I finish up with my favorite vendor who carries unique pieces, including baculum jewelry. Super unusual and yet always a really fast-moving sales item. I’ll put them out for Halloween and bring some to the steampunk convention as well.
The only place left on my list is the one that does the pressed carnivorous plants. I consult the map and head that way. I find them easily, satisfied I accomplished everything I set out to do today.
I head back to the tattoo section and watch others get inked for a few more minutes. I think through various designs and where they would go on my body if I made the leap. With so many talented artists and styles, I don’t know how I could ever choose. And I’d be nervous it would hurt too much.
Leaving the bustling area behind, I make a final loop through the one aisle I had missed earlier, thrilled when I see a clothing vendor. I’ve hit the jackpot! There are so many unique offerings—steampunk, gothic, romantic, and even some boho pieces.
I flip through the racks, thinking through what I own already and what I could add to freshen up my outfit for the Poe convention. There are so many other things I would love to buy here, but my closet is already overflowing.
As I slide the hangers across the rack, I discover a beautiful military style jacket. It is blood-red with black silk ropes over the shoulder and flounced with black lace at the sleeves and underneath the full bustled skirt.
I can envision this paired perfectly with my fitted black leather pants with the rivets down the sides. I pull the lovely coat out into the light and admire the heavy brocade of the fabric. It looks rich and sumptuous, with a price tag to match.I could just try it on,I think.
I take it over to the mirror, and of course, it fits exquisitely. As I run my hands down the long black velvet shawl collar, I appreciate just how flattering the cut is for my silhouette. I feel sexy and confident. Swapping around accessories could easily allow me to wear the coat for other occasions, too, I justify to myself.
Posing in the mirror, I twist and turn, checking myself out, unaware I have an audience until the vendor of the booth startles me with a low whistle of appreciation.
I look over my shoulder and my mouth falls open. A fine male specimen is leaning back against a counter. He is tall and lean, muscles barely concealed by his striking steampunk outfit. Although he appears relaxed, he gives off the air of a black panther, ready to spring into action at any second.
My eyes start at his leather Deadman top hat, detailed with gears and goggles, and then drift down to a runway ready face with the faintest smirk. His skin is alabaster as befits his flaming red hair, flowing down from under his hat to almost his waist. Platinum eyebrows frame exotic pale yellow-green eyes. A square jaw keeps his features from being delicate and his nose has an edge like a knife.
His features blend into a rare, severe beauty. The cherry on top is his handlebar mustache which crowns full lush lips, and a pointed thick auburn Van Dyke beard covering his chin directs my gaze downwards. The facial hair brings heart shaped relief to his powerful jawline and an air of rakishness.
His unrelieved black outfit is bespoke, a dapper ensemble. It includes a wing collared shirt, matte silk ascot, and black diamond tie tack, all paired with a vest with a subtle weave. Fitted leather pants are slung low on his hips and a leather belt with a matte raven skull belt buckle highlights his slim waist.
Finally, I take in his matte black leather boots with matching hardware, including spikes and more raven skulls. He even has a pocket watch chain in the same finish, though I can’t see the watch itself.
The man knows how to commit to a color. He must have spent a fortune curating this outfit. It could have been cartoonish, but the result on him is anything but. It drips realism and luxury.
He pushes off the counter, stalking towards me like the jungle cat he reminds me of. As he stands before me, I’m greeted by the smell of cinnamon red hearts. My mouth waters and I can almost taste the spicy treat on my tongue.
His smirk grows under my perusal until he looks like the Cheshire cat personified, clearly used to having this effect on people. He reaches out a hand to me and I can’t help but slip mine into his, surprised at his scorching touch.
With courtly grace, he bows low over it, trailing his gaze from my Converse encased feet, up my body, and to my face. Looking up at me through his lashes, he playfully winks at me.
Like a true gentleman of years gone by, he brings my hand to his lips, acting as if he will kiss the back of it, but at the last minute he flips it over and presses a searing kiss to my wrist instead, over my pulse, turning an old-fashioned greeting into something sultry and intimate. In my heart, I know this isnogentleman.
“Enchantée, ma Reine Rouge,” he says in perfect French with a voice like matte black silk as he straightens. His chosen color suits him perfectly.
I blink in response, my hand still in his. I gasp in a much-needed lungful of cinnamon-flavored oxygen, just now realizing he has literally taken my breath away. He is intense, I’ll give him that.
Four years of Latin in high school wasn’t particularly practical, but every once in a while, it does come in handy. I think he said something about red, maybe because of the color of the coat?
“Luke Devlin, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” his voice purrs over the word pleasure. Although he has switched back to English, a slight European accent persists. Maybe his native tongueisFrench? His voice is just so damn smooth.
I try to reply, clear my throat, and squeak out, “Lieshe.”
He drops my hand, steps back, and the rest of the world comes into focus. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so striking and consuming before. It’s like being sucked into a vacuum where nothing else exists or matters except his very presence.
I’m not entirely sure I could tell this man no to anything, even if I wanted to. I give my head a small shake, try to force blood flow away from my lady bits and back up to my brain, and attempt some semblance of normalcy.
“This jacket is incredible!” I exclaim and turn back to my reflection in the mirror, taking a break from his intense eye contact. I’m left feeling oddly tired from our interaction, but it has been quite a day.
“What will you wear it with?” he asks.
I tell him my plan, to which he replies, “You must try this.”
Mesmerized, I follow him to another rack, where he unerringly picks out a magnificent black brocade corset with matte black buckles down the front and a high lace up back. It complements both his own outfit and, with the deep red pattern of the brocade, also the coat I had found.
