Читать книгу The Scantilly Tales - Danielle Shoebottom - Страница 8

Tuesday

It’s 7.15am again. I’m awake going through mundane morning routines. The doorbell rings. Could it happen again?

It does. The same courier as yesterday receives the same sweet smile. I grab the package, thank him, dart inside on bare tiptoes, place the box on the table and pause to gaze at its ribboned symmetry. Next, I remove the lid (slowly) and it makes a glorious whoosh as I prize it open.

I let the sumptuous vision bathe my sore, tired eyes. It is a dream given shape. Leopard-print adorns the cups while a black frill naughtily dances the edges. I am a coiled spring as I notice the complementary coal black waspie and suspenders. They purr, resting, waiting for me.

I read the note first this time – delaying my gratification.

Pounce?

x

Who sent you?

I stalk the lingerie with my hands, folding the briefs over my fingers sensing the shadowy latticework. I step into them without thought and the reverie begins. A promise of decadence, I fasten the waspie – it tenderly clinches – and hook the suspenders. My skin trembles.

Last, I slide into the lingerie and it is like slipping into a cloud. I step over to the mirror, admiring the cute bows, and could almost believe the rose-gold centre-piece etched with an 'S' is the source of an enchantment. I eye myself for far too long.

Eventually, I leave for work and on the bus I spot Ben, a graphic designer who freelances for my company. I sit with him and catch-up amid the melee of morning noise. I try to pay attention but the lingerie has a hold on my memory and imagination – it is all I can think and feel. It has beguiled my wits and my mind wanders to scenarios unfit for a commuter bus. The word ‘Pounce’ echoes silently in my head like a mantra.

Suddenly Ben nudges me and with a slightly worried face, asks:

“You okay? You’re looking a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” I say, readjusting to reality. “Just a little warm and tired. Late night, you know me?”

“I do,” he answers and then adds softly, “better than you think.”

There’s something in how he says it, in the deep gravel of his voice, in the blue gleam of his eyes, something suggestive.

“Do you, now?” I reply coolly, a little mocking, and stare out the window with a smile.