LILA

The moment he ties the strip of torn fabric to the door , looping it around my wrists , I know I’ve crossed a line I can’t walk back from.

The silk binds are snug but not painful, keeping my hands lifted just above my head. My chest rises and falls quickly, the anticipation crawling beneath my skin like wildfire.

He steps back, eyes dark, feral.

“Face the mirror,” he commands, voice low and rough.

I turn as best as I can in my restraints, my front now facing the long mirror opposite the door. My reflection is a mix of defiance and desire. Skin flushed, lips parted. The...