“So,” she says as she takes a left at the light when it would be faster to take a right, “when you said you were going to fuck me until I couldn’t walk tomorrow, what exactly do you have in mind?” My molars clamp shut so tightly they might break. “Like … are there toys involved, or is this strictly a marathon situation?” I press my head against the headrest. “Do you have a mood board? Pinterest?” I turn slowly to level her with a menacing glare. “Are we talking cold baths here? Should I stop for ice? I can pull into Power Pump. Irony and ice, it’s a double win.”
