Page 124 of Top Shelf

“Viewing suite,” she says. “These are rooms where people can see in through one-way glass from a lounge on the other side, but it’s mirrored. They can watch, but they can’t come in. They can’t hear us, and we can’t see them.” Her pulse beats quickly at the side of her throat. “We choose the boundary setting.”

“You have done that before?” I ask.

“Once—a long time ago. I just liked being seen, on my terms,” she says. “And what do you want to see?”

“You.” Her mouth parts, and I lean down until my voice is close to her ear. “I have seen enough of everyone else.”

Her eyes darken behind the gold of her mask. “Good.”

Heidi turns toward the door and steps in first, and I follow her into the dark. The door closes behind us with a soft click.

The viewing suite is darker than I expect, lit by a low amber glow along the floor and a single shaded lamp near a wide chaise upholstered in black velvet. A small table sits beside it with a silver tray, folded towels, condoms and lube, a glass bowl of ice, a carafe of water, and a candle already burning in a squat ceramic dish, its melted wax glossy and pale beneath the flame.

Across the far wall, the glass is black and seamless, reflecting the room in shadowed pieces.

“They can see us now?” I ask.

“Not yet.” She steps farther into the room, her heels quiet on the dark floor, and gestures to a small brass panel near the chaise. “Light on means viewing is live, but light off means private. If we want them gone, we just turn it off.”

“Show me.”

She walks to the panel and taps a button. A small gold light brightens beside the glass, and the dark wall loses some of its mirror-shine. I still cannot see through it, but I feel the possibility of eyes on us. People beyond that glass, sitting in the dark, waiting to see what we decide to give them.

Heidi turns back to me, and her chin lifts.

My wife. Standing beneath dim light with her pulse beating fast at her throat.

“You look pleased with yourself, min fru.”

“I’m about to let a six-foot-four hockey player in a murder suit take me apart in front a room full of strangers. I feel like I’m allowed to be a little pleased with myself.”

Then she laughs, and the sound almost kills me because it’s bright and warm and wrong for how badly I want my mouth between her legs. I close the distance until my fingers find her waist.

“How do you want them to see you?” I ask.

The laughter fades, and her gaze flicks to the dark glass, then back to me. She wets her bottom lip, and I almost follow the movement with my tongue.

“Like I’m in control.”

I slide a hand up her side, stopping beneath the curve of her breast. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me what I’m allowed to take off.”

Her pupils blow wide behind the mask. For all her witty mouth and quick hands, Heidi has moments where being asked directly makes her body answer before her words do. Her thighs shift, and her fingers flex once against the side of her dress.

“My dress stays on for now,” she says.

“Good. I like the slit.” My eyes travel up her body and back to her. “I want your shoes on.”

Her smile turns wicked. “Bossy.”

“You brought me here.”

She laughs again, but it breaks off when I drag my thumb over the deep slit in her dress and find bare thigh. My hand slides higher by an inch, then stops.

“And panties?”