Page 99 of Saxon

The straps meet at her nape, leaving her back entirely bare down to the swell of her ass—she does a slow pirouette to show me—the V of the dress's back is a mirror of the front, tapering inward.

The skirt part is where it gets really daring—slits slice upward to her hipbones on each side, leaving a panel in front and back. The panels are just wide enough to not quite cover her ass, clinging to her hips in front and back so even when she spins, nothing private is revealed, except the generous bell of her hips and round swell of her ass.

It's revealing, daring, and bold. It would be fantasy-inducing on any other woman. Her, with her figure? I'll see her in this dress every time I sleep, I'll dream of it awake and asleep.

She's wearing strappy black heels with red soles and tall spikes, giving her several extra inches of height, and performing some sort of additional witchcraft to her already heart-stopping ass and thighs.

Her crimson hair is loose around her shoulders, brushed to a glossy sheen, hanging in waves and loose spirals. Bold makeup, dark eyes—a smokey eye, I think I've heard it said. Lips as red as her hair, as red as the soles of her shoes.

Her tattoos are on full display, and I admit I've been too distracted by her attitude and her body to pay much attention to them except as a natural part of her beauty, but I do so now, examing them in closer detail.

"Have I ever mentioned how fucking sexy your tats are?" I say.

She grins. "Thanks. I designed the dress to show them off. Other than Dad's medical stuff and the shit I need for my business, they're the only thing I've ever spent money on. They're all done by a guy who grew up in the same neighborhood as me." She points at a particular bird on her left wrist. "This was the first one he did. I wanted to cover the scars from cutting, at first. He convinced me to spiral them up into the design that you see now, instead of just hiding my scars. Now, I'm sort of proud of the scars. Not because I gave them to myself obviously, but because I beat the addiction to cutting."

"Terra, I could not be prouder to simply know you, as a human. You amaze me. You stun me. I don't think it's possible to overstate how insanely attracted I am to you, physically, but it's who you are as a person that I…"

I trail off, remember her demand.

"Don't you fucking dare," she whispers, tilting her head back, waving her hands at her face. "My makeup is on fuckin' point, and you will not ruin it by making me cry, goddammit. Just tell me my tits are hot and let’s fuckin' go."

"Your tits are perfect. Your ass is exquisite. The dress is gonna stop the whole fuckin' party. I just have one question."

"I told you. Tape."

"How did you…"

She laughs. "I can see the question in your eyes as you stare at my giant tits like the lecherous horndog you are. How are they staying up? Tape. Lots and lots of tape."

"Tape? Like…Scotch tape?"

She cackles. "Scotch tape? Have you seen these puppies? I couldn't keep them up like this with a whole fucking roll. No, it's called boob tape. It's made specifically for this application, and I used every last inch of it I had to keep these babies in place."

"Well, whatever you say. I'm gonna go with titty witch magic."

Her burst of laughter is contagious. "Titty witch magic. God, when did you get funny?"

"I think seeing you in that dress short-circuited my brain."

"All the blood is in your dick, huh?"

"Absolutely."

Her gaze goes to my crotch, and her eyes widen. "Wow. You're not kidding." She makes an apologetic face. "Again, I'd normally help you out, but it took me forty-five minutes to get my lips right, so you're gonna have to suffer. Sorry, babe."

I adjust myself, more for comedic effect than anything. "I'll live. Probably. I'll just have one hell of a case of blue balls."

She cackles. "Blue balls? You've busted, what? Six nuts in the last twenty-four hours? How do you have any cum left?"

"Hell if I know. It's you. You do something to me—I keep telling you this." I step into her, wrap a hand around her waist, cup her ass. "Now, we need to go before I lose what's left of my self-control and bend you over that table."

She swats my hand away and shoves me to the door. "Go, go, go. Out the door. now."

"What's the rush?" I say, laughing.

"I'm approximately six seconds from bending over that table—dress, tape, makeup, and Cabal be damned. Just promise you'll bend me over that table the first chance we get, yeah?"

"Promise." I circle the Range Rover, leading her by the hand, opening the door, and helping her in, buckling her.