“Sounds familiar.” He sat quietly while she put away the rest of the ingredients and wiped down the counters. When she’d rinsed out the sponge and laid it on the edge of the sink, he said, “Are you ready to talk about last night?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind me cooking while we talk.”

He normally would want her full attention for a discussion like this, but he was getting hungry, too. “You’ve been fantasizing about rape play for a long time.”

She picked up the bowl at the back of the counter and took the dishtowel off. “Years,” she admitted.

“Did the reality beat your fantasy?”

“To hell and gone,” she said with a laugh.

“The date-rape scenario worked for you, then?”

“Oh, yeah.” She switched on the flame under the skillet and reached for the butter dish. “I’d never considered a scenario like that.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “All my fantasies have been more physical, more violent, I guess. This was more…”

“Coercive?” he supplied.

She nodded and dropped a pat of butter in the skillet to sizzle. “I was braced for violence, so the sneak attack caught me by surprise.”

“Good. Did you get what you needed from the aftercare?”

“Yeah.” She rotated the skillet to swirl the butter around. “I like that you called me ‘fofa’ when it was over. That was nice. Grounding, you know?”

“I liked it, too.” An understatement, he thought. “Was it realistic enough for you?”

“Oh, yeah. I wondered if I’d be able to get really into it, because we know each other so well. But it was like flipping a switch on reality. It just clicked off.”

He nodded. “It’ll probably get harder for you to suspend your disbelief as we go on together.”

“Probably.”

“But I have ideas about that,” he continued, and waggled his eyebrows to make her laugh.

“I’m sure you do.” She wet her fingers at the sink, then flicked the water into the skillet to see if it was hot enough. “Would you set the table? Or the counter, I guess.”

“Sure.” He rose from the stool to gather plates and silverware. “Syrup?”

“Yes, please.”

He got it out of the fridge. “What do you want to drink?”

“I’m good with coffee.”

He got two mugs down and filled them with the fragrant brew. “Is there anything about last night you’d change?”

She ladled batter into the skillet. “I don’t think so. Well…”

“What?” he asked when she fell silent.

“I wouldn’t have worn that pink dress if I’d known it was going to end up ripped and stained.” She shot him the same look his mother gave him when he was five and used her good guest towels to wipe mud off the dog.

He just grinned. “You knew I wasn’t going to wear a condom.”

“Hmm.” She tapped the spatula on the side of the pan. “And the rip?”