Bo was pretending not to watch the door.

It should have been another lazy Saturday morning, the kind where sunlight spilled through the half-drawn blinds and dust motes drifted like slow snow across the air. She and her girlfriend had been sprawled out on the couch, a soft throw blanket tangled around their legs, her girlfriend's head resting comfortably in her lap as they drifted in and out of sleep. Some random sitcom was babbling from the TV, laugh track echoing in the quiet apartment, but Bo's attention was fixed anywhere but the screen.

Her gaze kept flicking to the front door. The tracking number she'd refreshed obsessively for the past two days had promised today. The little box with the discreet label was already on the truck. Out for delivery. Almost here.

It was supposed to be a surprise because Bo told herself she was a thoughtful girlfriend like that. Definitely not because her girlfriend had gently reminded her more than once that they didn't need any more toys. (Her nightstand drawer was already overflowing to the point that closing it required a shove and a hip bump.)

So when the knock finally came, Bo jolted like she'd been shocked. She practically leapt up, her girlfriend's head tumbling onto the couch cushion with a soft fwump. In a blur of socked feet and messy hair, she darted to the door, snatched the package off the mat, and disappeared down the hall before her girlfriend had fully blinked the sleep from her eyes.

In the bedroom, she tore into the box like a starving raccoon. Cardboard ripped, packing tape peeled in jagged strips, bubble wrap exploded into crinkly coils across the bedspread. Her heart was hammering, palms clammy with excitement, until at last she pulled free her prize.

Two prizes, actually.

The Duke gleamed first: a pink leather flogger with a firm, wrapped handle. Bo trailed the soft strands across her palm, shivering as she imagined them smacking against her skin—sharp, stinging, leaving behind pink trails she could admire later.

Then came the Duchess: a thick wooden paddle, heavy in her hands, its flat face drilled with holes for swifter, meaner impact. The handle had been custom-engraved—Duchess burned deep into the grain. Just the weight of it made her thighs press together, anticipation sparking up her spine.

The sound of footsteps came from the hall. Bo yelped softly, shoving the discarded bubble wrap and cardboard onto the floor in a messy pile, her pulse racing.

When her girlfriend stepped into the doorway, blinking curiously at the chaos, Bo spun on her heels with a grin so wide it crinkled her cheeks. She held up her new treasures like a kid showing off birthday presents.

"Surprise!" she blurted, breathless, eyes shining. "I thought maybe... we could try something new."