The week crawled by like a cruel tease. Every ordinary hour felt heavier, more colorless. My days at the office blurred into meaningless motions: tapping keys, drafting briefs, nodding through meetings. But beneath the surface, my body remembered.
The silk blindfold. The gloved touch. The faceless Stranger who had wrung shame and pleasure from me until I could no longer tell them apart.
When Friday finally arrived, I didn’t hesitate. My dress was tighter this time, silk clinging to curves I used to hide. I painted my lips crimson, as though daring myself not to retreat. When I walked up Ashmore Street and saw the lanterns flanking the oak doors of The Echelon, my pulse was steady, hungry.
I didn’t just want to watch anymore. I wanted more.
Cassandra met me in the lounge. She looked me
