The Key in His Pocket

Claire steps closer, the wig still in her hand, and asks why he's sweating over a joke, her voice too calm. Warren's fingers brush the key in his pocket, the metal warm from his skin, and he forces a laugh about the coworker's party. She tilts her head, not buying it, and reaches for his shirt collar where the belt buckle hides beneath the fabric. He catches her wrist, too fast, and she freezes, her gaze dropping to his hand. The wig slips from her fingers, and the silence between them fills with the weight of the cage locked between his thighs.