@munofmanyminds
She fucked up. She knew that--from the moment she found herself looking forward to seeing Nathan. Knew it from the moment she spotted the other woman standing a little too close to him and felt her skin heat up-- knew it from the way the other had accosted her in the bathroom. But her reaction to her jealousy and his behaviour wasn’t distance--it was to whisper her angry promises into his ear. Promises of bonfires and destroyed belongings. Her reaction to listening to a very detailed account of Nathan’s most recent-- or ongoing--relationship with the tall russian woman was to storm out of that stupid party, go home--pour gasoline over his suits and light them on fire. She was fond of the clawfoot bathtub. It was a beauty. But then so way she, poised on the edge of the counter in intricate lingerie, illuminated by the flames of the small fire she’d started. She let’s out a small growl when he waltzes into the room.
“You’re a bit late to the party.” She’s tempted to fling more of his belongings into the tub. There’s something therapeutic about it. She picks up a tie and throws it into the flames.
“You should go back-- get her to suck your dick in front of everyone-- stellar finish to the evening don’t you think?.”
She lifts a watch-- lets it dangle off her finger.
“How fond are you of this watch--exactly?”