It started weeks before that night, with a quiet ache I could not ignore. My boyfriend and I loved each other, but there were parts of me he had never touched. Not just with his hands, but deep in my fantasies where the air felt hotter and the rules were looser. There were things I wanted that I had never dared to say out loud. They came to me when I was alone in the shower, fingers sliding between my thighs while the water ran over my shoulders. They came to me in the darkness after midnight when he slept beside me, when my body thrummed with need and my mind whispered things I would never admit.
I wanted to be watched. I wanted to be told what to do. I wanted a man to take control and talk to me like I was his dirty little secret, to tell me where to put my hands and how to touch myself, to push me right to the edge and hold me there until I begged. I wanted to be praised and used and made to say filthy things with my cheeks burning and my legs shaking. The want…