The Agreement – Part 2: Her Rules

On Saturday evening, Helena was in the bedroom before him. She had lit candles, put on a favourite record and laid a short list of rules on the bed in her crisp barrister's handwriting. She wore a fitted black dress and a very calm expression.

"Come in," she said.

Tom, in his best shirt, hovered at the door.

"First," said Helena. "The word."

"Pomegranate."

"Good. If you say it, everything stops, we put on a dressing gown and make tea. No questions, no sulking, no guilt. Yes?"

"Yes."

"Second. I'll ask you at the start and in the middle whether you're still enjoying this. You're to answer honestly."

"Yes."

"Third." She smiled. "You will do exactly as I say. Shut the door."

He shut it. The room seemed to change. Helena's voice stayed warm but took on a new, low confidence, and Tom felt his shoulders drop and his heart race. She gave simple, kind commands. Sit there. Wait. Look at me. She slipped off his tie slowly, and he let her. She checked in with a quiet "Still good?" and he breathed, "Very good," and she kissed his forehead. The evening moved at her pace, patient and playful, full of teasing and trust, and he gave himself to it with a kind of grateful wonder.

Afterwards, wrapped in the quilt, she stroked his hair and asked how he was.

"I feel," he said, slowly, "completely safe. And completely seen."

"Good. That's what it's for."

"Can we do it again?"

"Next Saturday," said Helena. "I've already made a new list."

He laughed into her shoulder. She kissed the top of his head. Down in the hall, the old clock chimed ten.

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