‘Your therapist really gave you advice on what dress I might like?’ I ask, thinking this situation will probably tell me everything I should know about Paula and her intentions. I’m suddenly feeling threatened by the woman whom I haven’t met, and who sounded so sincere on the calls I had with her. Someone casting a negative light on our relationship is the last thing I need. She compared me to one of Becker’s treasures. She’s also a woman, so should naturally fancy Becker. She has a heartbeat and a vagina. It’s a given. Forgive me, but my faith in womankind isn’t the strongest it’s ever been.
Becker nods slowly. ‘Yes, she did.’
‘And what did she say?’ I ask warily.
‘She said to pick what I would like to see you in.’ My faith in womankind is restored again as he coaxes me into the showing room and points to the huge white wall at the back of the room where three dresses hang from hooks – the dresses he’d like to see me wearing. ‘I picked these,’ he declares proudly. My faith in womankind might have been restored, but my faith in Becker plummets.
My feet stutter to a stop. I’m speechless. Nearly. ‘Wow.’ I’m faced with some seriously racy dresses, not anything I would expect to be seen in at a posh gala at Countryscape. One is black . . . and leather . . . and short. The other is green, with a plunging neckline and it’s even shorter than the short black number. And the blood-red one? Well, I can barely see it.
‘My final decision depends on a few things,’ Becker tells me, wandering slowly over to his carefully exhibited display. I keep my eyes glued to the dresses. There’s a metre of white wall between each, and my eyes are jumping between them, worry plaguing me. I can’t say that I’d feel comfortable in any, but something tells me that my comfort isn’t high up on Becker’s list of priorities.
Just like when Becker has one of his priceless treasures on display in the showing room, there is nothing else to focus on, other than these dresses. Except, of course, my filthy-minded boyfriend, but I dare not look at him now. It’ll confirm how serious he is about me wearing one of these napkins. So I stare at the dresses instead, hoping that at least one will miraculously double in size.
I won’t ask. I refuse to ask the question. I don’t want to know. Because I’ll be horrified. But I’ll also be delighted. ‘What does it depend on?’ My inquiry sails from my mouth before I can stop it. I know what his final decision depends on. I take a risky peek at him, finding that adorable, mischievous grin. He has an apple in his hand. A big, green, shiny apple that’s being casually tossed into the air and caught with ease as he stares at me. After taking a big bite of the lush green fruit, he starts to chew slowly, as he lowers and places the apple gently on the floor. I smile on the inside. He’s not done with that apple.
Keeping his hazel eyes low, he prowls towards me, pulling his T-shirt up over his head. My knees are instantly weak. Will the day ever come when my knickers don’t flood with desire at the sight of him? Part of me hopes not, but the sensible side of me appreciates the inconvenience it may cause.
I stiffen when I feel the heat of his body closing in, my upper body bowing, my throat drying.
Then his mouth is at my ear. ‘Let’s take off your dress,’ he whispers, before biting my lobe and grazing my skin as he drags his teeth down my flesh. I can smell apple mixed with his clean cologne, creating that unique Becker scent. Electricity surges through me, crackling and stabbing at every sensitive part of my body, most significantly between my legs.
‘I have work to do,’ I murmur.
‘Me too.’
I open my eyes as he takes the hem of my floral sundress and slowly, so very slowly, painfully slowly, drags it up my body, looking deeply into my eyes as he does. I don’t put up a fight. As I feared, I follow his orders like a faithful dog, swallowing and lifting my arms so he can rid me of my dress. And then the underwear goes – bra, knickers, the lot – leaving me a blank canvas for Becker to play with, my nipples buzzing and hard.
After casting my underwear aside, he weaves his fingers into the hair at my nape, playing gently for a few moments before circling my naked body until he’s poised behind me. Soft lips meet my shoulder, my head automatically tilting, my eyes closing. ‘You smell heavenly.’ He inhales deeply, sliding his hand to my front, his palm spanning my tummy. I’m tugged back. ‘Taste so sweet.’ His tongue trails a firm lick up the side of my throat to my ear. My hand finds his on my stomach and clenches hard, my eyes rolling in pleasure. ‘Look amazing.’ He grips my jaw hard until I open my eyes. ‘Feel incredible.’ Flexing his hand on my tummy until I release it, he slides it down my skin and delves into the wetness awaiting him. My arse flies back on a distressed cry, crashing into his groin. He hisses. ‘We need to try on these dresses before I abandon our fitting and fuck you to Italy and back.’ He rips his body from mine, causing physical pain. ‘By the wall.’ Taking my upper arm, he pulls me over to the bare wall opposite the dresses and positions me at the foot, right in the centre.