The First play

"You'll have to wear something interesting."

Her voice was low, a little dangerous, and her eyes flicked down his body with a challenge. He'd been expecting a lot of things from this date, but this wasn't one of them.

"Something interesting?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

She leaned back in her chair, tracing the rim of her wine glass with a fingertip. "Yes. Interesting."

The word hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. He could feel his pulse quicken, the way it always did when she looked at him like that—like she was testing him, daring him to rise to the occasion.

"Alright," he said slowly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Define interesting."

She smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made his stomach flip. "Surprise me."

He'd met her a week ago at a gallery opening. Her name was Claire, and from the moment she'd introduced herself, he'd known she was trouble. Married, but not happily—that much was clear from the way she'd lingered by his side, her laughter a little too loud, her touch on his arm a little too deliberate.

The first date had been innocent enough—coffee, conversation, a shared cab ride home. But this? This was different. This was a game neither of them was pretending to ignore.

"Alright," he said again, leaning forward slightly. "I'll wear something interesting. But you'd better be prepared for what that means."

Her eyes sparkled. "Oh, I think I can handle it."

---

He showed up at her apartment that Friday night with a silk scarf tucked into his jacket pocket. It had been his mother's, a pristine black length of fabric he'd found in the back of her closet after she'd passed away. He'd never thought he'd have a use for it, but tonight—tonight it felt like the perfect choice.

When Claire opened the door, she was wearing a dress that clung to her curves in all the right places. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, and her lips were painted a deep, sinful red.

"Well," she said, eyeing him up and down. "You look… normal."

He grinned and pulled the scarf from his pocket, letting it drape over his hand. "Give me five minutes."

Her eyebrows shot up, but she stepped aside to let him in. "I'm intrigued."

He disappeared into the bathroom, his heart racing as he tied the scarf around his neck. It was snug but not tight, the silk cool against his skin. When he stepped back out, she was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, a glass of wine in hand.

Her eyes landed on the scarf, and for a moment, she just stared. Then she set the glass down and walked over to him, her heels clicking softly against the floor.

"Well," she said, reaching up to touch the fabric. "This is… unexpected."

"You said interesting," he replied, his voice a little hoarse. "I figured this qualified."

She ran her fingers along the edge of the scarf, her touch sending a shiver down his spine. "It's soft," she murmured. "Does it feel as good as it looks?"

"Better," he said, his breath catching as she stepped closer.

Her fingers trailed up to his jaw, and for a moment, she just studied his face. Then she leaned in, her lips brushing against his earlobe. "Let's see if it lives up to the hype."

The air between them crackled with tension as she took his hand and led him to the bedroom. He followed, his heart pounding in his chest, every step feeling like a step into the unknown.

When they reached the bed, she turned to face him, her fingers already undoing the buttons of his shirt. He let her, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.

"Tell me," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "Why the scarf?"

He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Because it's intimate. Because it's… different."

She smiled, a slow, knowing smile. "I like different."

Her hands slid up his chest, pushing the shirt off his shoulders. The scarf stayed in place, a stark contrast against his bare skin. She reached up to touch it again, her fingers brushing against his collarbone.

"Do you trust me?" she asked, her voice soft but firm.

He nodded, his throat too tight to speak.

She nodded back, her eyes locked on his. Then she reached up and slowly, deliberately, untied the scarf from his neck.

The silk slid free, cool against his skin, and for a moment, he thought that was it. But then she looped it around her own neck, her eyes never leaving his.

"Now," she said, her voice low and sultry, "we're even."

He reached for her, his hands sliding up her arms, pulling her close. Their lips met in a kiss that was hot and hungry, full of all the tension that had been building between them since the moment they'd met.

She wrapped his arms around her as she drew her tongue along his lower lip, her nails dug lightly into his shoulders, The silk scarf now around her neck and it was hard to tell where it started and she ended.

But when he tried to deepen the kiss, she pulled back, her eyes dark with intent. "Not yet," she whispered.

She stepped away from him, her fingers trailing down his chest as she crossed the room to the closet and pulled out a small box. When she opened it, he saw a pair of handcuffs nestled inside, the metal gleaming in the soft light.

"Do you trust me?" she asked again, her voice a little huskier this time.

He swallowed hard, his pulse racing. "Yes."

She smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made his knees weak. "Good."