She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't process the way her traitorous body wanted to both flee and lean into the contact. The thorn marking her wrist pulsed in rhythm with her racing heartbeat, and that strange warmth in her chest fluttered, recognizing something in his touch.
The button came free. The sound of it, the sudden looseness of fabric at her waist, snapped her back to reality. His mouth was still against her throat, and she was letting him—
The zipper followed, each tooth releasing with deliberate slowness.
"Breathe," he commanded, his lips fluttering against her skin. It was then she realized she'd been holding her breath. It came out in a shaky exhale that she felt him smile against. "Better. Now step out of them."
He pulled back then, giving her just enough space to comply. She did, movements wooden and mechanical. The denim pooled at her feet, and she kicked it aside. Standing before him in only undergarments, she'd never felt more exposed.
"Almost done," he said, circling her slowly. She could feel his gaze like a physical touch, cataloguing every inch of visible skin. "Just a little more, and then you can cover yourself with something worthy of your position."
"My position as what?"
He stopped behind her, and she felt his warm breath against her neck. "As mine."
His fingers found the clasp at her back. One quick movement and it came free. She caught the fabric against her chest, but he tsked softly.
"Let it go."
"No… please, I can't."
"You can." His hands covered hers, not forcing, just resting there. His skin was cool against her overheated flesh. "Let go, little thief. Let me see what I've claimed."
Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the inevitability of it all. Or maybe it was the way his voice had gone soft, almost coaxing, but her hands fell away and with them her last remaining shred of dignity.
"Beautiful," he breathed, and something in his tone made her stomach twist. It wasn’t mocking or cruel, but something else entirely.
He moved around to face her again, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
"No." His finger traced her jaw, the first real skin-to-skin contact, and it burned like a brand. "Open them."
She obeyed only to find his gaze fixed on her face, not traveling lower as she'd expected. His expression was intense, focused, as if memorizing every detail.
"The rest," he said quietly. "Then you're done."
Her hands shook as she complied, stepping out of the last barrier between them. She stood naked before him, skin flushed with heat despite the cold chill of the room.
"Now," he said, reaching for the dress. "Let me dress you properly."
The moss green fabric whispered over her skin as he pulled it over her head, his hands guiding her arms through sleeves that seemed to shape themselves to her body. The material was unlike anything she'd ever worn. It flowed like liquid across her skin, warm as blood, adjusting to every curve and hollow of her figure with unnatural precision.
The bodice molded to her ribs, neither tight nor loose but perfectly fitted, as if it had grown there. The skirts fell in layers that seemed to shift between opaque and translucent depending on how the light caught them. When she moved, the fabric moved with her, anticipating rather than following, creating glimpses of skin that appeared and vanished before the eye could fully register them.
The neckline dipped low, displaying the hollow of her throat where his mouth had been, and the sleevesclung to her arms before flowing loose at the wrists, leaving her marked arm visible through fabric sheer as spider silk.
"Perfect," he said, stepping back to observe his handiwork. "Now you look like what you are."
"What am I?" She hated how her voice trembled.
“I already told you.” The smile that curled across his face was both possessive and satisfied. "Mine. Completely and utterly mine."
His hands settled on her waist and she gasped at the contact. Through the strange fabric, his touch felt amplified, electric.
"Every inch of you," he continued, voice dropping lower. "Every breath, every heartbeat, every thought. Mine to shape. Mine to command. Mine to keep."
She felt rage burning hot at her core, anger and humiliation mixing into something volatile. She should have lashed out, should have pushed him away, wanted to with every fiber of her being. Instead, that strange warmth in her chest pulsed, and for one terrifying moment, she also wanted to lean into his touch instead.
"Say it," he said, leaning in close. “Say that you’re mine.”
