Her hair has been freed from its usual long, neat braid, and combed into dark waves that reach almost all the way down to her waist. And she’s wearing ... a dress. I guess what she usually wears could technically be classified as dresses or skirt/blouse combos, usually a few sizes too big and covering up almost every part of her body so it’s impossible to tell her shape underneath.
But this? This is adress.
I don’t know anything about dress types, but I can see her arms. Her beautiful brown, shapely legs. The material cinches in to show off her tiny waist, and the top of the dress is fitted to her body, scooping down to give the teeniest, tiniest hint of cleavage. On anyone else, I wouldn’t look twice, but because it’s Nina, and it’s the tiniest hint ofhercleavage, I have a hard time dragging my eyes away.
Swallowing, I lock my gaze on hers. “You look different,” I manage dumbly.
Her dark eyes watch me closely. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good different?”
“Beautiful.”
It’s a good word, but not nearly fitting for what I feel when I look at her. I want to call her my goddess and worship at her feet. I want to rhapsodize about her unearthly radiance. But I don’t want to overwhelm her or spook her off—and anyway, as Morrie would doubtless tell me, it’s probably better to ease into all the geekiness, little by little. Like trapping a frog in boiling water, but romantically.
Nina lights up, pleased by the praise, and she’s so lovely it hurts. “I made it,” she tells me shyly, smoothing her hands over the material.
“Shut the front door,” I say. And not just because I’m trying to make her feel good—although that’s something I always, always want to do, if it makes her this happy. But genuinely, the dress looks like something you’d see in the display window at a nice store, something a movie star would wear on a night out.
I could ask her why she doesn’t dress this way all the time, if she’s so good at making clothes like this, and she looks incredible. But the answer’s obvious, isn’t it?Aaron Miller. I’ve noticed that Harmony doesn’t have to dress the same way as Nina. And from pictures I’ve seen in files of Nina’s other cousins, they also don’t have to dress like they’re practically Amish. They all get to wear makeup and style their hair. But for some reason, Nina doesn’t.
I’ve wondered for a while now why Aaron singles Nina out this way. Is it a control thing? A way to separate her from the rest of the family?
But bringing all of that up right now might dim the beautiful light shining from Nina’s face, and I’d rather do just about anything than that.
So instead, I close the distance between us. Then, carefully, making sure I don’t spook her, I reach out and admire the detailing on the hem of her skirt. I have no idea how it’s made, but it looks intricate and pretty and like it obviously took a lot of time and effort. Running my thumb over the little bumps of thread, I smile up at her. “What a pretty costume.”
To my surprise, Nina laughs—not in a mean-spirited way, but like she finds me hopeless and adorable. I can’t help but laugh with her, even though I’m in the dark. God, I love it when she looks this happy. “What?”
“It’s an outfit,” she tells me, rolling her lip between her teeth. “Not a costume.”
That thing she’s doing with her lip is very,verydistracting, but I wrench my eyes away from it to focus on the conversation at hand. “What’s the difference?”
Nina furrows her brow, like this is the first time she’s had to consider it. “A costume is something you wear to hide who you are,” she decides finally. “An outfit is what you wear to reveal it.”
I consider that for a moment. I think of all the different disguises I’ve worn, the different personas I’ve put on to distract anyone from seeing the real me. Then I think of the things I wear when I’m doingGeekOut, something that’s just meant to bring me happiness. Arguably, those pieces of clothing—Legolas’s ears, Jon Snow’s cape—would be considered costumes by most people. But when I wear them, I feel the most like my true self. Maybe what I wear day-to-day is the real costume, then, and those chosen pieces of clothing I put on are my outfits.
“So what does this dress reveal to me about Nina?” I ask her, running the material between my index finger and thumb.
Nina flushes but seems to be taking the question seriously. “It’s a classic silhouette, vintage inspired. It’s simple but the more you look at it, the more you see.” She searches my reaction.
I meet her gaze solemnly. “I want to see everything,” I tell her.
Jedi’s honor, I don’t mean that to be an innuendo. I want to keep uncovering all the layers of Nina, to learn how to read each of her smiles. I’m in no rush for anything else, no matter how much I might want it. Delayed gratification is meant to be healthy for you,right?
So I’m surprised when Nina lets out a breathy moan and presses herself up against me—her body, her lips. Her fingers twining into my hair.
Surprised, but obviously not displeased. The Dread Pirate Roberts has been at alert from the moment I saw her in that dress, but I was trying to be a gentleman.
Screw that.
This is a pattern with Nina, I realize in the corner of my mind that’s still capable of coherent thought as our tongues meet and tangle together. The way she lunges for me, so suddenly and so hungrily. It’s like she’s holding herself back as best she can, and all at once the dam breaks and she can’t contain her desire anymore.
I eagerly respond, matching her fervor, using one hand to grab her hip and pull her in even closer to me. With the other, I let myself finally give in to the temptation I’ve been battling with all night and touch the smooth, soft skin of her legs under the fabric of her skirt. I skim my fingers over her knee, run my palm up the outside of one of her thighs. I stop just short of the swell of her perfect, round bottom, waiting for her cue to see if I can continue, as my pulse thrums in my ears.
Nina pulls back, and I release her immediately. To my relief, she isn’t leaving, just fumbling with the zipper at the back of her dress. “Help,” she pleads with me.
Whoa. Okay. That’s what’s happening now. I spring into action. After some more fumbling on my end, I manage to pull the zipper down. Nina sheds the dress like a skin she can’t wait to get off her, standing so she can cast it aside, before turning back to face me.
She is so beautiful. I don’t know how I’m expected to function like a normal human being when she is so perfect and sexy and lovely and standing right in front of me in only her panties and bra. I take in all the dips and curves of her. I’ve been imagining her for so long, I always wondered if I was just creating a fantasy, and now I realize that my imagination did not do her justice.
