We had a moment when we met. He was working—making the most delicious virgin cocktails I’ve ever tasted in my entire life—and our gazes connected over the bar at Protocol, the local BDSM club. It wasn’t some Disney fairytale shit. It wasn’t a “’til death do us part” loving gaze with rainbows and singing wildlife surrounding us in a haze of pastel colors. It was an “I wanna fuck you until you can’t sit comfortably for a week” kind of eye-fucking. And it was Hot. As. Fuck.
