This was his home, his city, a place so far away from Quincy it might as well have been on a different continent. I’d never seen him drive before. I watched his hand as it rested on his thigh, the other one hanging off the steering wheel, the glint of his watch red in the reflection of the streetlight. His face in shadow, his movements on the road calm and in control. He was always in control. His need for it was almost OCD, our plans structured around my wishes, the implementation details controlled, to a science, by him. The only break was during sex, when his arousal would blur his control, giving me a wild animal that took with greedy hands and gave with raw passion. I loved those moments, that feeling of power when I had pushed him to the point of breaking, and he turned over all control to me. “We’re about twenty minutes away. Are you hungry? There isn’t much to eat in the house.” I shook my head. “I packed a sandwich for the plane.”
