I muttered to myself, slamming the laptop shut so hard the screen wobbled.
“Enough of the search, bitch.”
Hours.
Fucking hours.
I’d scrolled through Savage X, Agent Provocateur, Etsy customs, even some sketchy lingerie forums where girls posted “what made my man feral” threads.
Crotchless sets, leather harnesses, edible thongs, blindfolds with “Daddy’s” embroidered on them—everything.
And still nothing felt right.
Nothing felt filthy enough.
Nothing felt like me, already dripping just thinking about him walking through that door.
I stood up—naked, skin still warm from the shower, n*****s tight from the AC and the constant loop in my head.
The necklace—PNLS—swung between my t**s like a little silver promise every time I moved.
I looked in the full-length mirror.
