I never have

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and stepped past Loona into the hallway. The stainless steel beneath my sweatpants rested still and secure; the silicone lining prevented any friction, yet its cool weight was an inescapable reminder of my secret with every step.

I pressed the buzzer on the intercom, eased the heavy front door open a crack, and waited as quick, light footsteps ascended the stairwell.

"Hey, John!" Nadja’s voice drifted up before she had even cleared the final bend of the stairs.

She was wearing dark skinny jeans, beige ankle boots, and a leather jacket over a flowing black silk camisole. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek, high ponytail, her makeup immaculate. She radiated that effortless, vibrant energy that instantly filled whatever room she walked into. In one hand she carried a small leather shoulder bag, in the other a bottle of craft gin.

"Hey, Nadja," I said, stepping aside to let her through. "Come on in."

She brushed past, slipping out of her jacket and offering me an open, assessing smile. Her perfume—floral and light with a sharp fruity undertone—immediately mingled with the warm air of the apartment.

"God, you look so much more alive today than you did last night," she laughed, leaning in to brush two quick kisses against my cheeks. Her palms grazed my upper arms for a brief second. "Loona must be taking proper care of you. Dark circles are gone, no more ghost-white complexion."

My pulse skipped a beat. Knowing she was playing the innocent friend while fully briefed on every move planned for this weekend tightened a knot in my throat—and simultaneously sent a hot surge of blood hammering through my veins.

"She… she does her best," I managed, taking her jacket to hang it by the door.

Timo shuffled out of the living room into the hall, hands buried casually in his pockets, that broad, permanent grin plastered across his face. "Well, look who finally showed up! About time, too—John was already losing his nerve on the console."

"As if you ever played a clean match in your life, Timo," Nadja shot back dryly, turning away from me to give him a brief, polite hug.

At that moment, Loona stepped out of the kitchen. She carried a tray holding four heavy crystal tumblers, fresh mint, and a bowl of cracked ice. Her braless white tank top and paper-thin lounge shorts turned every stride into an overt provocation.

Nadja’s gaze drifted with practiced nonchalance across Loona’s revealing outfit, lingered for a fraction of a second on her visible nipples, and then flicked straight to me. It was a fleeting, knowing glance, sparkling with private amusement.

"Well, if this isn't turning into a high-end cocktail lounge, I don't know what is," Nadja teased, holding up the bottle of gin before following Loona into the living room.

Timo lingered beside me for a second, driving an elbow into my ribs as he muttered under his breath, "Take a look at that, man. Tonight is going to get absolutely wild."

I kept quiet, watching the two women walk ahead, feeling the metal beneath my clothes pulse stubbornly against the silicone. The net had been cast, and everyone in the room knew it—except Timo.

We gathered around the low coffee table. The dimmed ceiling light cast a warm, muted glow across the glass and timber, while an unobtrusive, bass-heavy rhythm thrummed through the living room from the Bluetooth speaker on the shelf.

Timo dropped onto the center of the large sofa, sprawling his arms along the backrest and stretching his legs wide. He claimed the space with effortless entitlement. Nadja settled smoothly onto the left cushion, tucking one leg beneath her thigh as she lifted the bottle of gin from the table.

"Alright, who's first?" Nadja asked the room, twisting the cap off and throwing me a loaded look. "John, what about you? You barely drank anything yesterday. No hiding behind anatomy lectures tonight."

"I'm in," I answered, fighting to keep my voice steady as I took the open spot beside her—leaving just enough space so the fabric of my sweatpants draped loosely, keeping the outline of the cage from drawing the eye.

Loona didn't choose the couch. She sank into the cognac leather armchair angled across from us, drawing her bare legs up and loosely wrapping her arms around her knees. The hem of her thin lounge shorts rode high up her thighs, and the loose cut of the tank top offered a clear view down the curve of her chest at every slight shift.

Timo’s eyes were glued to her. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "Why don't you start, Loona? You look like you could use a stiff drink before the night really gets going."

"Do I?" Loona countered with silky, detached composure. Her green eyes held Timo’s for two, three seconds—just long enough to let his smirk widen with smug confidence. Then her gaze slid casually away, landing squarely on me.

"John, mix me a Gin Basil Smash," she commanded softly, her tone warm, almost like an intimate offering. "You know exactly how sweet I like it so it doesn't turn bitter."

"Sure," I rasped out.

Leaning over the table, I took the muddler and crushed the fresh mint leaves and lime wedges. My fingers carried a slight tremor as I measured out the gin and scooped crushed ice into the crystal tumblers.

Right beside me, Nadja leaned in close to watch, her shoulder nearly brushing against mine. She rested her chin in her hand, studying my movements with an attention far too analytical for simple drink preparation.

"You handle that with serious routine," Nadja murmured softly, a thread of amused mockery running through her words meant strictly for my ears. "You can tell right away who in this flat has learned to listen carefully and fulfill every little request."

Heat rushed violently into my cheeks. I felt her gaze like a magnifying glass burning into my profile while I fought to keep my face completely blank. Did she know...? The thought spiked through my chest, but I couldn't afford to flinch.

"He's just an attentive flatmate," Timo cut in, grabbing his filled glass, clinking it against Nadja’s, and taking a deep swallow. "Almost too well-behaved sometimes. But hey, as long as the drinks are good, I'm not complaining."

Timo laughed out loud, entirely blind to the invisible tripwires strung across the room.

I stood up, walked around the table, and handed Loona her drink. As she reached for it, her cool fingertips brushed the back of my hand. She held the contact, gripping the glass while locking her eyes with mine, giving a subtle, imperious tug that drew me an inch closer to her chair.

Her bare foot slid out from beneath the armchair. Her toes found my shin, tracing slowly, deliberately up the fabric of my trousers until they pressed for a single heartbeat against the bulge of the stainless steel. The silicone absorbed the force comfortably, but the covert touch right before the two on the sofa stole the air clean out of my lungs.

"Mixed to perfection, John," Loona whispered, taking a sip without breaking eye contact before letting her foot drop back down. "Go sit down. We're only getting started."

"Enough drinking on an empty stomach," Loona announced after a while, setting her half-empty glass aside and brushing her hair back. "If we don't want to starve, we should get dinner moving. Pasta with fresh herbs and roasted tomatoes."

"Count me out for cooking, you know my track record," Timo laughed immediately, waving a hand dismissively as he reached for a beer and kicked his legs out. "I'll handle the playlist and supervise from right here."

"Probably for the best," Nadja smirked, getting up from the sofa and looking at me. "Come on, John, you and I will handle the prep work. Let's leave the real work to the capable ones."

I rose hesitantly. Thanks to the silicone, the stainless steel sat quietly beneath my sweatpants, but the constant awareness of the restraint made every step deliberate.

The spacious kitchen quickly grew warm and close. The aroma of sautéed garlic and olive oil filled the air, while Timo’s loud indie rock playlist filtered in from the living room.

Nadja took a spot right beside me at the large wooden cutting board, pushing up the sleeves of her silk top and handing me a chef's knife. "Here, you take the cherry tomatoes, I'll do the spring onions."

Her shoulder brushed against mine. She seemed completely at ease, chatting lightly about her demanding week at the agency, letting out a soft laugh whenever a cut went crooked. A few times, she casually laid a hand on my forearm to reach for an ingredient. To me, it felt like stepping into warm water after days of freezing isolation: Nadja wasn't treating me like a broken plaything, but like an ordinary, approachable guy. The dread that she might notice what was happening beneath my waistband began to thaw with every passing minute.

Over at the stove stood Loona. Her white ribbed tank top tracked every movement of her body as she stirred the sauce with a wooden spoon.

Suddenly, footsteps shuffled into the room. It was Timo. He didn't lean against the counter—he stepped right up behind Loona.

Without hesitation, he planted both hands firmly on her bare hips, pressing close against her back as he leaned over her shoulder to smell the sauce. His fingers dug noticeably into the soft fabric of her shorts.

"Smells bloody amazing," he murmured roughly against the side of her neck. "Could definitely get used to this."

My knife froze halfway through a tomato. My breath hitched. The image burned into my vision with agonizing clarity—Timo, staking his claim with casual entitlement, his hands resting on parts of her body denied to me for days. Beneath my trousers, the steel strained immediately; the trapped flesh bucked in silence, pressing hard into the soft silicone lining.

Loona didn't pull away in a panic. She let out a low laugh, letting the touch linger for three agonizing heartbeats, before sliding smoothly out of his grip with a fluid turn, nudging him aside with her hip.

"Hands off the cookware, Timo," she said in a tone that sounded like playful banter on the surface, but drew an unmistakable line underneath. "Or you'll be eating cold bread tonight."

Grinning, Timo raised his hands in surrender, took a step back, and strolled back into the living room with a swaggering stride, convinced the conquest was practically in the bag.

The second he was out of sight, Loona turned around.

She didn't look at Nadja. Her eyes locked straight onto me. She registered my rigid posture, the knife gripped tight in my white-knuckled fist, and the unmistakable tension beneath the fabric of my sweatpants. Yet her green eyes held no ridicule. It was that same deep, steady gravity from that morning.

Closing the distance to the cutting board, she laid her hand gently over the back of mine, slowly easing my clenched fingers from the knife handle.

"Breathe, John," she whispered, low enough to be buried under the thrum of the music. Her fingertips stroked soothingly over my knuckles. "Everything is fine. You're doing perfectly."

Beside me, Nadja kept her head down, acting completely absorbed in slicing the onions, though a subtle, knowing smirk played at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm… I'm fine," I choked out, my voice thick.

Loona gave me an encouraging nod, brushed a brief hand over the nape of my neck, and turned back to the stove. "Dinner will be ready in five minutes. Grab the pasta bowls from the cupboard, John."

I drew a long breath. The cage throbbed hot against my skin, but the sensation of being protected and steadied by Loona outweighed the humiliation by far. She was keeping her word. And that made me more ready than ever to see the game through to the very end.

"Food's done, time for proper drinks," Timo announced loudly, sinking heavily into the middle of the couch and patting the cushions on either side of him with both palms. "Classic warm-up: Never Have I Ever. If you've done it—or if you're lying—you take a drink. And none of that soft, boring stuff."

Nadja laughed, curling her legs up on the left end of the couch and reaching for her glass. "Well, let's see how dark your secrets actually are, Timo."

I sat down tentatively on the other side beside Nadja, taking care to keep the fabric of my trousers loose across my lap. The stainless steel rested cool yet persistently pulsing against my skin; the silicone absorbed the pressure reliably, but the sheer confinement kept my nerves wired taut.

This time, Loona bypassed the armchair.

Wearing a thin, predatory smile, she strolled over and sat down right next to Timo. Not with polite distance—her bare shoulder pressed against his arm, and the hem of her tiny shorts rode up so high that the bare skin of her thigh rested directly against Timo’s worn denim.

Timo’s eyes lit up with arrogant triumph. As if by second nature, he draped an arm across the backrest right behind Loona’s head, his fingers hovering inches from her dark hair.

"I'll kick things off," Timo grinned, raising his glass. "Never have I ever… hooked up with someone in the same room while other people were asleep."

Timo immediately took a heavy swallow, sporting a dirty grin as he looked around the circle.

Nadja rolled her eyes with an amused smirk and drank as well.

Loona lifted her glass, taking a slow, perfectly composed sip, looking over the rim not at Timo, but directly at me. Her green eyes gleamed in the dim light. She knew intimately how many nights I had spent lying awake, listening, while my body remained locked in chains.

I brought the glass to my lips and drank. The alcohol burned sharply down my throat.

"Well, look at that, John," Timo ribbed roughly, cuffing my shoulder with a grin. "Still waters run deep, eh?"

"My turn," Nadja interrupted in an innocent tone, twirling her glass between manicured fingers, casting a seemingly idle gaze around the room. "Never have I ever… kept a secret from someone sitting right next to me at this very moment."

A silent tension crept across the table.

Nadja drank. Loona drank without batting an eye.

I stared down into my glass. Beside me sat Nadja—someone from whom I was concealing my entire double life, my humiliation, and the padlock beneath my waistband. My heart hammered as I lifted the glass and took a deep pull.

"Damn, a whole room of schemers," Timo laughed loudly, taking a gulp himself before sliding another inch closer to Loona. His free hand settled casually on her bare thigh, fingers lightly tracing the soft skin right near the hem of her shorts. "Then again, secrets are what make things interesting."

My jaw clenched hard. The flesh beneath the silicone surged with piercing intensity, the housing pulling visibly taut against my groin. Seeing Timo’s heavy hand on her bare skin—while every sip of alcohol left me more vulnerable—drove a pulse of heat straight to my temples.

Loona let his hand remain there. She didn't flinch away, but she turned her head slowly to look at him. Her smile was honey-sweet, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

"My turn," Loona whispered, her voice slicing smoothly through the background music. "Never have I ever… completely surrendered control to someone who dictates exactly when, how, and with whom I get to come."

Dead silence fell over the room.

Timo blinked, thrown off for a second, before letting out a loud, dismissive bark of laughter. "Pff, yeah right, like I'd ever hand over the reins. Never going to happen. I call the shots." He left his glass untouched on the table.

Nadja offered a subtle smile, taking a leisurely sip of her drink as she glanced up toward the ceiling.

Loona raised her glass—and brought it with agonizing slowness to her lips. She drank. A single droplet clung to the corner of her mouth.

Then her eyes locked onto me. It was no casual glance. It was an imperious, unyielding command pinning me straight across the table.

With trembling fingers, I lifted my glass. My throat was dry as sandpaper as I downed the gin. The cage throbbed hot against my pubic bone. Every nerve ending screamed beneath the perverse reality of the moment: Timo believed he was running the show, completely blind to the fact that Loona and I were playing out our darkest, most intimate dynamic right under his nose.

Timo seemed entirely oblivious to the double meaning; the alcohol and Loona’s bare skin had thoroughly clouded his senses. Turning his body fully toward her, he slid his hand higher up her thigh, leaning in so close his breath brushed her cheek.

"You talk an awful lot about control, Loona," he murmured hoarsely, his gaze sliding hungrily from her lips down to the distinct points showing beneath her thin white tank top. "How about we see who really ends up on top?"

Loona didn't back away. A narrow, reckless glint sparked in her green eyes.

She laid her palm very slowly against Timo’s chest, right over his beating heart, pushing him back an inch with smooth, unmistakable pressure.

"Not out here in the living room, Timo," she murmured softly, yet the tone was so laden with promise that his eyes practically ignited.

Then her gaze flicked past his shoulder—locking dead into my wide, watching eyes.