Pt. 02 - Dressed and Denied

Mia wakes, the sheets tangled around her like chains. The morning light feels bright, almost accusing. She pulls the sheets over her head, trying to hide from the day, from the memories.

Ethan's soft touch as he covered her breasts, her stark arousal at being seen and wanted.

Last night, alone with her thoughts, Mia allowed herself to relive the scene that Jace had cut short. In her fantasy, Tai and Treyvon had removed her thong, their hands and mouths expertly caressing and kissing as they brought her to a peak of intense pleasure. Only after her release, when the pleasure faded, did the embarrassment settle in, heavy and unshakable.

Mia's phone buzzes on her night stand. She reaches for it, tapping against the brightness of the screen.

Ryan: New uniform coming in later today. Hoping you can come in early for a talk.

Mia's arms stiffen, the implications washing over her in a wave of shame.

NO! Just NO!

Not at her work..

She burrows deeper under the covers, her mind racing. Maybe she could face Ryan again. He hadn't been there to see her stretched and teased by two football players. She could explain Ethan's encounter, maybe maintain some semblance of professionalism.

But Jace? The thought of facing him sends a shiver of dread through her.

She considers the gym's struggles and the looming presence of Verafit across the street. Ryan has poured everything into Pinnacle. He must be looking for a way out, a reset. Perhaps her leaving could somehow ease that transition. He has been so good to her. The least she could do is save him the cost of her salary while his business fails.

And yet... leaving Ryan wasn't easy. He wasn't just her boss; he was the one steady thing in her life, a connection built through years of trust, through the kind of understanding that didn't need words. When her marriage fell apart, he had been there--not to fix, not to pry, just there. It had never been complicated because it had never been an option. She had been married. Their relationship was professional. But that never stopped her from feeling.

The thought solidifies her resolve. It's the only way. She can't be the reason Pinnacle falls deeper into jeopardy.

From her closet, she searches for the right outfit. She passes over skimpy dresses, lace teddies, even the harness lingerie she had bought to get a rise out of him. Reminders of how she once dressed for a man who never wanted her. How she tried, again and again, to be seen by Michael.

Not this time.

This time, she needs to be strong, untempting, professional.

She retrieves her stiffest button-up, its high collar and thick fabric unyielding against her skin. Beneath it, her strapless structured minimizer bra flattens her shape. Over her panties, high-waisted compression tights smooth everything into place. Finally, she dons a long, structured pencil skirt, cinched at the waist, tightening past her knees, locking her in.

She eyes herself in the mirror. Serious. Concealed. In control. A uniform of withdrawal.

Staring at her reflection, she practices the words she'll say to Ryan. No more blurred boundaries. No more enticements. Today, she'll resign.

Mia steps into Pinnacle Fitness, rehearsed and ready. She's played the conversation over in her head, every word, every justification.

She finds Ryan in his office, standing over the marketing plan on his desk, looking bright. Happy. He hasn't looked this good in months.

But before she can even clear her throat, Ryan looks up--his face lighting up the second he sees her, like she's the best thing he's seen all week.

"You killed it, Mia." His grin is wide, his energy electric.

She blinks. "What?"

Ryan gestures toward the desk, beaming. "Here, sit."

Mia hesitates. She's not here to get comfortable. Avoiding the chestnut leather club chairs for guests, she steps in, leaning her butt against the edge of his desk instead.

Ryan doesn't seem to notice the difference--or if he does, he doesn't care. He's already moving on, already reaching for something on his desk. From his desk drawer, he retrieves a piece of paper, placing it in her hand.

Mia looks down. A check in her name. A commission.

He lets the moment hang before adding, "Treyvon and Tai signed up for the VIP membership this morning." He's beaming. "Jace said you were very convincing."

Mia swallows. How much does he know?

The check sits in her hand, undeniable. Company policy. Standard commission. But it doesn't feel standard. Ryan's approval lingers in the unspoken space between them. A reward for being unforgettable. Not just to them--to him. Why does that stir something in her?

Ryan watches her carefully, amusement flickering behind his eyes.

"Apparently, you made quite the impression."

The way his praise lingers, just ambiguous enough, sends a wave of heat through her. She shifts, suddenly aware of herself, of yesterday, of how much she gave to the gym and how good it felt. Maybe too good.

Her mouth is dry. She needs to move forward. "Ryan, I need to talk to you."

He exhales, shaking his head, like he already knows what's coming. "Mia--"

"I can't stay." She steels herself. "I crossed a line."

Ryan snorts. "Because Ethan caught a look? Mia, it was a wardrobe malfunction." His tone is breezy, dismissive.

She stiffens. "It wasn't just Ethan."

Ryan's gaze sharpens.

Mia swears his eyes flick just slightly downward--too quick to be sure.

And then, he sighs. "This is on me." He rubs a hand over his jaw. "You should've had your uniform. That shouldn't have happened."

A beat. His expression is unreadable. Then, he smirks. "I'm just confused--when you left, it was like you were glowing."

The air stutters in her throat. He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. Mia's face burns. Did he know?

Ryan pushes forward. "Your marketing plan was brilliant." He claps his hands together, "And we're moving on it."

Mia straightens. "What?"

"I've brought in a designer--friend of Kyle's--to create new uniforms and outfit you for the photoshoot you've suggested."

Yesterday's flutter returns to her stomach.

"A fitting?"

Ryan nods, already moving past it, like it's settled. "Lafayette will be here any minute."

No.

"I--" She swallows, shakes her head. "Ryan, I'm not ready for that."

Ryan leans back against the counter, arms crossed. "It's just measurements, Mia."

Just measurements. Like it's nothing. like she didn't wake up swearing she'd take back control. Like the idea isn't also secretly exhilarating.

Her heartbeat quickens, "I can't be measured in this."

Ryan's gaze flicks down--her stiff button-up, the high-waisted pencil skirt hugging her hips, the compression tights smoothing everything beneath. It dawns on him. She will need to strip down to be measured.

"Ahhhhh..." His voice is almost amused.

Mia stiffens, suddenly aware of how tightly her clothes grip her body. "I don't even know this guy."

A reassuring twinkle catches in his gaze. "You have nothing to worry about with Lafayette."

Right... Lafayette isn't interested in her.

Mia exhales, but the tension in her chest doesn't fully ease. Ryan's steady and certain voice has guided her through so much. It should ground her now, just like always. So why does it feel different this time? Why does she want to believe him so badly?

Lafayette struts ahead, waving Mia to the locker room like they're old friends heading into an exclusive VIP lounge. "Come, come--let's get you out of this nonsense."

Dressed like he stepped out of a fashion editorial, Lafayette wears a cropped pastel bomber over a fitted mesh tank, high-waisted lavender joggers hugging his frame just right, and spotless white sneakers clearly chosen to make the whole look feel intentional. His dark skin glows under the locker room lights, confidence radiating from every movement.

Mia huffs a small laugh, letting the door swing shut behind her. It's impossible not to follow his energy--like the main character in a movie no one else has been cast in yet. Mia likes him already.

He spins on his heel, eyeing her outfit like it personally offended him. "Honestly, this is a crime. Compression tights? A button-up? Baby, what are we doing here? Running a hedge fund?" He gestures at her stiff, constraining layers like they've personally wronged him. "And worse--you're hiding your true form. A body like yours?"

Mia rolls her eyes, but she's already smiling. "I was dressing for professionalism."

"You were dressing to keep that mess of a man out of your head." Lafayette waves a hand dismissively, like her ex-husband isn't even worth a full gesture. "Michael, was it? The one with the sexual charisma of a damp napkin?"

Mia snorts, shaking her head. "I never said that."

Lafayette grins, unbothered. "Ryan did." He arches a brow. "And baby, I can tell when a man is holding back."

Mia exhales a laugh, warmth creeping up her neck. Of course Ryan would say that.

Lafayette steps closer, voice dropping into something thoughtful, like he's considering a great mystery of the universe. "You ever think about how weird it is--closet cases?"

Mia blinks at the shift. "Closet cases?"

He nods, solemn. "Gay men hiding in this day and age. Like, honey, why? It is easier than ever to get your dick sucked."

Mia lets out a startled laugh. "I--Jesus Laf."

She has brooded over it a thousand times but somehow, it just feels good coming from a guy like Lafayette.

"I'm just saying!" He spins her toward the benches like he's steering a shopping cart, voice all casual charm. "Like, in a world full of options, why choose misery?"

Mia scoffs, shaking her head. "Maybe it's not that simple."

"Oh, it is. It so is." He winks, already reaching for the first button of her shirt. "Now, arms up, baby. Let's get you looking like someone who deserves admiration."

Still standing, Mia doesn't hesitate.

Lafayette is used to this.

"You ever worked runway?" he muses, slipping the first few buttons free.

Mia shakes her head, exhaling as he peels the fabric from her shoulders. Her long black hair tumbles down her back, a dark contrast against her pale skin. Lafayette is used to this.

"Well, listen and learn, sweetheart. I used to do backstage changes--ball gown to bikini in under sixty seconds. No time for modesty, no time for hesitation. Clothes on, clothes off. Clean, efficient, fabulous."

She tells herself it's the same here. But the way he's seeing her--not just as a body, not just as something to admire--it's intoxicating.

Lafayette slides her shirt down her arms, letting it catch at her wrists still buttoned tightly in the cuffs. Mia shifts instinctively, but the fabric stays tangled, a loose restraint. He pauses, taking her in--head tilting, lips pursing, like a sculptor assessing raw marble.

"Do you even understand what I could do with this body? With you?"

Mia exhales a short laugh, shifting her wrists against the bunched fabric. "I don't know--should I be flattered or worried?" Strangely, she feels safe with Lafayette.

"Sweetheart, you're a designer's dream- a perfect canvas, just waiting."

His fingers skim up her back, not teasing--just moving with purpose. The clasp of her strapless bra unfastens in one smooth motion.

Lafayette expertly reaches under her arms and behind her back, his fingers finding the clasp of her strapless bra, ease--one swift motion, and the fabric gives.

A beat of hesitation. A rush of cool air over her skin. She's half a second from crossing her arms over her chest when he moves back in front of her--hands up, palms open, waiting.

He isn't touching her. He's waiting. And that's worse.

Because Lafayette is looking at her like he's just been given VIP access to something divine.

He gasps, pressing a hand to his forehead like he needs to steady himself.

Then, "Oh. My. God," as if personally stricken. Mia barely has time to react before he cups his own face in delight. "Sweetie, I should sue you for keeping these from the world."

Heat rises up her neck, her breath caught in her throat.

"Absolutely magnificent." He steps back like he needs a full view, hands framing the air as if admiring a work of art. "I mean, symmetry? Perfect. Shape? Heavenly. Bounce?" He scoffs. "Newton would weep."

Mia presses her lips together, flustered, exposed.

He tilts his head, considering something. And then, softly, like a great realization--

"You must let me touch."

A nervous flutter stirs in her chest, unsure how to respond.

He waggles his fingers, eyes wide with anticipation. "Darling--these deserve admiration in real time."

A laugh bubbles up before she can stop it, a little nod. God, he's ridiculous. Charming. Effortless. And completely safe--even as something familiar stirs inside her

So when he extends his hands, waiting, she lets him.

His palms graze the curve of her breasts, light at first--just fingertips skimming, tracing the soft slope. His thumbs press in gently, testing their weight.

Her fingers tense against the bunched fabric at her wrists, a useless little flinch. She wonders if she could free herself if she wanted, but instead she savors the moment, letting herself slip into the part of her that wants to be Lafayette's artwork.

He hums approvingly, adjusting his grip, lifting slightly before letting them settle. "Oh, sweetheart." He closes his eyes like he's found religion. "The luxury. The perfection."

His hands are warm, his touch light, expert. Nothing sexual. Nothing sexual. But her body doesn't care. It just reacts.

And then--his thumb grazes over her nipple. Light. Effortless. The kind of touch that shouldn't mean anything.

Except it does.

Mia tenses, her stomach pulling tight. She wasn't ready for the spark that would send through her.

The warmth of his palm is already everywhere, his hold assessing, shaping, appreciating--but that single, fleeting stroke sends a bolt of sensation straight between her legs.

Lafayette's hands still. Then, slowly, like a man piecing together a delightful secret, his smirk deepens.

Mia freezes. Oh God--he knows.

His thumb circles back, just barely--not enough to be deliberate, but enough to test.

Her body reacts before she can stop it. A slow, betraying stiffening beneath his touch.

Lafayette gasps dramatically, grinning. "Oh, honey... sensitive, are we?"

Mia burns. Every inch of her. She told herself this was safe. That he was safe. But there's nothing safe about this. He's touching her with ease, confidence and charm, and yet--her body wants. She should step back. She should stop this. Instead, she stays perfectly still, letting herself have it.

And Lafayette? Lafayette smiles. His thumbs drag over her nipples one last time, slow and deliberate, before he finally pulls away.

Mia exhales, her chest tight, skin flushed, her body still humming from his touch.

And then--she sees it. The shift in his stance. The way he subtly adjusts himself. The realization crashes over her--sudden, dizzying, and undeniably hot.

Lafayette isn't gay.

He's been touching her--freely, easily--like it meant nothing. But it does.

It's not just the way he touches her. It's the way he takes her in--like he's savoring something rare, something too exquisite to rush. A quiet thrill surges beneath her skin. Because he's enjoying this.

Lafayette's gaze meets hers. He doesn't explain. He just smiles--slow, knowing, like a man who's exactly where he wants to be.

"Let's get you measured, baby."

His hands slip beneath her arms, past the sleeves still locking her wrists. The tape follows, gliding under his fingers as he smooths it around her ribs--each touch light but reverent. Like he's shaping something exquisite, something rare. "You are--" he exhales, as if no single word is enough.

Mia shivers. He notices.

The tape measure drags over her nipples, and her body responds--Lafayette's grip careful, deliberate. More than measurement. Appreciation. A slow, uninvited pulse stirs between her legs.

Lafayette clicks his tongue.

"Oh, sweetheart." A soft sigh, like he's savoring something. "Perfection. And I mean that."

His voice is lower now, smooth. It shouldn't make her stomach flutter like this. But it does. Mia tries to steady herself, but then he's stepping back, hands already at her waist.

"Skirt next."

He unhooks it before she can react, fingers slipping beneath the waistband, peeling it down like it belongs to him.

A sharp intake of air, thighs tensing. Her hands twitch behind her back, a reflexive motion--useless.

Lafayette just laughs softly. "Relax, baby. I'm doing all the work here."

He glides the gray fabric down her thighs, over her knees, then releases, letting it softly pool around her steel-blue kitten heels. But instead of rising, he pauses, eyeing the fabric bunched at her ankles with a look of theatrical dismay.

"Ugh, sweetheart, this is chaos. I can't work like this."

Before she can ask what he means, he has already moved, stepping behind her. His hands are at her lower back, twisting the bundled-up shirt into a firm knot. A click--he pins it in place with a safety pin from his kit.

Mia flexes her fingers instinctively. Oh.

The knot isn't elaborate, but it holds. She can still wiggle her arms, but not past her hips. A deep, spreading awareness--of exposure, of helplessness, of how every inch of her skin feels more alive without the option to shield herself. The restraint alters her posture, subtly lifting her breasts, making them feel fuller, more present. She is tied, yet somehow, the restriction frees her--to feel, to surrender to each sensation without escape.

Lafayette pats the secured knot with satisfaction. "There. Now we can focus."

Effortlessly, he moves back in front of her, dropping to a knee. His hands are at her waist in an instant, slipping the tape measure around her with practiced ease. He cinches it snug, then--he frowns, lips pursed in open disapproval.

"Oh, absolutely not."

Mia blinks. "What?"

Still crouched at her waist, he plucks at the waistband of her tights with two fingers, like he's afraid of catching something contagious. "Compression? At this level? Who hurt you?"

Mia rolls her eyes. "They smooth everything out."

"Sweetheart, your body does not need smoothing. It needs adoring."

Mia shifts instinctively, trying to lift her hands to make it easier--but the knot holds firm. She can't help. She can't assist. She can only stand there, still and yielding, as Lafayette hooks his fingers into the waistband, peeling the tights over her hips, down her thighs in one smooth, practiced motion. Then slowing his pace, he works the tights lower, unwrapping her inch by inch, only to leave them tangled at her ankles, the stretched fabric binding her feet together.

Before she can adjust, he reaches around her, both hands sliding up the backs of her thighs--firm, steady.

Mia shivers, instinctively shifting her legs, but the compression tights cinched at her ankles make it little more than a useless quiver.

His palms spread wide, gliding up to the soft curves just beneath her ass.

Then, with a satisfied sigh--

"There we go. You're officially free from this oppression."

Mia's legs feel unsteady--not just from the tights binding her ankles, but from the way her body feels weaker, more aware of itself.

Mia's knees threaten to buckle, Lafayette's hands rising further, teasing against the thin lace strap that disappears between her cheeks. And now, he's closer--eye-level with the delicate lace stretched over her heat. Her wrists flex behind her, instinctive, useless. She's trapped in place, fully at Lafayette's mercy as his breath brushes the inside of her thigh, the restraint keeping her still even as her body tenses.

Lafayette slides his tape between her thighs, knuckles brushing the sensitive skin at her inner leg.

"Stand still, baby." His voice is light, but the command is firm. "I need accuracy."

Mia inhales long and slow, trying not to tremble as his fingers press lightly at the delicate trim by her heat.

The tape is forgotten, his fingertips lingering, teasing at the crease where her thighs meet--just enough to make her pulse throb harder, just enough to make her feel the weight of his attention.

Too close. Too much. And then--he shifts, his touch trailing along the lace edge, following its path up to her hips, unhurried, knowing.

Mia doesn't move. Doesn't want to. The way his fingers trace the lace isn't forceful, isn't demanding--just knowing. It's a test, and she lets herself pass, staying right where he wants her, where she wants to be. Exposed. Admired. Ready to be handled.

"Now this I approve of."

Mia flushes. Oh, the way he smiles, taking her in, savoring her.

"Mmm." A soft, indulgent hum, his fingers stroking the lace at her hips.

"La Perla?" He tilts his head, pinching the delicate waistband between his fingers, giving it the slightest tug. "Or perhaps... Agent Provocateur?"

Mia swallows hard.

"Oh, honey." He exhales, letting his fingers glide along the lace. "And here I thought you had no idea how to dress yourself."

His touch drags along the curve of her hip, dipping just beneath the fabric.

And then--he finds the center, fingers slipping under, catching the delicate material between his thumb and forefinger.

Just a little. Just enough.

The backs of his knuckles brush against her entrance, slow, unhurried.

A shock of sensation, pleasure winds through her like a silken thread.

Lafayette stills, lifting his thumb from the fabric. The backs of his fingers remain, sliding slowly, testing, feeling--like he's handling something rare, something precious.

A hum--low, indulgent.

"Mmm. Soft." A beat. "Very soft."

Then--a slow, easy smile.

"And warm." Another beat. "Wet."

Heat rushes through her, spreading like liquid fire up her neck and down her spine. She can't ignore how good this feels.

"Oh, sweetheart..." His voice a knowing purr as his fingers shift slowly. "You're enjoying this way more than you should be."

Footsteps echo beyond the lockers. A sudden noise--too close.

Lafayette withdraws instantly, like he was never touching her at all.

Mia barely has time to register the loss before Kyle rounds the corner--his bright red hair, his lanky stride--then he stops short.

Eyes wide. Mouth open. Stunned.

Mia freezes, every nerve alight, every inch of bare skin suddenly more bare beneath Kyle's stare.

His eyes flick between them--Mia, Lafayette. Putting it together. And something in his expression shifts, tightening at the edges.

A sharp instinct flares--shield herself, turn away, disappear. But she can't. The knot at her wrists holds firm, her arms drawn back, her feet still tangled in the stretch of her tights. Bound. Aroused. Thrumming.

She is bare. Not just undressed--exposed. Her tits out, nipples peaked from Lafayette's lingering touch. The lace of her panties is the only thing keeping her from being fully revealed.

But instead of panic, something else flickers. Awareness. A slow, humming tension. This is what it feels like to be looked at. This is what she wants.

And Kyle can't stop looking. His face is bright red, his gaze wandering down--then back up, then down again. His brows pull together, conflicted--because now he knows. Knows what Lafayette's been doing. Knows how much Mia let him.

Lafayette doesn't even turn around.

"Oh, Kyle, darling." His tone is light, amused. "Didn't your mother teach you to knock?"

Kyle blinks rapidly, his brain visibly short-circuiting. "I--oh, shit--I didn't--Ryan said--"

Lafayette finally spares him a glance, one brow lifting--like Kyle is the one making things awkward. "Yes, yes, I asked for help. I simply didn't anticipate our dear Kyle being late to his appointment. We're in the middle of a fitting, after all." He lifts Mia's chin with two fingers, turning her face toward Kyle with quiet appreciation. "And you've walked in at such a crucial moment."

Mia's body is still thrumming--Lafayette's touch lingering, heat pooling deep. And when her eyes meet Kyle's, he sees it. Sees that he missed something. Sees that Lafayette is getting what he never has.

And Mia sees Kyle's want. Sharp and undeniable. She can feel it in the way his body is locked up, in the way his throat bobs like he's struggling to swallow. In the way he stares--like he wishes he were the one touching her.

It's wrong to enjoy this. But she does.

The impulse to move seizes her--to shift, to reclaim some control. But her tights still bind her feet, keeping her trapped in place. Then--a thought strikes like a jolt. She remembers--Ethan had seen yesterday. And now--after everything Lafayette has done to her, the way her body must have responded.

God. Is she wet? Can Kyle see it?

She should stop this. End it before it escalates. But her lips part, and what comes out is softer, weaker than she intended.

"Kyle, maybe--"

Kyle's eyes darts between them, unsure if bolting would make this better or worse.

"Actually, darling," Lafayette cuts in, finally turning toward him. "Since you're here, be useful. Fetch Mia's bodysuit, would you? My wardrobe--case on the bench. You don't mind if Kyle helps get you clothed, do you?"

Kyle makes a strangled noise, gripping the open wardrobe case like it's the only thing tethering him to reality.

Mia takes in his rigid posture, his bright red ears, the sheer look of suffering on his face.

She thinks back to yesterday--his wide, startled look when she perched on the stool in her short skirt. That reaction had been innocent. Sweet. Flattering, even.

Now, she stands here, flustered, covered only by delicate lace panties, bound at the hands and feet. And something about that--something about knowing he wants her, that he hates that someone else had her first--sends a sharper thrill through her stomach.

And Kyle is trapped in it with her. The poor boy. Desperate.

Mia tilts her chin slightly. "Yes, I mind."

Mia gestures toward Kyle, who looks moments from passing out.

"I mean--he looks like--"

Kyle clears his throat, rough and forced. "It's fine. I've helped Lafayette before. With--uh--his school projects. And stuff."

A beat of silence.

Kyle turns even redder, rifling through the wardrobe case with desperate focus. Then--finally, relief. His fingers close around a black spandex garment. He spins, practically shoving it at Mia--too stiff, too eager to be done.

"Bodysuit." His voice is tight, clipped.

Kyle holds out the black spandex suit, waiting. Offering. But Mia's hands are still bound behind her back, her breasts rising and falling.

She watches Kyle realize his mistake too late. His movements falter, grip tightening on the bodysuit. His eyes flick to her wrists--her hands swallowed by the inverted sleeves of her shirt.

Lafayette plucks the bodysuit from his hands before he can recover.

"Alright, darling, time to get you into this."

Mia nods automatically, her mind still buzzing, her nipples stiffening under Kyle's stare. She should want to break free, to cover herself--to regain some semblance of control, but she doesn't.

Being trapped like this, bound at the ankles, her feet helplessly tangled in tights and lace, her arms pinned at her sides--it should make her panic. Instead, it's exhilarating. A thrill she can't explain. She's not responsible for what happens next. She has no control. And somehow, that makes her feel free.

Lafayette sighs, pressing a hand to his forehead with exaggerated despair.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, "you do realize you're tied up, don't you?"

Heat floods up Mia's throat. Oh. Right.

"I--"

Lafayette cuts her off with a soft chuckle.

"Come."

His touch is steady. Confident. One hand at her sternum, fingers spread, warm and firm. The other settles at her lower back, light but directive, keeping her steady as he begins to move her.

Her wrists twitch behind her, bound, useless. Her ankles still cinched together in the tangled mess of fabric. Each shuffle is a struggle--small, awkward steps, the restraint pulling tight, threatening to topple her. She can't lower herself smoothly. She can't do anything.

So Lafayette does it for her.

His hand shifts--lower now, just above her hips. A subtle tilt. A silent command.

Mia exhales, surrendering. Letting herself be moved. The tension in her shoulders slackens as she melts into the slow, inevitable descent.

The backs of her thighs touch the bench. The fabric against her skin, cool. Her spine straightens--because she feels it.

He put her here.

Mia's skin flushes, her nipples tight--pleading for more. A tugging need deep in her belly. God, how is she this turned on?

She shouldn't look at Kyle. But she does.

And she sees it.

The way his throat works as he swallows, hard. The way his hands flex at his sides, restless, aching. The tension in his shoulders, in his eyes--locked on her. Envy. Frustration. Awe. Want.

And Mia feels it--her body tightening, drawn to it. A deep, thrilling ache as she watches him unravel for her.

Lafayette hums, slow and indulgent, letting the moment stretch. His hands don't leave her. The one at her back stays warm, grounding. The one at her sternum drags lower--Not to cover her. But to frame her. His fingertips trail lightly down the delicate dip between her breasts.

Not grabbing, not taking. Just mapping. Appreciating. Like she's something to be admired. Something exquisite.

And then, softly--he addresses Kyle. "She really is beautiful, isn't she?"

Heat rushes up her neck, down her spine, pooling low and insistent.

But it's not just the words.

It's Kyle. She sees the way his shoulders jerk, the way his fingers twitch uselessly at his sides. And Mia feels exactly what he's thinking. Her body hums alive at his yearning stare. Kyle is suffering. Because he wants her.

Mia should say something. Should call this to a stop.

Her lips part--nothing.

Because Lafayette is still touching her. Unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world. His fingers gently stroke back up, brushing ever so lightly over her sensitive nipples.

An awareness gathers there, a soft, longing pull.

And Kyle is still looking.

Mia's heart hammers, her cheeks burning. This is wrong. But it feels too good to stop.

Kyle makes a strangled sound.

Lafayette's voice is silk with amusement. "That's alright, sweetheart." He pauses briefly. "He doesn't have to say it."

Mia lets out a soft, broken whimper.

His fingers trace down to the lace at her hips--just lightly, barely there, but enough. Enough to make her ache.

Lafayette sighs, shaking his head like he's been given something too perfect to handle.

"She's like a work of art."

Mia's chest tightens, her stomach flexing under his touch.

His fingers follow the lace, mapping the delicate embroidery over her hips, tracing every curve as if committing it to memory.

His gaze lifts to Kyle--casual, amused.

"See her choice of undergarments, darling?" He clicks his tongue, dragging his fingers over the intricate embroidery at Mia's hip. "Exquisite."

Kyle's face is on fire. His hands twitch at his sides, his jaw so tight it could crack.

And Mia is burning.

Because Kyle doesn't just hear the words--he feels them. His gaze drops. Long enough for him to see Lafayette's fingers tracing lightly at the trim on her inner thighs, feeling the way the lace clings to her skin.

Long enough for Mia to feel his stare settle there--hot, possessive.

A slow, indulgent hum from Lafayette. His fingers graze just a fraction lower, teasing along the waistband.

Mia gasps.

Kyle tries to breathe, his hands fisting tighter.

"Go on, darling. She's already yours in your head, isn't she?"

Kyle doesn't move.

Mia's heart stops, then slams back to life.

Go on?

Kyle's throat bobs. His hands twitch at his sides.

Mia's lungs fight for air, chest rising and falling too fast--her tight nipples straining, exposed, waiting.

Lafayette's voice is rich with amusement.

"Come touch her."

Impossible.

Lafayette offering her up like something meant to be shared. Kyle--touching her. Feeling her. It should mortify her. Instead, it leaves her body raw with need, open, exposed and wanting.

Kyle says nothing. He doesn't move. But his eyes stay locked where it shouldn't. Because he's thinking about it. Because he wants to.

Lafayette's fingers glide over the thin fabric, brushing against her clit, the lightest stroke--barely a touch, but devastating.

Mia trembles, the teasing unrelenting. Desire pulls at her like a leash drawing her forward.

Her hips shift--barely, but noticeably--toward his hand.

Kyle sees. Lafayette sees. And then he strokes her again.

Mia tries to part her thighs, instinctive, desperate--but the fabric cinches, holding her still. Every tiny movement--reminding her she's not just trapped. She's primed, defenseless against the surging pleasure claiming her.

Lafayette laughs, soft and knowing.

"Mmm." A slow, indulgent sigh. His fingers slip beneath the lace, just barely.

A whisper of skin against skin--a teasing brush against her soft, throbbing heat. Just enough to ignite, to devastate--before retreating completely.

Mia's hips shift helplessly, barely-contained need curling through her like a live wire. She can't stop the movement--light, desperate bucking, her body begging for the contact she was denied.

Kyle's breath freezes.

Lafayette just tsks, tapping his finger against her hip.

"Oh, sweetheart." His tone is mock sympathy, indulgent and teasing. "I do love when they beg."

Then, he leans in, his lips against her ear, voice dropping to a whisper.

"Ryan wants to see you in your new outfit."

Mia's brain is sluggish, her body still swimming in sensation.

When he speaks again, his voice is softer now, quieter--almost soothing.

Mia's chest heaves, her body still tight, strung out, aching.

Lafayette tilts his head, like he's considering something very important.

Then--a playful little sigh.

"If you don't mind, sweetheart, we can't have panty lines ruining the silhouette."

Oh God. Oh God.

Lafayette's fingers are already at her waistband.

Mia sucks in air, brain scrambling, grasping for resistance even as her body betrays her. She attempts to protest, to say something--anything. Her lips part but all that escapes is a needful moan.

The second his fingers dip beneath the fabric, her hips jerk forward--an instinctive, desperate reaction.

Kyle heaves out a pained, involuntary sound.

Mia's lips part--too breathless for protest, too desperate to deny.

Lafayette's voice is smooth, reassuring, but firm.

"Shhh, darling. Just let me assist."

She should stop this. But she doesn't want to.

Lafayette's grip firms--no hesitation, no room for argument.

And then--a slow, deliberate pull.

The lace drags down the curve of her hips, over the soft dip where her thighs meet her core.

Mia tenses, her lungs seizing.

Kyle's hands twitch at his sides. His jaw is locked, his whole body like stone.

The panties slide lower--over the tops of her thighs, catching at the slight bend of her knees.

Lafayette doesn't rush. He unveils her--deliberate, effortless. Letting her feel it. Letting Kyle ache for it.

Mia is fully bare now. Bound, revealed, displayed. Unwrapped--trembling beneath their eyes.

And she still can't move.

Lafayette inhales slowly, like he's savoring something rare, something meant to be appreciated. His fingers ghost over the newly bared skin, tracing the delicate curve where her thigh meets her core.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, voice thick with appreciation. "You are truly something exquisite.

Mia shudders, heat rippling through her skin, her clit throbbing under the weight of his praise.

His touch lingers--soft, reverent.

Then--a shift. A single finger glides lower, feather-light, teasing directly over her pussy, slow and delicate. Mia blooms under it--helpless, open, pulsing like something newly alive.

Her hips lift--mindless, pleading. Desperately, offering herself, need spilling from every inch of her body.

Kyle is frozen, his entire body locked, overwhelmed.

Lafayette's voice stays smooth, indulgent, like he's only just begun.

"So sensitive," he muses, tracing back up, dragging over her clit just enough to send a sharp pulse through her. "A body like this deserves to be worshiped."

Mia's jerks violently, her nails digging into the bench, thighs trembling--her entire core tightening, wound tight, aching. She's so close. So desperately close.

Her hips twitch again, begging for what she thinks is coming next.

Lafayette tsks, tapping her hip.

"Patience, darling."

Mia lets out a soft, strangled whimper, her body locked in an unbearable place between need and denial.

Lafayette's touch is gone, but the sensation lingers--ghosting over her clit, tightening everything inside her like a coil pulled too tight. A soft, helpless moan spills from her lips, calling for more.

Kyle is breaking. His fingers flex at his sides--useless, desperate--his entire body locked, unable to reach for what he can't have.

Lafayette just chuckles, soft and indulgent, like he's thoroughly entertained by the sight of her body betraying her. His fingers trail back up--gentle, teasing--but they don't go where she needs them. Instead, they slide back to her knees.

He gathers the damp lace, dragging it lower--down, down--until it reaches her ankles, tangled in the mess of fabric still trapping her feet.

Lafayette tilts his head, his attention dragging over her--pleased, indulgent. He flicks the wet fabric between his fingers, watching the way it clings for just a second before releasing. A knowing smirk curves his lips. "My, my," he muses, "Look at you."

Kyle lets out a slow, shaky exhale, like he's been holding his breath this entire time.

Lafayette's fingers trail lazily over Mia's thighs, smoothing over newly bare skin as he appraises the layer of tangled fabric binding her ankles.

"Now," he murmurs, redirecting his attention to the mess. "Let's get rid of these, shall we?"

Mia barely processes the words before his hands reach behind her knees, easing her down as he lifts them.

"Lie back for me, darling."

The command is soft, almost coaxing.

Her air releases as she settles onto her back, wrists still bound, palms flattened uselessly in her sleeves against the bench. Knees up, legs spread just enough to expose everything beneath the tangle of fabric still clinging to her ankles. Her steel blue kitten heels frame the mess, pointing outward--waiting, inviting, a silent offering she doesn't even realize she's making.

Her blood pounds hotly, her nipples straining--painfully erect. She can't move.

Lafayette hums, satisfied.

"Much better." Beneath her skirt, his palm drifts, stroking the backs of her thighs.

Then, a casual glance toward Kyle.

"Now, darling--help me get her sorted."

Kyle is frozen. This is a line he shouldn't cross. And yet, here he is.

Lafayette's voice stays easy, almost careless.

"Don't be shy, darling. She won't bite--unless you ask nicely."

Kyle exhales slowly. Then, with visible effort, he leans down, he grips at the bunched skirt tangled at her heels.

The skirt slides free. Mia feels the cool air kissing her bare skin. Nothing left but spandex restraints at her ankles

Kyle's hands tremble. He doesn't blink.

Lafayette strokes down the back of one thigh, over her exposed ass, then back again.

Mia's head is spinning... If he just--if he would just...

She glances at Kyle. He should be rushing to finish this, to get it over with. But he isn't. His fingers tremble. His movements drag. Like he's trying to keep himself from staring, from touching, from wanting. And failing. His breath shudders as he grips the tangled fabric at her left ankle, hesitating--just for a second--before finally pulling it free. Her shoe drops to the floor with a soft, hollow sound.

Her entire right side is bare now, one leg completely freed.

Lafayette takes advantage, his hand slow and indulgent as he strokes the inside of her thighs.

Holding her open. But not fully. Not yet.

Just teasing her as her fingers tighten against the bench. Keeping her vulnerable, waiting.

Lafayette hums, amusement curling in his tone.

"Now, darling--let's not leave her uneven."

Kyle sucks in a sharp puff of air. He focuses. He has to. He grips the mess of clothing still tangled at her left ankle and begins pulling.

But Mia isn't focused on that.

Because Lafayette is still touching her, his left hand is pulling at her leg. Firmly, effortlessly.

His hold is too certain. Too sure. She resists--for a breath, a second--but it's useless. Her body gives in before she can think, her thigh easing open under his hand.

Heat rushes up her spine. The shift--the exposure--is immediate. Exhilarating. She's slick, throbbing, wanting.

Kyle stares--jaw slack, hands trembling--then forces himself back to his task.

With his left hand holding her open, Lafayette's other continues along her skin. Slow. Casual. Devastating.

Fingertips drift lower, grazing down the sensitive skin of her inner thigh--then passing directly over her sex.

Mia trembles violently. Her hips jerk, caught in the unbearable space between needing and being denied. She is helpless. And it's still not enough.

Then--a shift.

A single, slow drag over the seam of her sex.

Not hurried. Just feeling.

Mia stifles a yelp, but it slips out--soft Undeniable.

Kyle sees everything as he works, his hands shaking as he frees Mia's final foot from her tights, leaving just her lace panties dangling on her toes, his grip still locked around her ankle

Mia's hips jerk involuntarily as her damp heat catches at the tip of Lafayette's fingers, his hand retreating again.

One more stroke. One more--please.

Mia is sprawled out--bare, bound, displayed. Her thighs are held open between steady hands, keeping her exactly where she can feel everything--and still have nothing. Every nerve is alive, every inch of her body betraying her. She trembles, her hips lifting, her body pleading for more. And being denied.

Lafayette hums, reaching for the bodysuit. "Alright, sweetheart, up we go."

Before she can process, his hands shift--palms sliding down, slow, deliberate. Over her thighs. Down, down--until they find the bare curves of her ass.

Leaning down, he grips her firmly--fingers digging in, parting her just slightly, forcing her open as he lifts.

Mia's chest heaves. Oh--

The movement spreads her, just enough for the cool air to kiss the slick heat between her legs. Just enough to remind her exactly how wet she is.

Her feet hit the floor--weak, unsteady. A sharp gasp as her legs tremble beneath her. Her knees buckle.

Lafayette doesn't rush. He takes his time, his fingers kneading, adjusting--holding her open for a second too long--one last indulgence before he finally releases.

"Steady her, darling."

Kyle lunges without thinking.

From behind, his arms snap around her, too tight, too sudden. He's holding her up. Holding her against him. Heat radiates from his chest, his body rigid. Too still. Too tense. Holding himself back--but she feels it. The stiff, unmistakable press of his cock against her bare ass. His arms tighten.

And Mia wants to be taken.

Lafayette crouches by her feet with the bodysuit, and as he moves, a warm breath escapes him--spilling over her swollen heat.

Mia's body trembles--strung tight, too close, too desperate.

She doesn't mean to say it. Doesn't even realize the word has slipped past her lips until it's too late.

"Please."

Lafayette stills, letting the moment stretch, savoring it. Then, softly--like he's humoring a mischievous request--

"Oh, sweetheart..."

His touch is feather-light. A single lazy, teasing stroke over her clit. Barely there.

A devastating jolt. Mia jerks violently, her hips lifting instinctively.

Her knees buckle--but Kyle holds her firm. Her body begs--reaching, arching, trembling.

Lafayette clicks his tongue, indulgent, patient.

"Patience, darling."

Mia shakes, trapped in unbearable, pulsing need--held up, held still, denied.

Lafayette sighs, dramatically unimpressed. "Sweetheart, we need to get you dressed before you make a mess of yourself."

His fingers wrap warm and steady around her ankle. A firm grip. A reminder that she isn't in control.

Mia exhales shakily, balance shifting--Kyle's arms instinctively tighten around her.

No. Not this. Not now. She doesn't want to be dressed, to be covered.

She wants their hands on her--spreading her open, pressing deep, pulling an orgasm from her that leaves her shaking. She's desperate. Aching. They can't just leave her like this.

"One foot first."

Lafayette lifts her foot, guiding it smoothly through the first opening of the bodysuit. The fabric is cool against her overheated skin, soft, sleek, gliding effortlessly upward.

Then the other.

Another lift, another slow glide--the friction feather-light, teasing.

Mia sinks into Kyle's arms bracing around her ribs, her breathing shallow. She's being dressed, handled, like she can't even manage it herself.

And she can't. Not like this.

Her body demands relief, not cover.

Lafayette rises fluidly, his hands never leaving her, smoothing over her thighs, her hips. The electric brush of his fingers on her bare ass as he pulls the suit past her bound wrists. Tugging. Adjusting. The material clings at her stomach, hugging the curves of her ribs, molding to her like a second skin.

Then--it reaches her breasts.

Mia inhales sharply.

Lafayette's fingers catch at the top, adjusting, smoothing.

He hums. "There we go."

Mia is dressed.

Except... something is wrong.

The fabric molds to her breasts, smooth and seamless.

But there are no straps.

No support.

Mia shifts slightly, testing the fit--and that's when she feels it.

Kyle's arms stay locked around her ribcage, his breath hot against her neck.

She looks down.

And that's when she realizes.

Oh, God.

The bodysuit isn't just revealing. It's crotchless.

It has legs--short, barely three inches down her thighs--but between them? Nothing. The fabric from the legs simply tapers up into a sharp V above her navel.

No.

Mia swallows hard. The material stretches tight across her stomach, hugging every dip and curve--but at her hips, the fabric gives way to smooth, open air.

A deep heat flares in her belly, her body wracked with overpowering need.

Lafayette's fingers press at her hip, adjusting the fit like nothing is amiss.

His lips curve.

"Oh, dear."

Kyle makes a strangled sound behind her.

Mia wants to melt through the floor.

Lafayette's gaze flicks downward, taking her in.

And then he chuckles--low, indulgent. Thoroughly entertained.

"Ryan is going to love this."

Mia whimpers, heat flooding her body.

Lafayette grazes the backs of his fingers over her bare pussy--soft, effortless, savoring her reaction, delighting in just how little control she has.

Mia jolts--just a little, just enough. A helpless coo escapes her lips as her thighs twitch.

Lafayette's grin deepens. "Oh, sweetheart." His voice drips with satisfaction, relishing every second. "I suppose I should fix this."

Fix?

No. Not fix.

Take. Touch. Finish.

If her hands weren't bound, she would--drag Lafayette's fingers back where she needs them, hold him there, make him finish what he started. And if he wouldn't? She'd do it herself. Right there. Watching the look on Kyle's face as she unravels for him.

Her lips part, her body on the edge of something--a plea, a protest, a desperate demand--

"Please."

It barely escapes her lips. A whisper. A final, helpless admission.

But Lafayette is already turning, reaching for something from the wardrobe case.

Mia's breath is ragged, barely contained.

She doesn't know what she expects--anything, something. And then she sees it.

A delicate length of sheer black mesh.

Lafayette wraps it around her waist, tying it with a single loose knot at her hip.

The fabric floats, barely there. Easy to undo. Easy to remove.

Not covering her. Just decorating her. Framing her. Creating a shadow where there should be something to hide.

He steps back, admiring his work.

"Oh Sweetheart. Ryan is going to lose his mind."

The gym is silent as Mia is led forward, her bare feet whispering against the rubber flooring.

Lafayette's hand at the small of her back is barely a touch. But still, it directs her. Moves her.

Her wrists remain bound behind her, keeping her shoulders drawn back, keeping her aware--of herself, of the way she's displayed.

Ryan is waiting.

Leaning against his desk. Watching. Only watching.

She feels the weight of his attention before she even meets his eyes.

It reaches her like a tether, drawing tight. A deep pull. Not just to be seen. To be taken. Her heartbeat pounds in her throat, in her thighs--and for a second, she hates that he sees it, that his presence alone is unraveling her, working through her, breaking her down.

Lafayette stops just short of him, gently adjusting the fit of her mesh wrap on her hip. His final aesthetic touch is brief--but she trembles beneath it. A tell.

The room is quiet. Too quiet. And in that final moment before Lafayette steps away, it settles deep--she isn't just being delivered. She's being offered.

Then, he's gone.

And Mia is left alone in Ryan's attention.

Turning back to Mia, he gestures to his desk. A silent instruction.

Mia hesitates--just for a second. Then, slowly, carefully, she lowers herself onto the edge. Without her hands, the movement is unsteady--a slow descent, her knees flexed, balance wavering. And she feels it--the helplessness of it.

Her bare skin meets the cool wood through the delicate grid of mesh--a whisper of thread between her and the surface. She exhales--too warm, too wired, too aware.

Ryan stands at her knees, in front of her.

Watching. Assessing.

"You're looking better." His tone is casual, but the weight of it isn't. "What changed?"

Mia swallows. She could deflect. She could lie. But she won't. She can't. Her fingers flex against the desk.

"I... got excited."

Ryan's brow lifts slightly. "Excited how?"

Mia stumbles. He wants her to say it.

Her mouth opens, then closes. Heat burns beneath her skin.

Ryan waits. Silent. Expectant.

She forces it out.

"... Aroused."

A flicker of something in his expression--satisfaction.

Then, evenly--the real question.

"After you left yesterday, when did you feel shame?"

Mia's lips part, but nothing comes out.

Ryan doesn't move. Doesn't blink.

She needs to answer. Needs to say it. She can't. The silence is unbearable.

"... After," she exhales, barely a sound.

Ryan's voice stays steady. "After what?"

Her breath shakes. She grips the desk harder. She knows what he's waiting for. What he's making her say. Her throat locks.

"... After I t-touched myself."

Too soft. Too hesitant.

Ryan's head tilts slightly. Unimpressed.

His voice drops--calm, deliberate.

"You touched yourself?"

Mia nods, small, barely-there.

Ryan doesn't let it slide.

"Say it."

Her stomach tightens. Heat coils deep, sharp, overwhelming. She shouldn't need to. But that's not the point. She licks her lips, shaky.

Ryan waits.

"Say it properly, Mia."

A breath--shallow, trembling. And then--

"... I masturbated."

The word hits the air.

Ryan's lips curve--not quite a smile.

Approval. Satisfaction. Like he knew she'd get there. Like she was always going to.

"And did it help?"

Mia's head is spinning, her body demanding what's being denied.

It should have helped. a brief calm before the storm. But now--now--it's back, worse than before. Her body is pulsing, wet, quivering, aching--like she never even found release at all.

And then--he moves, his fingers untying the knot at her hip. The sheer fabric peels away, slipping down, baring her completely. He rests his fingertips on both her knees.

As if beckoned by his touch, the swollen lips of her pussy bloom--silken, yielding. She has never felt this seen.

Ryan asks again, voice calm, knowing--

"Did it help?"

No one is touching her. But her pussy flutters helplessly.

Oh God--what if... what if she...?

A wave of heat rolls through her, too much, too dangerous. She forces her thighs together, desperate to stop it, but his fingers gently press, easing her knees apart again. Mia gasps--a sharp, choked squeal.

"No!... not for long." She is in agony, gasping for air, her entire body trembling, pulsing. Her lips part--the words break free.

"... No... it,... didn't help!"

Ryan releases her knees. He waits--silent, certain. "Then don't."

She knows what he means, but her brain scrambles anyway--delaying, grasping.

"Don't...?"

Ryan's voice stays calm, measured.

"Don't relieve yourself."

Heat rushes up her spine.

Mia's whole body tightens, her pussy pulsing urgently. Her lips part, a protest forming, but it doesn't come. Because the thought--the reality--undoes her. No release. No escape from this heat. Just the ache. Building. Intensifying.

Ryan's voice stays even. Firm. Coaching.

"Let it stay. Let it work through you."

Mia whimpers, exasperated. She could barely handle a few hours of denial before. How could she possibly--

Her body is strung so tight she could break. She should be resisting. She should be arguing. But she isn't.

Because she wants this. Even as it ruins her.

This is happening too fast. She isn't in control. She knows what happens when she loses control.

Her voice is quiet, fragile--but the fear is real.

"W-what if I... lose myself? I--I don't want to become... everyone's fuck toy."

The words land heavy between them.

Ryan leans in just slightly--not looming, not aggressive. Just steady. Unshakable.

"I promise you I won't let that happen," Ryan's voice is absolute, "With everything you've done, no one takes from you."

Her shoulders relax--just barely. She believes him.

But there's still one more fear. A more dangerous one. She swallows hard, her voice trembling softly as broken words struggle past her lips.

"And what if... what if I just... can't do it?"

Ryan's lips curve as he watches her unravel. Not cruel. Just... knowing.

Then--quietly, assuredly--"You will be incentivized."

What does he mean? Her mind races, flashing through things she shouldn't want--

Denial. Discipline. Deprivation.

Or worse--permission. Release. Rewards.

The slow build. The unbearable frustration. The desperate, aching need. What happens if she's held on for days, body throbbing, pulse pounding, trapped in an endless, exquisite torment. When she's so far gone she's begging, pleading-- And what happens when she finally earns her release?

She shifts, her bound wrists, her crotchless bodysuit useless against the slick, relentless throb--her desperately empty pussy trembling rhythmically in the open air.

She squeezes her thighs tight, desperate for friction, but Ryan intercedes again, firmly easing her knees apart with both hands.

She's trapped in it--the hunger, the denial, the slow, merciless torment of knowing exactly what she needs... And not knowing how or when she will get it.

It's ruining her. Ryan sees. And he knows.

Mia exhales, barely a whisper.

"... Okay."

Ryan's hands close around her waist. Firm. Certain. Lifting her effortlessly.

Her feet barely find the ground before he turns her--pivoting her towards his desk.

Her chest rises and falls, heat coiling deep.

One hand shifts, gliding from her waist to her shoulders. A silent directive.

He guides her face to the desk. Her cheek meets the cool wood.

Mia's body is alive with expectation.

This is it.

Her pussy clenches, a desperate, aching throb--empty and begging for gratification.

She is ready to be taken. Finally.

Ryan's hands close around her hips. Firm. Claiming. He tilts them, angling her just right--her ass lifted, her spine arched, lining her up. He's going to--

Her pussy quivers, slick and swollen, liquid pooling at her entrance. She's soaking--open--needy. The pressure, the positioning--it's too much. She can already feel the stirrings of an orgasm hovering just out of grasp

And then--

A tug. The knot at her wrists loosens.

Her arms fall uselessly at her sides. The moment cracks open beneath her.

Oh. Oh, god no.

He's not taking her. He's letting her go.

Her body doesn't understand. Her hips shift--instinctive, pleading--aching for something that won't come.

This isn't what she was waiting for. This isn't what she was ready for.

Her body is still primed, still open--still throbbing for him. But he isn't taking her.

He's letting her go.

Ryan's voice is steady. A final claim.

"Good girl."

He pauses

"We have a deal."