"Yeah," I hear myself say. "I can do that."
She turns around, presenting her back to me. The zipper runs from between her shoulder blades all the way down to the small of her back, hidden under a row of tiny fabric-covered buttons that look like they'd take a fucking hour to undo.
I step closer. She stiffens slightly but doesn't move away.
"Just the zipper?" I ask, my voice rougher than intended.
"There are buttons too. But if you can just get the zipper, I can probably manage the rest."
I reach for the top of the zipper. My fingers brush the back of her neck and she makes a small sound. Not quite a gasp, not quite a whimper. I freeze.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Sorry. Just... not used to being touched gently."
And fuck, that sentence is going to haunt me.
I find the zipper pull and start sliding it down. Slowly. The fabric parts to reveal smooth skin and the white lace of her bra. I keep my eyes focused on what I'm doing and absolutely not on the curve of her back or the way her skin looks in the lamplight.
The zipper reaches the end just above her ass and suddenly I can see more than I should. The dress gapes open and I catch a glimpse of white panties. Not just white, but sheer. See-through lace that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I can see the curve of her ass. The dimples at the small of her back. Everything. My dick goes from half-hard to fully hard in about two seconds flat.
I step back like she's on fire, adjusting my stance so maybe she won't notice the obvious bulge in my jeans if she turns around.
"Done," I manage to say.
"Thank you." She holds the front of the dress to her chest with one hand and turns to face me. Her cheeks are flushed. "Can you... can you stay? Just for a few minutes? I don't want to be alone right now."
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to say no. To get the fuck out of this room before I do something stupid. Before she sees exactly what she does to me and gets scared for entirely new reasons.
But she's looking at me with those amber eyes and asking me to stay, and I've never been good at saying no to someone who needs help.
"Yeah," I say. "I can stay."
"I'm just going to change. I'll be fast."
She disappears into the bathroom with the robe from the closet. I hear the door close. Not lock, just close, and the rustle of fabric.
I take the opportunity to adjust myself because my dick apparently doesn't give a fuck about being appropriate. The image of those see-through panties is burned into my brain. The lace barely covering anything. The way I could see the exact shape of her ass, the line where her cheeks met her thighs.
I need to stop. I need to think about literally anything else.
I force myself to focus on practical shit. The food I brought up is still sitting on the dresser. She needs to eat. Needs to rest. Needs to not have me standing here thinking about bending her over and pulling those panties to the side.
Fuck.
I walk to the window and look out at the Vegas strip. Lights and noise and people who have no idea that three floors up, I'm losing my fucking mind over a woman I met an hour ago.
The bathroom door opens and she comes out wearing the robe. It's too big for her. Hotel robes always are, and she's cinched it tight around her waist. Her hair is down now, falling in dark waves past her shoulders.
Fuck.
"Better?" I ask, turning around yet. Giving myself another few seconds to get control.
"Yeah. Much." I hear her sit on the edge of the bed. "Thank you. For everything. You didn't have to do any of this."
I turn around, keeping my expression neutral. "Already told you why I did it."
