Fixing a loose strand of hair, I finally pulled out the short black leather strap. It was soft, about an inch and a half wide, and felt snug against my skin as I buckled it behind my neck. The D-shaped ring glinted in the dim bathroom light, and I brushed my fingers against it for a moment. I took another deep breath. This. This is why I’m here. The soft leather reminded me. It grounded me.

I went back into the bedroom and moved a coffee table to the side, making space between the wall and the large four-poster bed. I took one last deep breath, let myself unwind, and knelt down facing the wall. Lacing my fingers behind my head, I relaxed further.

Most people don’t get it. At least, I guessed that most people wouldn’t get it. It’s not like I’d ever have the guts to tell anyone, after all. But I know most people don’t understand the need to give up control, especially when so much of our lives are spent trying to be in control.

But no one really accepts that we aren’t in control of anything anyway. At least this way, I can control who I give control over to. It was comforting.

Comforting, and my god it was sexy.

The ache I got, that started at my navel and slithered down between my legs whenever I thought about him.

Him. Alexander. Never Alex, not even as a joke. Alexander, even if I could never be sure that was even his real name. Whose face I have never seen. Who summons me once a month in his limousine to this fancy hotel where one night probably costs two months of my little studio apartment’s rent.

Alexander, who has laid down his terms, as I’ve laid down mine—this is all it will be. Nothing more. Nothing less. Nothing less than the absolute freedom of giving up total control to someone else. For someone like me, who spends every moment of every day obsessing over every detail, who plays back every single conversation in her head, who second-guesses every decision she’s ever made, he was a godsend. My only chance to let go. My only chance to just be.

At least, that’s what I’d thought all this time. Until two months ago, when he asked if I’d like to meet for drinks beforehand.

“In person?” I’d replied stupidly, my fingers grazing the blindfold for a fleeting second, making sure it hadn’t budged.

“Yes, my dear. In person.”

I’d swallowed. This was not the deal. These were certainly not the terms.

“Can I think about it?” I said finally. I was hoping he’d take the hint, and it felt like he had because he never mentioned it again. Things easily slipped back to where they were before, and I’ve been grateful.

So when I heard the key in the lock, when his woody, musky cologne filled the room, when I heard him mutter the words “Hello, my pet” before he slipped the satin blindfold over my eyes, I exhaled one last time.