My mind is a chaotic whirlwind of thought and emotion. On the one hand, I can't believe I'm sitting in the back of a car, enjoying an evening with Carter freaking Bishop. On the other hand, I'm appalled that I'm sitting in the back of a car, enjoying an evening with Carter freaking Bishop.

He seems sincere about wanting to earn my trust and repair the damage from ten years ago. He seems sincere about wanting to be with me again. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a little bit of a thrill when he said – more than a few times – that I was his. That I belonged to him.

There was a time when I wanted nothing more than to be his. To have him lay his claim to me. Possess me. Mostly because I knew it was a two-way street.

But, that was a long time ago. A lot has happened over the last decade and so much has changed. Can we really just pick up where we'd left off? Could I carry on like nothing ever happened? More importantly, do I want to?

Carter's changed a lot over the last ten years. He dresses a lot nicer. He obviously has a lot more money. He's a lot stronger today than he was back then. He no longer tries to hide his intelligence or forces himself to talk like an uneducated street kid. He's a lot more comfortable in his skin than he was back then.

Yet, some things haven't changed. Not one bit. He's still fiery and has a take-no-shit attitude. That attitude seems even stronger than before. Maybe the fact that he presides over such a vast financial empire, and has more money than anything, has only fostered that feeling in him.

He still makes me laugh like he always did, though. His irreverent sense of humor hasn't changed a bit. He still challenges me intellectually – a rarity among the men I've dated. He pushes me. And, he's sexy as hell.

The fact remains, however, that he'd devastated me. He'd taken my young, fragile heart, and set it ablaze. And I don't know if I can ever move past that. A small part of me thinks I can. Another part of me says otherwise.

“Where are we going now?” I ask.

“You'll see.”

As the car winds through the crowded city streets, my curiosity only deepens. We're heading into Brooklyn for some odd reason. After another twenty minutes or so, the car pulls to a stop at a curb in front of a small building. His driver opens the door and we slide out. Carter says a few words to the driver and then offers his arm to me. I take it, looking at the neighborhood around us.

Big chunks of Brooklyn are being redeveloped as the hipsters move in, start nesting, and take over.

The evening is cool, which is nice. One too many mojitos left my skin feeling a little warm by the time we left the restaurant, but as we step out of the vehicle, I feel the chill, and pull my cardigan around me a little tighter.

“You know, what I said at the gala was true,” Carter says. “About you being the one to open my eyes to everything, and teaching me to really see and appreciate art.”

“Yeah?” I ask.

He nods. “I meant every word I said.”

“That's sweet, Carter.”

“You've enriched my life in more ways than I can even begin to list,” he goes on. “It sounds trite, but you broadened my perspective in so many different ways, Darby. And there isn't a single day over the last decade that I didn't wish I could reach out and tell you that.”

“I think you give me too much credit.”

He shakes his head. “Actually, I don't think I give you enough,” he says. “Nobody has had a bigger influence or impact on my life – and on me personally – as you. Well, you and Pops, but for entirely different reasons, obviously.”

I don't know what to say, but without thinking, I lay my head on his shoulder as we stroll. There is a sudden warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the mojitos from dinner. No, this warmth is something else entirely. It's something I know well. And something I know I should be terrified of, but for some reason, I’m not scared. Not at the moment, at least.

No, at the moment, I'm enjoying being with Carter. Somehow, everything just feels… right. I want to hang on to this feeling as long as I can.

“Here we are,” he says.

I lift my head and look at the building standing before us. I slide my eyes over at Carter, feeling a smile spreading across my face.

“I stumbled onto this place a while back and make a point of stopping by now and then,” Carter says. “There are some interesting pieces in there, but I think, walking around in there and taking it all in, somehow made me feel closer to you, like I was still connected to you. It sounds silly to say out loud, but it's true.”

“It doesn't sound all that silly to me. It’s sweet, actually,” I say. “I've heard of this place. I haven’t had the time to check it out yet. I've always meant to.”

“Well, no time like the present.”

Carter escorts me to the door of Morton's Gallery of Modern Urban Art, and holds it open for me. He follows me inside and lets the door swing shut behind us. The inside of the gallery is neat and clean, every exhibit perfectly lit, and the variety of work is utterly amazing.

“Carter,” comes a deep, booming voice. Good to see you, brotha.”

“Harold,” Carter replies. “Good to see you too, man.”

Carter turns and smiles, pulling a large, black man into a tight embrace. They pound on each other's backs like men do when they hug – as if that somehow makes it manlier and more acceptable or something. Carter isn't a small guy, but Harold practically dwarfs him. Six-foot-six and easily three hundred and fifty pounds – pretty much all muscle, from what I can tell. Harold’s hair is dark and shot through with gray, and he wears black-rimmed glasses, and a neatly-trimmed goatee.

Carter steps back and motions to me. “Darby, this is Harold Allen,” he says. “He owns the gallery.”

“Very nice to meet you, Harold,” I say.

I hold out my hand and Harold takes it. My hand looks like the hand of a newborn infant in his giant paw, but his touch is surprisingly light and gentle.

“Nice to meet you as well, Darby.”

“Harold here used to play pro football,” Carter says. “He was a tight end with the Eagles for about a thousand years.”

“Seven years,” he says. “I'm not Methuselah, kid.”

Harold's laugh is good natured and infectious, and I find myself smiling.

“I – I'm sorry,” I say. “I don't watch much football.”

“That's okay, sweetheart,” he says. “The team I was on aren’t worth watching anyway.”

“From pro football to urban art?” I ask. “That seems like quite a radical change.”

He shrugs. “I've always enjoyed art,” he says. “Got a scholarship to play football, and a degree in art history from the very outstanding University of Michigan.”

“Wow,” I remark. “That's amazing.”

“Anyway, nice to see you both,” Harold says. “Please, take a look around and let me know if you have any questions.”

“Thanks, man,” Carter says.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Of course.”

Harold gives us a smile and walks away, his massive frame disappearing among the displays. Carter puts his hand on the small of my back and starts to guide me through the gallery.

“What turned you on to this place?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You did.”

“Me? How so?”

“The first couple of times we went out, you took me to look at street art, you called it. Do you remember that?” he asks. “At the time I remember saying it was just graffiti, and you – changed my mind about it. You opened my eyes. To that, and a lot of other things.”

I laugh. “Wow. And here I thought you were just humoring me by going along.”

He shakes his head. “If I'm being honest, I thought I was too. At first, anyway,” he says. “But, seeing those murals and whatnot through your eyes, having you talk to me about them, hearing you share your perspective – it really got to me.”

I look at him, stunned by his revelation. I really thought he was just humoring me back then. But I can see by the way he’s looking at some of the pieces that he has a genuine appreciation for them. It makes me happy.

“I mean, don't get me wrong,” he says. “I'll never know as much about art as you do. I'm sure you forget more every day than I'll ever know. But, there are some pieces I've seen – and collected – that really speak to me. And I seem to recall you saying something about that – about good art being able to resonate with you.”

“I never thought I'd hear anything like that fall out of your mouth, to be honest,” I say.

He laughs and gives me a sly wink. “Yeah, it surprised the hell out of me too,” he admitted. “But, it really speaks to the impact you had on me, and my life, Darby. And maybe, that tells you a little more about why I'm not willing to give it up again, now that I have a second chance.”

“Very smooth,” I say.

“Just the truth.”

I punch him in the arm playfully and we continue through the gallery. I'm more focused on the paintings and sculptures than anything else.

We stroll around the gallery for close to an hour, examining all the pieces on display. There are some beautiful, evocative pieces that I take pictures of to save for later. We say goodbye to Harold, but as we go to the door, Carter stops me.

“Hang on, I forgot that I needed to talk to Harold about something.”

I nod. “Oh, okay.”

He steps away, walking over to speak to Harold. Their voices are low, and I can't make out what they're saying, but the big man starts to laugh and claps Carter on the shoulder. A moment later, he rejoins me at the door and we step back out into the night.

Arm in arm, we walk back down toward where Roger is waiting with the car.

“Thank you,” I say. “That was really amazing.”

I give him a smile and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. As we slip into the back seat, and Roger closes the door, Carter turns to me, a look of earnestness in his face.

“Will you come home with me?” he asks.

Everything in my brain screams no. That I should pump the brakes, and stop before the train runs straight off the tracks. I know I shouldn't even be entertaining the idea, since we're still so early in – whatever this is. I still honestly don't even know if I'm going to give him a second chance. I only came tonight to stop him from stop hanging around my classroom. So, I open my mouth to tell him so.

“Yes.”

My eyes widen, and my mouth falls open when I hear the word that just passed my lips. Maybe, it was the mojitos. Maybe, it was getting wrapped up in all of my old, leftover feelings from a decade ago.

More than likely, it's a combination of all those things, and probably more, but when I look into Carter's eyes, I realize I want him more than anything else. The warmth that has been spreading inside of me all night, has finally consumed me, throwing all logical, rational thought out the window.

In that moment, I have to feel him inside of me again.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Wow,” I say. “You've certainly come a long way from Hell's Kitchen.”

I stand before the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the twinkling lights of Midtown Manhattan spread out below. The view I have from my own place in the Upper East Side – the condo I inherited after my aunt and uncle passed – is nice. This, however, is something else.

The lights in Carter's condo are dim. Candles burn on the mantel above the oversized fireplace, and on some of the small tables scattered around the main room, while soft jazz music plays from a hidden sound system. There is a sunken living room behind me. A massive fireplace takes up one wall, and two couches face each other, with a heavy glass table sitting between them.

His place is beautiful and very tastefully decorated, with simple, subtle furnishings. Beautiful works of art adorn the walls, and although it's obvious Carter has money, nothing about his place flaunts that fact. It's actually rather – restrained. Understated.

Some folks with a lot of money feel the need to flaunt it. To let everybody who steps through their doors know that they’re wealthy.

My aunt and uncle were that way, and after they passed, I had most of the stuff either boxed up and stored, or outright sold. I had no use for it, and didn’t want to become one of those stereotypes.

In the reflection off the windows, I see him approaching me from behind. My body tenses and I feel a ripple of anticipation pass through me when he slips his hands around my waist. When he presses his lips to my neck, kissing his way from my ear to my collarbone, I let out a soft moan as currents of pleasure roll through me. I raise my arm and run my hands through his hair as his tongue traces my skin.

“I've dreamed about this for ten years,” he says softly.

Gripping my waist a little tighter, he pulls me against him and I feel the length of his erection pressing against me. Heat blossoms between my thighs and I feel myself growing impossibly wet.

The truth of the matter is, for the last ten years, I've dreamed of this too. Even though I've been with other men, none have ever compared. And although it might be terrible to admit, I've even closed my eyes and fantasized about Carter when I was with a few of them.

So yeah, I know all about what it's like to dream and fantasize about something for years. You might even say I'm something of an expert on the topic.

Sliding my hand down, I grip his cock through his slacks as he continues to kiss my neck. He stops me though, grabbing my wrist and pulling it away from him.

Turning me around, he presses his mouth to mine and kisses me. His tongue slips between my lips and dances with my own, nearly stealing the breath right out of me. Our kiss grows in intensity and passion as he picks me up. I wrap my arms around the back of his neck and my legs around his waist and he carries me down the three steps into the sunken living room.

Gently laying me down on the couch, he hovers over me for a moment. The glow from the fireplace dances and flickers upon him, making his eyes sparkle like jewels. He kisses me again and slides down my body, a mischievous smile on his face. Pulling me to the edge of his deep, oversized couch, I shudder as he parts my thighs. His eyes never leaving mine, he slides his hands up my legs, the feel of his fingertips on my flesh sending lightning bolts of pleasure racing through me.

I let out a choked gasp when he touches me through my panties. He slides them down my legs and tosses them aside, his gaze never leaving mine. Pushing my dress up around my waist, he lowers his face, and I cry out, feeling like a explosion of pleasure has gone off the moment he buries his tongue deep inside of me.

“Mm, yes, Carter,” I cry.

He licks and sucks on me, seeming to savor every last taste. I grind myself against him, the waves of pleasure growing stronger, rocking me harder as his tongue explores my innermost depths. I arch my back and cry out, my hand gripping the back of his head tightly, urging him to keep going.

When he takes my clit into his mouth, sucking and nipping on it at the same time he buries two fingers deep into me, my eyes snap open and a loud, stuttering moan escapes my throat. The pressure inside of me is building and my body starts to tremble as he works me over like he has something to prove. Or maybe, just lost time to make up for.

“C – Carter, I'm going to...”

I can't finish my statement, as my body seizes up. My voice trails off as I moan, grinding myself against his mouth, unable to get enough of him.

“Come for me, Darby,” he says, his breath warm, his deep voice vibrating against my most sensitive parts.

To emphasize his desire, he sucks on my clit harder, pushing me over the edge, and down into the crashing waves of sheer ecstasy. I feel like I've lost control of my body as my orgasm ravages me. Carter slips his tongue back into me, tasting me, savoring every last drop, as my climax rolls through me.

“I need you, Carter,” I gasp. “I need you inside of me.”

Carter raises his face. I've never seen a sexier sight in my life. He stands up and pulls me into a sitting position. Standing before me, he keeps his gaze locked onto mine as he slowly and methodically takes off his tie and drops it on the couch. Next, he unbuttons his shirt with the same frustratingly slow pace.

My want and need driving me forward, I'm unable to contain myself, and I reach for his pants. Grabbing hold of his belt, I quickly undo it, only to have him grab both of my wrists in one of his large, strong hands, and pull them away. I look up at him, confusion and lust turning my head into a maelstrom of chaos.

“Patience,” he says, his voice low and husky.

His eyes sparkle dazzlingly, and my head starts to spin. I feel like I'm under his spell, unable to think, unable to act – only able to do as he says.

Carter drops his shirt on the floor beside him, giving me my first look at his body, and I feel myself grow even wetter. His arms, shoulders, and torso are all corded with muscle.

Biting my bottom lip, desire driving me half out of my mind, I slide my hands across his taut stomach and up to his hard pecs, reveling in how it feels beneath my fingers.

I feel his hands in my hair and he takes a handful of it, gripping it hard, and pulls my head back. I look up at him as he leans down and presses his mouth to me. His kiss is strong, forceful, and full of desire. Keeping hold of my hair, Carter kicks off his shoes, unbuttons his pants, and lets them fall to the floor. His erection is straining against his boxers and I reach for it, only to have him push my hands away once more.

“Patience,” he repeats.

Letting go of my hair for a moment, he pushes his boxers down and kicks them off as well, standing before me entirely exposed. His cock is long and hard – and every bit as beautiful as I remember it. I shudder as I recall how incredible it felt deep inside of me, almost climaxing on the spot as pleasant memories fill my mind.

Carter steps forward, the head of his glorious cock drawing ever nearer. My eyes never leaving his, I part my lips and allow him to slide it into my mouth. As I tighten my lips around that hard, thick shaft, and start to swirl my tongue around the head of it, Carter's eyes flutter and he lets out a soft gasp.

I work my mouth up and down on his cock a little harder, a little faster, and Carter groans softly.

Carter's breath catches in his throat and he softly moans my name as I feel his body tensing beneath me, and his breathing grow heavier, thicker. He steps back, pulling his cock out of my mouth. I look up, a wicked grin on my face.

“I'm not ready for this to be over yet,” he says.

“Good,” I reply. “I'm not either.”

“Be right back,” he says, his voice thick.

Without a word, he turns and hurries up the steps, leaving me sitting alone on the couch. He returns a moment later, a condom in his hand and that familiar, roguish smile back on his face.

“Stand up,” he says.

I get to my feet as he steps behind me. Carter places a soft, sensual kiss on the back of my neck as he slides the zipper on my dress down. He pushes it off my shoulders and lets it fall to the ground, gently kissing my shoulders as his hands roam my body. The feeling of his hands on my body sets me aflame, my every nerve ending quivering with desire.

His eyes riveted to my body, Carter walks around me, drinking in every inch of me. The look on his face is one of pure rapture, the fires of desire in his eyes burning even brighter. Hotter. I feel a soft quiver roll through me as he gazes at me like I'm the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

“My God,” he whispers. “I've almost forgotten just how beautiful you are. You are absolute perfection, Darby.”

The heat rushes into my cheeks, and I'm suddenly glad for the dim lighting in the room so he can't see the unnatural shade of red I know I’m turning.

“Stop,” I say softly.

He lifts my chin so that our gazes are firmly locked, and I see the conviction in his eyes. I can feel his sincerity, and open affection.

“You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Darby,” he says. “Always have been, always will be. You are perfect in my eyes.”

A warm glow fills my body. I've received plenty of compliments in my lifetime, sure, but I've always found a way to mitigate them or brush them off entirely. But, the way Carter speaks, with such passion and firm resolve – it means more to me than every other compliment I've received in my life combined. It fills me with a happiness and a joy that's been missing from my life for so long – so long, I'd forgotten it was even missing in the first place.

Carter leans forward and kisses me again, soft and gentle at first, but it quickly grows in firmness, and intensity. He pulls back and hands me the condom.

“Put this on me,” he says, his voice hard, and commanding.

I tear open the package and drop it to the floor, placing the condom against the tip of his cock. Squeezing him tight, I unroll it, sliding it down the length of him, the soft moan passing his lips telling me he's enjoying the sensation as much as I am.

Carter softly pushes me back down onto the couch, and I spread my thighs for him as he climbs on top of me. He braces himself on his thick, strong arms, his face hovering above mine, the head of his cock pressing against the warm, wet center of me. My body aches to feel him inside of me, to have him driving that thick shaft into me over and over again. I lift my hips, trying to slip him into me, but he pulls himself back.

“I need you, Carter,” I gasp. “Please, I've wanted this for so long.”

He grabs hold of my hands and pins them to the couch above my head. I struggle to break free from his grasp, but he tightens his grip, holding me down even tighter. He looks at me, a slow grin tugging one corner of his mouth upward.

I open my mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a long groan as he thrusts his hips, and I’m suddenly filled with his long, thick cock. Fully sheathed inside of me, he pauses for a moment to let our bodies adjust to being with one another again after so long. I'm a small woman and Carter is easily the largest man I've ever been with. His cock stretches me open and fills me up in ways I'm not used to, that set my whole body on fire.

He kisses me hard, and starts to move his hips, moving his dick inside of me with purpose. He's so large, a pinch of pain blends with the initial rush of pleasure, jolting my body. His tempo is slow at first. Sensual. But, he quickly begins to pick up steam, driving his cock into me with more force.

The sound of our bodies slapping together, as well as our cries of ecstasy, echo around the room, somehow blending seamlessly with the soft jazz that's playing in the background, creating an erotic soundtrack. Carter groans low as he thrusts into me relentlessly, and I call out his name, the rush of pain-tinged pleasure overwhelming me.

“Carter, God, yes,” I stutter and gasp.

I writhe and thrash beneath him, trying to break free of his grasp. I want to touch him. To feel his skin beneath my hands as he fucks me, but he holds me tight.

I feel the warmth spreading out inside of me as the pressure builds higher and higher, driving me toward another orgasm. Carter surprises me by pulling out and standing up, and I'm left with an aching need between my legs. A need I'm desperate to have satisfied.

He grins at me as he pulls me to my feet and turns me around. I feel his hands on my back as he forces me down, bending me over the arm of the couch. He grabs my hands again and pins them behind my back.

I cry out as he drives his cock into me once more. I pull at his hands, but he keeps me bent over, hands behind my back, as he slams into me.

My entire body vibrates with feeling and a manic energy, and my every nerve ending feels like it's on fire.

Pushing myself back against him, my eyes open wide as he slips even deeper into me. I hear his breath catch in his throat and a low grunt pass his lips.

“Darby,” he gaps. “Fuck, baby.”

My breathing is so ragged, I fear I might hyperventilate, but I don't want him to stop. I don't want these sensations to end. Ever.

Carter drives himself deep inside me one last time before I feel his cock pulsing inside of me and a moment later, he exhales a loud groan. I feel him throbbing as my own orgasm comes crashing down over me.

I call out his name as waves of continuous pleasure batter me like a shoreline during a hurricane. The sensations are so intense, I feel like I can't breathe for a moment.

Our bodies still linked together, reveling in the warm glow that surrounds us. Eventually, our orgasms subside and we're both left feeling spent and satiated. Carter collapses down onto the couch, laying on his back, and pulls me onto it beside him. I lay my head down on his chest, tracing circles on his taut stomach with my fingertips. He places a soft kiss on the top of my head.

“I've missed you, Darby,” he murmurs.

“I've missed you too,” I say softly.

“You're mine, you know,” he mutters dreamily, though I hear the firm conviction in his voice. “And I'm yours. This is how it’s supposed to be.”

Slowly, the darkness of sleep creeps in at the edges of my vision. I feel exhausted. Worn out. But, in a good way.

It's not long before I close my eyes, and let the darkness pull me under.

My heart lurches when I wake up. I'm disoriented for a moment, and don't recognize my surroundings. A small panic starts to set in. The fire in the fireplace burns low and the clock on the mantle says it's nearly three in the morning. I turn and look around almost in a panic. At least, until I see Carter stretched out on the couch – still naked – his breathing deep and even. Then the panic morphs into something else entirely.

What have I done?

Slipping off the couch, I quickly find my dress and slip it on. I look around for my panties but can't seem to find them anywhere. Screw it. I don't need them. In fact, I think they're forbidden on the walk of shame I'm about to make. That's a thing, right?

“Where are you going?”

A lance of fear pierces my heart as I turn around and see Carter, propped up on one arm, looking at me. Even in the dying light of the fire, his eyes glitter like cold chips of diamond, yet they're still warm and inviting. I don't know how he manages to pull that one off, but he does it. And they're fixed on me, filling me with both an overwhelming sense of pleasure, and an equally horrifying sense of dread.

“Uh... I need to get home,” I say. “I have to be at school in the morning. Meetings, remember?”

“Can't you take the day off?”

I shake my head. “Not all of us have the luxury of being able to blow off the day.”

“You're loaded,” he says wryly. “You can afford it.”

I give him a grim chuckle. “Fine. Not all of us have the luxury of being able to blow off our responsibilities to live the life of a billionaire playboy.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh. “I forgot that you are a faithful and dutiful servant to your students.”

“Somebody has to be.”

“I'm seriously re-thinking the playboy lifestyle. I think I'm ready for something – more,” he says, a flirty grin touching his mouth.

My heart nearly falls into my shoes hearing him say those words. That feeling is only intensified by the look in his eye. He looks at me, and I see nothing but earnestness and sincerity. He means it. He actually means it. What in the hell have I gotten myself into? I'd let myself get caught up in the moment with him, and re-opened Pandora's fucking Box.

I warned myself a million times to be careful. Told myself not to get caught up, and not to give in. And certainly, not to fuck him. And yet, here we are anyway.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I have to go,” I say.

“Can I see you tonight?”

“I – uh – maybe,” I say, already knowing I'm not going to see him. “I'll call you.”

He chuckles softly. “Yeah, I've used that line before too.”

I find my shoes and slip them on as quickly as I can – a task that's not easy, given how hard my hands are trembling. I never heard him move, but the next thing I know, Carter is standing behind me, his body pressed to mine. I feel his warm breath on my neck, and it makes me want to lay back down with him. Snuggle and cuddle together like we used to.

But, no. I shouldn't even be here right now. And I definitely shouldn't have ever slept with him.

What the hell was I thinking?

He slowly and gently zips my dress up for me, then takes me by the shoulders and turns me around. His eyes are piercing, and the look on his face is a mix of emotions. He knows I'm getting ready to walk out the door with no plans of ever seeing him again, and he’s clinging to me like a man holding onto a life preserver in the middle of a storm on the ocean.

He doesn't want to let me go. He wants to hold onto this moment – and the moment we'd just shared.

“I should go,” I say.

“I'll have a car take you home.”

“I can take a cab,” I say, shaking my head.

“No, I'll call down for a car,” he says. “I won't have you taking a cab at this hour.”

“Fine,” I reply. “Thank you.”

He quickly makes the call, throws on his pants, and walks me to the elevator that will take me down to the garage with the waiting car. As the doors slide open with a soft chime, he looks into my eyes.

“I meant it, Darby. We’re meant to be together,” he says. “You're mine. I'm yours.”

He leans down and places a soft, chaste kiss upon my lips. I don't say anything as I step into the elevator, but my heart turns somersaults in my chest as I watch the doors close, shutting him out on the other side.

The elevator descends, and I let out a long breath. My mind and my heart are in a fierce battle over what I should do. Over what I've done. Of all the different ways I could have screwed up, I picked the worst one. As usual.

I really opened Pandora's Box by sleeping with him, and I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to close it again.

Even worse, I don't know that I want to.