Could taste the way her body didn’t quite know whether to fight me or fold.
With every inch of satin drawn into place, I felt her resistance shiver.
The dress fit like sin—tight and dangerous and deceptively soft.
Like her.
“Let me see you,” I said quietly, reaching the top of the zipper and brushing my fingers across the nape of her neck.
Not a touch.
A claim.
The zipper clicked into place—final, absolute.
For a breath, she didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
And then?—
She turned.
Eyes narrowed. Shoulders squared. Every inch of her still screaming no.
But underneath it?
That flicker.
That tiny, traitorous spark of uncertainty she couldn’t quite hide.
I tilted my head, voice softer now. “So… are you ready for this?”
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
Because the dress fit.
The silence fit.
And she knew damn well what that meant.
I could’ve pushed. Could’ve broken that last piece of her calm.
But where was the fun in that?
Instead, I stepped back.
Let my gaze drag over her one last time.
And smiled.
Like a god admiring the altar built in his honor.
“I could take you right now,” I murmured, voice like glass—clear, cold, just sharp enough to draw blood, “Against that mirror.”
Her breath hitched.
