Page 122 of Top Shelf

Her mouth curves as I open the first door and guide her in with my hand at the base of her back. “Just remember, you don’t have to impress anyone in there.”

“I know.”

“And we’re not doing anything we don’t both want.”

“Yes.”

“And if somebody propositions you, we can—”

“Heidi.” My hand shifts from her back to her waist, her skin warm under the silk. “I’m not worried about being propositioned.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“How much I will like watching you.”

Her gaze drops to my mouth, then returns to my eyes, but the next door opens before she can answer, and a woman in a tailored black suit greets us.

“Welcome back, Ruby.”

Heidi smiles. “Thank you.”

My hand tightens at her waist before I can stop it.

Ruby.

This is a name I did not know, and a version of her I have not yet had. Heidi notices, and her fingers brush the back of mine. I take her hand and hold it properly.

The host is professional as she confirms our booking, and her eyes do not linger on my height, or my shoulders, or the face I have spent years seeing on screens above rinks. She checks our reservation with calm precision, then our IDs, then tells us the rules.

No phones beyond reception. Masks in the main rooms. Consent must be explicit. A yes can change. No touching without invitation. Staff are visible in every public area, and privacy screens can be controlled from inside each room.

Heidi listens beside me, her thumb resting over my knuckles and moving lightly. When the host asks about our wristbands, she looks at me to confirm.

“Only each other,” I say.

The host nods. “Viewing permitted?”

Heidi’s pulse jumps under my thumb when I look at her. “Your choice, min fru.”

“Yes,” she says. “Viewing permitted.”

The host gives us black bands with a thin silver stripe, which signify we can be seen but aren’t available. Good.

Heidi slips her mask on before we enter the main room, and I take her in. Gold around her eyes and pink satin over her body. My ring on her hand. The mask doesn’t hide her; instead, it highlights every unhidden part of her. Her mouth and her throat. The delicate line of her shoulders. The slit of her dress opening when she shifts her weight.

My wife, stepping into a room where strangers may look, but not touch. That honor alone is mine.

“What?” she asks.

“I like your mask, Ruby.”

Her thighs press together. “You sound jealous.”

“I am.”

Her pulse beats at the side of her throat, and I have the urge to place my mouth there. I want my hand under her dress. I want to take the calm she walked in with and ruin it slowly enough that anyone watching understands it belongs to her first, then to me.

“Careful, Karlsson.”