Page 97 of Safe Word

EIGHTEEN

Scarf. Mask. Contacts – I assembled Scarlett, piece by piece in the lavatory.

Walking the corridor with my shoulders drawn tight, I cast a quick glance over my shoulder. Down here, the walls were raw, pockmarked with plaster bubbles and sweat stains, as though the building itself had once tried to purge something and failed. It didn’t feel neglected. It felt deliberately unfinished, as if anyone who had wandered down here was meant to feel unwelcome. Or warned.

But I wasn’t here by accident.

Ghost had given me instructions: ‘Past the toilets. Through the hall. Down the steps. The light will be on.’

It was.

And the heat – my God. It wasn’t the comfortable kind. This was the thick and cloying summer heat in a sealed tomb, as if it had been caught in the walls and left to rot on purpose. I could smell the dust on the floor before I stepped over it.

No air conditioning. No windows. Just deafening silence and pressure.

I slipped a hand over my purse, fingers brushing the familiar hard edge of my gun.

Then I saw it.

In the centre of the room.

Not a table.

Maybe a chair? It looked like it in a way.

Stainless steel, welded to the floor, with restraining cuffs on each armrest, padded stirrups spread at an unforgiving angle, and a network of black tubes running into a small mechanical control box. Shiny. New. Industrial. The black leather of the seat gleamed under the ceiling light as if it had been wiped down minutes ago.

When its purpose dawned on me, my throat closed around a breath.

I knew that machine. I wrote about it – where pleasure and humiliation blurred until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other devoured.

Oh, my God…

Did I want this?

I imagined his eyes on me as he secured the toy where the empty holders gaped, as he watched through half-lidded eyes while it moved rhythmically.

And yes – God – I wanted it.

I loved watching him relish my pleasure. There was something liberating about it. About the way he made my body feel… wanted. Even when bruised and broken.

As I neared it, I found a note. And a shimmering, black blindfold.

Both looked like invitations to a dinner party from hell. And I was the willing meal.

I stepped closer, warmth rebounding from the chair like it was projecting the heat of my body strapped to it.

I reached for the note with slow fingers. The edges were crisp, folded with meticulous care. Just the black ink in harsh, masculine handwriting: ‘Strip. Sit back against the chair. Blindfold on. Safe word. Wait.’

Breath scraped down my throat. Something twisted and hot unfurled within me.

I glanced around. The light above buzzed faintly, and the stillness pressed in, thick as fog. I couldn’t see him – but he was here. I felt it. That low hum across my skin like a magnetic field. He was watching.

A thrill curled up my spine.

I didn’t hesitate. And it came as a surprise. Travis never made me feel this way.

I stepped closer to the chair, letting the purse fall from my shoulder with a soft clatter.