Chapter 12: Changing Room Mirror

Sophia stepped off the midday train at David’s usual stop wearing an emerald-green wrap skirt that tied loosely at her hip, the fabric whispering against her thighs with every stride and threatening to part at the slightest tug. A deep-V black silk blouse clung to her curves, unbuttoned low enough that the inner swells of her breasts caught the station lights like pale invitations. She had chosen sheer fishnet stockings with bold back seams that ran straight up her legs like arrows, clipped high to a delicate black garter belt, and glossy red patent heels with thin ankle straps that arched her feet and lifted her ass into a perfect tease. No panties. No bra. A tiny bottle of clear lube waited in her clutch beside her phone.

The shopping centre attached to the station buzzed with lunch-hour crowds, but the changing rooms in the upscale lingerie boutique at the far end were quiet this hour. She had texted him the exact cubicle number after the morning ride, the one with floor-to-ceiling mirrors on three walls and a flimsy curtain that barely reached the floor. He was already waiting outside the boutique, charcoal suit jacket slung over one arm, wedding ring catching the overhead fluorescents. Their eyes met across the tiled floor; heat crackled between them like static before a storm.

Sophia didn’t speak. She simply turned, hips rolling in the red heels, and walked straight into the boutique. He followed. The sales assistant barely glanced up from her phone as Sophia selected a single lace bodysuit she had no intention of trying on. She led him to the back corridor, slipped behind the heavy velvet curtain of cubicle six, and yanked him inside with two fingers hooked in his belt loop. The curtain swished closed. The tiny space smelled of fresh cotton and faint vanilla room spray, but within seconds it filled with the richer musk rising from between her thighs.