Page 17

I head over to the curtain separating our rooms and sweep it open to a deliciously dressed Dalton Ward standing far closer than expected. He’s in a three-piece suit, black from head to toe. It fits him like a glove, accenting his broad shoulders and tall frame.

“Damn.” He murmurs. But when I peel my eyes up, he’s staring over my shoulder.

I swivel my head and realize he has a perfect view of the dress’s back in the mirror.

In a single step, he closes the space between us.

With slow, careful motions, he reaches around, sweeping my hair over my shoulder, exposing my bare skin.

Feather light, he trails a fingertip down my spine until it lands on the closure just above my ass.

“Sexy.” His finger then trails the gold teeth, still rubbing my skin. “But I’d like to see the others. Maybe something more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” I say, relieved, then touch the collar of Dalton’s shirt. It’s formal and beautiful, but a hair too tight and too well… not Dalton feeling.

“Next.” I agree.

The curtain slides back into place, and we try again.

Several outfits later, there are at least two I could pick for him, but not a single dress that feels right against my skin.

One is far too tight to even consider sitting, one has me choking on my boobs, and the others all feel just wrong, itchy or too sheer.

By dress number seven, this adventure in dress-up-land is feeling like torture.

I’m standing by the ottoman, staring at the beautiful two-tone dress that was made for someone else.

Someone with a bigger budget and fewer financial responsibilities.

The gown is a study in contrasts—a daring blend of sophistication and temptation.

Crafted from simmering nude chiffon and sequined black lace, it hugs my figure perfectly.

It’s the first one I haven’t hated. There’s an asymmetrical line dividing the glittering beige and black sides, running from my collarbone across my chest and down to the opposite foot.

It looks like two dresses, blended into one work of art.

The long sleeves and high neck offset the scandalous cuts along the divided colors.

The slit runs up my thigh to cinch at the waist, only to open again between my breasts before closing at the collar bone.

“Dalton?” Can you help me zip this one?” I call in defeat.

I’ve twisted my arms in every which way possible, and unless I become a contortionist in the next ten seconds, there’s no way I’m zipping the damn thing.

A moment later, the curtain pushes wide and Dalton steps into my half of the dressing room.

I watch him in the mirror. His gaze traces over me, lingering on my bare back, then the slits of the dress exposing strips of skin beneath.

The sapphire blue dress pants hug him in all the right places, but his dress shirt is only half-buttoned, exposing the seam of muscle between his pecks and half of the perfect abs below. My stomach dips with the desire to touch those perfectly contoured curves.

I meet his emerald eyes in the mirror as he steps behind me, the back of his knuckles caressing the skin at my low back. He zips me in as if each inch takes an immense effort. Dalton’s lips find my ear, brushing the sensitive skin there as he whispers.

“You look stunning.”

“The dress is stunning. But this still feels like too much.” I press my hands against my stomach over the thin black belt. “It is too much. The red dress I borrowed from my cousin last night was too much. This is so far beyond that. It’s extravagant.”

Dalton’s hand pauses halfway up my spine, but his lips don’t leave my ear. His eyes burn against mine in our reflection. “You’re worth it.”

“You don’t have to say that. This isn’t a real date.” I rebuke.

“You’re right. I don’t have to say it. Which means my words should carry more weight.

” There’s a tick in his jaw, then he resumes zipping.

When he reaches the top, Dalton cups the back of my neck, tilting it to give him better access as he whispers.

“You deserve to feel extravagant. You’re worthy of being spoiled.

Even if it’s outside your comfort zone.” He adds, reading my hesitation.

“You helped me earlier today. Showed me what I was capable of, distracted me so I could enjoy myself.” His voice turns gruff, lips skimming the sensitive skin behind my ear again.

“I’d like to do the same for you. Let me remind you how sexy you are, that you deserve to be taken care of. Let me show you how sexy you are.”

I try to hide the shudder of pleasure rolling down my spine.

“You want to talk dirty to me, so I feel more comfortable in this dress?” It’s meant to come out as a joke, but it sounds more like an invitation.

His other hand slides over my waist, fingers pressing into my flesh in a way that’s both gentle and possessive. “Something like that, but less talking, more… showing.”

The hand at my neck slides around to trace the dress’s high neckline, then down to my collarbone, following the line that slashes across my chest. The rough pads of his fingers trace the opening, pausing in the valley between my breasts.

Nerve endings spark under his touch, the sensation settling deep in my core. But my attention darts to the wall of curtains with no locks, no real sense of privacy. I place a hand over his, halting his movement. “Matty could?—”

Dalton cuts me off, but stays still under my touch.

“Matty won’t open that curtain unless we ask him to.

Charles texted a minute ago to check on us.

Said our host is out back scrolling socials while vaping.

We’re not-famous-enough charity clients who offer no commission options.

He doesn’t give two shits about checking on us unless we buzz him.

And I have zero intention of asking for his assistance right now.

” His middle finger traces a line against my breastbone.

I should say no. I should push his hand aside, pick a damn outfit and get out of here. But there’s a thrum of reckless abandon rushing through my pulse. Dalton must sense my resolve weakening, because he goes in for the kill.

“Have you ever let someone touch you in public?” His lips trace my jaw, green eyes watching me in the mirror.

I twitch my head in a quick no.

“It takes trust. You have to let go, trust that your partner has you. That they’ll take care of you.”

His lips find that sensitive spot below my ear. “Do you trust me, forty-eight?”

I squeeze his hand tighter, glancing again at the curtains.

His free hand cups my jaw, turning my head so he can press his lips to mine. The kiss is slow, languid. His tongue imploring as it glides over my lower lip. I open to him, but he pulls away. “I promise I won’t let him walk in on us. I’ve got you.”

“Dalton,” I’m not sure if I’m begging for him to stop or to keep going.

“Please, Jenna. Let me touch you.” There’s a pleading rasping in his voice, a desperation mirroring my own.

And despite my better judgment, I release my grip on his hand and give in to the reckless abandon of trusting him fully. Dalton’s lips claim mine once more, before turning our attention back to the enormous mirror.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, Jenna.”

Never breaking eye contact in our reflection, Dalton’s hand slips through the slit to cup my full breast. We moan in unison at the electricity of the contact, and I bite my lip to smother the wave of pleasure as he toys with my nipple.

It pebbles under his touch, catching my breath and causing me to arch into him.

Keeping his other hand at my hip, Dalton grinds his hips against me.

The growing erection pressing into my ass, and I arch back, eliciting a low growl from Dalton that vibrates against my back and burns right to my core.

I whine in protest when Dalton’s hold on my breast stills. But all thought of complaint vanish as his other hand moves to the lower slit near the apex of my thigh. My hips buck back with anticipation, air hissing through my teeth.

“This dress is my favorite, and if you want to donate it to charity after our date, or sell it on eBay, that’s your choice.

But I want you to take it home and every time you look at it, every time you put it on, you think of me touching you like this.

Me worshiping your body the way it deserves.

I want you to remember that any man who doesn’t touch you the way I do, that doesn’t make you come as hard as I can, isn’t worthy of you. ”

Before I can so much as flush at his words, Dalton’s hand is gripping my thigh.

In one smooth motion, he lifts until my bare foot falls on the tufted ottoman next to us.

The dress spreads, the slit opening wide to reveal the nude lace underwear I chose this morning.

His fingers graze up the pale skin of my thigh, stopping just at the edge of the lace covering me.

Once again, my eyes dart to the curtain.

“Stay with me,” Dalton commands. “It’s just us. You and me.”

My focus drifts back to the mirror. To the woman I don’t recognize, clad in a jaw-dropping designer gown, leg spread to the side, exposing herself to the beautiful man curled around her.

We watch each other in the mirror, our breaths increasing in synchronized anticipation. The hand that still holds my right breast twirls back into motion. I buck as his fingers tease my nipple while the others toy with the edge of my panty line.

“I want to touch you. Do you want me to touch you?”

A small, pitiful sound escapes as I press my hips into his hand, begging.

He nips my ear lobe, tracing kisses along my neck. Pausing between each to say, “I want to make you come, forty-eight. But I need you to say it.”