Torrid (Sordid 2)

“No, you know what you’re doing. I want something white, though.” His gaze slid from her to me, and it heated me to my core even when I didn’t want it to. “Virginal, but sexy.”

He was testing me.

He expected my face to turn bright red. He watched for me to display some sign of embarrassment, but I wouldn’t. Yes, I was curious about sex and ready to experience it, but being a virgin wasn’t a stigma. I broke his gaze and turned to her, delivering my comment flatly. “Like something for a wedding night.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vasilije straighten, and I bit down on my cheek this time to stop my victorious smile. He didn’t care for my analogy.

Daphne’s perfect saleswoman persona cracked and an odd look flickered through her, then was gone. She nodded slowly. “I’ll be right back.”

I changed, letting the silky lining on the inside of the dress glide over my skin, and I zipped up. I stepped into the pair of black heels that once I’d determined were the right size, Vasilije had added to the list of things we’d purchase. The dress clung to my body, and even without a mirror, I knew I’d like the way it looked on.

Vasilije’s eyes grew darker and hungrier as I stepped out of the room. His expression was raw and sexual, and every nerve ending in my body sounded an alarm. This is what you want, I reminded myself. I forced myself to keep my chin up as I strode to the mirror.

It was a simple thing, but cut just so. The black and white pattern gave me a figure. Somehow, I had curves in this dress, which fit like a glove. It ended just above my knees, which was the only disappointment. I wished it could block his view of how they were trembling.

Vasilije rose from his seat, and his expression screamed of desire and lust.

“Daphne’s good,” I whispered.

It got to be too much and I couldn’t hold his intense gaze in the mirror. I stared at my feet, clad in the black pumps, as he approached. He swept my hair over my shoulder, and then grasped the back of the dress. I sucked in a breath.

He zipped me the rest of the way up.

I hadn’t realized I’d stopped before the zipper reached the top. This man made me feel vulnerable and undressed, yet I wasn’t sure how much I actually disliked that. His cold fingers did the catch at the top of the zipper. His accidental touch licked against my skin, and I jumped as if he’d burned me.

“I’m going to keep touching you,” he threatened on a whisper, “until you get used to it.”

What if that never happened? Was he sentencing me to a lifetime of his hands on my body? The thought was scalding, melting me from the inside.

Daphne appeared with several bras and panties attached to hangers, but she pulled to a stop as she saw me. “I’d swear that dress was made for you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s perfect.”

The selection of lingerie was deposited in my fitting room, but as I moved to the door, his hand on my shoulder stopped me. “I’ll come in and help you with that zipper.”

His low words were meant only for me, and the air shifted, swirling around us. It charged the space with tension. Daphne exited the fitting room and looked surprised to find him standing beside me, right outside the doorway.

“Could you start ringing us up?” His voice was warm and persuasive. “There’s nineteen hundred dollars’ worth of clothes here, so it’ll take a while.” He gave her a pointed look. “I was thinking at least twenty minutes.”

Her eyes widened and she glanced around, nervous. But Vasilije’s carefully worded statement made it impossible for her to refuse him. She obviously worked on commission, and it was probably more than she’d ever made off a single client. She wanted to give her customer anything, even if that meant fucking around in a dressing room.

“Of course.” She choked as if realizing how strange it sounded only as she was saying it, “Take all the time you need.”

The fitting room was spacious until he stepped in behind me and shut the door, closing us in together. There was the sound of Daphne collecting the clothes, and her footsteps faded away. I splayed my hands on the skirt of my dress and watched him with cautious eyes. What was he planning? Would he take my virginity right here in a Faire Avenue fitting room?

No. He was cruel, but this wasn’t his style. And why would he buy me virginal lingerie if I wasn’t going to be a virgin anymore?

With a rough hand, I was turned away from him and the zipper was drawn down to the base of my spine. We moved like a trained team, working toward a mutual goal. I slipped out of the dress and handed it to him to hang up, then went to the hangers of white mesh and lace. When I focused on the task of picking the right size, it allowed me to pretend this was fine.