The bar was warm, loud enough to feel alive but not so crowded that Zach could lose himself in the background noise--not that it mattered. He wasn't getting out of this conversation.
He slouched in his chair, ripped jeans torn at the knee, hoodie stained with something he chose to believe was beer. His beer, barely touched, sat in front of him as he listened to his wife and her personal brand of insanity go head-to-head with Anna Fuckin' Whitmore, who was always one wrong turn away from fully colonizing the male species.
Curvy and dark-haired Carrie, of course, was thriving. Tight everything, her body poured into a top that made it very clear that physics was an illusion, cleavage deeper than the Atlantic, a Long Island Iced Tea in hand.
Little blonde Anna was a perfect contrast--crisp, composed, peach blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, sipping on a Black Cherry Wishniak like she was about to deliver a verdict.
And the topic?
Fuckin' chastity.
Zach wanted to die.
"I'm just saying," Carrie gestured lazily, the ice in her drink clinking as she swirled it. "Lock 'em up, make 'em wait, tease 'em a little--it's fun. A few days? They can fucking handle that."
Anna blinked. Slow. Disapproving. "Carina Marie Delvecchio, you're being childish."
Carrie gasped, clutching her own chest like she'd just been struck.
Zach put his head down on the table.
Anna sighed, unmoved. "Chastity is not a game, Carrie. That's where you lose me."
Carrie scoffed. "Of course it's a game. It's sexy. It's about control, and anticipation, and making a man earn it."
Anna sipped her drink. "A man earns nothing."
Carrie blinked. "What?"
Anna exhaled, setting her glass down with purpose. "You lock them up, and you keep them there."
Zach felt the shift in the air immediately.
Carrie squinted. "For... how long?"
Anna met her gaze, impassive. "However long I decide."
