Chapter 2

　　The silence in her in-laws' sprawling suburban home was a heavy, oppressive thing. Lois was two days into a week of house-sitting, and the novelty of unlimited cable and a fully stocked fridge had worn off. She'd cleaned everything that wasn't nailed down, rearranged the pantry by food group, and was now simply… bored. It was during a restless prowl through the master bedroom, under the guise of checking for dust on the high shelves of the walk-in closet, that she found it. Not a box, exactly, but a handsome leather trunk tucked away behind a row of Mark's severe-looking suits. The lock was flimsy, more for show than security, and it gave way with a simple click.

　　Her breath caught. Good lord.

　　Neatly arranged on a bed of black velvet lay a collection of items she had never, not in a million years, associated with Barbara and Mark. Silken ropes, a black leather blindfold, several vibrators of varying size and apparent intensity, a gleaming silver butt plug, a soft-looking feather tickler, and other, more intimidating implements she couldn't name. Her face flushed with a heat that was part shock, part voyeuristic thrill. Her prim, perfectly-coiffed mother-in-law… and Mark, the stoic, retired accountant… into this?

　　Arousal, sharp and sudden, coiled low in her belly. Her husband, their son, was a vanilla, missionary-only kind of man. Safe. Predictable. Dull. The contents of this box were anything but.

　　Driven by a curiosity that overpowered her guilt, she reached in and selected a vibrator, a sleek purple silicone wand. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she closed the trunk, carried it to the immaculately made bed, and lay down.

　　She pushed her cotton shorts and panties down to her knees. The hum of the device was obscenely loud in the silent room. She bit her lip, flicking it on. A gentle buzz. She pressed the head against her inner thigh, the vibration a delicious tease. Higher. She guided it to her clit, and a sharp gasp escaped her. Oh god. She arched her back, her free hand fisting the floral duvet cover.

　　Eyes squeezed shut, she lost herself to the sensation, the building pressure, the secret wrongness of it all. She was so close, so focused on the frantic rhythm of her own hand, that she didn't hear the front door open downstairs. She didn't hear the heavy footsteps on the stairs. The first she knew of not being alone was the creak of the bedroom door hinge.

　　Her eyes flew open.

　　Mark stood in the doorway, his suit jacket slung over one arm, his keys still in his hand. His expression was one of pure, unadulterated surprise, which quickly melted into something else entirely: amusement.

　　Lois fumbled, yanking the vibrator away from her feverish skin as if it had burned her, scrambling to pull the duvet over her nakedness. The device, still buzzing angrily, fell onto the mattress between her legs.

　　"I—I'm so sorry!" she stammered, her face a furnace of humiliation. "I was just—I found—I didn't think you'd…"

　　Mark didn't move. His eyes, dark and keen, travelled from her mortified face, down to the humming toy on the bed, then to the open trunk on the floor. A slow, deep smile spread across his face. It was a smile she'd never seen before—not paternal, not polite. It was hungry. And then her own eyes dropped, and she saw the unmistakable bulge straining against the front of his tailored trousers.

　　Her apology died in her throat. A different kind of heat flooded her, one of pure, shameless want.

　　"Looks like you found Barb's treasure chest," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her almost as effectively as the toy had. He stepped into the room, letting the door click shut behind him. "Having fun with just that little thing?"

　　She could only nod, her mouth dry.

　　He moved to the bed, his presence dominating the space. He picked up the vibrator, his fingers brushing her exposed thigh and making her jump. He turned it off. The sudden silence was deafening.

　　"A mere aperitif," he murmured, his gaze fixed on her. He reached into the trunk and pulled out a length of soft, red rope. "Do you want a taste of the main course, Lois? Do you want me to show you how these are really meant to be used?"

　　The question hung in the air, charged and dangerous. It was wrong. It was taboo. It was the most exciting thing she had ever been asked. Her logical mind screamed a protest, but the throbbing between her legs screamed louder. She gave another shaky nod.

　　"Use your words, sweetheart."

　　"Yes," she breathed. "Yes."

　　His smile widened. "Hands above your head." She complied without hesitation, exposing herself fully to him. He moved with a confident efficiency that was thrilling. He looped the rope around her left wrist, then the right, tying them securely but not painfully to the ornate wooden posts of the headboard. She was trapped. Exposed. His.

　　He selected the feather tickler next. "Let's see how responsive you are."

　　He dragged the soft tips over her stomach, her ribs, the sensitive undersides of her arms. It was a maddening, whisper-light touch that made her skin prickle with goosebumps and her hips twitch upward, seeking more substantial contact. She squirmed, a breathy laugh escaping her that quickly turned into a moan.

　　"Please," she begged, the word foreign on her tongue.

　　"Please, what?" he teased, tracing the feather along her inner thigh, so close to where she burned for him.

　　"More."

　　He chuckled, a dark, rich sound. He put the feather down and picked up the silver plug and a small bottle of lubricant. He coated his fingers first, his eyes locking with hers as he pressed one, then two, inside her. The intrusion was cool and slick and stretched her in a way that was utterly new. She gasped, her back arching off the bed.

　　"So tight," he growled.

　　He withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the blunt, cool tip of the plug. He pressed in slowly, relentlessly, until the flared base settled snugly against her. The feeling of being filled, so completely and in such a forbidden way, sent a jolt of pure lightning through her.

　　Before she could process it, the buzz of a different, more powerful vibrator filled the air. He pressed it against her swollen clit, and her world dissolved into sensation. The vibrations were deeper, more intense, thrumming through her entire body, amplified by the pressure of the plug inside her.

　　She was bucking against his hand, her moans turning into ragged cries, teetering right on the edge.

　　He pulled the vibrator away. "Not yet."

　　She whimpered in frustration, but he was already selecting the largest dildo from the box. He slicked it generously and without ceremony, he pushed it into her. It was a brutal, delicious stretch, filling the emptiness his fingers had left. He fucked her with it, hard and fast, his grip on the toy unwavering. The base of the dildo pressed against the plug with every thrust, creating a dual sensation that was overwhelming, making her see stars.

　　"You like that, don't you?" he grunted, his own composure fraying. "Like being stuffed full. My good girl."

　　The filthy praise was the final key. Her orgasm ripped through her, violent and blinding. She screamed, her body seizing, her vision whiting out as waves of pleasure crashed over her, again and again. She was still pulsating around the fake intrusion when she heard his zipper.

　　He withdrew the toys, tossed them aside, and positioned himself between her shaking legs. His own cock was thick and veined, and he buried himself inside her wet, convulsing heat in one single, powerful thrust.

　　There was no more teasing. This was raw, primal fucking. He drove into her, the bed slamming against the wall with each snap of his hips. The ropes bit into her wrists, anchoring her to the storm of his passion. She met his thrusts, her own desires unleashed, completely lost to the taboo, to the power of him.

　　She felt his rhythm stutter. A guttural groan was torn from his throat, and she felt the hot, sudden rush of his release deep inside her. He collapsed on top of her, his weight a comforting anchor.

　　For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing.

　　Slowly, he pushed himself up and untied her wrists, his fingers gently massaging the red marks left by the rope. The tenderness was almost more shocking than the sex. He dressed with the same efficient calm, then looked down at her, still splayed and spent on the bed. The hungry man was gone, replaced by the father-in-law she knew, but the knowledge of what they'd done glittered in his eyes.

　　"This stays between us, Lois," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Our little secret."

　　She nodded, her voice still a whisper. "Of course."

　　He smiled that dangerous smile again. "Good. Barbara has her book club meeting on Sunday nights. Maybe we can do this again?"