#glasses
She closed the door behind her and took a breath, the kind of relaxing, prepare-for-a-big-sigh breath that you take when you finally get home after a long day. And she had. Here, in the foyer, next to the coats and the shoes, she was still a diligent employee, a tired worker. Once she stepped past that door, she’d be his.
She lingered here almost every day, treating it like an airlock, letting it decompress her, prepare her for her life at home after spending the whole day maintaining her façade, the cracked mask of normality that made everyone else think that she was just like them.
She exhaled. Big fucking sigh of relief. She stepped through the door. Her bag hit the floor, and she started to undress. Wriggling out of the pencil skirt, unbuttoning the blouse, shrugging off the jacket. In less than a minute she went from prim and proper to nude and heeled, the only piece of clothing that she was allowed to keep. That and the glasses. He liked those especially.
She always shivered, then, as her body got used to the lack of protection. Goosebumps ran up her arms, and she folded her clothes neatly, setting them on the side table that was left there precisely for that purpose. Heading to the living room, she took her book from her bag, and reclined on the sofa. He’d be home soon, and while she was his now, she also had some time of her own.
And when she heard the crunch of gravel underneath his tyres, her heart would always beat a little faster, skip the odd beat. Hearing his keys in the lock would be fingers running down her spine. Seeing his silhouette in through the door would have her biting her lip.
And seeing him, in the flesh, in that suit, would have her moaning. Every damn time.
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*gets anxious enough my brain decides I have suddenly don’t need my glasses anymore syndrome*
