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It’s been three days. I’ve still got a little time to do everything I want to that man.
I set the groceries on the counter.
Spread out my clothes on the back of the couch.
The robe is white. Billowing white. It’ll fall off my shoulders dramatically. It’ll flutter around my thighs. The sheer fabric is prettier than what I’m going to wear under it. More innocent than the mesh and the appliqués and the daring cutout of my lingerie.
I light the candles one by one. Take a sip of wine. Light more candles.
The roses I flutter on the floor.
Crimson red.
Stunning.
In no time, they’ll be crushed beneath our feet. Beneath our clothes. Beneath our bodies.
I dress last.
I slide the bra straps on my shoulders.
Pull on the bottom half of the set.
I spray perfume on my neck.
Spritz water in my hair to lock in moisture.
Lipstick last. Over my top lip. Over my bottom.
Crimson red.
Like the roses.
My phone buzzes while I’m on my second glass of wine.
KASTLE: Ten minutes.
My hands get sweaty.
Ten minutes.
It feels like an hour until I hear his footsteps outside.
My heart pounds and I can barely breathe as I shoot to my feet and then sit back down on the edge of the sofa. How should I greet him? Standing by the door? Perched sexily on the arm of the chair. With my legs spread eagle on his bed?
Kastle opens the door.
I pop up and rush to him like I would if we were just friends. With all the joy in my heart and a smile on my lips.
He looks tired.
I can tell immediately that something’s wrong.
Candlelight flickers in dark eyes that don’t look at me. His hands tighten on the knob as he shuts the door. Tense shoulders ripple beneath a crisp white button-down. His legs are spread apart. Flat on the floor. Hands in front of him.
Those hands should be all over me.
