19. Sable
SABLE
Orion leads me so deep into the university that the pressure changes around us, and the air chills.
There are no windows here, and I imagine the stone walls are multiple feet thick.
The lights grow first less modern, and then fewer and farther apart, like we’re sinking into a dungeon.
Hairs raise along my arms, and I fear he’s going to lock me in a cell or something.
Just as I think we’re going to stumble into hell, the atmosphere changes.
First, there’s a change in the style of lighting.
The lights have a white tone here, no underwater death effect.
The temperature rises, and we ascend a small set of stairs that leads us to an archway.
Beyond sits a wing with a surprising amount of modernity.
Golden letters frame the archway: Bellthorn School of Fashion Technology.
I didn’t even know Bellthorn had a fashion design school.
There’s no way that’s where this guy is bringing me.
Six foot five, jacked, an obvious bad boy, who what? Likes fashion?
Intermittent pops of color and fashion drawings cover the wall.
They feature real-world clothes intended for high-fashion runways and print shoots, rather than the institution's preferred lace. Of course, they’re all highly skilled.
The feeling of semi-normalcy doesn’t last, though.
We turn right, and Orion leads me into an enormous lecture hall.
It’s not lit in green, but it’s a sight all on its own.
“What is this?” I ask. A long line of stairs leads you past rows of seating, and vaulted ceilings plunge above me as if I’m in a cathedral, but there’s no stained glass, just paintings covering the surface.
Are we deep inside the university, like I thought, or somewhere near the top?
The entire effect is completely disorienting.
A huge chandelier with multiple dripping tears sits full of burning candles, dully illuminating an honest to God runway at the center. At the front stands a podium.
“I have class.” He shrugs like what he’s saying is no big deal and makes perfect sense.
I’m quiet for a moment before I answer. “ This is your class?”
“Why else would I be coming here?” His hazel eyes cut me, like I’m an idiot for even suggesting he’d waste his own time.
I have nothing to say, and I start to search for the details of the paintings up on the ceiling rather than thinking of something.
Strange images of weeping women and white deer tell some story I don’t quite understand.
“You’re still not paying attention to me.” Orion pulls my chin down and forces my eyes back to him.
“I’m sorry. It’s a lot to take in.” I’m apologizing to him so much today, and I don’t think he cares at all. Every part of this is a power play, and I need to remember that.
“When you’re with me, on my days, I would like you to pretend that no one else exists.” The request nearly makes me laugh right before it pisses me off. His days ? They must switch days with me.
“Why?” I ask.
His jaw twitches. “It doesn’t matter why. Can you do that for me?” There is something raw beneath the request, but I don’t know why I would do him any favors. Still, something about this feels intimate, reminding me of last night.
“Okay…” I say, letting my hesitation trail after my agreement. Something relaxes in him, but he stays quiet.
Within a few minutes, other people start to fill the classroom, and while they all look at me strangely, they don’t give Orion a second glance.
He must be expected here, like he said. A few minutes later, a professor walks in.
She’s stunningly beautiful with piles of rich emerald curls and a tightly fitting dress to match.
The style keeps with the Victorian Bellthorn theme, but the cut, embellishments, and fabric are all of the finest quality.
I feel truly intimidated by very few people, but she is one of them.
“Presentations will continue until we’ve been through all of you.
” She doesn’t even look up as she speaks, picking her spot behind a podium on the ground and placing her briefcase on top.
A shining silver bat winks at me from the clasp.
“Today we will be hearing from…” She pulls out and checks a notepad. “Orion, and if we have time, Arabella.”
“Of course, Professor,” Orion says, with a fakely sweet tone.
“But I am letting you know now we won’t have time for Arabella today.
” She looks up from her notes a little suspiciously.
Who is he trying to convince? I automatically judge the situation and decide that this must be an easy grade for him.
This can’t be his selected major or his life’s profession.
He probably just thought he could hit on girls.
A large door stands off to the side, already propped open.
He leads me into what can only be a fitting room, Bellthorn edition.
Mannequins fill the space, and most of the designs are exactly what you would see in the rest of the school.
I had hoped for more of the modern world, but it makes sense that they aren’t buying these garments off the rack.
What seamstress could I hire to dress me like a Victorian whore with a goth twist?
Orion leads me to a line of cubicle workspaces, ending at a slightly larger one positioned in the corner.
Inside it sits a desk, a sewing machine, and yet another mannequin.
This one is a headless torso, and it has far smaller tits and ass than I do.
Pictures line the wall, but as soon as I start to look at them, he steps into my line of sight to prevent me from seeing.
I roll my eyes. Like he’s important enough for me to care that much about those sketches… but I am curious.
“Strip,” Orion says, like I’m a dog, and all I need is the simplest command to obey.
“I’m sorry, but fuck you,” I say as sweetly as I possibly can with my fingertip pressing to my lower lip. How many times a day does he think he can dress me? I’m not his fucking dolly.
“Don’t think I haven’t been wishing I did.
” Heat rises between us, and I don’t see any reason he couldn't amend that today. My cheeks turn red. He steps past me and over to the mannequin and the strange but stunning dress it’s wearing.
I’m embarrassed that my sex drive is so out of control around him.
How can you think someone is the biggest asshole you’ve ever met and still want to fuck them?
Orion loosens the ties holding the dress, and I’m distracted enough by its intense beauty to momentarily forget my embarrassment.
A wave of awe sweeps over me at the reality of his skill.
I am emotional. I actually moved as I inspected the details.
The fabric creation reminds me of a mermaid and a flapper combined.
Sea-foam-green fabric, soft and sensual around the breasts like floating swaths on the waves, structured and corseted at the waist, and most interestingly, multiple strings of pearls hang around the waist and legs, acting as a skirt.
Legs, hips, and ass all with dripping cream accents.
The stunning piece is unusual and much too small for me.
I watch fascinated as Orion carefully undoes the ties on the corset.
He’s already more familiar with how to handle it than I would expect him to be.
It shouldn’t take me too far by surprise, though, because those hands did equally delicate things to me last night.
My confidence shakes as I wonder what he could possibly be planning now.
He’s not going to stick me inside haute couture that someone spent months creating. I’ll ruin it.
“Can you put this on without my help?” he asks over his shoulder.
“You’re joking.” I’m not even trying to offend him this time, but his teeth are still gritting. “Pay whoever actually made this dress to model it for you.”
He turns and fixes me with a hard glare. “This is my first serious project for the semester, and you are my model.”