In truth, I was never ashamed of what I desired. I was a sadist, and not of the banal rope-and-leather brand, but of the true kind, the kind that soci...ty would institutionalize and lobotomize for everyone’s safety. I was in control of it, of course, but it did linger in the back of my mind. Only Elena had seen it and survived, and she accepted it as part of me—as part of the woman she loved. Oh, love, love, love; was there a more dangerous intoxication in the world? For as I stared into those. It was easy to admit that she had missed this: warm breath whispering through her hair, a man's voice next to her's, the rough skin of a masculine palm against the soft skin of her breast. It was easy to remember that once she had had a pretty decent sex drive; now, reawakened, that beast was starving, and Weston was what she needed to satiate it. Nonetheless, she told him that they should save the whole enchilada for the night of the dance, and Weston agreed, with an alacrity that startled. More

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