I get off at my stop and make the two block walk home. When I walk in the apartment, Samuel has made dinner—pesto chicken, his specialty—and I grin at him. God, I missed him today. I note that he’s got two candles lit on the table and everything set out for us as he greets me with a glass of red wine and a kiss on the cheek.

“Hello, darling,” he says, his purring Irish accent making my knees weak as usual.

“I have a surprise for you,” I say, playing with his collar and smirking.

“I’ve found us a playdate.”

His eyebrows raise.

“You know her.”

“Do tell,” he purrs as I take a sip of my wine.

“It’s Carson. From the writing group,” I say, searching his face for a reaction. He’s guarding his emotions.

“She wants a playdate with us?” he asks, clearly surprised.

“With you,” I correct him and he looks at me curiously. “She’s a virgin, you see. And she wants to have good sex. Naturally, I thought of you.” He grins.

“Fuck. A virgin? Carson? Really?”

“I know, I said the same thing. But she’s just like I was … she suddenly looked around and realized she’s one of the only inexperienced women her age and … I just want to help her, Samuel,” I finish with a sigh.

He cups my face in his hand. “But you’d have to watch me with her. Can you do that?” he asks.

“I’ve thought about it. It will be fucking hard. But I think it will also be fucking hot. And I’ll fuck you afterwards to remind you that you’re mine.”

He licks his lips. “Mm, I am yours, always.”

I plant a kiss on his nose. “Then I’ll tell her it’s a deal. Now let’s eat. I’m starving.”

We eat and talk about our days—a work merger for him, a new client for me—and we clean up together when we’re finished. We make our way to the couch and sink into it, he on one end, I on the other. He picks up his guitar and plucks a few notes.

“Shall I play for you?” Samuel asks and the butterflies take flight in my stomach. I love when he plays for me.

“Yes,” I whisper, fighting the heat that’s already building between my legs. It turns me on like no other to watch him deftly finger the guitar strings.

He starts playing the first few notes of “Are You Lonesome Tonight,” and I melt. It really is a beautiful song and his tenor is lovely. I laugh when he gets to the spoken verse and starts doing his best Elvis impression. He can barely make it through before laughing at himself, too.

“Play our song,” I say when he finishes and silence resumes in the apartment.

He looks at me intensely and watches my face as he starts up “Simple Twist of Fate” by Bob Dylan.

I hold eye contact and sing quietly alongside him, no match to his beauty. We spend countless nights like this, talking, creating, living in the moment with one another and I stop singing for a moment to take in how wonderfully simple our life together is and how grateful I am to have met this man. He nears the end, it’s a sad song, really, and I grow melancholy for a moment, as I always do at the final verse. We are more than a simple twist of fate. Much more. It’s a strange song to be ours, but it was playing the first time we made love—not fucked. When I knew I wanted him forever.

He plays the last notes and I close the distance between us on the couch, I take hold of his guitar and lift it off of him, placing it gently on the floor next to us. Then I crawl into his arms and lay my head on his chest, supremely happy and content.

He pets my head. “Thank you for listening, darling.”

“I will always listen,” I assure him, leaning up to kiss him softly on the lips.

What starts off soft soon grows passionate. It’s always like that with us. We strip each other’s shirts off and become tangled limbs as we both try to kiss down each other’s necks and chests.

“Come on, the bedroom,” Samuel says darkly. He stands and holds out a hand to me. He leads us into our bedroom and waits for me to walk inside before pushing me down to the bed hard, but playfully, making me gasp.

“Mm, Master, are you hungry for me?” I tease, knowing exactly what I’m doing to him by using that word.

“You’d better be careful, my love. You know that awakens the animal within me,” he warns, his face serious, eyes full of desire.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” I taunt before laying back on the bed.