Two days later, she was sitting on Devesh’s bed, looking at the photo album, wondering what kind of elaborate sexual fantasies he had constructed in his head as a child. She was staring at Devesh’s little-boy face and trying to get inside his little-boy head when he ran his hand down her back, and she shivered.

“Cold?” he asked.

“No.”

His fingers grazed her thighs, and she let out a breathy sigh.

“Sexy girl,” he said, and lay down facing her.

She smiled and nosed her face into his neck. He pushed his other hand through her hair, turned her head to him, and kissed her softly. Lately, their lovemaking had been softer, sweeter. To anyone else, the change would have been unnoticeable, but Josie could sense the shift, and although she liked it, liked his strength coupled with the new tenderness, at times she missed feeling as completely at his mercy as she did that first night they had played.

“Have you been a good girl?” he asked.

She shook her head, and he wove his hand more deeply into her hair and then made a fist. “Get up.” He pulled her to her feet. “Into the kitchen.” He led her down the hallway, and she felt her skin prickle.

“I think some discipline is in order.” He guided her into the kitchen and stood her in front of the sink. It was dark, and he switched on the light. In the sink, were a stack of dirty dishes.

“I want you to wash these,” he said.

She looked at the handful of silverware, the mug she drank from this morning, and suddenly felt deeply embarrassed. She had felt this before. Once, he had made her look at herself in a mirror, tied over a stool, wrists and ankles bound, legs spread. She had blushed terribly, but he had smiled and looked so intensely pleasured by her humiliation that she almost cried. But soon there was the familiar haziness, and she focused on his hand firm on her back and quickly was lost in the play.

Now she was glad he was behind her.

“Turn on the water,” he said, and slipped his thumbs into the band of her panties. She tensed. He was going to beat her here, in the kitchen.

“I’m waiting.”

She didn’t move.

“All right then.” He pulled her underwear quickly down her thighs, pushed his knee between her legs. “We can do this the hard way, if you wish.” He grabbed her wrists, stuck the sponge in one of her hands, and turned on the water.

She rarely washed the dishes in his house. She would cook and he would clean up. Still, she would do it. She would, she wanted to say, but then, could they please go back to the bedroom where he could do anything he wanted to her? She was afraid, and yet she could feel her body heating, her insides beginning to blister.