Chapter 31
Chapter thirty-one
Trey
Love me – Ex Habit
She stands in front of the open closet like she’s facing a firing squad.
The soft glow from the vanity spills across her bare legs, catching on the shimmer of her hair as it tumbles down her back.
Dresses hang in neat rows, silk and sequins and lace—half of which I picked out—but Seraphina Carmichael, wait, shit.
Baker. Seraphina Baker, looks like she’s about to start praying for guidance instead of getting dressed for a club.
Her fingers brush over a black dress on a hanger, then pull back like it burned her.
She sighs, quiet and shaky. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her for a minute.
There’s something about the way she bites her lip when she’s nervous that kills me every time.
She doesn’t know how beautiful she looks just existing.
“You okay, baby?” My voice comes out low, softer than I meant.
She startles a little, glancing over her shoulder. Her reflection catches me in the mirror—me in my ripped black jeans and chain, her in one of my oversized T-shirts, bare feet curling into the rug.
“I don’t know what to wear,” she admits. “I’ve never been to a nightclub before.” Her voice dips like it’s a confession, like saying it out loud might summon judgment.
I step closer, slow, until the scent of her shampoo hits me—cherries and vanilla. My hands find her hips before she can shy away, fingers sliding up under the hem of my T-shirt.
“You want me to pick something for you?”
She nods, eyes still on the mirror.
“Then I’m gonna need you to trust me.”
Jessica Rabbit… but shorter dress.
Mm. Oh, and we’re going to fuck like bunnies.
Let’s get her dressed. Then naked.
My cock stirs again, blessedly awake, thinking of every filthy thing I want to do to her.
Her breath catches. My reflection smirks back at her. I reach past her, my chest brushing her back, and pull out a dress. It’s a deep wine red—short, silky, strappy—the kind that would definitely catch some attention and more importantly...
Jessica Rabbit.
I hold it up against her body, the fabric whispering against her skin.
Fuck me, I’m good.
“This one,” I say, voice rough. “It’s the color of temptation.”
Fucking temptation. Yeah. Mine. Everyone’s.
Her gaze flicks up to mine in the mirror, cheeks flushing.
“You mean… sin.”
Put it on, so I can take it off.
I grin, leaning down until my lips graze the curve of her ear.
“Same thing, isn’t it?” She swallows hard, her hand coming up to steady the dress against her chest. I can see the pulse fluttering at her throat, can feel the tension vibrating between us. My fingers slide up her sides, over her ribs.
“Put it on for me,” I whisper. “Let me see you.”
She hesitates, glancing back at me, a tremor in her breath.
“Stay,” she says quietly.
I do. Her fingers fumble with the hem of the shirt before she finally lifts it over her head. For a second, I forget how to breathe.
WHO’S STUPID IDEA WAS IT TO GO OUT.
Every line, every curve, lit by the soft white light—
Sera steps into the dress, pulling the straps over her shoulders. I move behind her again, zipping her up slow, deliberately slow. My knuckles skim the length of her spine. Goosebumps rise in their wake. When I finish, I stay close, my mouth right at her ear.
“You look dangerous, Seraphina. You walk into a club wearing this, and I’m gonna have to knock someone out before the end of the night.”
Her soft laugh trembles through the air, and she leans back against me.
“You think I can pull it off?”
I kiss the spot where her shoulder meets her neck.
“Baby, you were born to be seen. To be worshipped.”
She stays pressed against me, watching me in the mirror like she’s not sure if she wants to kiss me or confess her sins. Her hands twist together at her waist, fidgeting like she’s afraid of the way she looks.
“Hey,” I murmur, turning her gently until she’s facing me.
“You’re beautiful.” Her lip’s part, ready to argue.
I shake my head before she can. I saw her eying the makeup bag before she put the dress on.
“Don’t. You don’t need makeup to be noticed, but…
” I grab the small black bag from the vanity and unzip it.
“You’ve never been to a club before. So maybe we make it a first.”
Her laugh is soft, nervous.
“You’re going to do my makeup?”
“I can, but if you want an expert’s eye, we can get Mac in here. Well—” I grin, motioning for her to sit on the stool. “Expert is…generous. I’ve seen the pictures from her trashy era.”
Sera blushes, smiling despite herself.
“Sit,” I tell her, tapping the stool. “One minute.”
I jog out and find Mac, give her the two second rundown. She follows me back, already judging me with her eyebrows.
“You know, Sera, you really don’t need any,” Mac says, circling her like a shark. “You’re gorgeous as you are.”
“Thanks…I think you’re really pretty too.”
My brain short-circuits.
What was that? What did I just see? Did they just have a moment? Is there a chance of mud wrestling in the future? KY?
Calm down. One step at a time, you feral fuck up.
“Trey, wait in the hall. I don’t like the face you’re pulling.”
“What—? Fine.” I grumble, blow Sera an exaggerated kiss, and step out into the hallway.
“You said something stupid, didn’t you,” Logan calls from across the hall.
The way my palms go damp makes me hate how predictable I am. “Nah. Just…pulled a face.”
Logan wanders over, drops onto the loveseat beside me.
“How you doing, bro? We were a little worried when you didn’t show up to the reception…”
“Yeah, sorry… I just…I thought it was best if—”
“It’s alright. As long as you say you’re good, we’re good.”
I lean my head back and breathe out, a slow grin tugging at my mouth.
“Better than good, actually. It’s like…” I swallow, the truth settling in my chest. “The marriage is real.”
Logan waits, patient.
“We decided—if we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it. All in. No half ass. Whole ass only.”
“Figured you guys would.” He chuckles.
I snort and shoulder check him. He laughs.
“I’m worried I’m not good enough for her, though.”
Logan pauses, really looks at me.
“Just be you. You’re pretty fucking cool when you’re not being an idiot.”
“You ever feel that way about Mac?”
“Of course.”
I squint at him. “She is prettier. You’re definitely punching, bro.”
He nods with a sigh of acceptance.
“Like fuck—you Latin sex bomb. Bet you’re gonna be Tom Jones when you’re sixty.”
“I can only hope my hips move as well…” he murmurs.
We’re still laughing when the bedroom door opens.
“And…my work here is done. Oh, hey baby. You hanging out with the troublemaker? He’s gonna rub off on you.”
“I’ll rub off on him any time. He just has to say the word.” I say reaching out, cupping Logan’s face when I catch sight of my wife. Logan swats me away, he stands, grabbing my hand he helps me to my feet. She’s gorgeous. No, she’s already gorgeous, now she’s fucking edible. “Look at you.”
She stands, eyes glowing under the lights, lips soft, cheeks dusted pink. The dress molds to her body like it was made for her.
Her voice is barely a whisper.
“I don’t even recognize myself.” I step past Logan and Mac,
moving in close, hands finding her waist, lips grazing the back of her neck.
“Good,” I murmur. “Maybe tonight you can forget everything but this moment. Forget who you were taught to be and just be.”
She turns in my arms, her palms sliding up my chest.
“What about you?”
My breath hitches.
“What about me?”
Her eyes flicker down to my mouth, then back up.
“Are you going to forget too?”
I smile, low and slow.
“Sweetheart, I forget everything the second you look at me.”
I kiss her then—soft at first, but deepening when she leans in. The kind of kiss that steals the air from both of us. Her fingers curl into my shirt. I taste her sigh, her heartbeat thudding against mine.
When I finally pull back, her lipstick’s a little smudged, her eyes heavy-lidded.
“You just ruined her lipstick, you lug. Move.” Mac cuts in.
I suddenly notice we have an audience.
“It’s alright, Mac. I got this.”
She grumbles, but Logan sweeps her up. I hear Mac’s laughter before he sets her down, wincing. Their voices carry as she tells him off for overexerting himself.
I close the door behind me and lean against it, eyes on Sera.
“You ready to show everyone who you are?” I ask.
She laughs, breathless.
“Yes.”
I grin, brushing a thumb under her lip to fix the smudge.
“I’ll be right here beside you the whole night.”
The sound of the guys’ laughter drifts down the hall, music thumping faintly from the living room. She squeezes my fingers.
She’s turns and watches herself in the mirror when I move to the closet again.
Rows of designer shoes line the bottom shelf—most of them still in their boxes.
I grab a pair I know will stop her heart.
Black Louis Vuitton heels. Small, elegant, enough height to make her legs look endless but not enough to hurt her feet.
In theory…
I turn back to her.
“These,” I say simply.
She looks from me to the shoes, then back.
“They’re beautiful.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out as I sink to one knee in front of her. She starts to protest, a quiet, “Trey, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” My voice is low, rough. “Let me.”
She exhales, her body stilling as I lift one delicate foot into my hand.
Her skin is soft against my calloused fingers.
I slide the shoe on, fastening the strap slowly, like it’s a sacred act.
Then the other. Every movement feels charged—her breath catches, my pulse pounds.
I glance up at her as I smooth my hands over her ankle, trailing lightly up her calf before I stop myself.
“There,” I murmur, still crouched at her feet. “Perfect.”
Her gaze catches mine, something tender and wild flickering there.