This was the fifteenth arrangement she’d tried. When he’d left, he&rsq
This was the fifteenth arrangement she’d tried. When he’d left, he’d given her an hour to get herself ready. Didn’t say for what, and his tone was as deadpan as he could manage, and he was a man who didn’t lose at poker. She’d spent the first quarter of an hour fretting, trying to imagine what on earth he had planned for her. The next quarter of an hour was calming herself down from her fret, using all those little techniques she’d cultivated over the last few months to distract her mind from dwelling, to serve as little interruptions to make the pain bearable. And here she was, with only ten minutes left, just about happy with how she looked. Back to the door, framed by her shoes, and everything on display that he loved so much. Just thinking about the way he traced the lines of her bones through her the skin of her shoulders made her arch her back a little, a shiver running down her spine. She’d closed her eyes a few minutes ago, and it was doing funny things with time. It felt like it was elastic, constantly speeding up and slowing down. Every few moments she tensed a little, swearing she could hear a hand on the doorknob. When the clack of the lock did sound, she almost mistook it for an aural hallucination. Isolation did funny things to the mind. -- source link
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