The first time I saw it, the sleek black harness lying delicately on the silk bedsheet. My pulse kicked like a drum. I didn't know if it was fear, excitement, or both.
Riley sat on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, watching me with that unreadable smile she always wore when she was about to change my world.
"You said you wanted to try something new," she said. "I don't force. I invite."
She always phrased it like that, an invitation. Like I had a choice, like I hadn't been secretly fantasizing about this moment since the first time I walked into our shared apartment and saw her in nothing but a sports bra and boxers.
I swallowed hard, glancing between her and the harness. "I didn't think you'd actually bring it home."
"Well," she said, standing up and slowly walking toward me, "you should know by now, I take fantasies seriously."
Her hand came to rest gently on my cheek. She didn't rush. She never did. That was Riley's power she made you wait until desire became unbearable. Until it ached in the chest more than the body.
"I've never done this," I whispered.
"I know." Her fingers threaded through my hair, tugging lightly, grounding me. "That's why I'm going slow."
The light in her room was low just a single candle flickering on the nightstand, casting gold over her caramel skin and dark eyes. I felt seen, held in place by more than just her touch.
She stepped back, picking up the harness.
"Do you want to watch, or help me put it on?"
My throat was dry. "Watch," I breathed.
Riley smirked. She turned, giving me a deliberate view of her strong back, of the way her hips rolled as she stepped into the straps. She fastened the buckles with expert ease, like she'd done it a dozen times before maybe she had. That thought made my heart pound.
But when she turned around again, all I saw was her. Not experience. Not history. Just Riley steady, calm, and waiting for me.
She crossed the room slowly and cupped my face in both hands.
"I don't want you to be scared of what you want," she whispered.
"I'm not scared," I whispered back. "I just… I want to do it right."
"There's no right," she said. "There's only now."
And then she kissed me.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't wild. It was soft, exploratory, like a hand gliding over silk. Her lips brushed mine again and again, giving me time to catch up, to breathe her in. I felt every beat of her heart through the kiss steady, grounding, patient.
When I opened my mouth to her, she didn't devour me. She tasted me, letting the moment stretch into something heavy and delicious. Her hands wandered not to claim, but to cradle, exploring me like a secret worth uncovering slowly.
As she guided me backward onto the bed, I shivered not from cold, but from surrender.
She straddled me gently, lips never leaving mine.
"Tell me if you want to stop."
"I don't."
She smiled, pressing a kiss to my temple, then lower.
What followed wasn't just about pleasure. It was about trust. About giving someone the power to take you somewhere you've never been emotionally, mentally, and yes, physically.
We didn't race. We unraveled.
And when the last of the candle's flame flickered out, I realized I wasn't just in her bed.
I was in her world.