Claire escalated.
She started waiting outside Mia's tattoo shop after closing—leaning against a lamppost, looking casual, like she just happened to be there.
The third time Mia saw her, she dragged Elena inside the shop instead of walking home.
The parlor was dark except for the neon "Open" sign still flickering in the window. Mia locked the door, flipped the sign to Closed, then turned to Elena.
"Strip."
Elena's pulse hammered. "Here?"
"Here." Mia's voice was low, dangerous. "She's watching through the glass. Let her see what she lost."
Elena peeled off her clothes slowly—jacket, top, bra, jeans, panties—until she stood naked under the buzzing neon. Goosebumps covered her skin. Her nipples were already hard.
Mia circled her like an artist studying canvas.
"On the chair."
Elena climbed onto the leather tattoo chair, reclined it slightly. Mia strapped her wrists to the armrests with the same soft cuffs she used on clients who got nervous.
Then she pulled out the magic wand—the big, black, corded one she kept in the back for "personal breaks."
Elena's eyes widened. "Mia—"
"Quiet." Mia taped the wand to Elena's inner thigh with medical tape, positioned the head right against her clit, turned it on low.
The vibration hit like lightning.
Elena's hips jerked, a whine escaping her throat.
Mia knelt between her spread legs, pushed three fingers inside her without warning, and started fucking her in time with the buzz.
Elena's moans filled the empty shop—loud, broken, desperate.
Outside, Claire stood frozen on the sidewalk, face pale in the neon glow.
Mia didn't look at her. She looked only at Elena.
"Tell me you love me," she demanded, curling her fingers hard.
"I love you—I love you—fuck, Mia—"
"Louder."
"I LOVE YOU!" Elena screamed it as the orgasm ripped through her—back arching against the restraints, squirting so hard it soaked the chair and Mia's arm.
Mia turned the wand up to high.
Elena sobbed, shaking, coming again almost immediately.
Mia finally switched it off, untied her, pulled her into her lap on the floor behind the counter where Claire couldn't see anymore.
Elena was crying—overstimulated, overwhelmed, wrecked.
Mia held her tight, kissing her temple, her cheeks, her mouth.
"I've got you," she whispered. "She's gone. She's not coming back."
But Elena knew better.
Later that night, alone in Mia's apartment while Mia showered, Elena's phone lit up.
Claire: I saw everything.
Claire: I still want you.
Claire: Tell me you don't feel anything when you see me.
Elena stared at the messages for a long time.
Then she deleted the thread.
When Mia came out, towel around her waist, Elena pulled her down onto the bed.
"Fuck me until I can't remember her face," she begged.
Mia did.
Slow this time—tender, almost reverent. Missionary, eye contact the whole time, Mia's strap buried deep, rolling her hips in long, grinding strokes that hit every sensitive spot.
Elena came quietly, tears slipping down her temples, whispering "I love you" over and over.
Mia kissed the tears away.
"I know, baby. I know."
They fell asleep tangled together.
But in the morning Elena woke to an empty bed and a note on the pillow:
Went to handle something.
Stay here. Lock the door.
Love you. — M
Elena's stomach dropped.
She knew exactly where Mia had gone.