I watch his back, noting the stiffness in his posture. For someone who makes crude jokes and acts so far removed from social modesty, he sure gets flustered by my lack of reserve. I smirk at the back of his head and finish shimmying out of my clothing. I’m about to step into the dress when I recall the low square cut of the bodice. That means I can’t wear my bralette, and I don’t even own a corset. So I strip out of the undergarment and don the dress. I reach behind me to secure the lowest clasps, not bothering with the rest. If the wedding ceremony isn’t until six, I’ll be taking the gown off as soon as I get Monty’s approval anyway.
“I’m dressed,” I say. Monty slowly turns around, and now it’s my turn to feel apprehensive. This ensemble is so different from the modest day dresses I wear and even more so from the shirts and trousers I prefer. Yet it remains my favorite article of clothing. Does he recognize it?
He sucks in a breath, which tells me maybe he does. “You’re wearing that?”
There’s no condemnation in his tone. Only…surprise, perhaps?
My shoulders climb to my ears and I fidget with the short hem. It’s the dress I wore to the gala, the first time he ever saw me in seelie form. It’s a confection of golden-yellow silk patterned with pink-and-white chrysanthemums. The top boasts a simple square neckline and cap sleeves while the skirt begins just below my bust and flares out over multiple layers of cream lace. The hem lands just above my knees, showing off far more leg than is appropriate in seelie society. It was a gamble bringing this dress with me, but I figured a fae wedding might be the right place to wear it. The fae are far less particular about propriety in fashion, and Briony and Thorne seem like the opposite of uptight.
I nibble my bottom lip as I tug my hem again. Monty still hasn’t said a word.
“Is it…all right?” I ask.
His gaze sweeps up and down my form, some strange combination of agony and awe on his face. “It’s beautiful.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I whirl toward the full-length mirror beside the wardrobe before he can catch sight of my blush. I admire my reflection and will my cheeks to cool. Yet I’m hardly given a chance before Monty’s face appears just behind mine.
“You didn’t secure the clasps,” he says, voice thick as he draws nearer.
“I’m only going to take it off again in a few moments.”
He freezes and meets my reflection’s gaze. “Why?”
My breaths are halting. Shallow. That toe-curling intensity has filled his eyes, even more potent than the first time I glimpsed it during his first modeling session. It takes no small effort to find my voice. “I’m not going to lounge around in this dress until six in the evening.”
“Ah, right.” He heaves a sigh, but that only washes away half his intensity. He takes another step closer, then I feel his fingertips alight upon my spine, just above the first open clasp. Molten heat pools in my core. The tops of my breasts pulse above my bodice. His eyes narrow to that part of my reflection, his fingers trembling against my skin. His breath skates over the back of my shoulder as he speaks in a whisper. “I could secure them the rest of the way. Just for now. Until I leave.”
Leave? I don’t want him to leave. The heat that grows between my thighs spreads hotter and hotter. This isn’t even the first time today. My repeated reading of Chapter Eight had me so tightly wound I was ready to tend to my release just before he got here. Our conversation didn’t dampen it much, only stirred my curiosity more. But more than anything, more than his written words or erotic topics, it’s his presence that brings my desire to a peak. His expression. His nearness. Him. Justhim.
This kind of attraction is so new to me. So powerful it makes me dizzy. I want to explore it.Needto explore it.
I gather in a deep breath and finally reply. “Or you could undo them the rest of the way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DAPHNE
His eyes flick to mine in the mirror, his pupils blown wide. “Why would I undo your clasps? Do you…require my aid?”
My entire body trembles with restraint. With want. “Well, you see…it’s about the pose I’m working on. For the couple on the ballroom cover.”
“Yes?” He holds my gaze so fiercely, his fingers still pressed against my spine.
“I haven’t been able to get it right.” Not a lie from these lips. I spent my morning sketching ideas for the couple’s pose but nothing felt inspired. Nothing felt sexy enough to evoke the passion in Edwina’s book. That’s when I discarded my sketches in favor of reading Monty’s book. And there my inspiration was sparked.
Now, as I watch us in the mirror, I realize this is it. This is the tenuous passion I wanted to capture. This is the tension I wanted to evoke, to express the push and pull between the characters.
For the love of the All of All, I feel so connected to my art like never before.
That paired with the need that continues to build inside my core emboldens me.
“Can you help me?” I ask.
“You want me to pose for you? Now?” His voice is soft yet heavy.
“Not a long session,” I say. “I just want to see it.”
His head moves in the slightest shake to the left, and I fear he’s going to deny me. Then a breath leaves his lungs, and with it comes the word “Yes.”
