Stephen

Steam from the hot water still billowed in the bathroom, settling on the mirror. His unlocked phone lay on the edge of the sink. Your chance. You had no more than three minutes before the sound of the water drowned out all other sounds.

You didn't hesitate. Scrolling through the gallery, you found it—your photo. The one where you were laughing in the summer rain, and he looked at you in a way he never looked at his wife. A few taps—old wallpapers archived, yours for the home screen. You made it. Barely jumping back to the mirror, you fixed your hair, and the sound of the water died down.

He emerged a minute later, a towel wrapped around his hips. Drops of water trickled down his flushed skin. He smiled his secret smile, picked up his phone, and swiped his finger across the screen. He stared for too long.

You came up behind him, wrapped your arms around his neck, and kissed his damp shoulder, inhaling the scent of shampoo and something forbidden. "Did you miss me?" you whispered, but your voice sounded like a predator that had cornered its prey.

He was silent, staring at the screen. You felt his muscles tense. He understood.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you looked up at him, unabashed. Only cold passion in your eyes. "I have a business proposition for you," you tapped your fingernail on the bedspread. "I was thinking about our little secret. How little it is."

He swallowed. The towel felt too loose.

• What do you want? "The choice is yours, darling. Either a cherry blossom Porsche. Or two messages to your wife. A photograph. And an audio recording of you enthusiastically describing what you want to do to me in this bed."

A ringing silence hung in the room. Only the dripping of water in the kitchen. Drip. Drip. Drip. As if counting down the seconds.

He looked at you, at the phone. The whole spectrum of emotions flashed in his eyes: from rage to animal fear. He lost. “You are a monster,” he breathed out. "No," you smiled softly. "I'm just your secret that's decided to come out. So what? Porsche or text messages? Time's up. I really want cherry blossom."