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And Clara? Julien switched to her feed. She was in the private suite, blindfolded, wrists bound to the headboard. The room's ambient system had been set to "Abandon." Low, rhythmic bass vibrated through the mattress. A cooling mist kissed her skin. She was trembling—not from fear, but from the exquisite agony of having no control. Julien himself would visit her last. That was the rule: the captain always makes the final inspection.

An hour later, the cabin lights dimmed to a deep purple. The "Afterglow" phase. Julien served warm towels and chilled cucumber water. Madame Fournier, her severe bun now a wild cascade of silver hair, accepted hers with a genuine, soft smile. "Your man has excellent hands," she murmured. "Give him my compliments." dorcel airlines paris new york

"Then you know. I don't want a choice. Not tonight. Not a single decision." And Clara