Page 39 of Arranged with Twins
Sienna
L eo arrives at my penthouse Wednesday afternoon with an energy I haven’t seen from him before. He’s restless, almost impatient, as he surveys my apartment. “Get ready,” he says without preamble. “We’re going shopping.”
I look up from the book I’m reading on the couch. “Shopping for what?”
“Whatever you want.” He moves to the window, then back to where I’m sitting. “Clothes, accessories, or anything that catches your eye.”
“I don’t really need anything right now.” I close the book and study his face. “Besides, Nadia’s working on the dress for Friday’s gala.”
“This isn’t about Friday.” Leo sits on the edge of the coffee table, facing me. “Aside from a couple of notable exceptions with Nadia, when’s the last time you bought something just because you wanted it?”
The question catches me off guard. “I buy things I want all the time.”
“Things your mother approves of?” His voice carries gentle challenge. “Things that fit the image she’s created for you?”
I start to protest, then stop. He’s right. Even my rebellion with the orange engagement ring was partly motivated by Mother’s disapproval rather than pure personal preference.
“Get dressed,” he says, standing again. “We’re changing that today.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re in the back of his car heading toward Madison Avenue. I stare out the window while organizing my thoughts.
“My mother always chose everything,” I say. “Clothes, handbags, and even the style of my hair when I was younger. Everything was curated to project the right image.”
Leo listens in silence, his attention focused entirely on me despite the chaos of Manhattan traffic around us.
“I spent four years in London thinking I was independent.” I snort. “However, even there, I was following their guidelines buy choosing conservative colors, classic cuts, and nothing too bold or attention-grabbing.”
“It’s time to change that.”
I respond to the idea with a big grin. “Yes, I think it is.” This will be good practice for standing up to my parents when it comes to bigger issues later, like raising our twins.
The car stops in front of an exclusive boutique I’ve never entered, though I’ve walked past it dozens of times. The windows display clothing that’s beautiful yet unconventional from flowing fabrics in rich colors, unexpected details, and pieces that would make Mother purse her lips in disapproval.
“Get whatever you want,” he says, helping me from the car. “No rules except your own.”
Inside, the boutique feels like another world. Soft lighting highlights carefully selected pieces, and the sales associate approaches with subtle professionalism rather than aggressive assistance.
“We’re browsing,” Leo says politely. “She’ll let you know if she needs anything.”
I move through the racks slowly, running my fingers over silk and cashmere, drawn to textures and colors I normally wouldn’t consider.
A deep emerald dress catches my attention.
It’s fitted through the bodice while flowing from the waist down, with long sleeves that would conceal the changes to my arms where I’ve gained weight.
“Try it on,” Leo encourages when he notices my hesitation.
I frown. “It’s not really my style.”
“How do you know what your style is if you’ve never tried it?” He takes the dress from the rack and hands it to me. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
In the dressing room, I slip into the emerald silk and immediately understand what I’ve been missing. The color makes my skin glow, and the cut flatters my changing figure without hiding it entirely. When I look in the mirror, I see someone confident and striking, and I barely recognize myself.
I step out of the dressing room hesitantly. Leo’s expression changes immediately, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of me. “That’s not coming off until I say so,” he says, his voice rougher than usual.
Heat floods my cheeks at the intensity in his tone. “You like it?”
“I like you in it.” He circles me slowly, studying how the fabric moves with my body. “More importantly though, how do you feel?”
“Different.” I turn to see myself in the three-way mirror. “Powerful, maybe?”
“Then we’re buying it.” He signals to the sales associate. “And anything else that makes you feel that way.”
What follows is the most indulgent hour I’ve experienced in years. I try on dresses in jewel tones, soft sweaters in rich textures, and pants that fit my curves instead of hiding them. With each piece, I discover more about myself, or perhaps more about who I’m meant to be.
Leo watches everything with quiet intensity, offering opinions only when I ask while clearly approving of my bolder choices. When I emerge wearing a fitted burgundy top that hugs my breasts and emphasizes my waist, his jaw tightens in a way that makes my stomach flutter.
“That one definitely,” he says, his voice strained.
By the time we finish, I have enough clothes to fill half my closet. At the next boutique, Leo insists on shoes and handbags, yet only pieces I choose without hesitation.
“Now jewelry,” he announces as we load shopping bags into the car.
“Leo, this is too much. You’ve already spent?—”
“I haven’t spent anything yet.” He grins. “That was all foreplay.”
The jewelry store he takes me to is small and exclusive, specializing in custom pieces and unusual stones. The proprietor greets Leo by name, which tells me this visit was planned. “Show her the orange diamond collection,” he says, and I realize this must be where he bought my engagement ring.
The jeweler produces a tray of pieces that take my breath away. Necklaces, earrings, and bracelets feature the same unusual orange diamonds as my engagement ring, all set in warm gold that complements the stones perfectly.
“They’re beautiful,” I say, admiring the sparkles.
“Choose whatever speaks to you,” he says. “Consider it an early wedding gift.”
I select a delicate necklace with three graduated orange diamonds and matching earrings. The pieces are stunning yet understated enough that I’ll actually wear them.
“Perfect.” Leo nods as the jeweler boxes our selections. “They match your ring.”
Our final stop is a smaller boutique tucked away on a side street. The pieces here are more avant-garde, designed for women who aren’t afraid to make statements. I find a black dress with intricate beadwork that catches the light and moves like liquid when I walk.
“Try it on,” he says, though his tone carries more command than suggestion.
The dressing room is barely large enough for one person, with mirrors on three sides and soft lighting that makes everything look intimate. I’m struggling with the dress’s complicated back closure when the door opens.
“Need help?” Leo steps inside and closes the door behind him.
The space immediately feels charged, dangerous. “Someone could catch us.”
“Let them.” He moves behind me, finding the closure with which I’ve been fumbling. “Hold still.”
His hands are warm against my back as he fastens the dress. When he finishes, his fingers linger on my shoulders, tracing the line of the fabric. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and his breath is warm against my neck.
I meet his gaze in the mirror, and the hunger I see there makes my knees weak. “Leo...”
“You have no idea how beautiful you are.” He slides his hands down my arms, creating goosebumps in their wake. “How much I want you.”
“We can’t. Not here.” Even as I protest, I lean back against his chest.
“Can’t we?” One hand settles on my waist while the other traces the neckline of the dress. “You look like a goddess in this. I want to worship you properly.”
The combination of his words and his touch sets fire to my blood. All day, I’ve felt powerful and desired in ways I never experienced before. Now, looking at myself in his arms, I see the woman I’m becoming. She’s confident, sensual, and unashamed to take what she wants.
What I want is him.
I turn in his arms, pressing my body against his. “Then worship me.”
His control snaps. He backs me against the mirror, his mouth crashing down on mine in a kiss that’s desperate and consuming. I respond with equal hunger, fisting my hands in his shirt as I pull him closer.
“Not here,” he says against my lips, though his hands are already pushing up the hem of the dress. “The car…”
“Yes, here.” I nip at his lower lip, emboldened by the day’s revelations about my own desires. “I want you to take me here, like this.”
The raw need in my voice breaks through his last resistance. He strokes my thighs before lifting me against the mirror as I wrap my legs around his waist. The position is perfect, intimate, and dangerous in all the right ways.
“You’re going to kill me.” He groans before trailing his lips down my neck.
“Good.” I reach between us to work at his belt, and my fingers are clumsy with urgency. “I want to drive you as crazy as you make me.”
When I free his cock from his pants, he hisses at the contact of my fingers wrapped around his shaft. He’s already thick and hard, with pre-cum leaking from the tip. He’s ready for me, and the knowledge that I did this to him sends liquid heat through my pussy.
“I want your cock inside me,” I whisper against his lips.
The declaration seems to snap something inside him. He pushes aside my panties with rough efficiency, tearing the silk slightly under his urgent hands. He dips a finger into my pussy and moans. “So wet.”
I nod, impatient for his cock inside me, but he’s taking no chances that I’m not fully ready. He starts to stroke my clit, lightly at first, but then with more pressure and speed. I tremble, clinging to him, and biting down on his shoulder lightly to muffle the cries trying to escape me.