I worked the rest of the afternoon and walked home after the sun set. The snow had almost finished melting, and the sound of cars passing and the rumble of the subway underground was cut with water dripping from rooftops and flowing through the street.

I was bone-tired. I could fall asleep to the rippling water or the car alarm. I was going to eat ice cream and watch back-to-back episodes of Law & Order until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

I got the mail, took the elevator, walked down the hall until I got to the orange door of our… my loft.

A package sat in front of it. Four inches square. Brown paper tucked neatly around the edges. An envelope with the words Little Huntress printed on it rested on top.

Taking the box inside, I got my jacket off and barely set it on the hook before I ripped open the envelope. I stood in the foyer in my wet boots with the package tucked under my arm and the envelope on the floor.

Diana

You begin tonight.

Do not open this package now. Open it when I tell you.

I could hear his bossy voice in my head and fell into a calm, yet excited obedience. That voice was pure pleasure to obey.

Tonight you will lie down to sleep at nine p.m.

I glanced at the clock. It was six forty-five. Plenty of time.

Until then, you will not watch television or look at the computer. No screens. No books. No phone calls. No magazines. You may write in your journal, eat, and take care of the house. I own your boredom.

You will take your clothes off as soon as you lock the door. Turn the heat up to eighty-two. Shower. Remain naked for the rest of the night. I own your nudity.

Lie down on the floor at the foot of the bed at nine p.m., no sooner or later. You will sleep there. You may lie on the rug or the floor. I own your comfort.

Don’t touch yourself. I own your pleasure.

Don’t look in the box. I mean it. I own your curiosity.

Jesus.

His instructions were hard and cold, yet I tingled for them. Each claim of ownership was sexier than the last. Each demand made me wet to please him.

I flipped the card.

I intend to come and go as I please, but I don’t own the loft. You have control over it. If you need to set a limit, set it now. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll take it as permission to enter.

I’ll be in touch.

—A

Would he enter? And when?

It didn’t matter. I was doing this all the way. He could come and go as if he owned my space as well as my boredom, my nudity, my pleasure, and my curiosity.

I stripped down in a state of joy, snapping the curtains closed while fully nude. Let the people in the department store across the street get a good look before I shut them out. My plan was incomplete and my life was a mess, but inside the loft, naked from head to toe, every inch of my skin was alive. My feet felt the woolen texture of the rug and the creaky bounce of the floor. My nipples felt the brush of my arm when I got a plate from the cabinet.

My lips slid against the fork, newly awakened by the fact that they weren’t acting out of habit or survival, but for him. Because he’d told me to, and it pleased him.

My shower had a purpose, the towel drying me had a resolve. Each movement was a scene in a larger play that Adam directed. I was complete as long as I was doing what he asked me to do. I was free to feel my own body in space.

The feeling of contentment and peace remained at eight o’clock, but I had an hour to go before sleep and nothing to fill it with.

And the box started to weigh on me.

I shook it, but it made no sound. I peeled the folds back to see how they were fastened. Just tape. Tiny dots of double-stick. I’d never get it back the way it was.

You could…

I put the box in the cabinet under the kitchen sink and slapped the door closed.

What was in that damned box?

I took it out of the cabinet. Shook it again.

Was he above leaving me an empty box just to test me? No, he was not, but there was definitely something inside. It had weight.

I put the box to my nose and got a slight whiff of him. A little leather. A bite of something I could never identify. I dropped the box and picked up the note, pressing my nose to it.

Licorice.

That was it.

I went to his bedroom closet. It had been mostly emptied, but once I threw the doors open and stepped in, he surrounded me. Leather and licorice. I opened the drawers, filling every corner of the space with him.

So good. So very good.

I got on my knees and crouched with my cheek to the floor, breathing deeply. I closed my eyes and let him seep inside me.

I loved him. I couldn’t speak about the future or the past with him, but in that closet, on my knees, I loved him and it was enough.

The throb between my legs was a growing ache as the minutes passed. I rolled onto my bottom, leaned my hands against the floor, and spread my legs for the empty pole and wire hangers he used to have his clothes on.

How was I supposed to get through the night without touching myself?

I put my head back, surrendering to the mundane difficulties he’d set for me, and spotted something on the top shelf.

Bounding up, I grabbed it.

Packing tape.

I could use that.

The wrapped box sat on the kitchen counter. I picked the edge off the packing tape and carefully unstuck a good section. Sticking it to the top of the box, I spiraled the roll of tape around, letting it scream when I moved it, until the box was a cellophane-wrapped mummy. It would take me so long to get it out that I’d have time to stop myself.

Perfect.

Just to be sure it wasn’t staring me in my face, I tossed the entire thing into the freezer.

That was that.

I had thirty minutes.

I checked on the box a few more times. Dusted a few shelves while stark naked. Vacuumed. Brushed my teeth.

By the time I shut off the lights and curled up on the floor at the end of the bed, I was exhausted and completely obsessed with my husband.

I wondered if that had been his plan the entire time, then fell asleep.