The laugh track was grating on her nerves when she looked at 
the clock. He should have called her. Hours ago. She was 
huddled on her couch under an afghan, her forehead creased 
with worry.

Maybe things hadn't gone well. Maybe he just didn't want to 
tell her.

Nancy glanced over at her silent cell phone, checking for 
invisible missed calls, finding none. The dial tone was 
steady on the land line. She had a sudden vision of him 
drinking alone in front of his television set.

Sighing, she found her slippers and car keys.

He could make the distance between their apartments in 
fifteen minutes, cutting through on side streets, when the 
lights were good. If she called him at three o'clock in the 
morning and asked for him, he could make it in twelve.

He had given her a key to his place soon after he had moved 
in, but she had never used it. He preferred her apartment to 
his, now, but he didn't stay all night, except on rare 
weekends when they gave in to each other and he couldn't 
resist the pull of attraction between them long enough to 
leave her arms. Sometimes, she was sure, it was the sight of 
her flipping through wedding planning magazines, teasing him 
with demands that he decide between freesia and baby's 
breath, satin or silk shantung, that drove him back to his 
apartment to watch four hours of sports, drink beer, and not 
move, just to reassert his masculinity.

She was afraid tonight that wasn't quite the case, but she 
couldn't take the waiting. Because he always called, he 
always found a way to call.

Even with the worry gnawing away in her gut, she felt 
slightly ridiculous as she keyed her way into his apartment 
building, not bothering to have him buzz her up. The scuffed 
brass elevator creaked up to his floor and she stepped out, 
looking down at the slippers on her feet. She hadn't even 
bothered to glance at her hair or change the faded t-shirt 
she had been ready to wear to bed. Shaking her head, she made 
her way to his door.

The key had been new-cut when he had pressed it into her 
palm, and she pinched it between index finger and thumb, 
letting the rest of her keys dangle beneath. She had never 
intruded on him this way. Despite the fact that he was her 
fiance and she kept nothing from him and shared every aspect 
of her life with him, she respected his privacy, and the very 
fact that this door was closed to her now... maybe he really 
did just need to be alone.

She shook her head, and raised her fist to make a tentative 
knock.

She almost had the key slipped into the lock when the door 
swung back, and she blinked into the dim interior of his 
apartment, up at the wide grin which was spreading across his 
face. "Hey," he said, the pleasure in his voice unmistakable. 
"Wasn't expecting you."

"You didn't call," she said, feeling faintly foolish, obeying 
when he gestured for her to follow him inside. He shouldered 
the door closed behind her and swept her up into his arms, 
and she closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Surely you weren't worried about me."

"I was," she admitted, breathing him in. Her heart was 
finally solid in her chest again, not fluttering somewhere 
above her ribs. "I do like to hear your voice occasionally, 
you know."

He kissed her cheek and released her. "I know," he 
apologized. "I forgot to charge my phone last night and it 
went dead."

"And you don't have phones at work."

He ducked his head. "It was a busy day," he objected. 
"Besides. I got the promotion."

She barely had time to register the wide grin on his face 
before she was launching herself back into his arms, wrapping 
her legs around his waist. "I knew it! I knew it!"

"I didn't want to call you in case you were already asleep," 
he laughed, spinning her. He puffed his chest out. 
"Detective."

She tilted her face and kissed him, long and sweet, through 
their laughter. "You win the bet," she said. "You're 
Detective Nickerson before I am."

"Yeah, but Detective Drew..." He released her again. "It's 
cute and it has a nice ring to it, rolls right off the 
tongue. Just like you."

She smacked his arm lightly, her face still glowing. "I'm so 
proud of you."

He ducked his head and she slipped her palm against his 
cheek. "I did call you," he said softly. "You must have 
already been on your way over. And I did think about going 
over there, but..."

"I can't believe you didn't explode," she said, clenching his 
shirt in her fists and drawing in close to her. "To know 
that, and not tell anyone yet."

He kissed her again. "Thanks for driving all the way over 
here in the middle of the night just so I could tell you in 
person," he murmured. "I'm sorry, I didn't even ask if you 
wanted anything. Something to drink, maybe? A place to sit? 
Perhaps a little sex?"

Nancy fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Hmm. Never had sex 
with a Chicago police detective before," she said. "But I 
don't know about the 'little' part."

"There will be no little part," he growled, pulling her up to 
meet him as he kissed her again. "You should know that by 
now."

She was blushing faintly when he pulled back, and as he took 
her hand and led her to his bed, she said, "They let you 
bring your cuffs home?"

His shirt was half-unbuttoned when he turned back to her, the 
warm flesh in shadow, his fingers tightening against hers. "I 
can't see how they would actually do any good," he said 
lightly, the ghost of a smile on his face. "What was your 
best time getting out of handcuffs, fifteen seconds?"

The blush deepened softly in her cheeks and without thought 
or will he bent to kiss her again, their tongues meeting. She 
closed her eyes. "I have a feeling," she said softly, "that 
if you tried me tonight, my time would be significantly 
worse."

He paused for a second, then reached into the leather pouch 
on his belt and pulled out his cuffs. He let them dangle from 
his index finger as his gaze found hers. "You're fire," he 
said softly.

She finished unbuttoning his shirt and pressed a kiss against 
the hollow at the base of his throat, her lips lingering on 
his skin. "Thank you," she whispered.

He lifted her onto his dresser and kissed her as he gathered 
her shirt in his hands, above her breasts, and pulled back 
just long enough to tug it over her head before his lips were 
on hers again. His tongue stilled, his eyelashes brushing her 
cheek as she unbuttoned his pants and slipped them down his 
hips. He unfastened her bra and drew it down her arms, and 
she made a soft moan against his mouth as his fingertips 
stroked down the curve of her breasts.

When she was finally in his bed, he took the cuffs and drew 
the cool metal over her abdomen, smiling as she tensed. 
"There has to be something just a little bit wrong with you 
suggesting that I tie you up," he said. "Unless you only said 
it to get a rise out of me."

"Maybe," she said, raising her eyebrows at him, smiling.

He trailed his mouth down her neck. "Or maybe all those times 
we were tied up together, waiting for certain death, that 
turned you on."

"Maybe."

He linked his index finger and thumb around her wrist, 
brought it to his mouth and kissed the blue point of her 
pulse, moving just beneath the thin flesh. She let the 
fingertips of her other hand trail down the back of his neck.

"I thought you didn't like this," he whispered, taking her 
other hand in his, caging her wrist with his fingers. He 
pressed her hands to the mattress above her head and held 
them there. "I thought you didn't like to be out of control."

"There's a difference," she said softly, her voice nearly 
calm, although he could see the hard beat of her pulse in her 
neck. "Between this," she said, tugging her arms down 
slightly, against his grip, "and being tied up by some 
psychopath who just wants me dead. You, I trust."

He pressed his mouth to hers. "So you were never just a 
little wet at the thought of this."

She brushed her lips against his. "Only when I imagined you 
doing it."

His brown eyes searched hers as he slipped her hands through 
the slats of the headboard and snapped the left cuff around 
her wrist. "If you start feeling uncomfortable..."

She nodded, and he felt her shift underneath him, opening her 
legs to him, and his mouth went dry. "I'll tell you," she 
said, her voice low, her blue eyes steady on his. Her 
eyelashes fluttered down and she arched gently beneath him as 
he snapped the right cuff shut.

"This is seven different kinds of fucked up," he told her, 
sitting back with his legs doubled underneath him, gazing 
down at her. "I probably shouldn't say this, but I've thought 
about doing this before."

"With me?"

He laughed under his breath. "Yeah," he said. He ran the 
backs of his fingers over her breast, then squeezed her 
nipple between two fingers, watching her mouth fall open. He 
leaned down, and his breath was warm on her ear as he fondled 
her nipple, until it was tight against his touch. "Except 
usually I tie your legs open and fuck you until you're 
screaming my name."

She tilted her head back, as he found her other nipple. "Is 
that what would make you hard right now?"

"I'm already hard," he told her. "I have some rope in the 
other room."

She opened her eyes again, hazed with arousal, and managed to 
gasp, "You have thought about this a lot, haven't you."

He nodded, cupping her breasts under his palms. "Do you trust 
me?"

She nodded without hesitation. "Always."

"I'll be right back."

She laughed softly. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered.

Only once she explicitly agreed, and opened her legs wide for 
him, her heels brushing the edges of the mattress, did he 
loop a rope around one ankle and tie it to the frame. He 
lifted her leg and she could almost slide her legs back 
together when he was finished, but she opened them to him 
again, her blue eyes steady on his.

"So, Ned," she murmured, "since this is your fantasy..."

He smiled. "Sometimes it is," he said, pressing his mouth to 
hers in another kiss. "Sometimes it's the back of a car, or 
on top of my desk in the bullpen, or just a good blowjob 
while I'm watching the game. You know, simple."

She chuckled against his lips. "Hmm. And your birthday is 
coming up..."

He trailed his mouth down the line of her chest, took her 
nipple into his mouth and flicked his tongue over the tip. 
She bent her knees, groaning as she reached the limit of his 
restraints, and he suckled against her other breast. "I feel 
like I'm going to explode," she breathed, her hips tilting 
back under his. "And you're enjoying it."

He traced his mouth down over her abs. "By now you'd be on 
top of me," he murmured into her skin. "Fucking me as hard as 
you could."

She arched her spine and groaned. "There's nothing wrong with 
that."

"No, there isn't," he agreed, nipping at the underside of her 
flat belly. He lay his palms against her open inner thighs, 
feeling the muscles tremble underneath her skin as he slipped 
his thumbs between her legs. "But I think I owe you some 
foreplay."

She moaned her frustration, then her pleasure, as he pressed 
her flesh open beneath him, dipped his tongue between her 
thighs and traced the tip over the button of her clit. Her 
hips surged underneath his mouth as he suckled against it, 
gently closing his teeth over it and sliding them up to the 
tip, and her thighs trembled as she gasped in a breath for a 
scream. He drew his thumbs up and down the inner flesh, 
stroking, and then pressed three fingers up inside her, 
curving his fingers up to stroke against the seam of her 
flesh in time with the press of his mouth against her clit. 
She arched, hard, and he heard the chain between the cuffs 
slide against the slat of his headboard, heard the frame 
creak in protest as her legs tilted back. "Ned, oh God, 
please," she gasped, and then she was beyond words as he 
thrust his fingers inside her, quickening as her breath grew 
harsh and desperate. She made a soft frustrated noise as she 
pulled at her restraints again, the quick tightening of her 
flesh as he scraped the stubble on his chin over her clit, 
and then he heard what he had been waiting for, the low 
guttural groan that marked the beginning of her orgasm, and 
he felt it tingle over every inch of his skin, his fingers 
trembling as they plunged against the wet yield of her flesh 
in harder and harder strokes. She clenched against him, her 
hips rising in perfect counterpoints to his thrusts, his 
teeth sliding over the tip of her clit, and she was screaming 
into the pillow, a low begging chant that became wordless 
pleasure.

He pulled back, his fingers motionless between her thighs. 
She was flushed, her chest heaving, her breasts trembling, 
her wrists faintly red where she had struggled. Her face 
creased with oversensitized pain as he slowly drew his 
fingers out of her. "God," she whispered. Then she laughed 
softly, the chain sliding against the headboard again. "You 
fantasize about eating me out?"

He shook his head, climbing over her until his lips were a 
hair's breadth from hers. "Foreplay," he whispered.

Her lips curved up in a smile, and she whispered, "I think it 
doesn't count as foreplay anymore when I come."

He wrapped his arms around her. "Your arms getting tired?"

She flexed her fingers. "A little," she said. "You have 
something else in mind? Not that I wasn't incredibly happy 
with what you just did..."

He smiled. "Still okay?"

She nodded. "Just don't leave me tied up all night."

"That wasn't part of the fantasy," he said, and kissed her 
earlobe. "Open your legs," he whispered directly against her 
ear, and she shivered as she obeyed.

"I'm not ready yet."

"What do you mean?" he whispered, cupping a palm over her 
breast and holding it motionless there, rising and falling 
with her breath.

She forced her eyes open. "I can feel... everything... right 
now," she breathed.

"Isn't that a good thing?" He nudged a kiss at the edge of 
her jaw.

She shook her head, her fingers white as they wrapped around 
the slats. "Imagine if I climbed on top of you right after 
we'd had sex and tried to go again."

He nodded. "You don't," he said.

"Right," she whispered, as his other palm covered her other 
breast. "It's the same for you, isn't it."

He smiled, and she felt his lips move against her skin. "Not 
quite," he whispered. "How does it feel for you, when we..."

The frame creaked, her thighs loose under his hips. "Like you 
fill me," she breathed. "Like I'm whole and we fit and it's 
perfect, and I can feel it when you leave part of you inside 
me..."

"How do you do this," he whispered, and his lips were 
trembling. "How come I'm the one who tied you up but I feel 
like you could make me do anything right now, Nan, can we," 
and his fingertips pressed against hers, and he was kneeling 
over her, his knees pressed to the sides of her hips, his 
face against the crown of her head. "I want you..."

She drew her legs up between his, until her knees brushed 
just against his balls, and he let out a shaking breath. 
"Now," she whispered.

When he slipped his legs between her bent knees and lowered 
his hips to hers, she gasped in a sharp breath. Her arms 
stretched taut over her head as she folded her legs up 
against his hips, and his first thrust was deep, smooth, 
hard. His abs against hers, his hips flush against hers. He 
felt her labored breath against the base of his neck, the 
brush of her eyelashes as they fluttered against his throat, 
and he skimmed his fingers down the backs of her arms, her 
sides, the curve of her hip as he moved over her. She moaned 
and he felt her tense.

"Yes," he breathed, bracing her hips under his hands to pull 
her to him as he thrust again, again. She made a low 
frustrated noise and the chain sounded between her wrists, 
the frame squealing again as she drew her bent knees up over 
her hips. His fingers dug into her flesh but she barely felt 
it. She cried out, arched, trembling, her neck bared as she 
threw her head back, her lips pressed against the point of 
his chin, and he bent, needling the flesh of her earlobe 
between his teeth. Again he pressed between her thighs, 
between her legs, deep into her center and she whimpered, 
gasping in surprise as he kissed her. The taste of her 
meeting on their tongues as his hips sank to meet hers again, 
pulling apart again, the hard undulation, and he whispered 
her name as she gasped, her breath edged in the sweet edge of 
desperate pain. "Baby."

"Ned," she cried, and she was impossibly wet, smooth, tight 
as she clenched his erection inside her. "Ned, oh God, oh 
God," and he thrust again, again, harder when he felt her 
struggle against the restraints, her heels sliding over his 
skin, her toes curling. "Ned... please, oh, oh, fuck, oh God, 
please, fuck me," his fingers digging into her flesh, his 
teeth bared, his cock deep and thick between her thighs. 
"Fuck me," she cried again, her hips moving with perfect 
rhythm against his, and with one last quick thrust he came, 
groaning with relief, full inside her. Perfect. The last 
gasping clench of her orgasm, the brief spasm of her flesh as 
they fit perfect and whole together.

"Nan," he whispered, when he collapsed against her. He held 
her for a long moment and she lay loose and spent beneath 
him, and then felt on the table beside his bed for the keys. 
When he loosed her wrists he chafed them gently between his 
fingers, his thumbs rolling against the bases of her palms, 
and they sat up together, reaching for her ankles. When she 
was free Ned took her ankle into his palm, kissed the hollow, 
studying the red inflamed flesh. He traced his thumb just 
over it.

"Hurt?"

She sat naked in front of him, her breasts rising and falling 
with her every breath, fingers rubbing her other ankle. She 
flushed softly when their eyes met. "It's okay," she 
breathed, reaching for his hand, and he laced his fingers 
between hers, holding them tight. She smiled faintly. "Good?"

"God, yes," he said, pulling her back down with him, into his 
arms, and she draped her arm over his side, bending it up 
over his back. She met his eyes steadily, and he brushed her 
hair back from her face, pressed his lips in a soft kiss 
against her cheekbone. He pulled back and she nestled against 
him, pressing herself up to touch the tip of her nose to his.

"I love you."

He pressed his palm against the small of her back, curved 
against her skin. "I love you," he breathed, tilting his 
face, kissing her again. Then he smiled. "Tell me we're 
okay."

"We're okay," she nodded.

He pressed his mouth against her ear and she shivered. "Tell 
me the truth," he whispered, as her fingernails traced over 
his back. "You'd cream yourself when you thought of me tying 
you up."

She traced her index nail down the indention of his spine. 
"Yeah," she breathed, her voice low. "That turn you on?"

"A little," he murmured, sliding his hand down her side until 
he reached her leg. He bent her knee and drew her leg up over 
his hip. She slipped her palm over his cheek, and he placed 
his hand over hers, the engagement ring pressing against his 
finger, and the heat between her thighs was intoxicating.

She rolled him onto his back, straddling him, and she brushed 
her hair back and gazed down into his eyes, her palms on 
either side of his shoulders. She was smiling.

"I think I'm addicted to you," he breathed, reaching up to 
push her hair back, to trace his fingertips over her cheek.

"Good," she whispered, laying back down against him, nestling 
her face against the hard muscle of his chest, her knee 
brushing against his hip. "Good."

He slipped his arms around her and brushed a kiss against the 
crown of her head.

"Next time it's my turn," she breathed, and he laughed.