entanglements | d.m.

38.terms

December '98 | H E R

The finest lace covers Devyn's body. At least in the parts it matters most, and even there, not much is left for the imagination.

Not that Draco would need any.

Not that I care, she thinks while her heart beats wildly when she opens the small bathroom she changed in.

The house has been deathly quiet when they returned mere five minutes ago, and reason for that is the faint hum of the silencing charm they picked up on her mother's bedroom. While the sentiment is thoughtful, knowing that they are doing it in there is just as revolting.

Devyn herself hasn't dared being alone with Draco in a room since that kiss a bit ago. She feels off her senses. Not at all in control. Ready to jump his bones, basically. So her solution has been to inconspicuously grab the two piece and pass some time by putting it on.

She's been eager to see how it'd fit ever since she saw it. Devyn never had anything this nice, either because she had no money or, if so, no need.

The moment the lace fit over her curve, her confidence sky-rocketed. It does nothing to hide the scar on her right side and she wonders if he picked it after he saw it that one time in their dorm or before.

Either way, she feels even confident about that mar when most days, she couldn't care less about it.

She needs to see herself. The mirror in the bathroom is about the size of her palm and the light isn't so great either—not at all suitable to get a closer look. And the full length mirror is right outside.

He takes one look at her when she steps outside and his head knocks back to stare at the slanted ceiling where he is lounging on the air mattress.

She does her best to ignore his mutterings under his breath, but she can't deny the amusement it brings her. Through the mirror, she can see him pinch tbe bridge of his nose.

Sitting at the foot of it, he rubs his eyes, watching her watch herself.

"What are you doing?" He finally gets out, having gathered enough control—courage?—to look at her.

"Inspecting my present."

Apparently he takes it as an invite to do the same, completely drinking her in as he sits at the foot of his flimsy bed. How he started to rub his lower lip doesn't go past her.

"And how do you like it?" The low tone of his voice awakens her spine.

"It's pretty." She tilts her head at herself in the mirror, feeling the ruffles at the hips. "It's not something I would have chosen myself, but I feel..."

"What?"

Impatient much.

"Sexy." She turns a bit, looking over her shoulder. Honestly, she can't remember ever having looked at herself in the mirror this long, but she can't stop. The set is so pretty and cute, and soft pink paired with accents of purple looks surprisingly flattering on her. "You say the fascinator would look good with this?"

She's aware of every step he takes to her. Three until his chest is ghosting her shoulderblades. "Only because I would hardly look at your head."

"You pig," she scorns but it carries little bite, too absorbed in tracing his eyes that eat up her body.

"Look at you." He breathes in awe and her insides about melt. Goosebumps explode where his fingers brush slowly down her bare arms. "And you wonder how I can't keep my eyes off you."

She can't tell what it is. This house. The dessous. His unbelievable way with words. The confession today. The kiss. That finally, things are catching up with her. Or possibly everything in one.