I walked into Ryder’s studio at 8:01 p.m. on the dot, the bell above the door barely making a sound before he appeared from the back room like he’d been waiting for me to breathe the same air. The place was darker than last time—only the adjustable lamp over the table was on, casting a warm circle of light that made everything outside it feel secret. The smell hit me first: fresh ink, antiseptic, and something warmer underneath, like cedar and skin. My heart was already pounding so hard I felt it between my legs.

No panties. Just the short black skirt he’d told me to wear, loose enough to...