The Way She Handled Me

Maeve Robinson is unravelling. Fresh from a divorce that stripped her of certainty, she signs up for a pottery class on a whim, desperate to feel anything other than lost. She expects clay. She does not expect Sloane.

Sloane is the studio's commanding, capable instructor, her hands scarred from years of craft, her brown eyes seeing too much. When she guides Maeve's fingers on the wheel, Maeve feels something awaken...desire, yes, but also the terrifying, exquisite relief of surrender.

'Come back tomorrow,' Sloane murmurs, tucking Maeve's hair behind her ear with possessive tenderness. 'Come alone. If you want to learn how to let go, I can teach you.'

What follows is three nights of intense instruction. Sloane's leather flogger, made by her own hands, teaches Maeve the architecture of attention.