I’m lying awake in my bed, listening to Pearl’s breathing. I’ve been lying awake and listening to Pearl’s breathing for the better part of an hour now, not daring to move a muscle myself, watching the numbers on the glowing green clock in the middle of the room as they tick toward eleven-thirty.

For the thousandth time, I go over the plan. The map of the hotel is pretty much burned into my brain, and I think I’ve been over it enough times that I could draw it in my sleep.

Pearl snorts. I freeze, even though I already wasn’t moving, but then she rolls over and I exhale.

Eleven twenty.

Time to roll.

Cautiously, I get out of bed. Pearl doesn’t move, so I grab the tote bag that’s buried in the bottom of my suitcase and take it into the bathroom, pull out the clothes I brought, and put them on.

Skinny jeans. A tank top.

A thong, which I bought years ago when I was married to Lucas, then never wore. Before I pull my jeans up, I check it out in the mirror: black and lacy, a total one-eighty from anything Gabriel’s ever seen me wear before.

The thought makes me nervous, like maybe I’m being too aggressive and forward, but then I roll my eyes at myself.

You show up at his apartment every night and practically jump his bones, I think. Don’t worry about a thong.

I stash the bag back in my suitcase, flicking off the bathroom light. Pearl’s still asleep, her form one long lump in the bed. I take the keycard from the dresser, pocket it, and then say a quick prayer.

God, I’m sorry that I’m about to do some stuff that you may or may not approve of, I’m not really sure any more, I think. But please don’t let me get caught.

Then I’m out the door, power walking down the hall.

Just as I reach the elevators, I hear a door behind me open and my heart leaps into my throat but I sprint the final two steps to the stairwell and shove the door open, pushing it closed myself. The click echoes in the concrete space, and then there’s silence.

I can’t hear anyone walking down the hall. I can’t hear anything.

Before I lose my nerve, I’m racing down three flights the of stairs. I take a deep breath and open the door at the bottom, silently praying that there are no surprises behind it.

There’s a blank hallway. My skin prickles with relief, and I turn right, down the hall and around to the left. I walk past the bar quickly, hoping that there are no security guys getting a late-night beer, and then I’m pushing open the door to the pool, the warm, humid night air embracing me.

It’s technically closed, but there’s one woman in a black bathing suit slowly doing the backstroke, lit from underneath as the water and lights ripple around her. I shove my hands in my pockets and keep walking, so nervous and electrified that I don’t think I can slow down.

I round the corner, and then, there he is, in jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up past the elbows, grinning like he’s just won the lottery.

When I walk up, Gabriel pulls me into a short hallway that leads to the bathrooms. He doesn’t say anything, just takes my face in his hands and kisses me, slow and hard, mouths open. I trail one hand down his chest and he finds the small of my back with his fingers, pressing me into him before he grabs my ass.

“You should wear tight pants more often,” he teases.

“I’ll make a note of that,” I tease right back.

His other hand drifts down and cups my ass as well, squeezing slightly, and I laugh.

“You never did tell me why women can’t wear pants,” he says. “Is this it?”

“I’m sure it’s one of the reasons,” I say. “But it’s not the reason.”

My butt gets one final squeeze, and the Gabriel takes my hand. We leave the hallway and walk out of the pool area, into a small, dark alley. I’d be nervous if it weren’t for him.

“What’s the reason?” he asks.

“Because the seam where the legs meet rubs against the crotch and might excite the passions,” I say.

Gabriel looks down at me, and we walk out onto the sidewalk of downtown Charleston. Even though it’s a little late, it’s still busy.

“No one’s ever said that,” he says, disbelief in his voice, and I just laugh.

“You know why Kyle keeps bringing me daisies?” I ask as we keep walking.

“I assumed they were the cheapest flower he could find at the Gas ’N’ Go, or wherever he buys those things,” Gabriel says.

“They’re one of the few church-approved flowers,” I say. “Since the petals go out and not up. Most other flowers look too much like the feminine parts.”

Gabriel’s quiet for a moment. We pass a bar that’s full of people, spilling out onto the sidewalk, and for once, nobody looks at me weird.

I’d fit in at a bar, I think.

It’s like I’m a normal woman on a normal date with a normal guy. Doing normal stuff.

“I can almost see the point about flowers,” Gabriel muses. “Who’s that famous lesbian painter who painted all those close-ups of — what’s funny?”

I’m laughing softly.

“This is normal,” I say. “We’re just two people on a date. We’re holding hands. No one is gonna tell us about Satan.”

“Probably. We’re still in South Carolina.”

“Probably no one is gonna tell us about Satan,” I say. “It’s just...”

He squeezes my hand.

“I haven’t done this before,” I say, shrugging. “And it’s nice.”

Gabriel brings my hand to his lips and kisses it.

“And I thought I’d feel guiltier,” I admit. “When I kissed a boy for the first time I felt awful for months, and I cried and prayed and everything, but now I... don’t.”

“Well, it’s good to hear you don’t feel terrible about this,” he says dryly. “For the record, I don’t feel guilty about two consenting adults enjoying each other’s company either.”

“You make it sound so uncomplicated,” I tease. “It’s like you haven’t even factored hellfire into the equation.”

We walk a couple more blocks through downtown Charleston until Gabriel leads me to a bar. From inside I can hear a live band, something thumpy and down-home with a banjo, and there’s a bouncer who checks our IDs.

He barely glances at Gabriel’s, but when I hand over my driver’s license — yes, it’s a miracle, but I really do have one — he frowns at it for a couple of seconds, shining his flashlight on it from a couple different angles, like he’s expecting something to pop out of it.

Then he looks at me, squinting a little.

Do I tell him that’s my real ID? Does that just make me seem suspicious?

I mean, it’s really my ID.

Is he somehow working for my father?

Just as I’m about to really starting panicking, the guy nods and hands my license back. I heave a sigh of relief, and Gabriel leans over my shoulder, looking at it as we walk into the bar.

And he grins.

“How old is that photo?” he asks.

I go to shove it back into my wallet but he reaches over my shoulder and snags it from my fingers, still grinning.

“I don’t know,” I say defensively. “A couple of years? I know it’s not a great picture.”

“I think you were hypnotized into taking it,” he says as we walk toward a small booth along the wall. He’s holding my license just out of my reach, and even though I’m not about to make a big fuss in public, I’d really like it back.

“Okay, now you’re just being mean,” I tease as we slide into a round booth. “Give me that back.”

“You’re cute when you’re hypnotized.”

“I wasn’t hypnotized, just at the DMV!”

“Or maybe you’re on the really good drugs in this picture.”

I make a grab for my license, but he avoids me smoothly, hovering it just out of my reach. Now I’m giggling, and I cross my legs and smooth my shirt down, trying to pretend that we’re not flirting like middle schoolers.

He shows me my license, still grinning, and I’m finally forced to look at my own seven-year-old picture.

He kinda has a point, because my mouth is smiling but I’m wide-eyed, like something really amazing and mind-blowing is happening behind the camera. Also, I think I was eighteen or nineteen when the picture was taken, so I’m younger, my face a little rounder.

“No one looks good in their DMV photo,” I say, finally grabbing it back. “Let’s see yours.”

“I don’t think so.”

“That bad, huh?”

Now he’s laughing too, and he puts one arm around me.

“It’s just such a good picture that I don’t want you to feel worse about yours.”

“Let me see it.”

“Nope.”

“Gabriel.”

“Can I get you two some drinks?”

A man with a beard, suspenders, and a flannel shirt has appeared at our table. I sit up straighter, slightly embarrassed, and order an Old Fashioned while Gabriel gets straight whiskey. When the waiter’s gone, I turn back to him.

“Come on.”

“You’re looking at my face now, why do you need a picture?”

I bite my lip, tilt my head, and consider my options. Gabriel’s still grinning as he watches me, one arm slung around my shoulders, relaxed and sexy as hell and confident that his driver’s license photo is completely safe in his pocket.

So I make a grab for it.

“Hey!” he says, and gets my wrist in his hand. I squirm, laughing, but he doesn’t let up as we struggle quietly in the booth, trying not to make more noise than we already are.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re obviously hiding a terrible secret,” I say, trying to get my hand free.

“I’m trying to have a nice time on a date,” he teases.

I squirm again, and my hand bumps against a lump in his jeans.

“Seems like you are having a nice time,” I murmur.

A few other patrons glance our way quickly, because we’re being that couple.

“So don’t ruin it by looking at my license picture,” he says, keeping his voice low and close to my ear.

“That bad?”

He shrugs, my wrist still in his hand. Part of me wants to give it up and just make out until our drinks come, but a bigger part of me doesn’t want to let him win.

So I reach my other hand to the very top of his waistband, swiping a single finger softly across his hipbone.

Gabriel gasps and sits upright as I hit his ticklish spot, and he unhands me just enough that I squirm loose, get into his pocket, and pull out his wallet.

In a flash, I’ve got his license out and I’m holding it in front of myself, studying it in the low light.

Next to me, Gabriel sighs dramatically.

“This looks like a mug shot,” I say.

It’s a bad picture. The lighting is awful, he’s washed out, he’s got stubble and an ugly haircut, and he’s glaring at the camera like it just killed his dog.

“What do you know about mug shots?”

“I’m trying to decide what your crime was,” I go on, teasing him. “Aggressive loitering? Skulking in an alley?”

“You know neither of those things are actually crimes, right?” he asks, but he’s grinning.

The waiter comes back and sets two drinks in front of us. Gabriel and I clink our glasses together and drink, though I’m keeping his license out of his reach.

“I’m just saying, in this photo, you’re a teardrop tattoo away from murder one and life in the pokey,” I tell him.

“The pokey?” he asks, laughing.

“It’s a slang word for—”

“I know what it means,” he teases. “But I’ve never heard anyone use it outside of old gangster movies.”

“You can make fun of me all you want, but you’re not gonna change this picture.”

He grabs for it again, and this time I let him get it. By now I’m halfway on his lap, and I’m pretty sure we’re making a scene, tickle-fighting in a bar, but I’m also pretty sure that I’m never going to see any of the other bar patrons again and I’m having such a good time that I couldn’t care less.

“There, now we’re even,” he says, shoving it back into his wallet. “I told you your picture was cute and you told me I look like a murderer.”

“You said I look hypnotized.”

“I said you looked cute hypnotized,” he says, his eyes dancing.

“And I said you almost looked like a murderer,” I tease right back.

“Can we just agree to never look at driver’s license photos again?” he asks. “Maybe enjoy our first date?”

I laugh and settle back against his arm, taking another swig of my drink. Gabriel kisses the side of my head, and a whole pile of warm fuzzies settle in my stomach.

We talk about country music. We talk about whether banjos are making a comeback and whether the washboard has a future as a musical instrument; whether The Charleston, the dance, was named after Charleston, the city; why Spanish moss is called Spanish moss when it’s neither Spanish nor moss.

I get another drink, and finish it, and then I get another one. Gabriel and I sit in the booth until it’s almost one in the morning, drinking and talking about nothing at all, while the bar gets more and more crowded.

I’m drunk, because I’ve had three drinks in two hours. Gabriel’s arm is around my waist, his hand protectively on my hip, and I’m quizzing him about the Vice President’s family, who he worked for.

“One of them must have done something weird!” I say, my face inches from his. “He must have had a crazy porn stash somewhere, or she had a trunk in a closet full of really trashy romance novels. Or there was a sex apparatus under their bed, or something.”

He laughs out loud and takes the last sip of his whiskey, setting the empty glass on the table in front of us, then settles his hand on my knee, which is slung over his leg.

“What would this sex apparatus look like?” he says, right into my ear.

I have no clue. I’m aware that that sort of thing exists, but God knows I’ve never seen one. Even the gay porn I used to catch Lucas watching was apparatus-free.

But I don’t let that stop me.

“It’s got, you know,” I start, leaning back against his shoulder. “Straps? To tie someone down with?”

“Sounds pretty sexy so far,” he teases.

“And handcuffs?”

“Also to tie someone down with?”

“And maybe a whip or something?”

“Is the whip attached to the apparatus, or is that separate?”

I stick out my tongue at Gabriel, and he grins.

“You describe the sex apparatus, then,” I say.

His hand on my leg moves, and I realize it’s not on my knee any more, it’s way higher. He leans in until his lips are almost on my ear.

“Well,” he says. “It’s about six-foot-three, brown hair, blue eyes, has the body of a god and the—”

“You know what I meant,” I tease, but the knot of heat that’s been in my stomach all night is starting to move downward.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, and his grin gets even wickeder. “Fully erect, it’s about —”

I turn bright red, yelp in alarm, and slap one hand over Gabriel’s mouth, a little harder than I meant to.

“Mmmph phhhmnes,” he finishes, his eyes lit up devilishly.

I look down. The apparatus in question is making itself known, and with all the whiskey coursing through my veins, I stare for way longer than I should in public.

Gabriel clears his throat, and I finally uncover his mouth.

“And it’s in great working condition,” he says, leaning closer. “Currently available for test drives.”

His hand rasps along the denim of my jeans right up against me, and a shiver zips down my spine even as I look around in alarm.

“Everyone’s drunk, no one’s watching us,” he says, pulling me in even closer. “I could get on my knees under this table and make you come twice before anyone noticed.”

I close my eyes quickly against the thought, but it doesn’t work. I’m pretty sure my panties are already soaked through.

“I think someone would probably —”

He silences me with his mouth, pressing it to mine, and I give up on talking as his tongue licks at my lower lip and then meets mine. His hand on my hip finds its way under my shirt, onto my back, pulling me in toward him as his fingers between my legs flick back and forth lazily.

I think I’m about two seconds away from letting him get under the table.

When he pulls back, I bite his lower lip softly, and slide one hand along the enormous bulge in his jeans.

“Ruby, we are in public,” he teases.

“This is your fault,” I say, nuzzling his nose with mine.

A few other bar patrons look at us and then away.

“You brought up the sex apparatus.”

“You got me drunk in the first place.”

We kiss again, lips and tongues tangling together, and I can’t help but move my hips slightly against his hand. When we pull back we’re both panting, and now a couple of people are staring.

I close my eyes in an attempt to regain some control.

“This probably isn’t a great place to do this,” I say, trying to modulate my voice so I sound as reasonable as possible. “Maybe we should head back.”

“Ruby,” he says, right in my ear. “We’re out alone together, we don’t know anyone here, and for once we’re out of reach of your family. I’m not going back to the hotel where they are.”

“Well, we can’t —”

He kisses me again. It’s a pretty effective way of ending an argument.

Then he grins at me, and it’s absolutely wicked, devilish, and if my panties weren’t already dripping wet now they are.

“Come on,” he says, and slides out of the booth, pulling me along after him.

Seconds after we leave, a group of people gets into the booth themselves, and Gabriel moves through the drunk, dancing crowd. Even though it’s crowded he never loosens his grip on my hand, checking back every few seconds to make sure I’m still there.

Finally, we reach a curtain on the other side of the room, and he swishes it open, holding it for me. There are a couple women in the short hallway, all looking at their phones as they wait for the bathroom, and they glance up as Gabriel and I walk past them, past both bathrooms, and to a door marked EXIT. He pushes it open and walks through, and suddenly we’re outdoors, behind the building at the end of a narrow, brick-lined walkway.

In front of us there’s a tiny courtyard surrounded by the ivy-covered walls of the surrounding buildings. The only thing in the courtyard is a single table and a chair with an ashtray on it. There are no lights out here except for the dim glow of faraway streetlights, and from one corner, the walkway snakes between the buildings and to the sidewalk out front.

Gabriel grins and pulls me closer, the familiar heat of his body intoxicating against the cool night air.

“Not what I was expecting, but I’ll take it,” he murmurs, kissing me hard. My insides are one tight, hot coil and I stand on my toes, throwing both my arms over his shoulders.

“Where did you think we were going?” I ask.

He pushes me backward until I’m against the table, and he lifts me up onto it, pulling my legs around him until the friction between us is almost overwhelming.

“I had no idea,” he admits, kissing me again. “Somewhere at least semi-private where I can do bad, bad things to you.”

I grab his belt and tug, sliding my other hand under his shirt and onto the thick, hard muscles of his back. His hardness is right up against me, and even through two layers of denim, I swear I can feel him throb.

“Why would you do bad things?” I tease, tipsily.

“Because you drive me right out of my fucking mind,” he growls. “Because I have no self-control around you, because you could say the word and make me do anything you wanted.”

He kisses my neck and then bites me, the tender skin between his teeth, and I try to hold back a moan.

“Because the bad things I do to you make you run your nails down my back while you chant my name, and I like looking at your claw marks in the morning,” he says, his voice rumbling against me, sending shivers along my skin.

Gabriel pauses for a moment, his lips against the hollow of my throat.

“And because I only feel right when I’m with you,” he says, his voice suddenly quiet. “Because when you’re here it’s like the world is in color and I didn’t even know it was black and white before. Fuck, Ruby, I think I’m drunk.”

“I like you drunk,” I say, and kiss him, mouth open. “I like you all the time.”

“So you like me when I make fun of your driver’s license photo?” he teases, his hands sliding down my body.

“Less, but yes,” I say, tightening my grip on his belt, the short fur of his treasure trail against my knuckles.

“You like me when I pull you into an alleyway and kiss you drunkenly?” he goes on.

He jerks at my jeans, unbuttoning them with one hand, yanking the zipper down, and pushes his hand inside.

“You like me when — fuck yes you do,” he says, his fingers sliding through my wetness and between my lips. “Jesus you like that, Ruby, you’re goddamn soaking wet right now.”

“You did promise you’d do bad things to me,” I say.

He slides his fingers inside me, already stroking my walls, the heel of his hand against my clit, and I inhale sharply.

“Only because they feel so good,” he says.

I pull at his belt and his mouth lands on mine, his hand still inside me. Before I know what I’m doing I’m unbuckling his belt, unzipping his jeans, and then his hard, thick shaft is in my hand and Gabriel is growling deep in his chest, one hand inside my jeans and the other making a fist in my hair.

I squeeze harder, stroking him, and he pulls my head back with my hair, pressing his lips hungrily to my throat. Everything spins and swirls for just a moment, and when it rights itself I’m biting my lip and trying not to moan.

“Tell me you want me,” he says.

“I want you,” I whisper.

“Tell me how you really want me,” he growls, his fingers curling inside me. “I know you do, but I want you to open your beautiful fucking mouth and talk dirty to me, Ruby.”

Shit. I have no idea how to talk dirty. But I’m also drunk and on a table while Gabriel’s got half his hand inside me, so there’s no time like the present to try.

“I want you right here and right now,” I say, closing my eyes so I can be braver. Despite the whiskey in my system, I can feel myself blush. “I mean, I want you inside me.”

“I am inside you,” he teases.

“I mean your cock,” I say quickly, blushing deeper.

I take a deep breath.

“I want you to bend me over this table and pull my hair and fuck me until I come really hard because every time I’m around you I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my own skin,” I say, the words coming in a rush. “And I can’t get enough of all the bad things you do to me or all the dirty things you say to me so please God don’t stop even if I have no idea what to say back.”

He’s already pulled his hand out and slid me off the table, his lips rough on mine, his hand sticky under my shirt.

“That was a pretty good start,” Gabriel says.

“And I really like feeling you come inside me,” I say quickly, my voice soft.

In a split second he’s whirled me around, my hips pressed against the table as he pulls my jeans down. For a moment, he pauses, and then one finger slides beneath the waistband of my thong and he snaps it against my skin before shoving it down, too.

My fingers curl against the ugly tabletop as I hear his belt buckle clank. Then there’s a hand on my hip and I lean forward, arching back, on my tiptoes, and there’s a voice in my head saying this is really immodest but I push it away, because I don’t care.

He teases my lips with his cock, sliding the head between them, higher until he’s almost at my clit, then back down, his hand holding my hips against the table so I can’t push back and take him. I moan and he finally nudges the head against my entrance, just barely sliding in, like he’s teasing me.

It lasts for a moment, his breathing rough and heavy, and then Gabriel takes my hair in his fist and slides into me all the way to the hilt, until his hips slap against mine. I grunt, my head pulled back, because I wanted it so bad and it feels so fucking good that I can’t even speak, just make noises.

“Every time I fuck you bare like this I think I’m gonna come in ten seconds flat,” he growls, his other hand on my waist.

My mind’s gone perfectly blank, and all I can do is reach behind myself and close my fingers in his hair, every single sensitive spot and pleasure point inside me are lit up and on fire, the flames already threatening to rage out of control.

We go slow at first, so slow it makes my toes curl as Gabriel’s cock hits all those spots again and again. Somehow, he always finds the exact perfect angle to turn me into a helpless, moaning puddle within three seconds and now he’s doing it again, fucking me slow and hard until all I can do is gasp for air and hang on.

It doesn’t take long. Even though he’s still pulling my hair, I arch back into him, taking him as deep and hard as I can with every stroke until it feels almost too good to bear. I think I’m whispering his name, over and over again, and I swear that right now there is nothing in the entire world except the two of us, ours bodies together, his lips against my ear, his cock inside me.

“Come,” he whispers into my ear, his voice rough. “I know you’re close, and Ruby, I want to feel you come now, with me inside you.”

I moan. Gabriel’s right: I’m there, on the edge.

He thrusts deep and hard one more time and then I’m over, falling, like I’m weightless and floating, every muscle in my body tensing and flexing at once. At some point, Gabriel claps a hand over my mouth and his other hand digs into my hip and then he growls my name into my ear and I can feel him explode inside me, jolt after jolt until it’s over.

My eyes are still closed, my head back against Gabriel’s shoulder, and I slowly remember where I am and what I’m doing here.

We should go back inside, I think, but I don’t mean it. I should go back to the hotel, make sure Pearl didn’t wake up, I should...

Gabriel wraps both arms around me and nuzzles my ear.

Fuck it, I think.