The wrong colour

Purple with block colour swirls. No. Plain lavender. Boring. Royal blue with a lace trim. If only I dared to. Shades of purple in a black setting. Entirely too ugly.

“It’s the wrong colour.” I hear his voice unexpectedly in my ear, so close I haven’t the space to jump. I am ever so conscious that the staccato hammering of my heart must clearly pulse the skin between my collarbones as I turn my head slowly to my left. Although it is the first time I hear his voice, I am certain it belongs to him before my eyes flutter over his frame. Like always, my glance is short lived, my eyes dart away from his face, my eyelids lowering before I chance another look up. Eyes darting around the store, unseeing the masses of people browsing through lines of overpriced clothes, I dare another glance at his face, never managing to lift my eyes above the lines of his mouth.

“What colour would be better?” My question trembles, and I half hope he can’t hear it.

“White.” No hesitance. He lifts my chin, turning my head towards him, and I can feel his fingers all over my body. His thumb runs across my lower lip just as my tongue wets it. “Right there. Smeared across your lips.”

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