The first day

John woke before the sun.

The room was still dim, Claire curled up beside him, one leg over his, her breath soft against his shoulder. For a moment, it felt like any other morning. But then he shifted—and the weight, the tightness, the reality returned.

The cage was still there.

It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly—but it was impossible to forget. A presence. A reminder.

He reached down, half-conscious, and his fingers brushed cool steel.

No give.

Just pressure.

He groaned softly.

Claire stirred.

Her hand slid across his chest and settled just above his navel. “Good morning,” she whispered.

He exhaled slowly. “Hi.”

She moved closer, her body warm against his.

Then she reached down—casual, instinctive—and cupped the cage lightly through the sheets.

“Still locked,” she murmured, satisfied.

“Yeah,” he said, throat dry.

She kissed his neck. “Get used to it.”

⸻

Breakfast was quiet.

Claire wore one of his shirts, barely buttoned. She bent at the waist to pour coffee, giving him a full view of her body—smooth skin, bare thighs, the side of her breast.

John shifted in his seat, the cage already pulsing against him.

Claire looked up, caught his reaction, and smiled.

“Hurting?”

“Not exactly.”

“Frustrated?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded and sipped her coffee.

“That’s the point.”

⸻

Later, while he read on the lounge chair by the pool, she laid down next to him in a bikini that could’ve passed for lingerie. She applied sunscreen slowly. Excessively. Her fingers moved over her thighs, up her chest, over her neck.

John tried not to stare.

Tried to focus on the page.

She caught him.

“Your eyes are louder than your mouth,” she said.

He gave her a look. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

Claire leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Obviously.”

⸻

That night, they didn’t have sex.

She curled up against him like usual—soft, warm, hers.

But when he reached for her, she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Not tonight.”

He moaned. “Claire…”

She tilted her head. “Do you want out already?”

He shook his head.

“Then behave.”

She kissed his forehead, pressed her hand against the cage.

“You’re learning,” she whispered.

And in the dark, John smiled.

Because she was right.