24991119 | 2212

  Royal Veranda Suite | The Raffles | People’s Republic of Singapore

  1° 17′ 06.0000″ N

  103° 51′ 06.1200″ E

  The washroom lights flared to life.

  Cold.

  Clinical.

  Warm golden LEDs sunlight-bright against polished marble.

  Shirley squinted as her eyes adjusted.

  She raised one hand rising instinctively to shield the glare.

  Everything felt too sharp, too reflective.

  White stone veined with black and ash, brass fixtures gleaming like jewelry.

  She treaded barefeet.

  The floor cold beneath her heels.

  A basin carved from a single block of marble old enough to predate the city by a century.

  She looked back briefly, her Vesperé laid pooled upon the floor.

  Torn, ripped and tattered.

  A discarded rag.

  The one of the clasps had came loose.

  The cold light cast off her porcelain skin, accentuating her curves.

  She stood naked before the mirror, with only her garter-belt and silk-stockings.

  She stared into the mirror.

  The glass showed her exactly as she was.

  Hair tangled and loose, one of her chromatic hairpins still jutted out from her hair.

  Her other fineries were scattered somewhere across the suite.

  Strands clinging to her damp shoulders.

  Her deep satin lipstick, velvet and precise hours ago, now smeared in uneven strokes across her mouth.

  A fading bruise of pigment.

  A crack split her lower lip, crusted black where blood had dried.

  She lifted her chin slightly and turned her head to the right.

  Red welts upon her thigh, her breast and the nape of her neck.

  Glamourous. She decided.

  The bruise had spread across her cheekbone in a blooming arc.

  Purple dissolving to blue, edged in a faint yellow where pressure had been greatest.

  The mark of someone shoving her face into bed frame in the throe of lust.

  She touched it.

  A slow, clinical press of two fingertips.

  Pain radiated outward.

  Deep, throbbing, not sharp.

  She breathed out through her nose.

  He didn’t hold back this time.

  He must be real hungry.

  She slipped her fingers between her legs.

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  They came away wet, gooey, sticky.

  She brought it to her lips.

  Salty.

  Like the oyster.

  Amuse-bouche.

  She snickered.

  I’m easy.

  Her mind flicked back.

  The hushed look the hotel attendants gave them.

  The subtle vintage perfume of the hotel.

  The nod of the receptionists when she handed him the room credentials.

  His hand guiding her inside.

  The plush carpet of the hallway swallowing their footsteps.

  The faint metallic scrape.

  The click of the bolt sliding home.

  His shoulders relaxing as if shedding a tailored skin.

  The moment he was upon her.

  The tearing of her clothes.

  No words.

  Shirley blinked.

  Her wrists still bore faint shadows of bruising where fingers had wrapped around them.

  Five rounded marks on each side, not quite purple, not quite gone.

  The soreness between her thighs.

  A dull, heavy ache that pulsed with her heartbeat.

  Her hips protested when she shifted her weight.

  Her shoulders ached from being wrenched back for too long.

  The certainty with which he’d held her down.

  The way he called her as he used her body.

  She removed her ornate hairpin, tossed her hair and let it cascade down her shoulders.

  Her gaze slid toward the bath behind her.

  She stepped into the shower stall instead, fingers steady on the brass control dial.

  The water surged to life, cascading from a rainfall head.

  Hot and heavy, drowning out the quiet murmur of city.

  She stood unmoving.

  She closed her eyes and tilted her head, letting the shower wash all over her face.

  Steam enveloped her, fogging the mirror, softening the bruises into watercolor smears.

  Rivulets coursed down her spine and pooled at her feet.

  Droplets clung to the red impressions on her hips.

  Steam rose where it struck her skin.

  She hugged herself.

  Shoulders bowed, head lowered as she let the heat soothed her aching muscles.

  The pounding water masked the ragged edge of her breathing until it stabilized.

  She scrubbed down, slowly.

  Erasing scent, sweat, and the phantom impression of someone else’s hands.

  Steam curled around her ankles and climbed the walls in slow coils.

  She didn’t close the door fully.

  The hinge gave a muted creak.

  She didn’t turn.

  He joined her.

  His reflection slid into the glass pane beside her.

  A vague outline softened by steam, a blur of expensive cologne and satisfied breath.

  He stepped in behind her.

  Close.

  His bare skin meeting her.

  His hands slid around her waist.

  His hand finding hers.

  His fingers stroking the bruises, the welts, the fading marks where he had held her down earlier.

  A lover’s touch.

  “Shirls…” he murmured as he kissed the back of her neck.

  His breathing down her neck.

  She did not reply.

  The water pounded her shoulders like a thousand heated needles.

  It ran down her abs, down the garter belts still clinging to her hips.

  It soaked her stockings until they clung like second skin.

  She stood still, clutching her arms.

  Damian’s thumb brushed her cheekbone.

  “You’re trembling,” he whispered. “Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m cold.” She replied simply, tossing her wet hair.

  She tilted her head over her shoulder.

  Her eyes bored into him.

  “You tore my Vesperé,” she said simply.

  He froze for a beat.

  A mere heartbeat.

  His hand drifted lower, tracing the curve of her waist.

  “I’ll buy you another,” he said softly.

  She reached up.

  Her hands encircling his neck.

  Her skin soft and silken.

  He pressed closer.

  She leaned back, his hands sliding between her thigh.

  He kissed the side of her neck.

  She merely tightened her grip slightly.

  His breath became hoarse, heavy.

  Her phone chimed.

  A single, soft note.

  Echoing upon the marble hush.

  His eyes flicked toward her purse on the vanity.

  He smirked, a lazy curl of the mouth.

  “Your lover?”

  She turned her head then.

  Her lips met his.

  He devoured her.

  She broke it with a trail of ichor.

  “Go dry up,” she said softly. “I’ll be just a moment,”

  He grinned.

  He kissed her and walked out.

  She washed her hair before turning the stall off.

  She walked out of the stall.

  Water dripping off her like melted glass.

  The door slid close behind her.

  Soft.

  Controlled.

  Unhurried.

  She wrapped the thick hotel towel around her chest.

  Her hair she left dripping, dark rivulets tracing her spine, soaking the towel.

  Shirley turned to the vanity.

  Picked up the phone with two fingers.

  It flicked to life upon her touch.

  Where are you?

  48 minutes ago.

  Tempess.

  8 minutes ago.

  She exhaled through her nose.

  A long-suffering sigh.

  Her thumbs moved.

  Working.

  Tossing the phone down.

  She set to dry her hair.

  Another chime.

  Status?

  Her thumbs hovered.

  I’m fine.

  The screen pulsed again almost immediately.

  Did you secure the passage?

  Passage arranged. 48h.

  Another ping.

  Copy. Location?

  She hesitated.

  Raffles. Presidential.

  Another ping.

  Copy. You ok

  She stared at the words, her hairdryer roaring in her ear.

  I’ll live.

  Sent.

  Copy. See you in 48.

  She tossed the phone and continued to dry her hair.

  She applied a fresh coat of crimson upon her lips, and misted herself with a pinch of perfume.

  He smiled as she emerged back into the bedroom.

  She ignored him and headed into the living room.

  The city outside pulsed like a vein.

  The air smelled of jasmine, ozone, old stone, and expensive cologne.

  She retrieved her fineries, carelessly scattered upon the floor.

  She walked back into the bedroom and stood before the foot of their bed.

  Shirley watched him for a moment without expression.

  He regarded her silently.

  His arms clasped behind his head, naked beneath the sheet.

  She undid the fold of her towel.

  He watched her, now fully alert.

  Her lips curled into a slight smile as she slid the soaked silk-stockings and garter-belt off.

  Now she had his full attention.

  She smiled, and strode towards him.

  He tossed the sheets off as she crawled onto the bed.