Page 59 of Suite 7

Vera: Yes, Sir.

I pour another scotch.

And smile into the dark.

Vera

The elevator doors close and I face myself in the mirror.

Wide eyes. Flushed cheeks. Hair undone where his hands were.

I look like someone who just had the floor pulled out from under them and is still in the air, not yet sure which way is down.

The elevator reaches the lobby. I step out into the cool night and stand on the sidewalk for a moment, not moving. The city hums around me.

And then, somewhere underneath the ache and the want and the orgasm denial I’m already deeply regretting agreeing to — there’s the Sloane-shaped thing I’ve been not looking at all night.

I told her the room holds confidential client work. She’s never questioned it.

He said it without flinching. Without apology. And I understood exactly what that lie costs him, and exactly what it’s going to cost us both when it ends.

Not if.

When.

I pull out my phone. Type before I can overthink it.

Me: I hate you right now.

His response comes in seconds. I read it, smile despite myself, type back.

By the time I reach my car, I’m grinning and furious and aching and more certain than I’ve been about anything in years.

He showed me that room.

And I looked at everything in it: the Cross, the implements, the aftercare couch with its weighted blankets, and I wasn’t frightened.

I saw him.

Organized and careful and tender underneath the control. A man who plans the aftercare as meticulously as the scene. Who labels his medical supplies. Who chose warm amber lighting so it wouldn’t feel harsh.

It’s just you. All of you.

I said it to reassure him.

I meant every word.

I sit in my car in the dark, phone warm in my hand, the city lights moving across the windshield.

Then I start the engine and drive home.

I’m going to need a cold shower.

10 Vera

I wake up already aching.

For a disorienting moment I can’t figure out why. Then: Kane’s room. The equipment. His kiss. His hands on my skin. The way he touched me and then stopped.