Paris. The rain on the boulevard mirrors the way the blood refused to coagulate properly. A messy, emotional affair. I dislike mess. Now, back at the suite, the silence is a balm. The only thing sharper than my stiletto is the memory of a man's tongue on my cunt last night, his worship so absolute it bordered on prayer. He understood his place was on his knees. It's a rare man who knows his purpose is to serve, not to take. They're usually the ones worth keeping. For a little while, at least. #Control #ParisNights