Page 98 of Safe Word

‘Where are you?’ I asked softly. My words echoed in the empty space.

‘Sit,’ came the familiar, deep growl that tickled up my back.

I moved to turn my head sideways, but I knew he was hidden. And I wondered if it was because he hadn’t brought his mask with him.

Closing my eyes with desperation to know what he looked like, I let my fingers touch the zip of my dress, slow enough to make the sound last. The hem hit the patch of deliberately polished tiles beneath the machine, the fabric pooling at my feet.

I glanced at the seat.

If he wanted obedience, I’d give him more. I’d give him a performance.

I turned in a slow circle in front of the chair, bared my feet, like I was dancing for him. Then unhooked my bra, the straps slipping down like silk ropes, breasts exposed, nipples tightening under the breathless heat. Every movement purposeful.

And the longer I moved, the more aware I became of myself. Of how the heat made my skin glow. Of how arousal unfurled between my thighs like a secret only he knew how to claim.

I stepped closer to the machine.

The seat was cool against my skin as I climbed onto it, the metal smooth, almost surgical. I aligned my spine to the chairback just as instructed. My thighs parted over the stirrups, spreading me wide, baring everything. No straps yet. Just surrender.

Clutching the blindfold, I tied it behind my head, plunging myself into velvety black. The pin at the back holding my hair together was punishing, but I didn’t move to take it out – I’d have to remove the scarf first.

Breath in.

Breath out.

Need. Tension. Submission.

Salvation.

The heat kissed every inch of my body, and I let it. Let it soak into my skin. Let it magnify the sensation of his eyes on me – the curve of my hips, the gleam between my thighs, the way my chest rose, slow and inviting.

I smiled into the dark and finally said, ‘Green.’

Every piece of fabric she peeled off was a prayer answered. Every breath she took fed my hunger. Not Ghost. Me. She just didn’t know it yet. Like it had always been – like it was supposed to be.

I stood behind a pillar, breath barely contained, one hand pressed to the cold concrete wall to stop myself from storming forward. The other gripped the front of my jeans, where the pressure had built to the point of pain.

She followed the instructions perfectly – every step I had given her.

Being the owner of Obsidian made it easy to hack into accounts – not that I ever did that. But for her, I was ready to break all the rules of this miserable life.

From the moment she’d stepped into my club, and my eyes had clocked her on the camera, I’d recognised her. She’d always been mine. She’d walked into my arms right then and there.

I knew no amount of therapy would make me right. I didn’t want to be right. Not with her lips so soft, and her body so ready to take all of me.

I’d written the note with a black pen. I hadn’t known what kind she liked. I’d never cared about things like that before. But I’d seen the way she’d turn things in her hands when she was nervous, the way she’d tuck receipts into her wallet like they mattered. So I’d folded the paper just so, crisp and neat, the way I’d imagined she would fold a note if she had been leaving one for me. That was what love was, wasn’t it?

Filling in the gaps. Completing the parts they didn’t even know were missing.

Not like D’Angelo, who spoke in cliches and fucked like he was proving something. Whispering all that brave-boy dominance into her ear. No… the real monsters didn’t need all that glitter.

He didn’t see her – not the way I did.

He didn’t know her.

He never watched her sleep. Never followed her home to make sure she was safe.

Never counted the few freckles on her nose, just to have something to repeat to himself when he missed her too much.