I was on the train.
I had dressed exactly as he wanted: a short black skirt that barely skimmed mid-thigh, a thin white top with no bra beneath it, and absolutely nothing underneath. My skin felt hypersensitive.
I found the private first-class compartment he had booked, slipped inside, and locked the door behind me with a quiet click.
He was already there, lounging across one of the wide leather seats with the easy confidence of a man who always got what he wanted. His legs were spread wide, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the hard planes of his chest and the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the fabric. Stubble shadowed his jaw, his hair was tousled from sleep or restless fingers, and his eyes fixed on me the moment the door closed.
"You came," he said, voice low an
