Page 28 of The Contract

No air.

Just panic.

Tight, fast breaths claw at my lungs as my own body chokes off the air.

I told him.

Not the dark.

Anything but the fucking dark.

Before I say a word, he’s already in front of me. A raw tower of dominance, carved from stone.

He sees it the second it slips through—the fracture in my expression.

Of course he does. My fear lights up like neon, and he reads it like a DoorDash menu—memorized, ordered, and already making room for seconds.

Is there a school for this?

Knowing exactly which primal fear pairs best with which carefully curated psychological torture du jour?

His voice stays maddeningly calm.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for me.

Just tosses the blindfold into my lap like a gift.

Or a leash.

“You… put it on.”

A big, fat duh rattles around the back of my skull as my fingers twitch, fumbling with the soft black silk. “I know, I know,” I snap—too sharp, too fast, too much. “Just… give me a minute.”

“It wasn’t a command.”

Huh?

The rough edges in his voice soften.

“You put it on. When you’re ready. You tie it—tight or loose, your choice. But it must cover your eyes.”

He leans in just enough to set my nerves on fire, a single finger lifting to point at my face.

“And I will test you,” he warns.

Test me?

How?

My brain goes rogue, picturing him stripped bare, nothing on but that chiseled physique and a complex math problem tattooed across his abs.

Solve for fuck me sideways.

Show your work.

Yeah. Okay, Riley. You’ve officially lost it.

I stare down at the blindfold.

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