candlewax & polaroids on the hardwood floor
She hears the water first—soft and steady behind the walls—the kind of sound that should fade into the background but doesn’t. Not after everything that's happened tonight. Flora shifts under the sheets, the silk reflecting her own heat back at her, her mind tangled up in the brush of gold fabric and the bite of cold air on exposed skin. Frey’s heat still lingers in her bones like an echo, sticky-sweet and slow to release.
She thinks briefly about sending Spice in to ruin Kaisel's shower. An icy blast down the spine would serve him right, wouldn’t it? But the thought curls back on itself. After everything that’s happened tonight, maybe coaxing Kaisel naked and dripping into her hallway isn’t the best idea. Still, her body hums, restless. It’s the kind of tension that sleep won’t soothe, that hours of tossing in satin sheets will only sharpen. So she sighs, rolls to her back, and lets her legs fall open beneath the blanket. Her hand finds her thigh first, slow and curious like it might not go further, like this isn't a regular routine since Jack left.
She thinks of the moment Frey stepped into the room, honey-slick and glowing with indulgence. The ache pulses sharper. Flora drags her fingers higher, circling slow, teasing herself the way she imagines someone else might. Someone who’d kneel without question and wouldn't run away when things got hard. Her breath hitches, and as her back begins to arch, the only sound in the room is her own whispered moans and the steady thrum of water behind the wall.
She thinks briefly about sending Spice in to ruin Kaisel's shower. An icy blast down the spine would serve him right, wouldn’t it? But the thought curls back on itself. After everything that’s happened tonight, maybe coaxing Kaisel naked and dripping into her hallway isn’t the best idea. Still, her body hums, restless. It’s the kind of tension that sleep won’t soothe, that hours of tossing in satin sheets will only sharpen. So she sighs, rolls to her back, and lets her legs fall open beneath the blanket. Her hand finds her thigh first, slow and curious like it might not go further, like this isn't a regular routine since Jack left.
She thinks of the moment Frey stepped into the room, honey-slick and glowing with indulgence. The ache pulses sharper. Flora drags her fingers higher, circling slow, teasing herself the way she imagines someone else might. Someone who’d kneel without question and wouldn't run away when things got hard. Her breath hitches, and as her back begins to arch, the only sound in the room is her own whispered moans and the steady thrum of water behind the wall.
