Page 2 of The Comfort Trap

A slow, surprised smile spreads across his face, the kind that used to make me want to run from him but now makes my stomach do that stupid flip thing. He takes off the judgmental librarian glasses, setting them on the table with a soft click. He walks over, sinking into the arm of my chair, his thigh pressing against my shoulder.

"You mean when I was a bumbling idiot who couldn't operate a door without injuring himself, and you were a terrifying ice queen who made small children cry?"

I laugh, swatting his leg. "I wasnotan ice queen—"

”Patrick.”

"I was mysterious."

"You threatened to call the cops on me."

"You deserved it."

"For asking you for your number."

"Uh, yeah, like… five days in a row."

"You were an ice queen," he insists. "You were so sharp, so focused. It was intimidating. And hot as hell."

I feel a flush creep up my neck, betraying my cool facade. "And you were... persistent." Understatement of the goddamn century.

He shrugs. "I knew what I wanted. Even if I had no fucking clue how to get it."

I lean my head against his leg, the solid warmth of him a comfort that's both reassuring and suffocating. "It was exciting. The chase. The first time we kissed, it was like… a collision."

We've got our little dance routine down pat. Coffee at seven, where he makes some artisanal bullshit while I chug black coffee straight from the pot. A kiss at eight that tastes like caffeine. I go deal with the entitled masses at the coffee shop, wondering if today's the day I finally snap and pour hot espresso on someone's Uggs. He goes to play with numbers and talk car parts with Eli.

We eat dinner, maybe catch some indie film, have Aubrey and Eli over so we can all pretend we're functioning adults. It's a well-oiled machine, alright. A beautiful, successful, loving partnership. We built it. We're proud of it.

And some nights, when I can't sleep, I lie awake wondering how long it takes for something this perfect to inevitably explode into a million tiny, glittery pieces. On those nights,when Ricardo's passed out beside me, I'm still wide awake. The fear swirls relentlessly through my brain while I stare at thewater stain on the ceiling that's shaped disturbingly like Patrick Swayze.

Ricardo's hand starts stroking my hair, his fingers gentle.

"Ricky," I say. "What if we tried to find that again? That spark?"

He looks down at me, his expression shifting from confused to intrigued. "What do you mean?"

I take a breath, the audacity of what I'm about to say making my heart hammer. I've never voiced this before, not even to myself in clear terms. "What if we got a little... kinky?"

His hand freezes in my hair, mid-stroke. For a split second, pure, unadulterated shock flashes across his face before he smooths it over with that neutral expression he uses when he's processing something big. "Kinky," he repeats.

"Yeah," I say, pushing on before I lose my nerve entirely. "Nothing extreme. Just some mild dominance and submission. Or something. I don't know. I think... Maybe we need to shake things up. Remind ourselves what it feels like to not be in control. To give it up. Or to take it."

He's quiet for a long moment. So long that I start to panic, my mind racing with ways to backtrack, to laugh it off as one of my sarcastic jokes. But then he lets out a slow breath, his eyes searching mine with an intensity I haven't seen since that first night together—the night that started all this.

"You want totie me up," he says, a statement, not a question. And damn it, he's not wrong. The idea of Ricardo, my sweet, steady Ricardo,obeying my every commandin that way... the thought of ultimate control over him sends a shiver down my spine.

"I think I might," I confess.

He looks away, his jaw working as he processes this. I can't read his expression. "That's a big step, Patrick."

"It is," I say, my stomach twisting into knots. "And we don't have to. I… I only wanted to ask."

The silence stretches.

"I don't know, baby," he says, running a hand through his hair. "You know how I am… I'm a fucking people pleaser, especially with you. What if I get myself in too deep with this?"

"Then we stop." My jaw tightens, a muscle twitching in protest. "We're not gonna dive in headfirst," I say. "We'll do our homework. There's a lot of talking involved, you know? Consent is everything here. I'm not talking about tying you up and doing whatever the hell I want. You'd still have control, you'd still be able to say no."