The rules started bending the second week. Kai’s hands grew rougher, more deliberate. Finger marks bloomed purple on Lena’s hips where he gripped her too hard while f*****g her against the kitchen counter. Bite marks appeared on the soft inside of her thighs—sharp crescents that throbbed when she crossed her legs at her desk. Handprints on her ass lingered for days, red fading to mottled yellow-green, impossible to sit comfortably without remembering the slap of his palm, the sting that had made her clench around nothing before he even entered her.
She stopped covering them.
No high collars, no long skirts, no strategic scarves. She wore blouses that slipped off one shoulder just enough to flash a bruise at the base of her throat during Zoom calls. Pencil skirts that rode up when she sat
