You've always been a little... strange.

Maybe that's what he liked about you in the first place.

He's more than a little fascinated in the way you conduct yourself - the way you're so unapologetically you.

You know what you like - and you're not ashamed to admit your interests, even when they cross into unfamiliar and taboo.

He knows all about your favorite gothic literature, your collection of peculiar trinkets, your love of horror and fascination with the unknown.

And he also knows how to please you. The things you're into, what makes your body run hot, what to say and do to have you shaking under him - every twisted fantasy you've told him stored safely in his mind to re-enact for you.

But somehow you keep finding ways to surprise him. Apparently, he's not met all your desires.

You're giving him that look again. The one you always get before you sweetly ask him to do the nastiest things to you; expression somehow seductive and innocent, salacious and adoring.

He sighs, slightly concerned, but he knows he's going to give into whatever you're about to ask anyways.

He can't say no to you.

"Yes, sweetheart?"