I stare down at the corset, not moving to pick it up.
He doesn’t move from the sofa either.
A few minutes pass where neither of us says anything. I just breathe through the silence, my brain whizzing with every possible response, every excuse I can give him.
Even if I just say it is a corset that I own, feigning ignorance of the club, I know that he knows it is the exact same one. He spends hours running his hands over it, studying it as he watches my body react in each session. There is no way I can pretend that I don’t work there.
Eventually, I slowly bend down, and pick it up. His head turns slightly at the movement.
“David, I–”
“No. You don’t get to talk.” He snaps, finally standing from the sofa and marching over to me. He throws his glass onto the floor, and it shatters everywh
