I like things quiet when I’m on top. Not silent — just controlled. The city below the windows is alive in that distant, indifferent way, all lights and movement and people who don’t know my name. Miami hums, unaware of what’s happening thirty floors up, and I like that. I like being unobserved. Unaccountable. He’s tied to the chair the way I asked him to be. Ankles. Wrists. Not tight enough to hurt, not loose enough to fo...