Chapter 33 #2
She disappears and I flush at the look Dagen shoots me.
He offers me a hand and I take it without hesitation, letting him assist me off the platform.
My feet are bare as I pad across the thick carpet back to the curtained off area where my regular old clothes wait.
He closes the thick curtain behind us as we enter before turning to look at me.
“You look. . .” He shakes his head, as if he can’t quite find the words. “Beautiful feels inadequate.”
I flush and smooth my hands down the pretty silk. “It’s the dress. It—”
“No,” he interrupts, stepping forward. He lifts my chin with his fingers, forcing me to meet his eyes. “It’s the woman wearing it that I’m talking about.”
The breath rushes from my body. “Oh,” is all I can manage as I stare at him.
Dagen Fox is a pretty man. Everything down to his long lashes framing his perfect eyes is designed to perfection. I can’t imagine what he sees in me, a regular mom covered in reminders of her past trauma.
“You don’t think it shows too many of my scars?” I ask.
The dress has a low back, which means many of my scars are on full display.
Small, raised lines, puckered burns, little blemishes here and there peek from the edges of the dress and will probably draw people’s eyes.
There will be no denying what’s been done to me, not when the evidence of knives and cigarettes mar my skin.
Part of me wants to cover them up, to pretend they’re not there, but they’re a part of me now.
I can’t change them anymore than I can change my eye color. It’s who I am.
“I think you look like a warrior,” he murmurs. His hands stroke up my arms, trailing along the scars there, as if to make sure I believe him. “A fierce warrior come to seek revenge on her enemies.” He reaches for the fastenings of my dress. “Deadly. Fierce. Dressed in the color of blood.”
I shiver with his touch. “You must be looking at the wrong woman then,” I whisper. “I’m hardly a warrior.”
“On the contrary,” he says, popping the small silk buttons free until the dress begins to loosen. “I know exactly what I’m looking at.”
I reach up to hold the dress against me as it loosens even more. His fingers trail along my shoulders, down my back, stroking.
“It’s loose now,” I murmur. “I can get the rest.”
His fingers pause and then resume trailing down my spine.
He steps around me, his warmth soaking into my back, and then I feel his warm breath on the nape of my neck.
His lips dance over my skin, kissing me there in an intimate press that feels more erotic than anything I’ve ever experienced. My legs begin to shake.
“Are you sure?” he asks against my skin. “I can help you.”
If he stays here, I know what will happen. I understand what he’s asking. God, do I want it. But he should know all the facts first.
“I slept with Otto,” I croak out. “He told me his real name. You should know that.”
“I know,” he answers, his lips trailing along my shoulder, leaving little kisses behind. His tender movements don’t slow or pause. “I also know Wylan is interested in you as well.”
“I. . . shouldn’t you be annoyed by that? Angry?”
“Why would I be?” he asks, unfazed. “You’re allowed to enjoy yourself.”
“Am I?” I whisper, looking at him over my shoulder.
He stops his perusal and straightens, moving to stand in front of me so he can look me in the eyes.
“You can fuck us all, little bird, and I will still want to lick my way down your body.” He reaches for the edge of the dress, carefully peeling it down.
“I’ll still want to sink into your sweet cunt and listen to you cry out my name. ”
My legs turn to jelly. I literally have to brace myself against the wall to hold myself up. “We’re in public,” I rasp as he coaxes the dress down further, revealing the top of my breasts.
“We are,” he agrees.
“Shouldn’t we. . .”
“Be quiet?” he says, nodding. “Yes, we should.”
And then he tugs the dress down the rest of the way and it pools to the floor. I stand in front of him wearing only my underwear, the urge to cover up strong. When my arm snakes in front of my chest, he stops me.
“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs.
He shrugs out of his suit coat and carefully folds it over the plush chair in the large changing room.
I watch as he unbuttons his sleeves and then starts to work on the buttons down his chest. The more skin he reveals, the more I grow unsteady.
When he shrugs the shirt off and stands only in his slacks, I get an eyeful of the sculpted abs and the smattering of hair across his chest. Holy shit.
The man is absolutely beautiful. I know that. But without a shirt. . .
“Come here,” he instructs.
I crinkle my nose despite the sight of him. “Still bossy, I see.”
His warm chuckle goes straight to my core. “If you’d rather I be submissive, I can be that, too.”
My brows shoot up in curiosity. “Oh? And how would that go?”
His lips quirk up. “You tell me.”
Why is that so hot? Holy fuck. “Umm. . . on your knees would be good.”
This man drops to his knees so achingly slow, I short circuit.
He keeps his eyes on mine as he lowers, his hands on his thighs, that expensive Rolex on his wrist flashing in the intimate lighting.
Confidence slams into me so hard, I don’t know what to do with it.
There’s just something about an expensive man on his knees that really does it for me, apparently.
My unease disappears. I completely forget we’re in public and there are at least two people in this store that could hear us.
Instead, I’m focused on the man kneeling in front of me, hunger in his eyes.
“Would you like to taste me?” I rasp, running my hand along the seam of my underwear, teasing.
“Yes,” he breathes.
“Then beg me for it,” I reply, my chin tilting up, my body quivering with anticipation.
His eyes flicker with danger, and I can tell he has the urge to fight against my order. When he tips up that chiseled chin, I expect him to do just that. Dagen Fox is hardly submissive, but right now, he’s humoring me. Something ticks in his jaw when he clenches his teeth.
“Please,” he finally grunts. “Please let me taste you, little bird.”
“Such a good boy you are,” I tease, flattered that he’d done it, even if it wasn’t truly what I’d consider begging.
We can work on that, on the prone way he kneels before me, on the heated begging he spits while I hold myself out of his reach.
Right now, though, I have no urge to torture myself.
I want him. God, I want him. We’ve been dancing around this attraction since the beginning. And now here we are.
A shiver runs through his body at my praise. The fire in his eyes shifts, letting me know I’ll pay for everything I do later, but right now, I’m in control.
I gently tug my underwear down and let them drop, leaving me completely naked in front of him. He waits patiently as I step forward, his hand held in his lap, his fingers clenching together tightly.
“You can touch me,” I tell him and his hands immediately fly to my hips, stroking up and down my thighs, driving me insane with his touch.
His hands splay across my ass and then, without warning, he pushes me backward.
The backs of my knees hit the chair and I stumble, falling onto my ass in the plush seat with a little squeak of surprise.
Before I can adjust myself, his hands are on my legs, throwing them over the armrests, spreading me wide for him to see.
He grins up at me. “That’s a good girl,” he purrs, before he buries his face between my thighs.
I cry out, gasping for breath as his tongue slides through my folds, finding the evidence of my arousal there.
He moans against me and the vibrations go straight to my clit.
I cry out again and his hand comes down on my mouth, silencing me, reminding me that we can’t be too loud because we’re in public, in a dressing room, in this way too expensive store.
Easier said than done.
His tongue runs around my clit and I spear my hands into his hair, holding him close, desperate for more, and also desperate to push him away and ease this aching tension.
“Tell me to fuck you,” he commands against my core despite him saying I’m in control. “Before I stop following orders and sink into this pretty cunt regardless.”
My fingers clench in his hair, holding him to me. I grind against his face, wanting more, needing more, hungry for him.
“Be good and make me come first,” I command instead with breathy pants. “Please,” I add. Just because I’m nice like that.
He laughs and then focuses on me, consuming me, driving me insane with each flick of his tongue. His hand traces up my thigh, leaving behind goosebumps in its wake. When those fingers slip through my slick folds and probe at my entrance, I’m prepared for him to make me orgasm.
Or at least, I thought I was.
He presses two fingers inside me, strokes for maybe a few seconds, and then curls those fingers up like the masterful fucker he is.
He hits my g-spot and I shatter, my body shaking with my release, my lips parting on an almost cry until his free hand covers them again.
Those fingers stroke that spot over and over again, curling rapidly, before warmth spreads as I gush around his fingers.
I flush, desperate for more, eager for it, strange cooing noises coming from my throat despite his hand over my mouth.
He moans at my pleasure, rolling his tongue along my clit, destroying me so thoroughly, I don’t know how to handle it.
“Fuck me,” I croak around his fingers, shaking so hard I know my legs won’t support me if I try to stand right now. “Fuck me. Please.”
He straightens and lifts his fingers to his lips, licking my release from his fingers. “If I’d have known you were a squirter, I would have done this sooner,” he purrs. “I can’t wait to feel you gush around my cock.”
My eyes widen. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
“Give me free rein, little bird,” he says, his eyes on mine. “Go ahead.”
“You. . .” I press my hand to my chest. “You can have control.”
His lips curl. “Such a good girl.” He reaches down to his slacks and pops the button free.
I watch as he frees his sizeable cock, as he strokes his hand along the shaft thoroughly.
He grabs the chair and drags it away from the wall with me on it, his hands keeping my legs pinned over the sides.
And then he stands and eases forward, pushing the back of the chair against the wall so my hips are tilted up before he runs his cock through my juices.
He eases the tip inside and then pops back out before repeating it again, teasing.
“Fuck me already,” I groan quietly, my nails digging into his shoulders.
And despite me giving him the control, he follows my order. He presses inside me, stretching me, and we both moan softly at the feeling of it.
“Remember,” he says as he bottoms out, his cock jerking as he grits his teeth against the feeling of it. “No sounds.”
And then he does everything in his power to make me scream.
Using the chair as leverage, he thrusts inside me brutally.
Sounds immediately start leaving my throat, the pleasure too great to keep them contained.
He grabs his shirt from the back of the chair where it hangs behind me and shoves it into my mouth when I moan, muffling the sound.
When his own moans start to grow in volume, he swipes my underwear up from the ground and clenches them between his teeth, the corded muscles of his neck taut with his willpower.
mIt's the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
He changes angles and my body starts to convulse, wetness rushing around his cock as I begin to lose all control of my body.
When he realizes he’s found the sweet spot, he plays me like an instrument, forcing my body to do as he wants.
He moans through his teeth at the feeling of me squirting around him, his own rhythm beginning to stutter until we fall over that cliff together.
Despite the clothing in our mouths, it’s hard to keep the sounds from growing in crescendo until I’m certain someone must hear us.
I shiver and shake in the chair as he pumps inside me, his warmth filling me until it too begins to spill out, mixing with my own release.
We’re both panting, sweat beading on our brows. It takes me far longer to catch my breath than it does him, and when he straightens, he pulls my underwear from his teeth and shoves them into his pocket as he sets his slacks back to rights.
“You’re going to do that again,” he says, dragging me up from the chair. I stumble, my legs like jelly, but he catches me and keeps me upright. “And again. And again.”
“Do I get to be in charge next time?” I ask, my voice raspy and weak as I cling to him.
“Maybe,” he murmurs, leaning down to press his lips to mine in a tender kiss that makes what we’d just done seem even more raunchy. “Maybe I’ll let you walk me around like a dog on a leash. Maybe I’ll let you tie me up.”
My chest squeezes. “Maybe I’d like that.”
His lips press against mine again. “Let’s get out of here so they can tailor the dress. We’ve held them up long enough.”
I can’t look at the woman at the front when we leave. Not right away. It isn’t until my eyes flick up after Dagen pays that I see the flushed jealousy on her cheeks.
“Have a great day,” she tells me. And she means it.
Even through the jealousy, she still winks when Dagen looks away and mouths the words, “Get it, girl.”
I don’t think it’s possible for me to turn any redder than I already am.