The second he's gone, my eyes drift to the floor and latch onto a plain, black, oversized shopping bag.
What is that?
Did I buy something yesterday and forget?
Fear hits me. It wouldn't be the first time I did something I forgot about while I was in a state of panic.
I slide off the bed, careful of my bandaged thigh, and pad over barefoot. I crouch, ignoring the twinge in my stitches, and peek inside.
My breath catches.
Leather, red satin, and metal glint at me. I reach in with my good hand and pull out stainless-steel cuffs lined in luxurious red satin. The quick-release latch clicks under my thumb.
I return to the bag and pull out a thick black silk blindfold, edged in the same crimson, and a double-sided paddle with hard red leather on one side and softer suede on the other. A sleek matte-red vibrator set, remote tucked beside it, and a bottle of high-end lube, and ankle restraints come out next.
My pulse kicks hard between my legs. Heat floods low in my belly, instant and electric. My nipples tighten, and I can already picture the cuffs clicking around my wrists and ankles, the blindfold stealing the world, and Red cracking the paddle against my ass while he tells me he's teaching me a lesson.
Adrenaline zings in my cells like an out-of-control ping-pong ball. I turn the switch on the vibrator. It hums, and I wonder how it would feel inside me while he controls every pulse from across the room.
The toys aren't just toys; they're things Red wants to do to me.
Does he still?
I glance at the date on the receipt. He bought them yesterday, before he found me bleeding and took me to the hospital. Then he drew every line in the sand.
A round of anger hits me. Why do I have to be so stupid and jump toconclusions, then go off the deep end? I could be playing with Red right now instead of on his declared sex hiatus.
He still wants me.
He still wants this.
Hope surges so fast, it hurts. I clutch the blindfold to my chest, grinning despite the tears still drying on my face. This is it. This is how we fix us. Not with words. Not with sessions. With our bodies and surrender.
He can't say no to this.
He can't say no to me.
I slide the red leather lingerie on, tie it, and glance at my reflection. My hair's a mess, eyes red, but something about my out-of-control appearance seems appropriate.
I scoop everything back into the bag and carry it out to the hallway.
Red's voice drifts from the living room, low and professional. "…yes, cancel the full day. Reschedule everyone. I'll stay later if needed."
He's canceling work.
All of it.
For me.
For us.
My heart stutters.
He's standing by the window, phone to his ear, back to me. Sunlight cuts across his bare shoulders, highlighting the faint red marks I left there over the weekend with my nails.
I clear my throat.
He turns, and his eyes drift down my outfit and to the bag in myhands. His eyes flick from my body to the bag. Darkness shadows his expression.
