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“Describe them.”

“They’re full. Heavy. My nipples are hard. I look like a woman who should know better.”

“You look like a woman I’m going to fuck at work. I’m going to put you on that desk and spread you open. I’m going to eat your pussy until your thighs shake. I’m going to put two fingers in you and find that spot that makes you swear. Then I’m going to fuck you. Hard. Deep. I want you dripping on the files. Go to the last office. The dark one. The one with no window on the back wall. Leave your clothes on the desks as you walk. I want you naked when I get there. I want your pussy bare. I want to see it before I put my mouth on it.”

I should hang up. I should call Marcus. I should remember Noah.

I stand up. I take the phone. I walk.

I look down the hall. No one is there. The offices are dark. I am the last person on this floor. I look again anyway.

I put the blouse on the first desk I pass. Then the bra. My breasts are out in the hallway and I keep walking because he told me to. I look over my shoulder. The hall behind me is empty. My office light is still on. I could go back. I could cover myself and lock the door and pretend I never picked up.

I do not go back.

Then the skirt. I look again. Still no one. My heart is going too fast. This is stupid. This is a man who found a body last night. This is a partner with her tits out in a law firm after a murder. I think about stopping. I think about how I will look if someone comes out of a lift.

I keep walking.

My nipples are tight in the cold hall. I wrap one arm over my chest and then drop it again because he told me not to hide. I pass the dark kitchenette. I almost turn back. I do not.

Then my underwear. I am naked. My hair sticks to my neck. My skin is hot. I am wet down my thighs. I hold the phone so hard it hurts my hand. I check the glass one more time. Empty. I hate how much I want the next door to open and be him.

The last office is dark. No window on the back wall. A desk. A chair. The city far away.

“I’m here,” I say. “I’m naked.”

“Good. Touch your pussy. Two fingers. Slow. Put them in. Say my name.”

“Rhys.”

“Again.”

“Rhys.”

Then I hear it. A small, hard tap, like something hitting the phone.

It is not Rhys’s voice anymore.

What is left is soft and close. Like a mouth on my ear.

“Are you alone, Lo?”

It is not Rhys. I know that as soon as I hear it. The hair on my arms goes up.

“Rhys. Don’t. Not the voice. I am standing here with my tits out. Don’t make this a game.”

“Should I kiss you first, or should I cut you first?”

“Stop it.”

The phone goes dead in my ear.

The door of the dark office opens.

I see the mask first. Bone-white. Then the grey coverall. Hood up. Black gloves. Black boots. No sound.

They are in the room with me.