I do, keeping my back to him, one hand holding the dress against my chest, my eyes closed.
He walks up behind me, his steps so quiet on the cool tile I only know he’s there by the shift in the air, the subtle warmth of a body moving close to mine. Every part of me is focused on thespace between my shoulder blades where I know he’ll touch me first.
And then he does.
His fingers make a slow, tracing brush along the line of my spine that makes every fine hair on my body stand at attention. My knees go weak, a sudden, liquid feeling that threatens to buckle them, and I have to lock my joints to stay upright.
Shit.
“Breathe,”he purrs. His mouth is so close to my neck I can feel the ghost of his breath, warm and moist, skating over my skin. It raises a fresh wave of goosebumps.
His other hand comes up, not to touch me, but to take the metal tag of my zipper between his thumb and forefinger. The tiny sound it makes is deafening in the quiet room.Click. Shhh-click.
He begins to pull it up.
It is an impossibly slow ascent. The metal teeth knit together with a soft, rasping hum that vibrates directly into my bones. His knuckles, the hard, smooth points of them, graze the valley of my spine with every fractional inch he gains.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. The sensation is maddening. It’s not enough, and it’s far too much. My nipplestighten into hard, aching points, straining against the silky fabric of the dress, rubbing with every shallow, caught breath I take.
He pauses halfway up, his hand splaying flat against my back. He groans softly and applies the faintest pressure, just enough to make me arch my back slightly, a silent invitation I don’t mean to give but can’t help. A small, desperate sound escapes me.
“So responsive,”he murmurs, his voice thick with a dark pleasure that makes my stomach clench. His thumb begins to move, making small, deliberate circles just to the left of my spine, a slow, grinding pressure that unravels me thread by thread.
The zipper moves again, another inch. This time, his fingertips follow its path on the inside of the dress, skating over my bare skin. The contrast of the cool metal track and his warm, seeking fingers is exquisite torture. I can feel the calluses on his fingertips, a slight roughness that catches on my smooth skin, making me gasp.
His other hand leaves my back, and for a heart-stopping second, I think he’s done. But then it returns, his fingers skating down my side, from the curve of my ribs to the swell of my hip. He traces the line of my body like he’s memorizing it, his touch feather-light yet devastatingly possessive. I feel myself trembling, a fine, constant shake I hope he can’t detect.
He hooks a finger into the now-closed top of my dress and gives the faintest tug, pulling me back against him. I feel the solid, unyielding wall of his chest, the hard press of his belt buckleagainst the small of my back. My head falls back against his shoulder, my eyes fluttering closed. The scent of him fills my senses.
His mouth finds the incredibly sensitive spot just below my ear. He doesn’t kiss it. He just… hovers. Oh, my goodness, I am wound so tightly I feel I might scream.
And then, abruptly, his hands are gone.
"There." His hands settle on my shoulders, his voice a growl. "Let's see."
He turns me around gently, and I have no choice but to face him.
His expression doesn't change. But his eyes—God, his eyes go dark in that way that makes my stomach flip.
"Walk," he says quietly. "Let me see how it moves."
I step out of the bathroom on shaky legs, hyper-aware of how the dress fits. How it hugs my waist, lifts my breasts, flows around my legs. The slit reveals most of my thigh with every step.
I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like I'm wearing nothing at all. But, my God, the dress is exquisite.
Dante circles me slowly, and I force myself to stand still even though every instinct is screaming to cover up.
He stops behind me. I feel him adjust something at my shoulder, the strap, maybe. His fingers linger.
Then he sweeps my hair off my shoulder, his touch feather-light against my neck.
I bite down on my lip to keep from making a sound.
"Perfect," he says, his voice deeper than before. He comes around to face me. "You'll wear this to the party."
I clear my throat, once. Twice.
"I figured that was the plan." My voice still comes out breathless.
