I haven't posted flashfiction in a while. Here's hoping I can get back to it more regularly, starting today with 600 words featuring the characters from the Out of the Box series.
The second the front door closed on Anando, I rushed to the bathroom and jumped in the shower. He was only going for a quick run to the butcher to get blood, and I knew I didn’t have much time to get ready.
I shut off the water again in record time and blow-dried my hair before setting it in a few messy curls. I’ve been letting it grow longer, and I’ve noticed how much he likes to see it free on my shoulders.
A bit of blush on my cheeks, mascara, and a bright, bold lipstick… I looked at my reflection and nodded to myself. I’m not a fan of make-up, but the right touches can make Anando’s eyes light up like fireworks.
Still wrapped in a towel, I walked out of the bathroom and shot a glance at the clock on the living room wall. I had to hurry. When Anando returned, he’d expect to find me ready for a night out, but I wanted to blow him away.
In the bedroom, I first pulled out my shoes. A few days earlier, I’d spent an afternoon out with my friends and had found the most gorgeous pair of high heels. I slipped the shiny white leather on my feet and looked at them in the long mirror attached to the closet door. The black heels just popped and screamed ‘sexy’ to me. With these shoes and the right dress, Anando would be hard the moment he walked in. He’d be hard all night. For that matter, he might not wait until we came back from the club, and I really, really wouldn’t mind that.
There was just one problem.
I couldn’t find the right dress.
A closet full of them, some sexy as all hell, some demure, a couple for which I hadn’t found the right occasion to wear them yet, but as I held one after the other in front of me, the mirror was merciless as it told me the same thing, over and over: I just didn’t own anything that matched those shoes.
And I’d been looking forward so much to wearing them for him…
When I heard a car pull up the driveway, disappointment flashed through me. Should I just choose another pair of shoes?
I looked down at my feet again. I’m not much of a shoes person, but there was something so sensual about these, just wearing them made me feel like having Anando’s eyes on me does: sexy, confident, strong. In control.
I closed the closet doors, dropped the towel, and strode out of the bedroom. The heels clicked softly with every step.
When Anando came in, I was seated on a high stool at the breakfast bar, my right knee over the left, my hair draped on my shoulders, wearing nothing but red lipstick and brand new pumps. I grinned when he froze on the spot, his eyes widening, his jaw dropping, and his pants becoming noticeably tighter at the crotch.
“New shoes?” he said in a dry, croaking voice, taking slow steps toward me.
I nodded, extending my foot to the side to show the pump off even better.
“New shoes. You like?”
He dropped his shopping bag and cupped my ankle; his touch was, as always, electric.
He never said that he liked them. But over the course of the next few hours, as he asked me not to take them off even when we finally took things to the bedroom, it became very clear to me that he did like them. A lot.
Talk about ‘fuck me pumps’…