At least we had the flashlight, which was good because we could avoid stepping in the cat barf that decorated the stairs. I almost fell twice but Duncan put his arm around me and saved me. I kissed him the second time, standing right on the squeaky step third from the top, the one that always gave me away when I’d try to sneak back upstairs after being out half the night, if I was too plastered to climb the tree. Or too sober to forget I had a key to the kitchen door.
His kiss made the stair squeak beneath my feet, and I made some kind of happy noise myself. While his lips devoured me, I ripped off my shirt, and started to undo my jeans. I would have stripped right there but Duncan, who was smarter than me, took my hands in his until I thought my chest would burst, or something might anyhow. I didn’t think of handcuffs or restraints, but those hands, and oh my God. Those hands on my wrists. Well, okay, handcuffs might not be a bad idea.