From Bully To Beloved

She laughs, motioning to the store around us. “You’ve come to the right place. Tell me a little something about him.”

“Tall, buff, tattooed, rides motorcycles, who I’m super attracted to-even though he drives me crazy.”

Her smile morphs into a wide grin. “I see. Something to drivehimcrazy for a change?”

“Yes. See, you get me.”

“I have just the thing.”

I leave about an hour later, my new lingerie carefully wrapped in tissue paper and tucked into an elegant burgundy bag.

As I stroll down the drug store aisles, I’m distracted by their collection of magazines. Right in front is the newest issue ofArt Dream Monthly. The cover mentions a certain critic, and I buy the magazine without hesitation, though I might end up burning it and throwing the ashes in the Hudson River.

I flip through it to the review section. Yup, Mr. Douchey Art Critic is still writing reviews. This time he rips apart an amateur art show in Manhattan. Okay, some of the exhibits do look like a jumbled hot mess-it seems that due to a charity event, submissions weren’t filtered as strictly as usual-but that’s no reason for him to lump them together and not even leave one good word.

I hate that I still keep up with him, and I hate that it still bothers me. What I hate the most is that more often than not, he isn’t completely wrong. Yet how can someone so blatantly snobbish and dickish still be given a platform?

What good does ripping new artists to shreds do? Ignoring someone’s talent and favoring years of practice doesn’t make any sense. If I ever meet this guy in person, I’llsogive him a piece of my mind.

Closing the magazine, I shove it into my bag, wondering what Coltonwould say if I ever decided to tell him about my disastrous fifteen minutes of fame fail.

When I arrive back at the apartment, however, Cal’s boots are gone.

Dammit.

Oh, wait. That’s evenbetter. I can prep now.

The bedroom is as neat as ever. If I hadn’t seen him touching himself not an hour before, I would have never known he’d been in here. Needing to make sure I have enough time to get things ready, I text Cal, trying to be casual.

I decide not to tell him I’m already home. It’ll be a bigger treat for him to find me half-naked and waiting if he thinks I’m not here.

Me:

Hey, stuck at work. When are you going to be home?

Cal:

Why? You checking up on me, wifey?

Me:

I thought you wanted to talk.

Cal:

Be home in about an hour.

An hour. This is good. I can work with this. Impulsive enough to be excited, but not too impulsive that I have time to overthink. I’m done overthinking. It hasn’t done me any favors.

I raid the linen closet to find fresh bed sheets, grinning at how I thought he’d changed the bed already. He hasn’t. He’s clearly slacking. Next time, I should leave him a note to please change the sheets after jerking off, ha-ha.

After, I turn down the comforter and make it nice and neat. There are a couple of candles sprinkled throughout the apartment, and I gather all of them to place around the bedroom.

Satisfied the room looks perfect, I go through my bag and pull out the lingerie I bought. The saleswoman presented several pieces to me, but as soon as I found this one, I knew I had to have it. The top is a blood-red corset with black accents. Ribbons hang from the sides and a small black bow rests between my breasts as if they’re a present. Which, let’s be honest, they pretty much are. The corset pushes my boobs up and makes them look amazing. I can’t wait to see Cal’s face. The bottom portion of the little number is only a matching red thong with a little black bow (can’t wait to see Cal’s face for that one either).

Simple but effective, which is what I love about it.

In the mirror above the dresser, I put on “fuck me” red lipstick (you know, subtle), which I picked up to match what I’m wearing.

Just as I’m running a brush through my hair and adding product to get the frizz out, I hear the front door open.

He’s here. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

Excitement bubbles in my stomach, and I scurry onto the bed, adjusting my boobs for the full non-plus-ultra boob experience.

From the living room, Coltoncalls out, “Sera? You in?”

“Juuuhu. I’m inhe-ere,” I call seductively.

Suddenly, I hear Justin’s voice, and my heart drops. “Hey, Sera! The guys are heading out to eat-but we’re gonna have a few drinks here. Want to join us?”

Shitshitshitshit.

See, this is why I don’t do anything impulsive!Belongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

Multiple footsteps start coming my way, and I scramble off the bed, racing for the wide-open bedroom door.