The Key Turns

Claire kneels before Warren, the key cold against the lock at his crotch, her eyes holding his as the phone buzzes David's name on the dresser. 'Choose,' she says, and Warren feels the cage shift against his thighs, the weight of the belt hidden under his shirt. Her thumb presses the key, and the lock gives a soft click—not open, but turned, the mechanism armed. She stands, the key still in her hand, and says, 'Then show me what you chose.'