the broken-in
toy

The red glow of the exit sign fell across the dust motes as the gallery's last visitor slipped in after the lock. I heard his keys click the door behind us. I was still on my knees from the inventory check, dress hiked up, cheeks stinging from the cold floor and the shame of being caught. He knelt behind me, his shadow blotting out the sign. 'Checking the merchandise?' he whispered, his voice a low rumble. His hand found the hem of my dress, slipped under. Fingertips traced the edge of my damp garter as I trembled, not from fear, but from the terrible want. He clicked his tongue. 'Seems you've already been handled. That's fine. I like a broken-in toy.'