The weight of the silk blindfold against Samantha's skin felt like a promise—soft, luxurious, but carrying the potential for so much more. She could feel the fabric's gentle pressure against her eyelids, blocking out the warm lighting of Evangeline's private room and forcing her other senses into sharp focus. The leather of the sofa beneath her seemed more pronounced now, its texture registering against her palms where she gripped the cushions. Even the subtle scent of sandalwood and vanilla that permeated the space felt more intense, more present.
Marcus's breathing was audible from somewhere nearby, deeper than usual, and she found herself unconsciously matching his rhythm. The simple act of synchronizing with him felt intimate in a way that surprised her—like they were already beginning to move together as they once had, even in something as basic as the rise and fall of their chests.
