Mike returned.

The door creaked open, and Isla’s breath caught. The soft patter of water from the shower was the only sound until his figure filled the doorway again—bare, commanding, and cloaked in a different kind of silence.

But it wasn’t emptiness anymore. It was the intention.

In his hand, he held three things—each one gleaming in the low light with dangerous promise: a condom, a slim silver vibrator, and a coil of deep red rope.

Isla’s pulse throbbed.

He didn’t speak. His gaze dropped to where she still knelt inside the glass shower, hair wet, body shivering slightly. The steam clung to her skin, but it couldn’t mask the...