The phone screen flickered with the dim light of the evening, its glow casting soft shadows across the cluttered desk. She’d had too much—too much whiskey, too much of the ever-encroaching weight of her own thoughts—and there it was, that irrepressible impulse, the one that always gnawed at the edges of her control. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her mind swimming in a fog of both lust and unease. She typed, slowly, then backspaced, her breath unsteady. The words spilled out like the whisky in her glass: “Respectfully, I want to wear your hand as a necktie.” A nervous laugh escaped her lips, the words an intoxicating blend of absurdity and truth. She almost regretted it before hitting ‘send,’ but it was too late. The message lingered in the air between them, a web of dark longing spun between her vulnerability and his brilliant, closed off mind. The silence that followed felt heavier than the weight of a thousand unspoken desires.