“Take the shorts off, Lydia.”
I keep my eyes focused on him in the mirror, hook my fingers under the fabric, and give my hips a shimmy to let them fall to where my blouse is.
He walks over to the half-complete dress, and looks at it for a moment, before he starts taking it off the mannequin.
“It’s not ready!” I protest. “You'll ruin the work?—"
"Then I'll buy you another." He takes it off the mannequin and walks back towards me. “You were going to wear this to church and put your skin on display in front of every man in that building. I want you to show me what you think they’ll be looking at.”
Fuck…I tremble at the iron in his voice as a fresh burst of wetness beads down my thighs.
“Put the dress on, Lydia.”
My face is on fire. But my hand moves as I step into it, drawing it over my hips and settling the cool, unfinished silk across my shoulder before letting it descend down to my forearms. Nico’s breath quickens as he sees the way it fits my body.
“What did you think was going to happen when you wear it to church?” he asks.
“You’d be pissed off.”
“Hmm.” He steps in closer and I can feel a familiar throbbing heat behind me. “What else?”
“That you’d want to hurt every man who dared to look at me.”
“And yet you still chose this dress to be cut like this,” he whispers. “Why?”
“Because I like it when you talk about hurting people for me.”
He steps back and looks down at me as I look up at him. The world pauses until I lose count of how many heartbeats have passed.
“Panties,” he orders me.
Fire licks up my face, and I’m lost so deep in the moment that I’m not sure how I manage to reach between my legs, and roll the thin material down my legs. It falls soundlessly to the floor and I step out of it. He picks them up, mouth curling as he turns them over in his fingers.
“Soaked,” he says softly. “So you weren’t fucking lying.”
Shame and desire war in my heart at how accurate his words are. I nod, and his eyes go down me slowly, from head to bare feet. The arrogant smile returns to his lips.
"Be a good girl now, and touch yourself, Lydia."
Mindless, my hand pulls the skirt up and runs along my slit. Pleasure and shame and wanting all tangle into a ball until I can't tell them apart. I'm already so wet it's humiliating, and with every stroke under his watchful gaze, I’m getting wetter and wetter.
“Spread yourself open,” he strains. “And show me how fucking turned on you are when I hurt people for you.”
A sound slips out of me that I'd give anything to take back. Yet like a woman possessed, I do exactly as I’m told. I moan as I spread my pussy open. He walks forward and runs his hand against my entrance to collect the slickness between his fingers.
Then, he bunches the fabric and brings it to my mouth. "Open."
My lips part, and he pushes my soaked panties into my mouth to let me taste myself. A violent shudder moves through me like I grabbed a live wire, and my hand starts moving between my legs.
Suddenly, his hand grabs me by my shoulder, turns me around, and presses me against the mirror. Before I have a chance torealize what’s happening, his hand comes down on my ass, hard and sharp. But the pain feels so good.
I yelp in surprise against the panties in my mouth.
“That’s for not being on your best behavior,” he whispers against my ear.
In the mirror, I see his hand rise up again. When it comes down, it hits the same spot, sending another burst of pleasurable ache up my ass. The cry that comes from my throat is louder, and raspier.
“That’s for not being a good girl.”
