Page 37 of Tempt Me

She narrowed her eyes at me.

“What was on that note you hid from me?”

I blushed, my eyes diverting to my jacket pocket, where the note was hidden away. Reading his words earlier made me freeze, my entire body turning liquid.

I prefer your mouth to clean up the mess you made, Little Voyeur.

Till next time,

P.M.

I shook my shoulders, the fabric on me stretching to the point of ripping. I was all sweaty again, and this damn dress was sticking to me.

“It was nothing,” I lied. “A stupid prank letter from some admirer.” That was the truth, and as much as she was getting from me.

Sasha grabbed the black lipstick and smeared it onto her full, gorgeous lips.

“Babe, you know I love you, right?” she said, standing from the vanity and walking over to me with a sour look on her face. “Which is why I can’t have my girl walk into a party looking like this.”

I couldn’t even breathe in this damn dress. She was right.

“Your twat perma-boyfriend will have to get over it because you need an upgrade. I mean, it’s a horror party, but you’re like truly scary, not ‘whore-er.’ scary.”

I tried to sigh, and the tightness in my chest and stomach solidified that she was right.

“Besides, if you go in, you may end up becoming a corpse, after all. Can you even breathe, girl?”

I let out a shaky breath, the fabric pulling to its max. Sasha shook her head, walking over to the row of drawers next to my vanity area and pulling out my craft scissors.

“Stand still so I don’t slice your delicious tits off, babe.”

I followed her instructions because I was rather attached to said titties. Planting my bare feet on the plush fur rug on the bathroom floor, I sucked in a breath. The coolness of the metal scissors made goosebumps fly over my skin.

She cut the dress down the center of my breasts, the dress busting open and freeing my cleavage and my breath.

It left a huge V-cut down to my navel.

“Uhh…now I’m just a ‘whore,’ no ‘er.’ ” I whined, inspecting myself in the mirror.

She laughed and grabbed the sewing kit out of her backpack. That was one class she took that I hadn’t.

“Don’t punch me if I stab ya, okay?” She peeked up at me, and I nodded, my uncertainty feeling clear on my face.

She stitched the fabric with crossed lines and colored patterns, bringing life into Casper’s wedding dress. While she worked slicing and stitching, I thought about Pharaoh and his fucking shirt. That asshole wanted me to clean up his mess. I huffed in irritation at that thought, and Sasha squeaked.

“Girl, breathing too much right now…” She paused the scissors again. “I don’t want to turn you into a porcupine.

“Okay, Sash…but, uh…” I said. “Hold on for one second.” I scurried over to my bookbag in the corner, pulling the shirt free. “Think you could use something from this too on the dress?”

Her mouth fell open at the sight of ‘thee shirt,’ but it was clear by the look on her face that she was confused by my request.

“Cut this up and put it into the fabric,” I set the shirt on the bathroom counter.

Pausing, she raised a manicured eyebrow, glanced at me, and then back at the shirt. Nodding, she finally snagged the cloth.

“Uh…Fay. What the fuck is on this?”

I bit my lip. “He spilled ice cream or something on it.”