1. Unwrapped Temptations
Chapter one
Unwrapped Temptations
L ingerie shopping with Vanessa and Tessa was nothing like shopping with anyone else.
There was no mutual feigning of modesty, no polite averting of eyes when someone bent over a display case and revealed a hint of cheek, no performing for the benefit of a salesgirl’s approval.
It was raw, honest, and, at least for me, a study in controlled chaos, like walking a silk tightrope with no safety net underneath.
The boutique was the sort of place that made you want to run your hands over everything, even the air.
The carpets were so thick my four-foot-eleven frame seemed to sink with each step.
Display cases lined the walls like glass coffins for the world's most expensive silk, and the mannequins in the windows wore less than I had the night Tom first confessed he loved watching me with someone else.
Every surface invited touch: black velvet, padded leather, chrome that looked cold but warmed under your fingers.
I trailed my hand along a glass counter, where the lighting cast a purple glow over lace bras so diaphanous they could pass for clouds if clouds had underwires.
Vanessa, in her element, was already two steps ahead, slinging a navy-blue teddy over her arm as she scanned the racks.
She wore her confidence like her perfume, subtle from afar, dizzying up close.
Tessa trailed behind her, arms folded, eyes scanning for something that might bridge the chasm between the two of them.
If Vanessa’s style was “intimidate every room,” Tessa’s was “seduce quietly, then drop the bomb.”
Vanessa plucked a black mesh bralette from the hanger, holding it up to the light and then turning to me.
“Melissa, you need to try this one. The scalloped edge will play up your collarbones, and the straps are adjustable enough even for a gymnast.” Her eyes flicked over my shoulder blades, cataloging, appraising.
“They’ll have your size in the back, I bet. ”
I flushed, but not from embarrassment. The idea of being so thoroughly seen by her, by both of them, made my skin itch in the best way. “It’s pretty. But I don’t really have… much to put in it.” I made a vague, flattening gesture across my chest, then regretted it when Tessa snorted.
“You’re not selling yourself short, are you?” Tessa drawled, plucking the bra from Vanessa’s hand and pressing it against me, her knuckles grazing my ribs. “With a back like yours? Tom would die.” She winked. “And isn’t that the point?”
Vanessa leaned in, whispering so only I could hear. “There are men who pay fortunes to see a woman wear something that leaves nothing to the imagination.”
“Are we talking about Tom or…”
She cut me off. “We’re talking about you. Tonight. In that bra.”
If there was a competition for how fast you could go from composed to flustered, Vanessa would be the Olympic coach. “Then let’s get one for you, too,” I managed, grabbing a deep red version for her and a white for Tessa.
We swept the racks. My pile grew to include a halter bra with lace so fine it might as well have been painted on, a pair of high-waisted panties that looked like something out of Mad Men if Mad Men had featured women who actually ran the show, and a mesh bodysuit with cutouts in all the right places.
Tessa found a pastel pink bustier with boning so delicate it looked like it might shatter if you breathed on it, and Vanessa unearthed a sheer robe with marabou trim that belonged in a boudoir photoshoot.
The changing rooms were not so much rooms as they were suites: velvet banquettes, three-way mirrors, lighting that didn’t judge you.
We crowded into the largest one, a triangle of anticipation and competitive encouragement.
Tessa, true to form, went first. She stripped to her thong in a move that seemed rehearsed but probably wasn’t, then shimmied into the pink bustier, pulling the laces taut before turning to me.
“Help me zip up?” she asked, voice lighter than I’d heard it in weeks.
I stepped behind her and tugged the zipper, the brush of my knuckles making her shiver. Her skin was impossibly smooth, and the top hugged her waist like a second skin. In the mirror, her eyes met mine, and for a second, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
Vanessa whistled. “Damn, Red. If Marco sees you in that, he’ll skip dinner and go straight to dessert.”
Tessa preened, tossing her auburn hair back. “You should see the matching thong.” She spun, and the movement was so quick I had to grab her hips to steady her.
Vanessa reached for the crimson teddy, shrugging out of her top without ceremony.
Her body was so perfectly proportioned it bordered on unfair.
I’d seen her topless on the yacht, but in the changing room’s intimate lighting, her pale skin and midnight hair looked even more dramatic.
She slipped the teddy over her head, tugging the mesh into place, then arranged her breasts so the lace just barely covered her nipples.
She posed, one hand on her hip, the other sliding down her thigh.
“That crimson set makes your skin glow,” Tessa said, and there was no irony in her voice, just raw appreciation.
Vanessa looked at me. “Your turn.”
I hesitated. I’d never had a problem undressing in front of Tom, he’d spent years cataloging every inch of me with an architect’s eye for detail, but these women were something different.
They were my friends, yes, but also my rivals, mentors, and sometimes, accomplices in pleasure.
I peeled off my shirt, unhooked my bra, and slipped the black mesh bralette over my head.
It fit like it was made for me. The scalloped edge traced the line of my collarbones, and the sheer panels left nothing to imagination.
Tessa wolf-whistled. “Holy shit, Missy. Tom’s going to crash his car when you send him a photo of that.”
Vanessa reached out, fingers brushing the edge of the bra, lingering just a second too long. “Turn around. Let me see the back.”
I did, and she slid the straps tighter, her nails cool against my shoulder. “Perfect,” she pronounced. “You’ve got the back of a ballerina. Wear your hair up.”
We rotated through more outfits, each more revealing than the last. Vanessa helped me into a garter belt and thigh-high stockings, her fingers smoothing the lace over my thighs before clipping the suspenders.
Tessa took over the mirror, demonstrating how to pose so the straps hit just right.
“Now arch your back a little. See how that changes everything?” She pressed her hand to the small of my spine, and my breath caught. Our eyes met in the glass.
“Do you guys always shop like this?” I asked, heat creeping up my neck.
Vanessa grinned, biting her lip. “Only with people worth corrupting.”
Tessa waggled her eyebrows. “Corrupting or converting?”
I laughed, the sound echoing in the luxurious cubicle. “Who says I wasn’t corrupt to begin with?”
Vanessa tossed a bodysuit at me. “Try this on, then.” Her voice dropped an octave. “For science.”
I did. The mesh hugged my skin, cutouts accentuating my abs and the sharp jut of my hip bones. I was athletic, not curvy, but the suit made me feel like a fucking goddess. Vanessa adjusted the fabric so my nipples were perfectly framed, then stepped back to survey her work.
“Damn, Missy,” Tessa murmured, a flush on her cheeks. “You look dangerous.”
We bought everything, even the pieces we hadn’t intended to. The saleswoman rang us up with a smile that was both knowing and slightly awed. “Would you ladies care for a beverage? We have a café on the mezzanine.”
Within minutes we were perched at a marble-topped table, the boutique’s signature cocktails lined up before us. I sipped my raspberry martini, savoring the tart bite. Tessa’s mojito was muddled with fresh basil, and Vanessa’s gin fizz came in a coupe rimmed with gold sugar.
Tessa licked the foam off her glass and shot me a look. “So what’s Tom going to say when you show up with all this?”
I smiled, swirling the martini. “Probably combust.”
Vanessa raised her glass. “He’s going to rip that new lace teddy off you before you finish saying ‘hello’.”
I tried to look demure, but the memory of Tom’s hands: strong, sure, and desperate, was enough to make me shift in my seat. “He likes it when I wear things that don’t stay on very long.”
Tessa grinned. “Then wear it to dinner and let him suffer through dessert.”
Vanessa topped me with a smirk. “Better yet, let him pick which one you wear. Make a game of it. Winner gets…” She trailed off suggestively.
I grinned, feeling daring. “Winner gets to pick who I wear it for.”
Tessa’s eyes glinted. “Even better.”
We finished our drinks, giggling over the fashion haul, trading stories about the worst wardrobe malfunctions at neighborhood parties.
I was still buzzing from the raspberry martini as we exited the café, arms weighed down with glossy shopping bags and giddy self-congratulation.
The air in the mezzanine had shifted: quieter, later, heavy with after-hours secrets.
Vanessa led the way back toward the boutique, claiming she’d forgotten a bag under the display counter.
I suspected she just wanted to gawk at herself in another mirror, but I didn’t care.
My skin still hummed with the memory of their hands adjusting lingerie on my body, of Tessa’s breathless “Damn, Missy,” and the way Vanessa’s nails lingered, always pressing the moment just a bit further than polite.
Inside, the boutique was deserted except for one person, a man.
He was maybe late thirties, somewhere between dad-bod and ex-linebacker, with a close-cropped haircut and a jawline that could sharpen steak knives.
He wore a tailored charcoal suit that clung to his shoulders like a fitted straightjacket, and he was running his thumb over the lapel of a midnight-blue silk robe.