ever planned to see each other again. When you emailed me, I was surprised.” “So was I,” I admit. The server brings the menus as well as another glass of champagne. Danny takes a sip, and the champagne leaves a glistening splash on his lip. I have a sudden, vivid memory of those lips on my breast, of his teeth on my nipple, and I remember his broad hands grasping my hips as he thrust into me. Shaken by the flood of images, I open the menu. There are no prices, and I cast a worried glance across the table at Danny. “Does yours have prices?” I whisper.
