High forehead, strong cheekbones, the square jaw prerequisite in a hero, soft, thick lips which tended towards a pout when he didn't get his way - which wasn't all that often since he managed to charm people into seeing his way. The only thing that saved him from being a perfect model clone - or made him even more alluring to my way of thinking - were his eyes. Soft, puppy-dog eyes with lashes thick and sinfully long - eyes the colour of mud brown, he'd said with his boyish grin. Which wasn't exactly true. Under the right light, they were a melted brown, as dark and sweet as chocolate. When he lost his considerable temper which wasn't all that often, his eyes flashed a pure green.

The amazing thing was he was mine. For the past 6 weeks, 4 days and 18 hours, he'd been mine. Ever since I'd literally nudged him into a puddle of mud after running down the stairs of my office building. It was the first and last time I'd seen him dishevelled - and even then the mud happened to splatter him in a very fetching way, dripping carefully down his dark hair and leaving neat, avant-garde designs on his tan overcoat. Even after a night's sleep, he looked wonderful. Apparently free from the effects of bad-hair days, his hair looked adorably mussed at worst. And I spent my time trying to mess it up to no avail.

If only he was a slick male himbo, all big muscles and no substance, I certainly would have dropped him like a hot tamale - after a week of enjoying all the attention and making the most out of that athletic, agile physique of course. I was a horny gay man with urges, after all. But as usual the man had to be impossibly perfect. Not only was he physically gorgeous, the man was also sweet, funny, intelligent, adorable and endlessly patient with my insane foibles. He made a mean lasagna in the weekends, helped with my household chores at times and kept my car in tip-top condition.

A Ken doll with a big dick. And one that functioned incredibly well, I might add.

It was with that thought that I sneaked furtively into the romantically lit alcove of the finest Italian restaurant in town. In a secluded corner of the quiet piazza, shaded by heavy boughs of wisteria and weeping willows, a table was set aside beneath the moon and the stars. The soft sigh of the violin came from the shaded interiors of the restaurant. Trust Christian to find the perfect place.

If only the man didn't have to be so damned punctual. Which I never was. Sure, I was always on time for my deadlines. But I'm a syndicated strip cartoonist and I have the artistic, flaky temperament which gives me a reasonably good excuse to be late and... Damn, he was already waiting.

It was hard to stay mad at a man who could turn to you and smile so sweetly - even when you've left him waiting for the past half hour. Immaculately dressed up in a sleek Italian suit, he looked scrumptious and ready to be peeled open. It made me feel like a heel when his puppy-dog brown eyes lit up in welcome and he called out to me. "John! You're here."

As usual with Mr Punctuality, I had my litany of excuses prepared and was all ready to lie like a rug. At times, I didn't know why I bothered since Christian always saw through my lies. "I'm sorry I'm late. I was going to call since I was caught up in some things and I-" Which was actually catching up on my afternoon nap but I certainly couldn't tell him that I'd been catching forty winks while he was busy leaving messages on my recording machine.

But the man actually waved my excuses away and just gestured patiently at the other seat. His sensuous lips parted to reveal double rows of perfect white teeth. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. You're worth waiting for."

As he signalled the waiter, I stared at him for a beat. Was this guy for real? Where did he learn such lines? The old-black-white-movie-hero school of smooth, slick lines? "Damn, do you work in Hallmark?"

For a moment, he looked confused. "Huh?"

The look of puzzlement on that dark face had me grinning. Leaning over, I gave him a quick brush on the lips. "You know just the right words to say at the right time. Did you go for classes?"

"No." Running a finger fondly across his lips, he smiled in return. "With the right man, the words aren't all that difficult."

"There you go again! Makes me wanna reach over and bite your cute ass."

Throwing his arms wide, he laughed and threw me a challenge. "You're welcome to it."

That earned him another kiss. Falling back onto my seat, I acted surprised. "Oops. You're a respected banker / analyst / lawyer or whatever it is you do. Do you still model? I hope you don't mind public displays of affection." As a habit, I tended to ramble when I was nervous. And this man with the perfect ass made me plenty nervous.

"Banker right now." He frowned as if deep in thought. "About the displays of affection, I don't know. Do it again and we'll see."

I laughed. "In your dreams, Taggert."

He smiled and looked at me, love written in his eyes. I felt all gooey inside.

Which wasn't what I came for tonight. The dinner had promised some spectacular Italian cuisine and I intended to fill up. The waiter appeared, handed us the menu and quietly slipped away at Christian's insistence. Picking up my menu, I held it up to shade the brilliance of his smile from my susceptible eyes. "Okay. Stop that mushy business. Time to eat and refuel."

Those googly eyes didn't waver but remained on my face. "You do ramble on when you get nervous," he commented as he reached out for the other menu.

Tell me something I don't know, Hunk with Bucks. Nevertheless, I made a quick recover. That's me, quick on my feet, a quip a day. "Me nervous?"

Tugging down the menu I held to look at me, he grinned again. "You're blushing. I am surprised."

"Stop." Slapping his hands away and shoving the menu back up, I growled in reply. "It's not a blush. It's embarassment - for you. And stop staring with those googly eyes."

I could feel the warmth of his smile through the menu. "Sorry, John, I can't help it."

"Well, help it. There are people here," I said curtly. Keeping my gaze on the menu, I tried concentrating on the spaghetti marinara and not on Christian's amazingly hot butt. It wasn't working.

My mean reply only served to make him laugh even harder. The rich, deep laughter that sent a thrill down my spine. "I love you."

The menu fell from my slack hands. "What?"

"You heard what I said," he said calmly, keeping his gaze intent on mine.

I stared. Alright, we had been dating for six weeks. There had been no mention of love or any damned thing all the while. We dated, we had dinner, we had sex, we had fun. But love?

The look on my face obviously didn't clue him in to my situation. Like the businessman/banker or whatever he was, he started coolly, methodically laying out his plans on the table. It was practically a business merger between two companies. "We've dated for 6 weeks. I want us to be together."

Good grief, freight trains moved slower than this man. Trying to hedge, I gave a flippant answer instead, pretending to misunderstand him. "Baby, in public? Right now? It would be public indecency. They have laws against that kinda thing."

As usual, he called me on that one. "Not that way. And you know what I mean."

"In what way?"

With a winsome smile, he turned on his considerable charm and I got all gooey again. "If we were a conventional couple, I'd have.. oh.. I'd have got down on my knees and asked you to marry me."

It was obvious that Mr Wonderful would take the conventional route and I stared. I was afraid that my face probably had that deer-in-headlights look.

"Marry me please." Seeing that I hadn't run screaming from the restaurant, he bravely continued oblivious to the panic alarms ringing in my head. His hands reached across the table to hold mine in their warm, confident grasp. "As it is, I want us to be together. To share a home. A life together. I want to wake up each morning to your smile. I want to go to sleep with you beside me every night."

I stared. Didn't he realize that I was clearly incapable of any reasonable thought right now? After several moments of staring at his adoring eyes and feeling dizzy, I finally got my voice out and it came out in a croak. "Damn it, are you crazy?"

Any other man would have been daunted by my improbable answer but this man was as cool and calm as cucumber. I doubted that even an earthquake could shake his composure. How does he do that? Seemingly undaunted by my jilting him, he reached out for my hand and spoke quietly. "Not exactly the answer I was looking for but why? What do you mean?"

"I-I.. I-I..."

He leaned over and kissed me. My toes curled.

Pushing him away, I sputtered. "It's been six weeks and I'm.. I'm! Don't you even dare come close."

Leaning back on his chair as far away as possible, he flashed me a knowing smile. "The nervous thing?"

"Yes!" I nodded. His intent, fond gaze had me fumbling at my next words and I looked around for help. Since my throat suddenly felt parched, I took a deep gulp of cold water, chugging it down for courage. "I didn't see this coming. Honestly."

"Really?" Steepling his hands on the table, he gave me a surprised look. "I don't think I've been hiding the fact that I'm interested in you."

Which was actually true. But I'd thought that maybe in the next six months, maybe I'd give him my key... or maybe in the next year. Whirlwind relationships just weren't my thing although Christian seemed to be extremely adept at it. "Yeah, in a quick fuck. A quick romp through the hay. Not happily ever after."

His dark eyes narrowed. "You sure you're not thinking that way?"

"Yes. No.. but.. this is sudden."

"Yes, it is."

Agreeing with everything I'd said after I'd blurted out all that inane crap wasn't what I'd expected. Right now, I didn't even know what I was thinking. Gorgeous guys blurting out proposals in dark piazzas got me flustered all the time. Especially since it was my first proposal. "It is?"

His lips quirked up in a grin and his eyes gleamed with amusement. "I'd have preferred that you'd leap into my strong arms and swear undying love but I don't really expect an answer right now."

As usual, his words were understanding, sweet even but there was no doubt that disappointment lay deep in his puppy-dog eyes. A bone-deep romantic, that's my Christian - the poor man must have expected me to weep ecstastically in his strong arms and music to echo all around us. Wanting to wipe away the sadness in his eyes, I leaned across the table to catch his hand. "I do love you."

It was the first time I'd said it and it felt.. right. Evidently, he thought so too. Gripping my hand tightly, he gave it a fond squeeze and linked our fingers together. His puppy dog eyes lit up with warmth. "I know."

"You know?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Then you know I'm confused?"

"Yes. I kinda sprung it on you."

It was obviously difficult getting to Christian Taggert. Being so sweet and agreeable wasn't what I wanted. Couldn't he jump, yell and force me to stay with him? Flex some of his considerable testosteroney muscles? He sure worked out enough in the gym, didn't he? It would stop me from having the difficulty of making a decision which was something that I'd never actually done well in the first place. Giving him a hot glare, I said as much. "Can you be any less understanding?"

Seeing my disgruntled look, he chuckled. "Why? You expected me to yell, beat my chest, throw you onto my shoulder and drag you back home?"

The image did have its pleasant points. Especially my visions of him in a loincloth, bronzed, built, beautiful and covered in sweat. Shrugging, I pondered it for a moment before nodding vehemently. "With some variation but yeah."

Pulling his hands away from mine, he pushed back his chair, his face set. "I can do that."

"Don't you dare."

Looking back at me, he smiled.

The thought of being carted away from the finest restaurant in town didn't sound that appetizing after all. "I'll think about it. Give me time."

"Sure. Let's eat."

Being rejected by me obviously hadn't affected his voracious appetite at all. Although I certainly didn't purport to be the all and everything in his life, I certainly thought of myself as being worth more than the pasta. Was he not going to cry, beg and plead for me to change my mind? "You can still eat after that?"

"Yeah." His big shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I missed lunch."

The very fact that he'd missed the point struck a nerve. "I rejected you," I told him hotly.

My temper failed to spark his and he calmly answered me. "That wasn't a rejection. You asked for time."

"But.. But.."

"Babe, shut up and eat."





It was an hour later after I did the most stupid thing in my life that I called my best pal, Amanda over. Instead of commiserating, getting me porn and agreeing that the man in my life was a scoundrel, she lit into me. "That perfect hunk of meat asked you to be his.. lover, husband or partner or whatever you guys call it and you left him high and dry?!"

"Yes," I moaned piteously. My shirt was sundone, I'd downed half a bottle and I was depressed. My best friend certainly wasn't impressed with my abandoned yet hopelessly dashing lover look.

"Were you drunk?" she pointed out mercilessly, her sharp, manicured fingernails wagging dangerously in front of my face. Obviously working with the police department had been the right job for her.

"God, I wish I was."

"The man just told you some of the most beautiful things a man can say!" Stronger than I gave her credit for, Amanda gave me a tap on my forehead that really hurt. "And after all that, you just ran screaming out of the restaurant - leaving him with his ravioli. What were you thinking of?"

"I didn't scream," I tried to correct her but earned another light smack from her. Ouch. Talking another swig of the beer, I felt courageous enough to continue. "And I was thinking of him. How fast we're going.. of how inadequate I feel around him. He deserves someone better. I am nuts!"

My reasoning didn't impress her at all. "What the hell do you mean by that? You're not inadequate."

Pointing at myself with the long end of the bottle, I told her. "I am.. a lousy bastard. In comparison, he's perfect!"

"And what's wrong with that?" she shrugged and rolled her eyes. "A perfect guy and he complains. John, call me when you have a real problem."

"Nothing? He's just.. too perfect. What do I have to offer?"

"Yeah, you know what. You're nuts, my friend."

"I know. What's wrong with me?"

"You know what your problem is. You think all guys are assholes."

"Hey!" I exclaimed indignantly.

Crossing her arms over her generous chest, she stared me down. "Admit it, Joe."

Under her dark blond cap of hair, her stern dark eyes bored into me and I was about to confess to anything that she wanted. "Is that how you interrogate?"

"Joe."

"Okay!"

A wide smile broke into her stern expression. "But then once in a while, a man who isn't an asshole comes along. And when you do meet one who isn't, you go haywire. Because you have problems with commitment. Therefore you date assholes rather than the few who aren't so that you can bitch and whine when they don't come even close to commitment."



The moment she left, the phone rang and I hesitantly approached it. Since I'd impulsively dumped Christian in the restaurant, he'd been jamming up my lines. As always, he was as patient and nice as he could be, pleading with me to think it over and that he'll call back. A similar message repeated itself over the phone.

His deep, sexy voice filled out the silence in my living room. "John. Listen, pick up the phone. I know you're standing there listening. Call me back. I'm not mad that you left me there. Just call me. I love you, I-"

Before he could finish, I steeled myself and picked up the phone. "Christian?"

"John!" His voice held surprise and some relief.

"Hey, Christian I-"

"You left me at the restaurant."

His voice held a touch of impatience and I smiled to myself. When the man was seriously pissed, he actually sounded even sexier. "Oops. Sorry."

"People were staring."

"I'm sorry." And I truly was! But that didn't help when I kept on thinking of poor Christian left behind.

"I felt like an idiot."

Imagining the distressing scene, I snickered and tried to hide it behind a muffled cough. "Yeah."

Like I said, the man was quick. "You're lying."

"I'm not. I-" I sighed. "Okay, it's funny."

"Okay, it was." When he spoke, I could hear the smile in his voice. "You know what. Hold that thought, babe. I'm coming over."

"No, don't. I-"

The phone clicked shut just a heartbeat before the doorbell rang. Drat the man! He couldn't have been standing outside my apartment since dinner, could he? Although he could eat fast, I doubt he could have finished that ravioli that fast!

Peeking through the door, I came to the conclusion that I was wrong. Sucking in my breath, I wondered whether I should stall and pretend I wasn't home. Just as I was about to tiptoe away, his voice boomed out, giving me the scare of my life.

"John! I heard your voice, John."

It was time to face the truth. Planting a wide smile on my face, I flung the door open with aplomb. "Christian. Hi."

Leaning with one arm against the doorjamb, he grinned at me. Dangling from his other hand was the culprit - his mobile. For a man who'd just been left high and dry in an Italian piazza, he looked remarkably fit, incredibly happy and still meltingly handsome. "John."

"Come in. I think we need to have a talk."

"We don't have to. I was wrong."

While I was certainly glad that he was starting to look my way, I didn't want him agreeing all that fast either. "No, come in first and -"

As I stepped away from the door to let him in, he caught my sleeve and tugged me into his strong arms. Starting to mount a protest, he silenced me with one of his shut-me-up-with-lust kisses. His lips, his hands were hot and they were everywhere. Just when I got into the groove with my libido revving, he pulled away. "Okay, listen, let's not have commitment. It's staid and boring anyway. Let's just have wild, mindless sex all day long. I can live with that."

Still stuck with the incredible taste of his lips - and the hard length of his cock burning against my thigh, I stared at him uncomprehending. "That's not what you want."

His smile turned wolfish and the predator glint flashed into his eyes. "Believe me, baby, I always want wild, mindless sex with you." It was his best fuck-me voice and I melted.

As he put those clever hands on me, I was about to leap on the nearest sofa, push everything away and accept that perverted offer of his. But then again, I am the most contrary nut in the world. Stupid as I was, moments away from the best orgasm I'd ever had, I held him away, though my fingers still managed to find his hard nipple on those amazing pecs. "No, Christian."

He murmured into my ear while his lips did something incredible to my neck. "Baby, it's too fast. You're right. I accept that. We'll take it slow. Real slow. As long as you want it. I'm a patient man."

Snaking into my shirt, his hands flicked across my nipple and I let out a moan. "That certainly wasn't the tune you were playing last night."

"Blame it on the moonlight. It makes me do crazy things." Pulling me away from the doorway, he kicked the door shut. "Come here and give me a kiss."

The brief moment he took to close the door shocked me back to reality and I took a step back from Mr Irresistible. "Stop it."

The sex maniac look on his face faded away. "You don't want commitment from me earlier on. You don't want sex from me now. Okay, what exactly do you want?" Exasperation filled his handsome features and he shook his dark head. "Look, is there something wrong with the relationship? Are we moving too fast? Talk to me."

Offering sex and good advice. Was this man some weird product of Oprah's - some kinda sensitive Stepford Gay Hunk? I was living a nightmare. "It's not you. It's me, I'm the bloody screw-up, the nutcase, the rabid maniac." After that short, meaningless rant, I made my escape to my sofa and folded myself into it.

My rants only had him laughing. Moments after his laughter subsided, he moved slowly towards the sofa and took the seat next to me. Eyeing me nervously, he approached me with caution, reaching out with his hand. "No, you're not."

Determined to let him see what a bad bargain he'd gotten, I tried to drum my faults into his head. "I am. I am irresponsible, selfish, lazy, messy, nasty... and always late for my dates. And you - you.. you're perfect!"

Even he balked at that. "No, I'm not."

"Don't argue with me, Christian. You are perfect."

With his charming smile, he tried pulling me back into his arms but I resisted. "C'mon, you're exaggerating. I have plenty of flaws."

"Yeah? Name me one."

"I am very bossy," he pointed out. "Or so my employees say."

That was an easy one and I easily gave him a rejoinder. "They threw you a party and made you boss of the year last year. And you're bossy mainly because you're right all the time!"

Obviously rifling through his mental files, he started rattling off his faults almost as if he'd done it before. "I'm boring, staid, overly serious. I sing off-key in the shower. I do snore when I'm tired. I have a... nasty little habit of playing with my hair when I'm thinking."

I remembered it. When he was thinking deep thoughts, Christian frequently dragged his hand through his black hair. "I like it."

Seeing my thoughtful expression, he let out a laugh. "You make me sound like some .. "

"Perfect guy." I said in a sneering tone.

My words failed to have an effect on him and he just gave me a helpless shrug. "Look, I'm not. It's great to be looked at as such a wonderful person but sorry to disappoint you but I'm not. You are."

Alright, I'd been a bad boy but he certainly didn't have to get nasty as well. That was my province and he couldn't stomp on it. "Don't be snide, mister. I can still belt you one," I warned him.

"I'm not. You are wonderful, John." That googly eyed look came into his face again and his eyes turned all sinfully chocolaty again.

"Yeah? Give me one reason."

Tilting his head to look at me, he narrowed his dark eyes. "Is this some kinda contest?"

"Yes."

It took only a second for him to answer. "You make me laugh," he answered simply.

It wasn't the answer I wanted and I glared at him. "Hire a clown."

"Stubborn man." He took my hand in his, holding it tightly even as I tried to pull away. "Yes, you do make me laugh. I love that about you. I'm not perfect. Without you, I'd be a stolid stick in the mud, dull, boring and stuffy. I'd live my life by the damned clock, I'd never get my clothes splattered with mud, I'd never dance in the rain, I'd never have sex on my roof out in the open. You bring excitement, a sense of fun and adventure into my life. You bring life to me."

His words were just perfect as usual and I had to smile. "There you go again. Perfect words."

"It's a gift." He shrugged easily and gave me an impish smile. "And stop with that perfect stuff."

Letting him tug me close, I rested my head on his muscular chest - made a nice pillow. His strong arms came around and held me close. "With that pretty boy face, you'll never be dull."

He let out a gusty sigh. "But I will. That's all I am, pretty packaging and a boring personality."

Giving him a light punch, I told him sternly. "Hey. No boyfriend of mine's boring, Christian Taggert, and you'd better believe it."

"Boyfriend, huh?" he raised a dark brow.

"Yes."

"Live-in boyfriend?" he pushed.

Even as he said, I realized that I was really insane. I always hated it when Amanda was right. Why was I pushing away such a great guy just because of my insane insecurities? Had I been watching too much Sex In the City? Was being deliriously happy and in love simply an alien concept to me? "Live-in."

The smile on his face was blinding. "My place."

"Mine."

"Mine's bigger," he countered easily.

It didn't take much for me to see the double entendre and I glared at him. "We are not gonna talk about size, big boy," I pointed out to him.

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "I have a jacuzzi."

There was time to talk about it and I refused to argue over the point right now. Gazing down at our linked hands, I smiled to myself. "We'll talk about it."

"Okay. Great." Nodding hapily, he pulled me close again and nuzzled the back of my neck. "That was easier than I thought. I had my stock portfolio and my trust funds all ready to impress you."

Looking up at him, I laughed. "Yeah? Well, I like to know that I'm getting a financially solvent guy."

"You're nice today," he commented. A thought came to him. "You were going to say yes already when you opened the door didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"What made you change your mind? Apart from my endless sex appeal and masculine charm." Preening playfully, he saw my bland look and winked at me.

"Can it, Christian. It was Amanda."

"Oh." He sounded almost disappointed.

"She said I dated assholes."

"Tell her thanks."

My eyes narrowed. "Not you. Before."

"Oh, them. Do I get to beat them up?"

"No. I already did it myself." Proving my point, I cracked my knuckles in what I hoped was a menacing manner.

Running his hands down my solid arms, he gave a light gasp. "Ooh, now I am afraid."

"Stop it, Taggert."

Trying to avoid my slap, he laughed, caught my hand and gave it a quick kiss. "Okay, so we've established you've dated assholes."

"Well, you're not and I'm confused."

The light of understanding came into his eyes and he gave a wise nod. "Ah, so you dated assholes previously because you were actually afraid of commitment."

It was exactly as Amanda had put it earlier. Though it shouldn't surprise me that he'd already guessed it, it actually did. It was spooky. Christian seemed to know me even better than I knew myself. Was there a manual out on me somewhere? "Yes. And how do you know this, scary lil man?"

With one of his big hands, he tilted my face to his. "Told you before. I don't know what makes me so certain about you but I just.. I know you."

"Hmm.." Something to ponder about. "Since you know me so well, then you'll understand that I'll have to kill anyone else who looks at you with googly eyes."

"No one does that."

Was the man that blind? For the last few weeks, I'd stopped going to his office as it made me too damned jealous. As he walked down the corridor to meet me, it was obvious that most of the office stopped their work to drool over him. Disillusioning the poor man was a job left to me, it seems. "Baby, half your office wants to land your cute ass. Some of the guys too. The other half is either married or lesbian."

Tilting my head up with his hand to look at me, he looked seriously shocked. "You're kidding, right."

"No."

It took a moment for that idea to register but then he smiled. A lascivious look came into his face and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Hmm.. Greg, my assistant was looking pretty cute the other day. Blond, great ass, nice arms. Is he?"

I stared.

"Kidding, I swear." He laughed. "Don't hurt me!"

"Try it again and there'll be severe punishment." Fondly, I ran my hand, tracing the line of his firm jaw. Sweet, handsome, intelligent and all mine.

Nuzzling my neck, he murmured into my ear. "Oh, well. Okay. Jealous lover, I can live with that."

"Fine."

We cuddled for a minute before he spoke again. "About that punishment bit."

"Yeah?"

"Umm... Do I get a preview?"