Three weeks after our date night, Mark pulls into the Mortuary parking lot with the black van he uses to transport bodies. The vehicle has a nearby funeral home service on the side, letters bold white with the number and address under it. The sight is familiar, and I know I'll be extra busy today. Paul called hours after I arrived to open, apologizing profusely for having to take a day off due to a medical appointment he forgot about. When I questioned if he was okay, concerned over my boss going to the hospital or doctor, he reassured me it was merely a check-up and possibly running test to be certain his heart is completely fine. I was relieved, and happy to take over for today while he got that covered. Mark texted me a warning, mentioning he would be dropping by with four new deceased from the funeral home near us. They had been booked up and running out of storage recently, unable to keep up with new arrivals or prepare bodies for services. While we handle the cremations, often Paul takes one of our work vans to take a body back to the Funeral Home for a service.

I meet Mark out front with four trolleys, they will rise to the storage bars in the shelving fridges. It is much easier to store and remove cadavers with tray surfaces, we don't need to keep switching the bodies from tray to tray. Mark is grinning, bright and contagiously, smokey eyes studying my outfit. Batwing boots with black velvet leggings and a loosely knitted dark sweater over a tight black crop top. My makeup is simple as well, just a cute little eyeliner wing with mascara. I was too lazy this morning to put in much effort, just wanting my coffee and to go. He greets me with a quick kiss on my chapstick-coated lips, annoying me by pulling my hair out of the ponytail I had put it in. Instead of his casual jeans and T-shirts, or hoodies, he wears another suit, this time a darker shade of blue. Once again, he looks dashing and handsome, yet it doesn't fit with the job he is currently conducting.

"Hey, Beautiful!" He's cheery today, voice rich with sweetness. "I have a great idea for us!"

I smile broadly, amused and curious about what has him so excited, leaning into the one-armed hug he tugs me into. Putting my hair back up in a ponytail with the skull and pumpkin scrunchie he stole, slightly sarcastic and curious. "And what's that? It better not be something ridiculous, like jumping off a cliff. Cause I'm not doing that. Ever."

He laughs heartily, shaking his head with a little eye roll and a wide smirk. "Jump off a cliff? The fuck did that come from?"

A shrug is all I can answer with, chuckling at the admittedly ridiculous suggestion. "Just seems like something you'd enjoy."

"You'd be right, that sounds fucking fun!" It's exaggerated excitement, complete with a jump and wide eyes like a child. I laugh at the silly nature of his actions, seeming especially out of place in an expensive suit. Calming down, he tugs my hair again. "Seriously though, how bout you come over to my house tonight? I practically live at your place, it's bout damn time you see mine."

"I'd love to see your place!" I readily agree, having wondered if he'd hide his home forever or just wait for our relationship to get more serious. Kissing his cheek, I kindly ask. "Are you wanting me to stay the night or just giving me a tour?"

Crookedly, he smirks, sensually speaking. "I do gotta get your fine ass in my comfortable as shit bed, so you know the answer to that, Darlin."

My eyes roll, giving his arm a light pitch. Teasingly disappointed, "You always have an ulterior motive, don't you? Only wanting to fuck me in your own bed. How rude of you."

He leans closer, speaking gruffly and lowly in my ear with a tiny bite at the edge of it that causes my body to shiver. "As fun as fucking you're brains out in your bed is, I got all the awesome toys at mine. Can you imagine?"

Forcing a scoff, I push away from his side. Ignoring the heat in my gut as my mind conjures up pictures of what kind of toys he has and what he could do with them. Instead, reminding myself he hasn't seen the personal hidden drawer in my bedroom or my Petplay stash. "You don't know what I have, so how can you be so certain yours is amazing?"

This makes him pause, eyebrow-raising inquisitively. "You hiding shit from me, Doll?"

Wickedly laughing, I ignore him to open the back doors of the van he drove to begin my job. He continuously pesters me about what I have or if I'm just teasing him, I find it humorous how scandalous he acts about having pleasure items for myself. It's not anything extreme, a couple of small vibrators, a large one, and a separate box of various-sized dildos. I can imagine he has much more, as sexually inclined as he is. He is thoughtfully observing me, picturing the same as I did when he mentioned his toys at home. Trying to think through what he saw in my house, what I might use without him. His eyes are dark and I notice a sly smirk appearing before he clears it with a seductive grin my way. Mark helps me load the deceased up and roll them inside the building to the back room past the embalming area, opening storage shelves for me and watching as I routinely raise the trolley to push the trays into the fridge racks. Still, his mind isn't on the job, not when his eyes stay trained on my ass or breast. I scold him, playfully as I don't mind his wandering stare and he doesn't necessarily work here.

I explain where Paul is when Mark finally pulls his eyes away from me to scan around the rooms as we roll the last body inside, noticing the missing observing eyes on us. He shrugs, standing behind me while I put the last cadaver on the rack. Once the door is shut and I turn to face him, I'm pinned softly against the storage fridges we just refilled. Moist lips kiss my throat, and roughened and calloused hands slide under my sweater. This causes my skin to goosebump from the sudden touch on my sensitive stomach and thin skin on my neck, as well as the tickling of breath. Automatically, I rest my slimmer hands on his neck and side, considering what to do; push him away or tug him closer. I'm on the clock officially, if Paul walked in on this he would be disappointed and I hate to think that. Before I can speak up, he beats me to it, talking in a low, erotic, whisper. "So, we're all alone. Why don't we help Paulie Boy with some of that boring ass paperwork? Think me fucking you til you melt, over his big as shit desk would be a great damn help."

Instead of giving in to the temptation to allow Mark to continue and convince me, I give a light push. He pushes right back, hips pressing mine tighter to the wall and a handle digs into my spine at the action. "Mark!" I laugh, uncertain if I should be annoyed, turned on, or finding this amusing. Rather than picking one, I go with all three. "I have work to do! And by the suit, so do you!" Kissing his lips, my hands roam down to his chest and I lean toward him mode. Smiling flirtatiously and toning my voice down into a velvety, soft one. "We can do this later, remember, at your place?"

He sighs, squeezing my waist under my shirt and biting at his bottom lip, eyes narrowed with a smirk curving up. "I'll hold ya to that, Darlin. Give you the tour you want, then toss you over my damn shoulder and put us to fucking bed. Keep you up all night long, shit, I can't fucking wait."

"I'm sure you can't. But, I have work to do, so call me later and tell me what the plan is. For now, leave me to do my job, you're too much of a distraction to stay." He chuckles, letting me peck his cheek and drag him out of the room by his hand to the front doors.

"Distraction? Damn, Sugar Lips, what's goin on in the fucking nasty ass mind of yours when you see me?" He pauses at the doors, glancing out and flicking his eyes over the parking lot, eyes returning to me after a moment. His smirk now smug.

I shrug, eyebrow raised. "Surely not as nasty as yours, you're a whole ass sewer. Mind and all."

This gains another wholehearted laugh, a hand rising to his chest as if hurt. "Fucking hell, Bats! That hurt!"

"You're a big, strong man," It's playfully sarcastic, "you'll get over it. I'll see you later, Mr. Pumpkin King. Keep the suit clean, and maybe, maybe, I'll let you fuck me in it. Fulfill that office fantasy you seem to have."

"Oohh, you're playing with fire, I fucking love it." He grips my wide hips and tugs me flush against his chest. Kissing me passionately, heatedly, like a tease of what will come later. Licking at my piercing jewelry and nipping my lip, tongue rolling, guiding, my own. Hands resting at the sides of my neck, thumb under my chin. Leaving me flushed when he pulls back, chuckling deeply as I stifle a whine and compose myself. "I'll call you when you get off, pack a fucking bag and I'll pick you up. Be ready for me, you hear?"

"I'll be ready, unlike you I actually like being on time and prepared." He pitches my chin at the slight dig of his time management, shaking his head. Giving him a quick hug around his waist, I push open the door for him. "See ya later, handsome!"

Mark grins, slapping my ass as he passes me to step outside and laughing loudly at my stunned gasp. I can't get a word out before he's climbing in the van and taking off with a roaring honk of the horn. With a sigh, amused and a little disappointed I insisted he leaves, I get to work. Washing bodies, moisturizing them, and wiring jaws shut as well as closing eyes or putting in eye caps, then finishing off with embalming. One of the cadavers has a note on its toe tag, requesting a cremation and for the ashes to be sent back. I get that done last, cleaning up while the retort runs and readying the proper supplies for collecting the ashes. It isn't my favorite action of my job, I never liked burning the deceased that came in, mostly because the thought is simply uncomfortable. Living a full life, only to be burned into ashes at the end; nothing left of you besides a bag of ashes that fits in loved ones' hands. Then again, I embalm bodies that will never prematurely stay how I leave them; they'll be buried and sooner or later, they decay into nothing but bones. All the effort we, I, put into making them presentable and similar to how they lived, will be for not. In the end, they all rot in a box in the cold ground with bugs and worms. I try not to think about that though, just focusing on my routine and lists of to-dos with each body.

It's a slow day after Mark leaves, I'm excited for our night at his house and the clock knows it. Purposely going slower to make me wait longer. To distract myself, I have one-sided conversations with the deceased on my embalming tray. Asking questions that will never be answered and telling them about the recent weeks with Mark, wondering out loud where my boyfriend lives or what his home looks like. When I run out of thoughts or conversations, I play music softly through my phone, in case people come in and the volume or genre scares them. Paul messages me, no doubt painstakingly typed on the number pad of his phone, questioning how I'm doing and if anyone walked in or called. He is told of Mark and the cadavers I've finished today, happy to hear no new customers came in while he was away and I was busy. Luckily, we're not always the first place grieving families think of, rather Funeral Homes suggest us for cremations and the family comes in to schedule. In return, Paul mentions his check-up came out perfect, he is in great health according to the medical exam and now just needs to wait on test results. I'm relieved my boss is fine, aware he stresses himself and doesn't take as much time as he could to sleep or take breaks. Always moving, working, and making calls to keep his business in check.

At sunset, I leave notes and the documents I wrote for the bodies Mark brought on Paul's desk for him to look over. Knowing he will need to call the funeral home to make arrangements for any deceased that is scheduled for a service and to inform the family that they could pick up the ashes I collected. Locking up the building, I hook my copy of the key back onto my bloody teddy bear keychain connected to my house and car keys. There is little traffic today, the time is earlier than I usually leave. The mostly clear roads make the short journey home fast, music causes time to fly and it feels like a moment between pulling out of the Mortuary parking lot and parking in my spot in the garage. Tony isn't in the elevator today, instead in his place is a woman that greets me with a kind smile. She doesn't offer much conservation, so I leave her be after politely telling her my floor number when asked. In my apartment, I bypass taking my shoes off and just set down my keys. Going to my room to pull out a small duffle bag to put in my sleeping shorts, sports bra, and clothes for tomorrow. As well as eyeliner, in case we go somewhere. Mark calls after I zip up my toothbrush and hairbrush in a cute ghost travel bag, my phone roaring with the song I picked for him.

"Hi!" I greet cheerfully, placing the small bag in the duffle with my clothes.

He chuckles, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Well hi, Sugar! You bout ready? I'm five minutes away."

Nodding to myself, I check that there is underwear with my clothes and that I have my hygiene items. "Yep! Perfect timing too, I swear it's like you know when I'm home and ready."

A sudden cough echoes through the phone, and Mark clears his throat quickly. Honeyed tone, soft. "Nah, just good timing, Bats. You're predictable to me. Give me a few minutes and I'll be up."

"Okay. Are you good? Did something get in your throat?" My light concern gets a little laugh.

"I'm good, my water went down the wrong pipe." I can hear the car switch off, and walk through the apartment to unlock the door for him. He grunts, sternly, "Bats."

I huff, looking at the ceiling and cursing myself for not waiting for him to hang up. Feigning innocence with a small whine, "What?"

"Lock that fucking door."

Gasping, I stare at the door handle in disbelief. "You actually heard that?!"

His chuckle is pure evil, deep, and sends shivers down my spine to my clenching thighs. "I hear everything, Darlin. So lock it until I get up there."

Sighing, I flip the lock back and hear him hum. "Good girl."

Flush forms my skin and my nerves quiver in genuine joy at hearing those words that haven't been spoken to me in ages. Coming from his rough, pleased voice makes it so much better. Still, my voice shifts into fake frustration, to hide my reaction. "Mark! You can't just say that!"

"And why the fuck not? Did your pretty pussy get all fucking wet? Want me to kiss it better, Bats?" He laughs knowingly, a smirk in his voice as a noise similar to a moan is stifled in my throat.

Struggling to properly form thoughts from how flustered I suddenly am, I blurt the first thing my mouth is able to say. "You- just don't!"

Abruptly, the phone is hung up and I stare at the screen for a moment before a knock makes me flinch. Setting the device down on the hall table, the lock is quickly unlocked and the door opens faster than I can turn the handle. Mark bursts in, grinning flirtatiously, and doesn't give me time to greet him. Lips connecting to mine nearly ferociously, leaving me breathless with the unexpected tongue sliding past my lips and hands roaming over my hips to harshly grasp the round globes of my ass. It last for merely a moment, barely time for my mind to process that he is even inside the apartment. I'm blushing pink, out of breath, and lips slightly pulsing, blinking at him in shock. He chuckles, self satisfied with his work and walks past me to let himself into my bedroom. Letting out a breath, I shake my head and follow him. Finding him shouldering the duffle bag and grabbing a seemingly random stuffie on my bed, only it's the bat I use when I'm feeling subby and he handles it gently. Not stuffing it under his arm or gripping it harshly, settling Salem, the bat stuffie, at his elbow that rests on the bag. I had forgotten to hide Salem this morning, in case the man visited today.

"Oh! You don't need to-" I go to grab the soft plushy, but he tsk and shifts away from my hand.

"Nah, Bats. We're taking them, I want you to be comfortable at my place. And I think this is adorable." He gestures to Salem, kissing my forehead and wrapping an arm around me to guide me out of the room. I find it amazing he doesn't call my plushy 'it', but rather 'them'. As if he is already aware of the significance the item has to me, and is simply waiting to be told what I call it.

I can simply watch, curious and humored, as he pockets my keys and phone. Locking the front door from the inside, softly pushing me into the hall to double check it's firmly locked when he closes it. Mark is grinning, delighted. Handing me Salem, he curls his free arm over my shoulders and observes how I instinctively cuddle the plushy to my chest. The curses are absent from his soft, low words. "Hold them for me, I don't wanna accidentally hurt them. Especially when you look absolutely too cute with them."

I grin, leaning into his side and warmth. Overjoyed he isn't bothered I have toys like this, and it's obvious I sleep with them for comfort or to just hold. "Thanks. I know it's a little weird, but you really didn't have to grab her. I'm sure I'll be comfortable with you there."

Delivering a soft kiss to my temple, he smiles affectionately. "Again, I wanted to. She fits you, Sweetheart, thought I should get used to her hanging around."

Touched, I can't control the urge to surge up to plant a lingering peck on his lips. Mentally congratulating myself for finding a man that doesn't degrade me for having such things or care. I'm aware Mark most likely assumes it's for other reasons than simply wanting them, that in his mind, I may have them for subby spaces. He'd be correct in that, but I also genuinely love plushies. I dated two men before Mark, each in college and each had certain opinions of my need, and want, to have Salem and other stuffies. Saying it was childish and immature. One man in particular would go as far as to hide them, trying to gaslight me into thinking I misplaced them and belittling me when I cried while in a sub mindset for wanting them. That 'relationship' didn't last long. After many failed relationships with men, I dated a few women. While some were more understanding, others weren't. I never understood what the deal was, the plushies don't interfere with anything, they are just soft toys and shouldn't cause trouble. To have Mark actively go out of his way to bring Salem with us to his house, reassuring me he wanted to, and treating her as if she's an important aspect of my life; means the world to me considering the issues in the past.

The car ride to where Mark lives is lively, with music playing and conversations aplenty. I tell him of the college men I dated when he inquired, this earns him rolling his eyes and mumbling, 'Those weren't men, they were stupid ass boys too focused on toxic masculinity.', said in a low, pissed tone. He praises Salem, saying if she gives me comfort then it's perfectly fine to have her, that it's cute as fuck. I sit in the passenger seat with my legs crossed under me, the seat belt on, and Salem in my lap. He insisted on the seat belt, not starting the car until the buckle clicked. He drives us out of the city into the countryside, open fields and animals are the only things in view. Until he takes a left turn and suddenly I'm seeing huge mansion-sized houses separated by acres of neatly cut grass or hay, luxurious homes sitting on hills overlooking the properties. I immediately snap my wide eyes to Mark, only seeing a mischievous smirk on his lips. Ten more minutes and he's pulling the car into a large concrete white driveway, blocked by large gates and two men with guns, a booth off to the side for the men. My mouth drops at the sight of the weapons, watching disbelievingly as one man nods and the gates slowly swing open. As we pass, I can't drag my eyes away from the security booth, turning to look back then quickly swinging to stare at Mark.

"Can I ask why there's security?" My voice must sound as disbelieving as I feel because he chuckles and glances at me with a grin. I clear my throat, blushing. "Sorry, I just didn't know PI's needed security and it caught me off guard. More than the fact you apparently live in the fancy mansion region."

"I don't live in a mansion, it's fucking humble compared to those pretentious fuckers." He corrects, still driving along the long driveway up a slight slope of a hill. "And the security is for if any enemies of my clients decide to test me."

This makes me suddenly concerned, the fact he said that so casually, that people may try to hurt him creates unease in my gut. Soft-spoken and thick with worry, I ask. "Will people try to hurt you? Because of clients?"

Quickly, he rests a hand on my thigh and squeezes reassuringly. Shaking his head, words gentle and factual. "No, Hun. I'll be okay. The security are only for the off chance someone tries shit. My clients have enemies, yet I make sure to work around them. Don't worry about me, or that, okay?"

Slowly, I nod, relieved he isn't concerned and just taking precautions. "Okay. It'll take some getting used to, the guys with guns. But I'm happy you're being cautious."

Mark laughs, petting along my leg, knee to the top of my thigh. His soft tone switched to firm, humming. "To avoid worrying you again, I would like it if you didn't go down into the basement where I have my office and do work. I don't wanna bring my work into our relationship, more than complaining about idiotic assholes."

"I won't disturb you while you're working, Mark. I promise." He smiles, slowing the car down.

"I know, Darlin. I just wanna keep business and us separate. I don't want you to worry or me to be angry when I'm with you, so I keep everything locked away down there. When the door locks, I'm work free." He looks over at me, serious and stern. "Besides, there are important, private, documents down there for clients. Just knock on the door if you ever need me, or call. That's a general rule."

Understanding, I squeeze his hand. "I'll respect you're privacy and work, call or knock, I can do that. You may need to show me which door though, otherwise I'll be knocking on everyone I see."

Smirking devilishly, Mark chuckles. "I'll be knockin you on every damn door, don't you fucking worry."

My lips part to retort that sexual implication, but my eyes flick ahead of us and I forget my words. Mark's house is a gorgeous, large stone and wood home. It's expensive, yet not luxurious as some of the houses we passed. It is modern with big wide windows and doors, all the wooden and stone features are sleek and beautiful. Layered roofing gives it a more elegant feel, with a long driveway that has a rounded island with a stylish stone design surrounding a cute pond in the middle. Large rocks and boulders frame the stairs leading to the wide, tall, front door. He pulls into one of the three garage doors, the giant space already including four other cars. Looking all smug and proud at my awe expression, he leads me inside through a side door by my hand.

Inside, the great room is spacious with high ceilings (I'm told 20') and an open concept to a dining area, kitchen, and a mud room through a sliding door off to the side of the front door. Everything is shades of white and gray, with black furniture mixed in. Sleek marble counters, shiny hardwood flooring, and wide rounded, wooden staircases leading to the second floor and down to the third level. There are four bedrooms and three bathrooms, one of which has jack and jill features that connect two bedrooms. Two downstairs and two upstairs, each. Mark uses the bedrooms for either storage or lets security use them between shifts, keeping his office and work in the basement.

The master suite is on the second floor, sporting a beautifully crafted stone fireplace, tray ceilings, as well as a roomy walk-in closet, and a five-piece bath that amazes me. His bed is gigantic, with black comforters and sheets, and pillows in a neat pile at the head of the bed against the carved wooden framing. The closet only has one side full, leaving the right side empty except for a few jeans tossed on the cabinets. He has no TV in his room, only a stereo and a vinyl record player, with a bookcase with the sole purpose of holding records and discs. The room itself is very empty, but I imagine that is only because he doesn't spend much time up here other than to sleep. What surprises me is the huge wall mirror he has to the side of the closet, facing the bathroom door and in sight of the bed. I hadn't taken him for the kind to care about his appearance enough to have such a large mirror, but it brings the room together and I find I like it. Yet all and all, it's a very beautiful country home, I can't wait to spend more time with him here.

I'm shown the stairs that lead down, revealing only one tall, dark door at the bottom of the staircase. No hall or other doors, merely a lone entrance, and I understand instantly what is down there. His office that I can't go into. I admit, it is ominous with how there are only two dim lights on each side of the door and that there is what I recognize as a fingerprint scanner on the door itself. He wants no one in there and I'm inclined to avoid it out of respect for his privacy. He takes me back up to his room, gently setting Salem on the nightstand before picking me up and tossing me onto the bed, loudly laughing at my shocked gasp as I bounce on the mattress.