“Savoring the Burn”

Two weeks slipped by like a slow bleed, the calendar flipping into mid-April with no chance for Sebastian and Kate to steal away. Costco had him pinned—extra shifts stacking up, some new guy quitting, leaving him elbow-deep in ribeyes and pork loins ‘til his hands cramped. Kate’s hospital gig was no better—double shifts piling on, a flu wave hitting hard, her scrubs soaked with sweat and stress by the time she’d crash at home. No basement, no house, no quick tangle in the dark—not even a snatched hour. Their secret spot sat quiet, red lights off, mirrors blind, the swing still strung up from that Sunday, swaying faintly in memory.

But it didn’t chafe them. That last meet—fuck, it was a feast they were still chewing on. Her on her knees, taking him raw upstairs, then him flipping it, breaking her in the basement—cuffs, clamps, that tight, brutal anal finish—left a glow that didn’t fade. Sebastian could still taste her, feel her clenching around him, her entitled growl echoing in his skull when he’d drift off slicing meat. Kate carried it too—his hand on her throat, the flogger’s tease, his dick owning her ‘til she shattered—flashing through her mind mid-shift, a smirk tugging her lips as she stitched some guy’s arm. They didn’t need to rush it; that day had filled them up, kept the fire simmering low and steady, with no desperation clawing yet.

Home was good—better than good, even. Sebastian’s wife had that patio glow going strong. The chairs were set, the fire pit delivered mid-week, and last Saturday they’d lit it up—her roasting marshmallows, giggling like a kid, legs over his on the new cushions, the backyard humming with string lights he’d strung up. They’d fucked again that night—slow, tender, her hands soft on his back, no edge but plenty of warmth. He loved her, felt it deep, and it settled him—those embers flickering steady, no need to chase Kate’s blaze every damn day. Kate’s husband was on a roll too—after the steak-and-blindfold hit, he’d booked a weekend cabin trip. She’d texted Sebastian about it—lake views, a hot tub, him tying her up with some silk scarf he’d bought, playful but spicy. She’d come, laughed about it after, and it was solid—her marriage humming along, feeding her just enough.

They kept the thread alive, though—those texts, short and sharp, like little jolts to the gut. Tuesday, Sebastian had been on break, leaning against the loading dock, apron stiff with blood, when he’d tapped her name: “Still tasting you—Sunday’s stuck in my teeth.”

Her reply pinged fast: “Good—still feel you in my ass, you bastard. Keeps me grinning through these shifts.” He’d smirked, coffee going cold, dick twitching at the memory—no urgency, just a nod to what they’d built. Friday, she’d hit him first, mid-morning while he was hauling briskets: “Hubby’s got me spoiled—hot tub last night, scarf around my wrists. Not you-hot, but I’m good.”

He’d shot back: “Wife’s got the fire pit going—marshmallows and slow sex after. Soft, not us, but I’m full. You’re still my heart.” She’d sent a flame emoji, and that was it—enough to keep them tethered, no itch to claw through the gap.

They were okay with it—this stretch of quiet. The basement waited, sure, its leather and ropes calling softly in the back of their heads, but life was thick—shifts, spouses, the steady hum of their other halves—and that Sunday had been a hell of a battery, charging them through. Sebastian would catch himself grinning at the butcher counter, her cry in his ears; Kate would flush stitching a wound, his growl in her bones. They didn’t need to force it—not yet. The marriages fed them, warm and real, and those texts—dirty little sparks—kept the line taut, the promise of next time simmering low, no rush. For now, they coasted, split lives glowing in the gaps, that last fuse still flaring bright.

“The Unveiling”

It’d been three weeks since my last tangle with Kate—three weeks of stolen glances at work, cryptic texts, and the gnawing ache of her absence. Then, Tuesday night, my phone buzzed with her summons: “Friday, 9 PM—dungeon. Surprise waiting. Don’t flake, Seb.” No hints, just that spark of mischief in her words, igniting my imagination. I fired back, “Better be worth the wait—Edge is in.” She replied with a devil emoji, then nothing, leaving you restless through the week, counting hours ‘til Friday.

I spun the usual yarn for the wife—late shift at Costco, inventory bullshit—and grabbed my bag, the familiar weight of the wrench clinking inside. Stopped for gas and a cheap bouquet, something to toss on the counter later and keep the story tight. Parked a block from the house, boots hitting pavement as I crossed to the door, heart already hammering. Her car was there, upstairs dark, but a strange amber flicker danced through the basement blinds—not the usual red glow. Curiosity spiked. I unlocked the door, stepped in, and caught a whiff of something smoky, rich—incense, maybe, or candles. The stairs creaked underfoot as I descended, the air growing warmer, heavier, the flicker brightening into a golden haze.

The dungeon was unrecognizable. Black curtains draped the walls, swallowing the usual red velvet, and a dozen candles—fat, dripping pillars—cast trembling shadows across the floor. The cross and swing were gone, moved to the side and replaced by a low platform in the center, draped in dark silk, a single chain dangling from the ceiling above it. Kate stood there, not in her usual gear but something else—a long, sheer robe, black, clinging to her skin, her silhouette stark against the candlelight. Her hair was loose, wild, and her eyes locked on mine, gleaming with intent. “Took you long enough,” she said, voice low, a taunt laced with promise. “Ready for your surprise?”

I smirked, shedding my jacket, the heat of the room prickling my skin. “You’ve been busy—what’s the game this time?”

She stepped closer, barefoot, the robe parting just enough to tease what lay beneath—nothing but her, bare and deliberate. She reached out, trailing a finger down my chest, stopping at my belt. “Something new,” she murmured, then turned, beckoning me to the platform.

As I settled onto the silk-draped platform, the chain above me swaying slightly with my movement, Kate stood before me, her presence commanding the flickering candlelight. The sheer black robe clung to her like a shadow, hinting at the curves beneath. Then, with a slow, deliberate grace, she tilted her head, letting the fabric slip from one shoulder. The robe caught briefly on her elbow, a tease of delay, before sliding free. The other shoulder followed, and the garment cascaded down her body, pooling at her bare feet in a whisper of silk.

She stood there, naked, her skin glowing warm in the amber haze—but that wasn’t all. My breath hitched as my eyes traced upward, landing on her chest. Her breasts were bound, wrapped in an intricate web of ropes tied in the Shibari style, the Japanese art of bondage she’d never shown me before. The dark cords crisscrossed her flesh with precision, framing and lifting her breasts, making them appear even fuller, more plump than I'd ever seen. The binding was tight enough to press into her skin, creating a subtle bulge that accentuated their shape, the ropes a stark contrast to her softness. Each knot seemed purposeful, drawing my gaze to the way the tension highlighted her curves, turning her body into a living sculpture.

My eyes locked onto the intricate ropes binding Kate’s breasts, the dark cords weaving a hypnotic pattern across her skin in the candlelight. The Shibari was meticulous—each knot a deliberate stroke, lifting and framing her fullness, her flesh pressing slightly against the tension. My breath caught, a low heat coiling in my gut as I took her in—naked, vulnerable, yet radiating control in the way she’d presented herself.

Three weeks of pent-up want surged through me, sharpening my senses; the smoky air, the silk beneath me, her steady gaze—all of it hit like a match to dry tinder. “Shibari, huh?” I murmured, my voice rough and low, thick with hunger as I slid off the platform, closing the gap between us. My fingers hovered near the ropes, itching to touch, then traced the cords lightly, feeling their tautness and the warmth of her skin beneath. “When’d you pick this up?”

Kate’s lips curved into a sly smile, a glint of pride flickering in her eyes. “Been practicing,” she said, her tone teasing but soft, laced with mischief. “Thought I’d surprise you—give you something new to unwrap.” She shivered as my fingers brushed a knot near her nipple, her breath hitching, the sound stoking my arousal.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” I growled, my hand cupping her bound breast, testing its weight, the ropes amplifying every sensation as I squeezed gently. “Fuck, you look incredible.”

Her nipples stiffened under my touch, peeking through the web of cords, and I felt my cock twitch, straining against my jeans. Three weeks—too damn long. Kate leaned into me, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I wanted to offer myself like this—to show you how much I’ve missed you.” Her eyes flicked up to the chain dangling from the ceiling, then back to me, a silent invitation. “That’s for you to use, Seb. My wrists, maybe—or whatever you want. I’m yours tonight.”

My gaze darkened, possibilities flashing through my mind—her suspended, wrists bound, helpless under me; or tied to the platform, spread wide, those ropes framing her as I took her apart. I stepped behind her, hands roaming her back, tracing the Shibari’s path across her torso, the cords smooth under my palms. Pressing my body against hers, I let her feel my hardness through my clothes, my lips brushing her neck. “Missed you too,” I rasped, nipping her skin, drawing a soft moan. “Been dreaming of this—tearing you open again.” Her head tilted back against my shoulder, exposing her throat, and I kissed it harder, sucking a faint mark—nothing her husband would clock, but enough to claim her in the moment.

My hands slid to her front, cupping both bound breasts now, squeezing firmer, her gasps fueling me. The ropes made her hypersensitive, each touch rippling through her, and I savored it, drawing out her reactions with slow, deliberate pressure. After a moment, I pulled back, circling to face her, my voice firm. “On the platform—now.”

"Tangled Lessons"

Kate nodded at my firm command, a spark of anticipation in her eyes as she climbed onto the silk-draped platform and settled onto her back. The dark cords of her Shibari binding gleamed in the candlelight, framing her breasts with meticulous precision—a testament to her weeks of practice. Above her, the chain dangled from the ceiling, swaying slightly, and I grabbed it, my fingers flexing around the cold metal as I eyed the coil of soft black rope nearby. My mind buzzed with the image of her wrists bound overhead, her body stretched taut—but first, I wanted to try my hand at adding to her Shibari, inspired by the intricate web she’d woven across herself.

“Alright,” I said, voice rough with excitement as I scooped up the rope, letting it slide through my hands. “You’ve got a head start on this Shibari stuff. Let’s see if I can keep up.” I shot her a grin, cocky but warm, and stepped closer, the heat of her body drawing me in.

Kate arched a brow, her lips twitching into a teasing smirk. “Oh, you think you can just jump in and nail it? It’s not as easy as it looks, Seb.” She propped herself up on her elbows, watching me with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Go on, then—impress me.”

I chuckled, the challenge igniting a flicker of determination. “Watch me,” I muttered, though a tiny thread of doubt tugged at me. I tied knots before—basic stuff, nothing fancy—but this? The way the ropes crisscrossed her skin, each loop deliberate and tight, looked like a damn puzzle. Still, how hard could it be? I knelt beside her, the silk cool under my knees, and started unraveling the coil, trying to mimic the pattern around her torso.

At first, it went… okay. I looped the rope around her wrist, aiming to tie it to the chain overhead, but my fingers fumbled as I tried to twist it into something resembling her neat knots. The rope slipped, tangling around itself, and I cursed under my breath, yanking it back to start over.

Kate snickered, her shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. “Having fun down there?” she teased, her voice light and playful. “You’re supposed to tie me up, not yourself.”

“Give me a sec,” I grumbled, heat creeping up my neck—not just from arousal now, but from the growing realization that Shibari was way trickier than it looked. I managed a sloppy knot around her wrist, tugging it toward the chain, but as I pulled to tighten it, the rope snagged against her skin, dragging roughly over her forearm. Kate flinched, a sharp hiss escaping her lips, and I froze, eyes snapping to her. “Shit—did that hurt?” I asked, dropping the rope like it’d burned me. A faint red mark bloomed on her arm where the cord had nicked her—not a cut, just a scrape, but enough to make me wince.

“Fuck, Kate, I didn’t mean to—”

She waved it off, though her grimace softened into a crooked smile. “It’s fine, Seb. Just… stings a little. You’re not exactly a natural at this.” Her tone was dry, but her eyes danced with mirth, and she rubbed the spot absently, the brief discomfort already fading.

I groaned, running a hand through my hair as I sat back on my heels. “Yeah, no kidding. Thought I could just wing it—turns out I’m shit at this artsy rope stuff.” I glanced at the tangled mess of rope now draped across her lap, then at the perfect Shibari she’d done herself, and let out a low, self-deprecating laugh. “You make it look easy, you know that?”

Kate burst out laughing, the sound bright and infectious, cutting through the smoky air of the dungeon. “Because I practiced for weeks! You think I got this”—she gestured to the cords hugging her breasts—“on my first try? I nearly tied myself to my desk chair once.” She shifted closer, nudging me with her unbound hand. “Come on, let’s try again. You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

I smirked, the knot of frustration in my chest loosening at her encouragement. “Alright, bossy. But if I nick you again, you’re on your own.” I picked up the rope, this time moving slower, letting her guide me. She talked me through a simple loop around her other wrist, her voice patient but laced with giggles as I mangled the knot twice before getting it half-right. When I tugged it to test the tension, it slipped loose entirely, flopping onto the silk with a soft thud. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered, and Kate lost it, collapsing back onto the platform in a fit of laughter, her bound breasts jiggling with each breath.

I couldn’t help it—I cracked up too, the absurdity of it hitting me full force. Here we were, in a sex dungeon surrounded by candles and chains, and I couldn’t even tie a decent knot. “Okay, okay,” I said, catching my breath as I leaned over her, bracing my hands on either side of her head. “Shibari’s officially your thing."

My grin was wide, still tinged with self-mockery, but my eyes softened as I looked down at her—sprawled out, ropes tangled across her lap, her laughter lighting up the smoky air. The faint red mark on her forearm caught my gaze again, a tiny pang of guilt tugging at me, but her easy smile washed it away.

Kate wiped at her eyes, still giggling as she propped herself up on one elbow. “Oh, come on, Seb—you can’t just give up that fast. Where’s that stubborn streak I love?” She poked my chest with her unbound hand, her tone playful but edged with a challenge. “You’re not gonna let a little rope beat you, are you?”

I snorted, shifting to sit beside her on the silk, the platform creaking faintly under our weight. “Beat me? It’s kicking my ass, Kate. I’m a butcher, not a damn knot artist.” I picked up the offending coil of rope, twirling it in my hands before tossing it aside with a dramatic sigh. “You’re the pro here—I’m just the guy who nicked you trying to look cool.”

She smirked, nudging me with her shoulder. “Yeah, well, pros start somewhere. My first go at this was a disaster—tangled up so bad I had to cut myself free with kitchen scissors. Took me weeks to get it right.” Her fingers brushed the perfect Shibari binding across her chest, a quiet pride in the gesture. “You don’t have to be good at it yet—just don’t quit on me.”

I tilted my head, studying her—the way the candlelight danced over her skin, the ropes framing her like a masterpiece she’d crafted herself. She was right—I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, not with her egging me on like this. And damn if it didn’t stir something in me, the idea of fumbling through this together, turning our mess into something hot and deliberate. “Alright,” I said, voice dropping lower, a spark of resolve flickering in my chest. “You want me in on this Shibari game? I’m in.”

Kate’s eyes lit up, a grin spreading across her face. “Yeah? You mean it?”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning closer, my hand finding hers and squeezing it. “But I’m not doing it half-assed. We’ll learn it—together. You teach me, I’ll figure it out, and we’ll get good at this shit. No more nicking you, no more sloppy knots falling apart.” I smirked, brushing my thumb over the faint mark on her arm, my touch gentle now. “Promise you that. We’ll grow into it—make it ours.”

She laughed again, softer this time, the sound warm and intimate as she squeezed my hand back. “Deal. I’ll show you the ropes—literally.” Her tone turned teasing, but her gaze held something deeper—trust, excitement, a shared spark that went beyond the dungeon’s kinky trappings. “We’ll start slow. Next time, I’ll bring some tutorials—maybe a dummy to practice on so I don’t end up with rope burn.”

I chuckled, the tension from my earlier failure melting away. “A dummy, huh? Better than me butchering your skin again.” I leaned in, kissing her quick and firm, tasting the laughter still lingering on her lips. “But I’m serious, Kate. I’ll learn it—for you, for us. We’ll turn this into something fucking amazing.”

She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, her smile wicked and warm all at once. “Oh, I know we will. And when you finally tie me up right? You’re gonna lose your mind over how good it feels.” She nipped my jaw, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “But tonight? Stick to what you’re good at—no ropes required.”

I growled, the promise of our future Shibari adventures stoking the heat already simmering between them. “You’re on,” I said, flipping her onto her back in one smooth move, her laughter ringing out again as I pinned her beneath me. The failed knots, the sting of her skin, the frustration—it all faded into the fun of it, the thrill of us figuring it out together. We'd grow, we'd learn, and we'd laugh through the mess—making it ours, one tangled rope at a time.

"The Stubborn Plateau"

Four weeks had passed since Sebastian promised Kate they’d conquer Shibari together, a vow sealed with laughter and a tangle of failed knots in the candlelit dungeon. The basement house, their secret haven, had become a workshop of sorts—red lights swapped for brighter bulbs, a battered old mannequin propped in the corner, and a stack of printed tutorials spilling across the spanking bench. They’d carved out stolen hours between Sebastian’s Costco shifts and Kate’s hospital doubles, meeting twice a week when their spouses’ schedules aligned just right. Each session was a mix of determination and chaos, a labor of love that refused to bear fruit.

They’d started with high hopes. Kate, already adept at binding herself, took the lead, her nimble fingers guiding Sebastian through the basics—simple loops, tension points, the way the rope should hug without biting. She’d perch on the silk-draped platform, her voice patient as she explained a chest harness, her own Shibari work gleaming under the lights as a taunting benchmark. Sebastian, all grit and butcher’s hands, would nod, rope coiled in his grip, his brow furrowed with focus. He’d loop it around the mannequin’s torso, mimicking her moves, only for the knots to sag or twist into a lopsided mess. “Fuck’s sake,” he’d mutter, yanking it free, and Kate would cackle, her laughter bouncing off the mirrors as she handed him the rope again.

They tried everything. Tutorials—dog-eared pages with diagrams they squinted at, arguing over which line went where. Videos on Kate’s phone, paused and rewound as Sebastian grumbled about the instructor’s “fancy-ass hands” moving too fast. Practice on each other, too—Kate offering her wrists or thighs, Sebastian’s thick fingers fumbling to replicate the elegant patterns she’d mastered. Once, he’d managed a half-decent wrist tie, only for it to unravel the second she tugged, the rope flopping to the floor like a sulky snake.

“Progress!” she’d teased, and he’d tackled her onto the mats, their laughter dissolving into a quick, messy romp that left the lesson forgotten.

But progress didn’t come. Four weeks in, and Sebastian’s knots still looked like a toddler’s scribbles next to Kate’s precise webs. He’d pull too tight, leaving faint red marks on her skin—not the good kind, but the kind that made her wince and him curse. Or he’d under-tension, the ropes slipping loose mid-attempt, a floppy pile that mocked his efforts. Kate tried teaching him step-by-step, breaking it down to child’s play—over, under, loop, pull—but his hands, so steady with a cleaver, turned clumsy with the cords. She’d laugh, he’d groan, and they’d reset, the mannequin staring blankly as their pile of failures grew.

The frustration crept in slow, a low hum beneath their fun. Sebastian would slump against the wall after another botched harness, rubbing his temples as Kate untangled the mess, her giggles fading into a sigh. “I’m trying, damn it,” he’d say, voice rough with effort, and she’d nod, squeezing his shoulder.

“I know, Seb. We’ll get it.” But they didn’t. Kate, too, felt the sting—her patience fraying when he’d miss the same step for the tenth time, her own attempts to refine her skills stalling as she focused on him. They’d end sessions sweaty, rope-burned, and no closer to mastery, the dungeon’s air thick with their stubborn resolve and unspoken irritation.

Yet they kept at it, because the fun held them. The failures were absurd—Sebastian once tied his own wrist to the mannequin by accident, Kate doubled over laughing as he flailed to free himself. Another night, she’d tried a leg bind on him, only to knot it so tight he’d yelped, hopping around as she scrambled for scissors, both of them snorting through the chaos. They’d collapse together after, breathless and grinning, the rope a tangled heap beside them, and turn their energy elsewhere—hands and mouths finding familiar rhythms, the dungeon’s toys a fallback when Shibari refused to yield. “We’re hopeless,” she’d say, sprawled across his chest, and he’d chuckle, “Yeah, but we’re hopeless together.”

Four weeks, and the Shibari dream stayed out of reach. The mannequin bore scars of their efforts—frayed patches where rope had snagged, a lopsided lean from too many tugs. The tutorials yellowed at the edges, ink smudged from sweaty fingers, and their hands ached from the grind. They’d poured hours into it, effort dripping from every failed knot, but the skill wouldn’t budge—no elegant harnesses, no seamless binds, just a stubborn plateau they couldn’t climb. It grated on them—Sebastian’s pride bruised, Kate’s patience tested—but the laughter, the shared mess, kept it from souring completely. They were stuck, frustratingly so, yet the dungeon still rang with their voices, their bond unbowed by the ropes that refused to obey.

"A Whisper of Surprise"

I was in the middle of my shift at Costco, slicing deli meat with a steady rhythm, when my phone buzzed in my pocket. The hum of the store—customers chatting, carts rattling—faded as I wiped my hands on my apron and pulled out my phone. A text from Kate lit up the screen: "Next meetup. Surprise waiting for you. Be on time!"

Instantly, my heart kicked up a notch. A surprise? My mind raced with possibilities, each one sparking a jolt of excitement. Maybe she’d planned something new for our time in the dungeon, or perhaps she’d found a way to elevate our usual games. I pictured her sly smile, the one that always hinted at mischief, and felt a grin tug at my lips. Whatever it was, it was a bright spot in the monotony of my day—slicing meat, stacking shelves, repeat.

But as my imagination took off, a familiar thread of hope wove through my thoughts. Could the surprise be something I was good at? Something that would let me shine for her again? I thought back to our past encounters—moments where I'd taken charge, where her gasps and glances told me I've hit every mark. Those memories fueled my dreams: her tied up, not with anything complicated, but with simple restraints I could handle with ease. I wanted to see that look in her eyes again, the one that said I was enough.

Yet, the excitement couldn’t fully drown out a nagging frustration that crept in like a shadow. Shibari. That damn word. Kate loved it—the intricate knots, the way the ropes hugged her skin just so—and I wanted to love it too, for her. But every time we tried, my fingers fumbled. The ropes twisted wrong, the knots slipped, and once, I've even pulled too tight and left a mark she hadn’t asked for. I winced at the memory. Before Shibari, I've always satisfied her—every craving, every whim, I've met with confidence. Now, this one thing loomed over me, a challenge I couldn’t conquer.

I leaned against the counter, staring at the text. What if the surprise was Shibari-related? What if she’d been practicing, expecting me to keep up? My stomach twisted. I hadn’t touched a rope since their last attempt—work had been brutal, and after long shifts, I barely had energy to eat, let alone practice. The thought of disappointing her again stung. I wasn’t some flawless master of everything; I was just Sebastian, a guy who could carve a perfect roast but couldn’t tie a decent knot to save his life.

Still, a flicker of optimism fought back. Kate wasn’t cruel—she’d laughed off my clumsy tries, her voice warm even when the ropes went slack. Maybe the surprise wasn’t about Shibari at all. Maybe it was something else, something in my wheelhouse. I clung to that hope, picturing her waiting for me, her eyes lighting up not because of some perfect technique, but because it was me walking through the door.

"Be on time!" The words snapped me back to the present. That, at least, I could do. I glanced at the clock—two hours left in my shift. I’d hustle, finish up, and get out the door on the dot. Maybe the surprise hinged on timing—a playful scenario she’d cooked up. The idea rekindled my excitement, pushing the doubts aside.

As I returned to slicing meat, my mind wandered again. I imagined succeeding at Shibari, just once—tying a knot that held, seeing her smile in that way that made my chest ache. I wanted to learn, not just for her, but for myself, to prove I could grow. But reality checked me hard: Shibari wasn’t simple. I wasn’t a quick study with stuff like that. Maybe tonight, I'd watch a tutorial, practice on a pillow or something ridiculous like that. I chuckled under my breath—Sebastian, the butcher, fumbling with ropes in his living room. Not exactly a superhero.

The rest of my shift blurred by, my thoughts ping-ponging between anticipation and nerves. When I finally clocked out, I was a mess of energy—excited, anxious, determined. Driving home, he debated what to wear, how to prep, but figured Kate had it covered. She always did.

At home, I showered fast, threw on something comfortable yet sharp, and checked the time obsessively. An hour to go. I paced, trying to shake off the day and settle my mind. When it was time, I grabbed my keys and headed out, the drive to our secret spot a mix of thrill and tension.

Pulling up, I parked and sat for a moment, steadying myself. I wasn’t perfect—not with ropes, not with everything—but I was here. For Kate. For us. Whatever the surprise, I'd face it with her, flaws and all. With a deep breath, I stepped out and walked to the door, ready for what waited inside.