I keep the petticoat drawer locked because the neighbors must never suspect what happens in these quiet hallways. Maxwell stands before me with that quiet compliance that both excites and terrifies me, his lifelong shame rising every time I reach for the satin. He craves the satin as much as he fears the man it erases.

His shame feeds my need for control, yet the thought of him refusing this makes my chest tighten with the old fear of being left alone. I pull the stockings from their hiding place next, my fingers steady while my heart races at the thought of losing him if he ever refuses this. Each layer I add binds us tighter, his soft skin flushing under my commands.

Now I hold the pale satin open at the bedroom doorway, waiting for Maxwell to step forward and let me pull it up his legs.