1. Vera #3
“You want everything on your terms.” He steps closer. Close enough that I can see the darker flecks in his eyes, and I am absolutely not looking at his mouth. “You think structure means sterile. That control equals cold.” His voice drops. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I.”
Not a question. I won’t give him that.
“Yes.” He holds my gaze. “You—”
“Is your sex life structured too?” The words are out before I can stop them. “Scheduled? Analytical? Controlled?”
He goes very still. And I have the specific, terrible feeling of having stepped somewhere I can’t step back from.
“That,” he says quietly, “is none of your business.”
I should leave it there.
Instead I lean in, close enough that this could be a fight or something else entirely. “Convince me. Prove you feel something that isn’t filed under structural integrity.”
He looks at me for a long moment.
“Careful what you’re asking for.”
Before I can respond, the bedroom door opens.
We both step back simultaneously — him toward the window, me toward the couch. The space between us expands.
Neither of us looks at the other.
Sloane appears and takes one look at us and her expression shifts from curious to exasperated in a heartbeat. She shakes her head slowly.
“You know, I timed that at under five minutes. You two are getting more efficient.”
I find my voice, though it comes out more defensive than intended. “What’s he even doing here?”
“Oh.” Sloane’s hand flies to her mouth. “God, I completely forgot to mention. Kane and I are going to the museum. They opened that new Renaissance exhibition. The one with the Caravaggio on loan?”
She brightens, hoping enthusiasm will smooth over the awkwardness. “You should come with us! It’ll be fun.”
I snort before I can stop myself, looking at Kane. “Right, because nothing says ‘fun afternoon’ like him insisting we view every painting chronologically while I want to actually enjoy myself.”
Kane’s eyes lock on mine, cool and measuring, while Sloane laughs — head back, unguarded.
“Okay, okay, I surrender. Clearly a terrible idea.” She grabs her bag from the chair, slinging it over her shoulder, then turns to Kane with an apologetic smile. “Come on, we’re late.”
She pauses, looking back at me with softer eyes. “Tomorrow though. Sunday. Eleven?”
“Eleven.”
“Love you.” Then, to Kane, over her shoulder: “Let’s go before round two of the Sinclair-Beckett Smackdown begins.”
Kane moves toward the door without looking at me. “Vera.”
Just my name. Acknowledgment and dismissal in two syllables.
“Sinclair.”
The door closes.
I drain my water bottle at the counter, pressing the cold side against my wrist until my breathing levels out.
His cologne lingers. Woodsy, expensive, entirely too distracting.
Careful what you’re asking for.
The words won’t stop.
I grab my bag.
That man is insufferable.
I head for the door, refusing to think about storm-gray eyes, or the stillness after I asked him that question, or why my breathing still hasn’t fully settled.
Wednesday morning, my phone buzzes with an email that stops my heart.
From: Dominic Laurent Subject: Saturday Confirmation
Dear Vera,
I have found a compatible match. He has reviewed your needs and limits carefully and is interested in meeting you.
Date: Saturday, October 11th | Time: Nine PM | Location: Suite 7.
Dress: Something that makes you feel powerful.
For your first session, I’d like to offer you something specific: a structured introduction designed to help you focus entirely on the experience itself, rather than the self-consciousness of being seen.
Some members find that being blindfolded during their first scene, with a guided entry, allows them to access parts of themselves they can’t quite reach when they feel fully observed.
It quiets the need to manage. Leaves only the feeling.
This isn’t about concealment. It’s about creating the conditions for you to actually arrive.
The choice is entirely yours.
You are safe here. Trust yourself. Trust the process. Trust him.
— Dominic
I read it three times, sitting in bed, coffee cooling on the nightstand.
This is real.
Saturday. Three days from now. A man who has reviewed my limits and wants to meet me. Not to use me. To guide me.
I think of storm-gray eyes and a voice that said careful what you’re asking for, and I put the thought away before it finishes forming, because that’s insane and also none of my business.
I grab my phone before I can overthink it.
To: Dominic Laurent Subject: Re: Saturday Confirmation
Dominic,
Saturday is good. I’d like the blindfold, the guided entry.
— Vera
His response comes within minutes.
Vera,
We’ll structure the session so you can focus on the experience rather than being seen. You’ll be guided through the room. You can choose how much you want to take in, and when. You remain in control of the pace at all times, including the moment you decide you want to see.
Your match knows this. He’s prepared for it.
— Dominic
I read it twice. Then I set the phone down and just breathe for a moment.
Then I type back: Thank you. I’ll be there.
Saturday. Nine PM. Suite 7.