She’s so soft. Her skin, hair. Tits. It’s a sharp a contrast to how harsh her mouth is. It feels different, undoing these buttons when she’s not heaving for breath. The last time I did this, I was focused on helping her feel better.
I undo the final button. The dress falls, and she lets it, silk rippling down her body and finally pooling down her feet. She’s wearing a pair of boat shoes, and it’s so predictable and out of place that my lips tug.
I stare at her in the mirror.
She’s wearing lacy, white underthings, and they’re so much tinier than what I saw her in last night. That lingerie was deep red, frilly and decadent.
“It’s wedding lingerie,” she says.
She’s wearing a corset. It’s a tight, sheer thing that adorns her lithe shape and pushes the curves of her tits up. There’s a tiny triangle of white silk between her legs, and it’s damn near see-through. Thin lace skims her hips to keep it in place.
It’s devastating.
Wedding lingerie is meant to be unwrapped slowly and savored. Worn only for one man. Me. But it’s notreal.I’m not going to unwrap her like a present. I force my gaze away.
“Wore that for me, did you?” I ask. If she can hear the pain in my voice, she’ll hear the lie. “Sorry to disappoint.”
She steps out of the dress. “You’re attracted to me whether you choose to admit it or not.”
“Only when there’s an audience, Wilde.” I head to the dresser and slide off my vintage Artemis watch. Lying is easier when her beauty isn’t staring me in the face. “You’re not my type.”
“And what is your type?” Her voice is mocking. “Someone who is perfectly docile? A woman who’ll kneel at your throne and kiss your ring?”
I undo the buttons of my shirt. “A woman who doesn’t have the last name Wilde.”
She rolls her eyes and turns toward the rack of shirts. Thesight of her ass in that thong hits me like an arrow through the chest. It’s round and perfect, and fuck if heat doesn’t rush south. I’m half hard in a single second.
Not. For. Me.
“Imagine how boring your life would be without me in it!” she says.
“I do. Daily,” I mutter. There’s a pounding in my temples. “And don’t steal another one of my shirts.”
“Too late,” she says, rifling through a drawer. “And it’s not stealing when we’re legally married.”
“It is when we signed an extensive prenup.” I shrug out of my own clothes and grab a t-shirt from the dresser. I usually sleep in boxer briefs. But I’ll have to find a pair of sweatpants for tonight, or she’ll see the evidence of my attraction.
She disappears into the bathroom. I take the time to change my pants and head toward the open windows. Not everyone has gone to bed yet, and there are sounds from the garden.
I pull the windows shut. It’s almost three in the morning, and the darkness outside is complete in a way it rarely gets in the summer.
“We need some ground rules,” Paige announces. I look over my shoulder. She’s now wearing one of my t-shirts, the tops of it skimming her long thighs. Her hair is back in a blonde braid, and she’s wiping at her eyes to remove makeup.
Thank God that lingerie is gone.
“You hate rules,” I say.
“Yes, but for tonight, we need them.” She cocks her head. “Are you going to take the couch?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Do you mean the chaise in the corner? It’s not big enough for either of us. No. I’m not.”
“That’s not very chivalrous.” She pulls back the covers of my bed and tosses away her napkin. “I think you’re only chivalrous in public.”
“Like you’re only nice in public?”
“Yes. Exactly like that.” She pulls back the covers and slides into the bed. And that image is almost as fucking arousing as the lingerie was. Paige with her head on my pillow, tucked beneath the covers.
“Stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine,” she says.
