The morning after the kitchen table, neither of them pretended it hadn’t happened. They didn’t need to discuss it. The shift was already there—electric, unspoken, heavier than before. Over coffee, Alex’s eyes lingered on the faint purple bloom of a hickey at the base of Maria’s throat. She caught him staring and dragged her tongue slowly across her lower lip before taking a sip. His knuckles whitened around his mug.
That night they set the rules.
No more casual dares. Now it was a game with stakes. Every day, one of them would try to make the other break first—lose control, beg, come without permission, reach for the other before the agreed-upon hour. The loser submitted to whatever punishment the winner chose. No limits except one: safe word was “red.” They both knew they wouldn’t use i
