His hands, finally freed, moved to my waist. His fingers were competent, steady, but I could feel the tremor in them as he worked the leather through the loop. He pulled the belt free slowly, holding it like a sacred offering. I took it from him.

“Now the rest,” I said. “With your teeth.”

His breath hitched. This was the line. The true test of surrender. He looked up at me, his eyes dark with a war of wills, and then he leaned in. I felt the heat of his breath through my skirt, the slight scrape of his jaw against the fabric as he painstakingly gripped the zipper of...