The Full Service Preview!

1

Billie Brown liked to keep her day tidy. It was a deal she’d made with herself a long time ago. Thirty minutes before a client arrived for an appointment, she would cross the floor several times and check everything was as it should be. Twenty minutes before, she would watch people coming and going out on the street, the bustle of London settling her in a way she couldn’t describe. And fifteen minutes before, she would retreat to her office and wait for her assistant to arrive.

At 9:01, the latch on her office door clicked.

She didn’t bother looking up. “You’re late.”

Billie felt Nina hovering in the doorway, likely with the posture of someone who knew what was coming. Shoulders back, chin dipped, with an apology ready and waiting. She set her pen down and relaxed into her high-back leather chair. As she eyed the clock, Nina took a breath.

“I’m sorry. The signals on the Jubilee line—”

“Mm.” Billie inched her seat back a little as she glanced down at her list of clients today. All very wealthy, and all expecting the Brown & Co. treatment. And they would get it…when she’d finished here. She lifted her head and eyed Nina across the room. Slate skirt, silk bow at her throat, her hair pinned back in a braid as expected. All ordinary details that never stayed ordinary in this room. “Close the door.”

Nina shut the door and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Come here.”

The click of heels over the oak floor quietened when they met the expensive rug to the right of Billie’s desk. Nina stopped at the corner, exactly where she was supposed to. Obedience had a geography, and Nina had learned the map in no time at all. That had been the first thing to catch Billie’s attention. The second had been Nina’s hands. Steady with swatches, but often trembling in Billie’s presence. 

“Tell me the time,” Billie said as she looked up at her assistant.

“9:01.”

“And what do we do with 9:01?”

Nina swallowed. “We don’t make it a habit.”

Billie nodded slowly and cast her gaze to the window. Another grey London morning. Then she turned her attention back to Nina without flinching.

“Wrist.” Billie lifted a hand and turned her palm up.

Nina placed her wrist in Billie’s hand, her skin cool to the touch. Her pulse quickened under Billie’s fingertips, then grew a little faster when she did nothing but count. 

The ribbon at Nina’s collar had gone crooked. Billie itched to fix it, but she kept her mind on the task at hand.

“Bend.” She nodded to her desk as she lowered Nina’s wrist.

Nina bent over the desk, her hands splayed against the wood in anticipation. The pose did what it always did. It reminded Billie who was in charge here. A few strands of hair had freed themselves at the nape of Nina’s neck, but Billie chose not to fix that either.

“Lift your skirt.”

Nina gathered her skirt with the same tidiness she used down on the shop floor. Still, it wasn’t theatre. It was ritual. The difference mattered.

“We keep time here,” Billie said as she trailed her knuckles up the back of Nina’s thigh. As always, her assistant wasn’t wearing underwear. “We keep standards because we like what standards allow.” She grazed the back of her hand over Nina’s pretty pussy, smiling when her legs shook. “Do you understand that?”

“Y-yes.”

“Are you sure?” Billie nudged her legs further apart and slipped a finger inside. “Or do you do this with the expectation that I’ll inspect your tight pussy when you disobey me?”

Nina pressed herself harder to the desk as she clenched around Billie. “N-no.”

“Up.”

Nina straightened, her eyes dark when she turned to face Billie. She looked down at her as though being touched had become some kind of relief for her.

Billie pushed her chair back further and crooked two fingers. “Sit.”

Nina stepped closer and Billie guided her in with a hand on her hip. She straddled Billie’s leg, facing her, every ounce of attention firmly on Billie’s face.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Billie said, aware of the heat already seeping through the leg of her Italian suit.

Nina’s focus was razor-sharp, sending a shiver down Billie’s spine. But she wouldn’t show it. Billie would never let any woman know what they did to her. Because that meant vulnerability, and vulnerability wasn’t something she intended to become familiar with ever again.

“Such a good girl,” Billie murmured, feeling the praise as it landed. The small change in Nina’s mouth. The way her shoulders relaxed a fraction. 

Nina’s breath hitched as the warmth of Billie’s thigh settled beneath her, the fabric of her skirt bunching slightly around her hips. Her arms hovered awkwardly at her sides until Billie reached up and took Nina’s wrists in her hands and guided them to her shoulders.

“Support yourself. I don’t want you collapsing before I say so.”

Nina nodded, her breath unsteady as she settled her palms against Billie’s shoulders. Her eyes, wide and waiting, locked with Billie’s again. “C-can I?”

Billie leaned back in her chair, her gaze travelling deliberately from Nina’s flushed face to where their bodies were touching. She angled her thigh ever so slightly, offering Nina the barest hint of friction as she whispered, “Go on.”

Nina’s hips rocked. A hesitant roll at first, that soft grind of her heat against the solid muscle of Billie’s leg. But even the smallest movement made Nina’s breath grow ragged.

“That’s it,” Billie said, one hand sliding up Nina’s thigh beneath the skirt, her fingers curling into the soft flesh just below her arse. “Slow. You know what happens if you make a mess on my suit.”

Nina bit her bottom lip, trying to pace herself. Billie could see the effort it took, the control in every tremble. She wasn’t a woman who ever gave in easily, not with clients and their often ridiculous demands, but here…with Billie, on command.

“Such a neat little worker each and every day,” Billie smirked. “But look at you now. Grinding on my leg like you were made to be pleasured by me.”

“I...” Nina shuddered, her hips tightening for a moment, as though she had to remind herself to breathe.

“Careful, now.” Billie’s other hand came up to frame Nina’s jaw, her thumb pressing lightly against Nina’s lower lip. “You’re close, and I haven’t said you could be.”

“I-I know,” Nina managed, her voice thin and needy, a confession offered on the edge of restraint. “I know, I’m just—”

“I didn’t ask for excuses,” Billie growled as she pulled her in closer. “I asked for obedience.”

Nina’s thighs quaked, but she kept up her pace. That slow, soft sway of her hips, riding the fabric and the woman beneath it, her breath catching on every glide.

“That’s better,” Billie said, tightening her hand at Nina’s jaw until they were barely a breath apart. “That’s how good girls do it. With control and focus. With what I want in mind.”

Nina whimpered, and Billie savoured every wavering second of it. The way Nina’s eyes clung to hers, frantic and hungry…but desperate not to fall.

“You’ve got nine hours left,” Billie whispered. “And if you come before then?” She leaned in, her lips brushing the edge of Nina’s jaw. “You’ll wish you hadn’t.”

The shudder that shot through Nina was violent, but Billie would make it worth her while. “Now get up,” Billie said as she lowered her hands from Nina’s body. “And get to work.”

Nina froze for a moment, still straddling Billie’s leg as she panted, her body trembling with unfinished need. “I...”

Billie arched a brow. “Is that hesitation?”

Nina swallowed as she slowly rose to her feet on shaky legs. She straightened her skirt and gathered herself…barely. “No. No, Billie. No hesitation.”

Billie leaned back, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Good. I want you in here at six for another inspection. If you can keep yourself together until then, you’ll be rewarded.”

“And if I can’t?” 

“Then you’ll get nothing at all.” Billie watched her walk towards the door, every step stiff with desire and discipline. “Go on. Don’t keep me waiting twice.”

As the door closed, Billie opened a new swatch book and perused the colours. The muscle in her thigh sent up a small complaint, but she ignored it. She had to change her pants, and she had work to do. Her thigh would be the least of her worries if she didn’t put some order into her routine in the next thirty seconds.

***

Maeve’s flat had always been the kind of place that looked lived in, unlike Debra’s new home. She smiled as she glanced around, the half-finished book on the arm of the couch, a vase of flowers that had started to droop but had no intention of dying just yet. Then she looked down at the hand-painted cup in her hand, the very one that Maeve always insisted made the coffee taste better. 

Debra sat curled up on the couch, her hands wrapped around her cup. She’d already drunk most of it, though she couldn’t remember when. That was a regular occurrence lately. Not knowing how she’d gotten from A to B. Most days, she didn’t know if she was coming or going.

“So it’s done?” Maeve asked as she settled opposite her. “Papers signed, accounts split, freedom officially yours?”

“All done.” While she’d said that lightly, she still ached every time she heard the word freedom. 

Maeve studied her in a way only someone who’d known her long enough to see through every performance could. “You don’t sound thrilled.”

“Oh, I am.” Debra smiled. “Thrilled, liberated, euphoric.”

“Then why are you using your ‘please stop asking’ voice?”

“I suppose I just thought I’d feel…different.” Debra looked down into her cup, focusing on the ring of coffee at the bottom. “It’s strange. You spend years waiting for something to end, and then it does, and you don’t quite know what to do with what’s left behind.”

Maeve leaned forward and rested her chin in her palm. “You do what every freshly liberated woman does, darling. You get a haircut, buy yourself something scandalous, and start flirting with waiters half your age.”

Debra laughed and shook her head. “I can’t even flirt with the Sainsbury’s delivery driver without apologising for existing.”

“You need something to mark this huge change. Something that makes you feel good.” Maeve sipped her coffee and sighed. “Clothes are a good start. A suit, maybe.”

“A suit?” Debra repeated with amusement. “I think the last time I wore a suit was to Gerald’s company dinner, and even then, it was beige. Hardly a statement.”

“Exactly. That’s why you’re getting a proper one this time. Something that makes you look in the mirror and want to take on the world.”

Debra smiled against the rim of her cup. “I love you, but I don’t think it’s that easy.”

“It is. Trust me. You just need the right tailor.” Maeve grinned. “There’s that place on Savile Row. Brown & Co. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

Debra burst out laughing at that. That was not her kind of place. She was a divorced mother of two whose kids didn’t bother to call her lately unless they wanted something from her. “Maeve, that’s where celebrities go. And CEOs. People with red carpets in their future. I’m just trying to work out how to operate my new dishwasher without Gerald being there to explain the bloody manual.”

Maeve waved her off. “Oh, please. You could absolutely walk in there. They’d be lucky to have you. Besides, you’ve earned a little extravagance. That man drained twenty-odd years of your life and most of your patience. It’s time for something that gives back.”

Debra sighed, but she couldn’t quite shake the small spark that flared in her chest at the thought of a new suit. Something that wasn’t picked for her or approved by someone else. Something she’d chosen herself. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” 

“Deadly. Book an appointment. Go in. Let them spoil you a bit.”

“I don’t need spoiling.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “Maybe not, but I think you’d enjoy it. They do a full service, you know. Suit and lingerie. My cousin went after her divorce last year. I believe she said that her experience with the owner was life-changing.”

“Lingerie? I hardly think—”

“Debra.” Maeve lifted a hand and cut her off. “When was the last time you bought lingerie for yourself? Not because Gerald expected it, not because it was Christmas or Valentine’s Day or some other performative nonsense, but just because it made you feel good?”

“That’s not really the point. It’s not like anyone’s going to see it.”

“And that’s not the point either.” Maeve took another sip of her coffee. “You’ll see it. That’s enough. And apparently, the owner…what’s her name? Billie Brown? She’s known for making women feel good about themselves. Especially the ones who’ve had a rough time.”

“Feel good how?” Debra’s brows drew together.

“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

Debra shook her head. “I don’t see the point. I really don’t.”

“I’ve already looked. They’ve got appointments this week. Go tomorrow. Take it as a post-divorce rite of passage.”

Debra hesitated as she traced the rim of her cup with one finger. The idea felt absurd, but not unpleasantly so. There was something indulgent about it, yes, but also something quietly necessary. Something about choosing to be seen again, but on her own terms. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s as good as a yes. I’ll text you the link.”

Debra narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare. If I decide to go ahead with it, I’ll find the link myself.”

“Oh, I absolutely will send it.”

Debra rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the smile slowly spreading on her lips. She sat back against the couch, realising that it had been a long time since anyone had pushed her towards something purely for herself. Longer still since she’d wanted to be pushed.

Maybe Maeve was right. Maybe she did need a suit.

And maybe—though she wouldn’t admit it out loud—she wanted to see what kind of woman walked out of a place like Brown & Co.

2

As Debra closed the door to her flat, the first thing she noticed was the silence. At one time, silence meant peace, but now it just made her think of everything Gerald used to fill with noise. The television blaring from the lounge or the sound of his voice on calls. That continuous rattle of the kettle when he worked from home. Now it was just her and the sound of London bleeding through the windows.

She dropped her bag on the kitchen island and flicked the lights on. The place was modern, open plan, and too white for her taste. It had come fully furnished—another one of Gerald’s negotiations—but it felt more like a showroom than a real, cosy home. There were days when she loved the space, and others when it made her feel like a guest in her own life.

Her laptop sat where she’d left it that morning, and right now, Debra was almost certain it was encouraging her to open it. She sighed, kicked off her shoes, and poured herself a glass of wine. It wasn’t even six yet but surely divorce granted some leniency.

By the second sip, she’d typed Brown & Co. London into the search bar and pressed enter. The website was sleek. Black, white, and very minimalist. Tailoring for women, by women. A single sentence sat beneath the name. Where form meets freedom.

Debra clicked through, scanning images of perfectly cut suits on women of all shapes and ages, looking effortlessly self-assured. Not one of them resembled the tentative creature currently sitting in her flat with half a glass of Sauvignon and a permanent crease between her brows.

Her eyes landed on the section called The Full Service.

She hovered for a moment before clicking.

For clients seeking a bespoke experience. A private consultation combining our signature tailoring with a custom lingerie fitting if desired. Discretion assured. Confidence guaranteed.

“Confidence guaranteed,” she murmured and sipped her wine. “Now that’s a promise.”

Scrolling further down, she found reviews. There weren’t many, which made sense. The clients who could afford this sort of thing likely didn’t chatter about it online. But the ones who did had kindly left Debra the information she was looking for.

I didn’t expect to walk out feeling the way I did. Billie has a way of seeing not only your measurements, but you. The woman underneath. It was worth every penny.

Huh. That was positive.

Hands down the most empowering experience I’ve ever had. Pun intended.

Debra narrowed her eyes. 

Billie Brown knows her craft. She’s very hands on. You’ll understand when you go.

Debra frowned, reading that one twice. “Hands on,” she repeated under her breath.

What exactly did that mean?

She scrolled further when curiosity started to creep in.

It’s not just tailoring. It’s transformation. I’ve never been made to feel more beautiful.

The words made her breath catch. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her feel beautiful without expectation attached. Gerald had been generous, yes, but never observant. He’d bought jewellery and handbags and perfumes because that’s what men did, not because he’d noticed what suited her.

Billie Brown, apparently, noticed things.

Debra clicked through to the appointment page before she could back out. There were different options depending on what you required. Standard consultation, lingerie fitting, and the full service. The price next to the last one made her laugh. Maeve was quite clearly out of her mind. She could afford it—the divorce settlement had been more than generous—but spending that kind of money on a suit she’d likely never wear for anyone but herself seemed ridiculous.

Still, her cursor hovered over the form.

She was fifty-two, newly divorced, and drinking cheap Sauvignon while debating whether to book a fitting at a tailor that catered to women half her age and with twice her confidence.

The thought made her laugh, but it didn’t back her away from the laptop.

She scrolled up to the review about Billie being ‘hands on’ again.

It couldn’t mean what she thought it did. Surely not. No respectable business operated like that, not on Savile Row of all places.

Her gaze drifted to a small, candid photograph at the bottom of the page. Billie herself, standing in front of a mirror with a client. The client’s face was out of frame, but Billie’s wasn’t. She had short dark hair, wore an exquisitely sharp suit, and had a tape measure looped around her neck. She had that kind of self-possession you couldn’t possibly fake, and there was something about her expression. Focused, but not detached. Like she understood the body in front of her wasn’t just fabric and proportion, but something far more intimate.

Debra closed her laptop halfway, took a breath, then reopened it.

Her pulse had quickened, but she tried to convince herself it was because of the alcohol, not the image she couldn’t quite look away from.

 She quickly filled in the form and clicked submit.

Thank you for booking with Brown & Co. Our team will be in touch shortly to confirm your appointment.

Debra sat back in her chair and stared at the words. She should have felt ridiculous. Instead, she felt something else entirely. A flutter she hadn’t recognised in a long time. Anticipation, maybe. Attraction.

After all, Debra had been here before. Many years before she’d married Gerald.

A closeted bisexual.

She shut the laptop and took her glass to the sink, reminding herself that it was just a suit and nothing more. But as she switched off the lights and headed for the bathroom, the image of Billie Brown—impeccably dressed with the quiet command of someone who didn’t need to explain herself—stayed firmly in her mind.

It couldn’t mean what she thought it meant, but part of her hoped that she was wrong.

***

Billie sat behind her desk, watching the clock as it struck six in the evening. She’d spent the last hour or so responding to appointments for the rest of the week, her interest piqued when she came across a booking for a new client. She didn’t often have newcomers requesting The Full Service, but Billie welcomed them with open arms…certain they would leave more than satisfied. And yes, she was that good.

The door opened suddenly without a knock beforehand. Nina slipped inside, looking impeccable and put together, but Billie knew exactly how she was feeling deep down. She clocked the tremor in Nina’s fingers as she reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Six,” Nina said quietly, her gaze fixed on Billie’s.

“I’m aware.” Billie rose to her feet and smoothed a hand over her waistcoat. She stepped out from behind her desk and shook her head. “You’re late again.”

Nina frowned. “What?”

“It’s thirty seconds past.”

“I...” Nina swallowed, already flustered. “I waited in the corridor. I didn’t want to come in early.”

“Always thinking.” Billie sighed as she stalked towards her. “Always making decisions for me.”

Nina cast her gaze to the oak flooring. “I’m sorry.”

“Mm. You will be.” Nina’s breath hitched when Billie stopped in front of her, close enough to feel the air shift between them. “Skirt.”

Nina obeyed, gathering the hem and lifting her skirt.

As Billie’s gaze swept down Nina’s body, landing on what she desired most, she nodded. “You held it. I’m proud of you.”

“Yes. All day.”

“Did you think about me?”

A flush rose on Nina’s cheeks. “The whole time.”

“And you didn’t play even a little?”

Nina’s breathing grew shallow as Billie stepped closer. “No. I did as you asked. I didn’t touch myself.”

“Perfect.” Billie cupped Nina’s chin and tilted her face up. “You just let the ache build instead, didn’t you?” She lowered her other hand and slipped it between Nina’s legs, offering just enough pressure to make her gasp. “Because you’re so needy and desperately want to come for me.”

“Yes.”

“Well, go on. Show me.”

Nina didn’t need clarification. She lowered herself to the couch, her thighs parting as she gathered her skirt around her waist. When she spread her lips, Billie smirked and dropped to her knees in front of her. She didn’t touch, she just watched. She let the weight of her gaze sink in deep before she leaned in impossibly close. 

“Tell me,” Billie whispered as she dipped her head and gathered Nina’s wetness on her tongue. “Did it make you wet? Knowing you couldn’t have it yet…knowing I was the one who would decide when and how you’d come?”

“Yes.” Nina’s lips parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You’ve been perfect all day. Holding it for me.” Billie dipped a finger inside Nina, enjoying the way she tightened immediately. “Keeping yourself ready for my hands…my mouth…my permission.” Billie leaned back and took her in fully. Open, trembling, and so fucking obedient. “Taking me so well. Giving yourself to me without question…”

“Billie, I—” Nina tried to close her thighs around Billie’s hand. “Oh, God.”

“You’ve earned every second of what’s coming.” Billie slipped out of Nina and rose slowly. She popped the button on her pants, lowered the zip, and watched a range of emotions cross Nina’s face as she brought the strap into view. “You know I love ruining you.”

“And you know I love being ruined by you.”

Nina sat forward and held the strap in her hand with a devotion that made Billie’s pulse thrum harder. She wrapped her lips around the head, looked up at Billie through those long eyelashes, and took the length of it in her mouth.

“Do you know why I make you wait?” Billie asked as she pressed a hand to the back of Nina’s head. Nina only managed a nod in response, her gaze unwavering, but Billie stepped back and guided her to her feet. She brushed her knuckles against Nina’s cheek, angling her head a little. “On the desk.”

Nina lay back against the cool surface of the desk, her breath a soft, reverberating echo in Billie’s otherwise silent office. She didn’t break eye contact—not even when her body trembled with a restrained intensity that had been building since the moment Billie had dismissed her that morning.

Billie stood there, leaning against the edge of the desk with her hands braced on either side of Nina’s hips, her eyes travelling every inch of her body.

Beautiful.

Controlled.

Waiting.

Nina inhaled a shaky breath. Billie could see how close she was to surrender. It was there in her eyes. Absolute trust.

Billie leaned closer, her face inches from Nina’s as she said, “It isn’t just about control. It’s about clarity.”

Nina’s lashes fluttered. “Clarity?”

“You spend all day with your hands busy and your mind on what others need from you, but in here you’re stripped of all that. There’s nothing to balance and nothing to manage. Only surrender.” Her tone softened, but her gaze didn’t. “Only me.”

Nina swallowed. “And I want that. I need it.”

“I know you do.” Billie raised a hand, tracing two fingers up the length of Nina’s thigh without reaching the places Nina ached for her to touch. “And because of that, you don’t rush. You don’t demand and you don’t take. You earn.”

“I held it together for you,” Nina whispered. “Even when the ache was so intense that I could barely walk.”

Billie’s lips curved at the edges. “That’s because you’re mine inside this office.” She let that sink in for a moment. “You know who you belong to here. You know whose hands you wait for.”

Billie eased two fingers inside Nina, smirking when her pussy pulsed around her. She couldn’t help herself, but Billie wouldn’t hold it against her for too long. She wanted to fuck this woman senseless just as much as Nina craved it.

“I’m yours.” Nina whimpered when Billie pushed deeper.

“Say it properly.”

Nina’s gaze held steady. “I belong to you, Billie. I wait for you. Nobody else.”

Billie coated the strap with Nina’s wetness and pushed inside her without warning. Nina cried out, her fingers failing to grasp the desk beneath her as she took every thrust of Billie’s hips. “That’s why you’re rewarded.”

Nina’s gasp fractured into a raw, breathless moan as Billie buried herself inside her. The sound sparked through Billie like a lit fuse, tightening every muscle in her body with the undeniable truth of what she craved in her future.

But it couldn’t be.

She wouldn’t give her control up ever again.

Nina’s body arched into every punishing thrust Billie delivered. The strap hit deep, over and over, the rhythm unrelenting. Billie wasn’t just fucking Nina. She was taking her apart, piece by piece, exactly how Nina needed her to.

“Eyes on me.” Billie ordered, her voice steady but pitched with a dark, simmering heat.

Nina’s eyes flew open, threaded with tears and pleasure. “I’m…God, Billie, I’m looking. I-I’m watching.”

“So good for me. You crave me using your body, don’t you?”

Nina’s breath hitched as she took her bottom lip between her teeth. “Y-yes. Always.”

Billie leaned forward, her hands planted firm on either side of Nina’s head. Her thrusts slowed and deepened. “And now you’ll show me exactly how much you wanted this. How much I’m in your head. Under your skin.”

Nina’s body trembled. “I’ve thought about this all day,” she confessed in a rush. “About your hands on me. Your mouth. You…buried deep inside of me. I’ve walked around aching for you, wet for you, ready to drop to my knees just to breathe you in.”

Billie’s control thinned dangerously. She pressed her forehead to Nina’s, every movement of her hips now a claiming…a reaffirmation of the power between them. “That’s what I want to hear.”

Nina clutched Billie’s waistcoat, her other hand cupping the back of her neck. Billie could allow it, but only because she knew what she had with Nina. They fucked, and that was all it would ever be.

“When I’m with you, you make me feel alive.”

Billie let those words land, and then she drove her hips forward, fucking Nina hard enough to draw out every sound she’d been holding back since she’d walked through the door. “Come for me,” Billie growled against her temple. “Now.”

Nina’s cries spilled through the room, her body tightening and breaking in rhythm with Billie’s thrusts. Ecstasy flashed across her face in waves until her entire frame trembled.

Billie slowed only when Nina’s lips parted in a soft whimper, her climax still rippling through her. She drew back and stared deep into Nina’s eyes. She didn’t look ruined…she looked whole.

Billie smoothed the hair from Nina’s damp forehead with the backs of her fingers. “Still so perfect.”

Nina pulled a deep breath into her lungs, her hand sliding up to Billie’s cheek. “You always make me feel like that’s true.”

Billie smiled. It didn’t matter that her own heart was cold and dead. This woman was perfect. She just…couldn’t be perfect for Billie in any other light. “That’s because it is.” She withdrew slowly and eased Nina’s skirt back down, her touch shifting from possessive to tender. The contrast was intentional. A reminder that what she took, she always gave back more of. “Clean up,” Billie brushed her thumb against Nina’s lower lip. “Then come back. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Yes, Billie.” She slid off the desk, her legs trembling as she steadied herself. Billie watched every movement, already anticipating the next round.

Tonight was far from finished.