“Amber?”
“Yes, amber,” he replied.
“Imagine, girl,” he continued, “thirty years from now. You go into your closet and take down a small box. You unlock it. Inside, you find a necklace, a string of golden amber beads. If you look closely, you see that each bead contains a scene, small figures frozen in the transparent stone.
“In one, you’re kneeling beside a bed, a collar around your neck, your hands tied together behind you. I stand in front of you, my hand in your black hair, on your neck. You’re turned up to me, your lips parted, your eyes asking me “now?” In another, you’re on your stomach on the bed, and I’m on top of you. My hand is in your hair once again, this time pulling your head up and back. In a third, you’re pressed against the wall, my chest against your back, your cheek against the wall and your hands pressed flat against it.
“And on, and on.
“Moments, frozen. Remembered. A string of secrets, of release and exploration.”
And then he reached for her, his hand slipping under her hair to lightly grasp her neck.