Xavier's arms, sinewy and sure, cradled Cathleen's limp form as he lifted her from the cold, unforgiving floor of the dungeon. The dim light cast shadows over her face, the afterglow of their session still etched on her features. He navigated the hallway with a predator's grace, each step deliberate, carrying his wife to the sanctuary of their bedroom and throwing the walk-in closet.

He laid her down on the bed, silk sheets enveloping her like a lover's embrace. Xavier’s eyes lingered on Cathleen, tracing the curve of her cheek, the swell of her chest rising and falling in slumber. She was a vision—a tempestuous beauty drained by their shared...