He did not indulge her silent dare, his hands remained with his ow body. Chilton still felt the bruise burn on his arm, where she had twisted it and forced him against a wall; his skin still tingled with her coldness. As she had anticipated, he simply resumed wearing light cotton button-ups to cover the purpled evidence of their indiscretions.

"Contrary to what beliefs you might hold," he said. His voice was soft and low, something of a conspiracy. "You do not own the space that I occupy." And the implicit nor me never hit his lips. "I am entitled to private affairs."

He followed her, hissing this, into his own bedroom. He knew that she might remain heedless of his words -- she had already proven herself a force of calculated nature, and he (in their last "session") had realized what limitations of power he held with her.

"How do I know you won't abuse your surveillance?"

Chilton shut his bedroom door, locking them within it.