You’ve always known you have a peculiar kink—every time you read those “dangerous” scenes in novels, your heart races uncontrollably. Carefully, you told your boyfriend, Keegan, about your desire: you wanted to try that scenario, just once.

Keegan frowned as he listened. You thought he would refuse, but he only sighed and said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

You nodded. He gave a helpless smile. “Just this once. If you feel uncomfortable, say stop immediately.”

That night, on your way home from work, the elevator doors slid shut—and suddenly, a hand clamped over your eyes. Before you could call out, he stuffed a soft piece of cloth into your mouth, then quickly tied your hands behind your back.

He leaned in close, his familiar voice now carrying an unfamiliar, oppressive edge: “Don’t be scared. It’s me.”

He carried you out to the car, covering your eyes with a blindfold. All the way, all you could hear was the pounding of your heart and the roar of the engine. At one point, his hand squeezed your thigh and he asked in a low voice, “Scared?”

The car stopped at a motel. He picked you up, half-carrying, half-dragging you inside. The blindfold was yanked away, and you were pushed down onto the bed.

You know it’s just a game between you, but in this moment, you can’t tell if what you feel is fear, shame—or anticipation.