"The way it clings to your body. The way I could see your nipples through the fabric when you were running." He traces one strap down my shoulder, not pulling it off, just threatening to. "I wanted to tear it off you the moment I saw you."
"Then do it," I breathe. "Tear it off. I don't care about the dress."
"No?" He pulls back slightly, studying my face through the mask. "You don't care that it's ruined? That you'll have nothing to wear when the sun comes up?"
"I don't care about anything except you touching me." The confession spills out of me, raw and honest and completely beyond my control. "Please. I'm begging you. Whatever you want, whatever you need me to do—just please, please touch me."
Something shifts in his expression. The playful cruelty softens into something almost like tenderness, though the hunger beneath it doesn't diminish.
"You beg so beautifully, don’t you?" His fingers tighten on the straps. "How can I possibly say no?"
He doesn't tear the dress. Instead, he slides the straps down my shoulders with agonizing slowness, peeling the silk away from my body inch by inch. The fabric catches on mynipples, dragging across the sensitive peaks, and I cry out at the sensation.
"Easy," he murmurs. "I've got you."
The dress pools at my waist, leaving my breasts bare. The cellar air is cool against my flushed skin, making my nipples tighten further. I resist the urge to cover myself, to hide from his gaze.
He's looking at me like he's never seen anything more perfect.
"Stand up," he commands.
My legs are shaky, but I manage to rise from his lap. The dress falls the rest of the way, slithering down my hips and pooling at my feet in a puddle of red silk.
I'm completely naked now, bare before him.
He stays seated on the chaise, looking up at me with those glittering eyes. His gaze travels slowly from my face to my breasts to my stomach to the apex of my thighs, where I know I'm glistening with arousal.
"Lie down." He pats the velvet beside him. "On your back."
I hesitate for just a moment—some last flicker of self-preservation, maybe, or just the need to feel like I have some control over what's happening.
His eyes narrow. "Now, love."
Fuck it.
I lie down.
The velvet is soft against my bare skin, warm from his body heat. I stare up at the stone ceiling, at the shadows cast by hundreds of candles, at the black heart balloons floating in the corners of my vision.
I've never wanted anything more in my life.
CHAPTER 6
LUKE
She's a fucking masterpiece.
Laid out on the red velvet, hair spilling around her head, skin flushed and glowing in the candlelight. Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, her nipples tight peaks practically begging for my mouth. And between her thighs, she's glistening—so wet I can see it from here, her arousal catching the light so fucking perfectly.
She's gorgeous,responsive, and completely surrendered to me.
I stand over her for a moment, just taking in the view. She's watching me through heavy-lidded eyes, her lips swollen and stained red from the wine. There's no more fear in her expression—just need. Raw, desperate, all-consumingneed.
I built that need kiss by kiss, grape by grape, until she was begging me for more.
And now I'm going to reward her.
I reach for the wine bottle and pour a fresh glass, letting her watch. The cabernet is the color of old blood in the candlelight, deep and dark and rich. I take a slow sip, savoring the taste, making her wait. Teasing her just a moment longer.
