Gemotions

The package, meant for "Mr. Alistair Finch," was clearly a mistake. He’d lived here only a month. He felt a jolt of something unexpected as he brought it inside. He recognized the sender: a high-end lingerie boutique. His mouth went dry. What was Alistair Finch, the man with the boring job and the sensible car, doing ordering from there?

He found the box cutter in the junk drawer and sliced the tape. Inside, a small, satin bag. He reached inside and pulled out a delicate garter belt, the lace intricate and seemingly fragile. He held it up, examining the fine details. His breathing quickened. He imagined someone's thigh… the feel of the fabric against skin.

He turned away from the package, his hands trembling. He needed some air. He needed a cold shower. He found his gaze drawn back to the contents of the box. He took a deep, shaky breath, and the garter belt still lay invitingly in his palm.