It was the tightly laced corset limiting her air that made her sound so breathless, so little girl-ish, or perhaps the thought of wearing this innocent little outfit with ribbons binding her hands as she obeyed Ronan’s explicit, erotic commands. It was the atmosphere in Idylle, soundless, beautifully lit, unambiguously sexual without being the slightest bit tawdry. The message was crystal clear. Sex was part of the human experience, and what you wear next to your skin could be sensuous, luxurious and a moment-by-moment reminder of pleasure. It was not watching pleasure surge across Ronan’s face as she took him, skin to skin, into her body. Don’t make this more than it is. You’ve had unprotected sex before. It’s not a declaration of trust, a demonstration of vulnerability. It’s no big deal. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just Ronan. It’s Ronan. She let the thought drop into the void and turned to the matter at hand.
