“Holy shit.” Adam is standing behind me, and I wince when I feel his eyes scrutinize my bedroom closet. I use the term closet lightly here because it’s really more of a room lined with clothing racks that also has a bed in it.
“Yeah, it’s a lot,” I reply as I slide the hangers on the dress rack, looking for the bright-pink minidress I have in mind.
“How does one small person have so many clothes?”
“Focus,” I say, leveling him with a terse glare. “Okay, so how fancy is this gala?”
“I don’t know…” he replies as he pulls out a black lace top. “I wear a tuxedo. The ladies wear ball gowns.”
“Hmm…”
We came in here a few minutes ago to decide on my wardrobe for this event, and I’m honestly torn between making a scene or discreetly pissing off his dad. The minute he sees Adam walking in with me on his arm will be sweet enough. I just don’t know how far Adam wants to take this.
When I spot the neon-colored dress at the end of the third rack, I know right away it’s not the right choice.
Adam’s arm brushes mine as we reach for the same hanger, but I catch the way he instantly recoils, pulling his hand away, like touching me might give him some communicable disease.
I saw his face when I suggested the videos. The apprehension was clear as day because, in his mind, he was panicking at the mere thought of having to have sex with me again—as if that one fleeting night was too insane as it was.
I’m not offended by that. It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with all of that brainwashing he was subjected to that made him believe good Christian women are the only people his dick is allowed to respond to.
When he stares in confusion at another strappy dress, I take the hanger from him with a laugh. “Okay, how about I try on a few things, and you pick what you want me to wear to this thing?”
With a sigh, he nods and makes his way back to the couch.
When I walk out two minutes later in the bright-pink minidress, his jaw is hanging open like a fish. And not necessarily in a good way. The mermaid tattoo on my right thigh is showing, and so are her beautiful tits.
“I don’t know if they’ll let you in wearing that. It needs to be a little more formal.”
“Fair enough,” I reply, turning back to the room.
I pull a purple gown off the most unused rack in the corner. I wore it to one of the club’s formal evenings, but since it was marketed so poorly, I was the only one dressed so nicely. Now I hate this dress, but I figure it might work for this occasion, so I slip it on.
When I walk out this time, Adam is staring at his phone. When his eyes drift upward to assess this option, his reaction is a little lacking. He gives a shrug. “It’s pretty, but I don’t know if he’d even recognize you in that.”
“I have pink hair,” I reply with a laugh.
“It’s not quite…fierce enough. I want him to know we’re trying to piss him off.”
My fingers drum on the sequins of my dress as I think about what I own that could pull off something like that. Realization dawns as I remember the perfect piece I bought not too long ago.
“I got it,” I shriek, lifting the hem of the gown as I shimmy back into my bedroom.
It takes a few minutes to get into, mostly because of all the straps and harnesses, but when I see myself in the full-length mirror, I know this is the one. It’s elegant and kinky. It’s giving Dominatrix wedding dress vibes.
With black, shimmery fabric hanging from my shoulders and hips, it covers enough to be classy but shows enough to be provocative. There are black leather straps across my torso and thighs with a deep plunging neckline that exposes just enough of my tits to make them look sexy.
The skirt of the gown has slits on both sides so that my legs peer through the material as I walk. And it’s just see-through enough to leave very little to the imagination.
“I think I found the one,” I announce as I walk out to the living room. Adam’s eyes do a double take, glancing up for only a second at first before shooting right back up my body. His gaze rakes over every inch of me as I wait for him to say something.
His lips are parted and he quickly runs his tongue over the bottom one before he swallows his nerves. “That’s a good choice.”
“Think so?” I ask, spinning once. When I come back around to face him, I swear I notice him shifting and readjusting himself in his seat. He’s staring at my body, and I can’t tell if he’s looking at my tattoos or my breasts—or my mermaid tattoo’s breasts.
I can tell how much he’s struggling with this, so I get an idea. “Stand up,” I say, and he furrows his brow at me before doing it. Towering over me in a tight black T-shirt and snug-fitting jeans, I get a blast of heat to my core at the memory of him that night, bending me over the couch.
You want this? Then take it.
I almost don’t recognize him now.
Stepping close to him, I turn my back as I brush my hair off to the side. “Unzip me, please.”
His fingers brush the nape of my neck as I tilt my head for him. The back of my dress opens with an audible zip, but instead of holding it in place, I let it fall to the floor, so I’m standing in front of him in nothing but a thin cotton thong.
He sucks in a breath, and I feel him tense behind me. My bare flesh breaks out in goose bumps as I turn around and stare at him. His gaze lands heavily on my breasts and I watch something change in his expression. Shame warring with lust and desire. There’s something in Adam’s reaction that I’ve caught a few times now, like he’s so worried about keeping a part of him hidden that it’s tearing him apart.
And while I didn’t do this to seduce him, I admit to myself now that if he let that part out again, I wouldn’t stop him.
But that’s not the plan.
Instead, I grab his bare hands and press them to my breasts.
When his eyes widen and he gazes up at my face in shock and confusion, I speak. “Listen, if we’re going to do this, you have to stop acting so uncomfortable around me. I see you struggling.”
“I’m not struggling,” he retorts with hardened features.
“You are. We’ve already fucked, Adam. You had your face buried in my pussy for a half hour. So let’s just accept that it happened, but it was just a one-time thing. Don’t be afraid to touch me now because no one is going to buy us as a couple if you can’t even look me in the eye or touch my tits.”
“I am touching your tits.”
“Because I’m making you touch them.”
“No one has ever made me touch their tits before,” he complains, averting his gaze.
“Well, I am because I want you to lighten up. In three weeks, I’m going to be your girlfriend. And if we go through with the tapes, then you’ll have to do a lot more than touch my tits, so let’s just get the awkwardness out of the way now.”
“You’re the craziest person I’ve ever met,” he replies, and I can’t quite tell if he’s serious or teasing.
Either way, it stings a little. I hate being called crazy. Maybe that’s what Brett did to me. Made me feel crazy for so long that I started to believe it. Made me not even believe myself sometimes.
“I’m not crazy,” I reply through clenched teeth.
His hand squeezes my breast as his eyes meet mine. Something in them darkens. “I like crazy. I need crazy.”
My thighs clench as warmth assaults my core again. And I feel as if I’m floating, high on his nearness, not quite sure what it was I was trying to accomplish with this or why I’m suddenly wishing he’d go a little crazy on me.
Instead, he pulls his hands away from my tits and puts distance between us. “I’m glad you did this. It did break some of the tension. And I think it’s good that we just…lay everything out now.”
“Okay…” I reply, stepping back.
“Full transparency, always. I need to know I can trust you.”
“Of course. Same.”
“And we have to agree that this…is fabricated. None of it is real. We can’t… Especially like…that.”
When he gestures between us, I get the message loud and clear, but my eyes narrow at that last part—like that. Something tells me Adam Goode isn’t used to being so dirty, but rather than push the issue, I nod. “Of course,” I say, repeating myself. “We don’t want things getting complicated.”
“Exactly.”
“But we obviously can’t be sleeping with other people at the same time, or it could ruin everything.” I cross my arms over my chest, still standing in front of him, mostly naked.
“Agreed,” he nods astutely. “Three months. If it’s not working, we let it go. Call it quits.” His air of confidence is infectious and a little disarming. For a man that struggled to touch my tits a moment ago, I find Adam’s introspective nature refreshing. I don’t meet a lot of men who can truly look me in the eye the way he does and listen to what I have to say without saying something condescending. That wild, unhinged night in my apartment aside, Adam truly is a gentleman—a secretly perverted gentleman.
“I can do three months.”
His eyes drift around my apartment for a moment before coming back to my face. “Do you need any help…since you lost your job?”
I can’t even keep my eyes from rolling at that not-so-subtle dig. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it since I was seventeen.”
His pure-brown eyes stay on my face for a moment too long, almost as if he doesn’t believe me. So I snatch the dress off the floor and march to my room. After hanging the black dress on the hanger, I pull on a T-shirt and jeans before walking back out to the living room.
Adam is holding Roscoe in his arms, petting his head as they both look out the large window in my living room. Illuminated by the afternoon light, I take a moment to admire him. With his dark hair and trimmed beard, he seems almost too perfect. But everything about Adam seems perfect, and I can’t help but wonder if there’s something imperfect that he’s hiding.
And I find myself wishing I could be the one he allows to see those imperfections.
