I grin, brushing a thumb under her lip to fix the smudge.
“I’ll be right here beside you the whole night.”
The sound of the guys’ laughter drifts down the hall, music thumping faintly from the living room. She squeezes my fingers.
She’s turns and watches herself in the mirror when I move to the closet again. Rows of designer shoes line the bottom shelf—most of them still in their boxes. I grab a pair I know will stop her heart. Black Louis Vuitton heels. Small, elegant, enough height to make her legs look endless but not enough to hurt her feet.
In theory…
I turn back to her.
“These,” I say simply.
She looks from me to the shoes, then back.
“They’re beautiful.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out as I sink to one knee in front of her. She starts to protest, a quiet, “Trey, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” My voice is low, rough. “Let me.”
She exhales, her body stilling as I lift one delicate foot into my hand. Her skin is soft against my calloused fingers. I slide the shoe on, fastening the strap slowly, like it’s a sacred act. Then the other. Every movement feels charged—her breath catches, my pulse pounds. I glance up at her as I smooth my hands over her ankle, trailing lightly up her calf before I stop myself.
“There,” I murmur, still crouched at her feet. “Perfect.”
Her gaze catches mine, something tender and wild flickering there.
I stand, brushing a strand of hair from her face, fingers lingering just a second too long. “Now,” I murmur, bending close enough that my lips brush the shell of her ear, “you ready to break some hearts tonight, Mrs. Baker?”
I pull a black shirt from the hanger, shaking it out before sliding my arms into the sleeves. The soft cotton clings across my chest as I start doing up the buttons, but before I get past the second one, she’s suddenly there.
“Let me,” she says quietly, her fingers brushing mine as she moves closer.
Her touch burns, light and deliberate, as she nudges my hands aside. I let them fall to my sides, watching as she concentrates—eyes down, lower lip caught between her teeth while she fastens each button with careful precision.
Her fingers tremble just enough to drive me crazy.
I lean in, my breath stirring her hair.
“You know, Dove…” I pause, letting my voice drop to a low rumble. “I’d really rather you take my clothesoffthan put themon.”
Her head snaps up, eyes wide, cheeks blooming with color.
I grin, loving the way she tries not to smile. “I mean, I appreciate the help, but you’re setting a dangerous precedent here.”
She presses the next button through the fabric, deliberately slow.
“Maybe I’m just making sure you look good for me.”
“Sweetheart,” I murmur, tilting her chin up with a knuckle, “I’d look good wearing nothing but your lipstick.”
Her breath catches—half shock, half laughter.
“You’re impossible.”
“Mm,” I hum, brushing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “you say that now, but wait until you’re begging me to be worse.”
“Trey…” she warns, but her voice has lost all its weight.
