Two
915 Words
Raven
True to his word, Chris arrived with flair - and excess.
A black Lincoln Town Car idled at the curb outside Ravens Hollow. It's polished surface reflecting the streetlights outside like liquid glass. Chris stepped out first, dressed to kill, arms already weighed down with glossy shopping bags.
I arched a brow. "Did you actually do any work today?"
He grinned and kissed my cheek as he breezed inside. "Define work."
Amy - my other worker and another close friend of mine - had gone home early today at my insistence. She was sweet, brilliant, shy in that bookish way that made her easy to adore. However when she opened up she was a spitfire and extremely protective. Most of her days, she spent her breaks curled up with a novel unless we were gossiping about books or town drama. I envied her flaming red hair and porcelain skin - but envy didn't sting the way it once had.
Chris dropped the bars onto the velvet sofa in the lounge and reached for a garment bag. When he unzipped it, I sucked in a breath.
"Oh," I whispered.
The dress was a brilliant forest green silk. Rich and liquid with a plunging neck line and a thigh high slit that was absolutely unapologetic. It looked dangerous. Like trouble sewn into fabric.
I stepped forward, brushing my finger over it. Feather soft. Cool. Pleasing against the skin.
"You've been busy," I murmured.
He smirked and lifted a pair of black strappy heels. "Accessories."
Excitement fluttered through me along with nerves. Heels and I had a complicated history. Gravity liked to remind me of that.
"Try them," he said, already steering me towards my office. "Everything I buy for you always fits like fate designed it itself."
My office was cozy by design - white shiplap walls, a plush rug, plants trailing lazily around a full length mirror. Photos of Chris and me. Amy. Framed book quotes. Fan art commissioned from local artists scattered throughout the store and in here too. It was mine. All of it.
I slipped out of my jeans and sweater, no shame when changing in front of him. He was my biggest cheerleader. Goosebumps rising as the cooler air kissed against my skin.
Fall had settled in, my favorite season. Sweaters. Crisp air. Leaves turning feral shades of reds and oranges and golds. Fewer insects. Fewer bats. Bugs could perish in hell for all I cared.
My therapist told me that my hatred of bats and bugs was a misplaced anxiety due to trauma. I said I'd be fine if they all vanished. Truly.
I caught sight of my scars in the mirror. Silver and faint beneath the tattooed ink flowers and ravens. The geometric patterns I had painted across my skin to hide the trauma. They were still visible to me though and those who looked close enough. I felt the urge to flinch every time I saw them. Tattoos had given me ownership. Control. My body wasn't something to hide anymore. It was something I had claimed. My own power.
I ditched my bra without hesitation.
From the bag, I pulled out a black lace - a thong and sheer pantyhose. I smiled. Best wingman alive.
The lace slid up the skin of my thighs like a promise. I turned towards the mirror. Ink covered my arms, legs, and chest. Some on my stomach as well. Words curved along my collar bone. "She is a soldier in the war against herself" A raven took flight next to it.
I pulled the dress over my head.
It settled against me perfectly - clinging to my curves, skimming my skin like it knew me personally. The slit rose dangerously high. The neckline teased. Enough to invite hands. Enough to provoke imagination.
I looked... good.
But I wanted wicked.
Pantyhose. Heels. Red lipstick pressed onto my mouth with intention.
I darkened my lashes, flicked a precise wing on my lids. I left my skin bare and flustered. Confidence didn't need contour.
I puckered at my reflection in the mirror just as a low whistle came from the doorway.
"Stunning, wife," Chris cooed.
He'd changed too - black dress pants, white button down, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His blonde hair was perfectly styled, stubble gone, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. He looked like Theo James if the actor had a head of blonde hair and devastating charm.
"You clean up dangerously well," I said Pam fixing his collar and popping the top button open.
He lifted a mask between his fingers. Forest green silk. Identical to my dress.
"Mask - only night," he said. "Anonymous. Exclusive."
I took it - and noticed the black raven stitched delicately near the eye hole. My throat tightened.
Chris slid on his own mask - matte black, minimal. Mysterious.
I spritzed perfume along my pulse points and wrist. Vanilla. Cream. Sin.
I checked my blood sugar. Packed insulin in my clutch bag. Glucose tablets. Control before the chaos.
Outside, the driver opened the door and bowed theatrically as Chris helped me into the car, sheilding me with practiced care.
Ever the gentleman. But tonight?
Tonight, I didn't want gentle.
I wanted hands that claimed. Eyes that devoured. A stranger who didn't know my name or history. Only my hunger.
The car pulled away from the curb and I leaned back, heart racing, already aching for whatever - or whoever - waited for me inside Luxe.
- Writer
