Chapter 15 LILY #2
I turn to look at him. See the mix of fury and hurt flash across his face before he locks it down, burying it under the kind of blank expression that comes from years of practice hiding pain.
"I'll be right outside," he says to me. His voice is controlled, flat, every emotion stripped away until there's nothing left but emptiness. "Take your time."
No.
Anger rises in me. Hot and immediate and absolutely done with people like this woman who think they can judge others based on appearances, who think money buys them the right to be cruel.
I turn to the saleswoman, keeping my voice low so only she can hear, stepping closer to make sure she understands every single word. "He's not my bodyguard.."
I pause, let that sink in, watch her expression start to shift as she realizes she's miscalculated.
"That Lamborghini parked outside? That's his. He's a business partner with the owner of Obsidian. So if your wages depend on commission, you're making a big mistake. Big. Huge."
I've always wanted a Pretty Woman moment. I just didn't think it would be like this.
The saleswoman's face goes pale, then red, color flooding her cheeks as reality sets in. "I apologize." The words come out quickly, stumbling over themselves. To me first. Then to Erion. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"Take us to the evening wear section," I say. My voice is firm, final, leaving no room for argument or excuses.
She nods, leads us through the store with jerky movements that betray her discomfort.
I thank her when we reach the dresses, putting just enough ice in my tone to make my point. "We'll call if we need anything."
It's a dismissal. She understands. Leaves quickly, her heels clicking against the marble as she retreats.
Erion looks at me. His expression has changed completely, the hurt buried under something else now. Something warm. Proud. The kind of look that makes my chest tighten and my breath catch.
"That was sexy as fuck," he says, voice rough and entirely too sincere.
Heat floods my face, spreading down my neck, making my skin feel too tight. I turn away, start looking through the dresses to hide my reaction, to give myself something to do with my hands that isn't reaching for him.
My hands keep going to safe choices. Black dresses that blend into the background. Navy that won't draw attention. Simple cuts that hide instead of highlight, that help me disappear rather than be seen.
I'm a little chubby.
It's hard to choose something that flatters when you spend most of your time tasting food, testing recipes. The problem is I eat it too. And the evidence shows in the softness of my stomach, the fullness of my thighs, the way clothes never quite fit the way they do on other women.
I'm spiraling, caught in the loop of old criticism and current insecurity.
Erion appears beside me, holding a dress.
Red. Short. Strapless. The fabric crosses over the chest and ties in a small bow at the side, the cut designed to emphasize curves rather than hide them.
"This," he says, certainty in every word. "This will look amazing on you."
I look at the dress. It's beautiful. Bold. The kind of dress that demands attention, that announces confidence I don't actually feel.
"I don't know," I start, already finding reasons to refuse.
"Try it on." His voice leaves no room for argument, the command gentle but absolute.
I take the dress, the fabric soft and substantial in my hands. Head to the fitting rooms with my heart pounding against my ribs.
The saleswoman directs me to a large room at the back, private and expensive, with a full-length mirror and flattering lighting that makes everyone look better than they actually are.
I close the door. Lock it with trembling fingers.
The dress is gorgeous up close, the fabric impossibly soft, luxurious in a way I've never experienced. I strip down to my panties. The dress is strapless so I take off the bra as well, leaving me exposed in a way that makes me feel vulnerable.
I step into it carefully, pull it up over my hips, reach behind me for the zipper.
It won't go all the way up.
I try again, stretching my arm back at an awkward angle, pulling harder, willing the zipper to move.
Nothing. It's stuck. Too small. The fabric pulls across my back, gaps where it should lie flat, proof that I don't fit. That I never fit.
My chest tightens, that familiar feeling of not being enough rising up to choke me. Not measuring up to a standard I'll never reach no matter how hard I try.
I wish I was thinner. The thought comes automatic, practiced, worn smooth by repetition.
A knock on the door startles me out of the spiral.
"Let me see," Erion's voice comes through the wood, muffled but close.
I open the door just a crack, trying to keep it together, trying not to let him see how close I am to falling apart over something as stupid as a dress that doesn't fit. The shame burns hot in my chest, spreading outward until I feel it everywhere.
"I need a bigger size," I call back, trying to keep my voice steady, trying not to sound as defeated as I feel.
The door pushes open before I can stop it.
Erion steps inside, fills the small space with his presence, closes the door behind him with deliberate care. The lock clicks, sealing us in together.
He holds my face in his hands, palms warm against my cheeks, fingers gentle as they tilt my chin up. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing." I try to smile, try to deflect, try to minimize what I'm feeling into something manageable. "It's silly. I just wish the dress would fit. I wish I was thinner."
His expression changes. Goes intense. Focused entirely on me in a way that makes it impossible to look away.
He turns me to face the mirror, positions himself behind me, his body a solid presence at my back. His hands find my hair, gently pushing it to one side, exposing my neck with careful deliberation.
He leans down, presses a kiss to the curve where my neck meets my shoulder, lips warm and soft and entirely unexpected.
I feel it everywhere. That kiss. Like electricity shooting straight down my spine to settle between my legs, heat pooling low and insistent.
His eyes find mine in the mirror, hold them with intensity that steals my breath. "You're beautiful just the way you are."
With his gaze still locked on mine, he starts to push the dress zipper down instead of up, slowly, dragging his knuckles along my spine with each inch of fabric that gives way. The touch is deliberate, possessive, claiming.
I'm trembling, every nerve ending alive and hypersensitive.
The dress falls, pools at my feet in a whisper of expensive fabric.
I'm standing in front of him in nothing but white cotton panties, more exposed than I've ever been with anyone, vulnerable in ways that have nothing to do with clothing.
Erion groans. The sound is deep, rough, almost pained, vibrating through his chest into my back.
He drops his forehead to my shoulder, breath hot against my skin. "I'm trying to control myself so we don't get kicked out of this store. But you're making it very hard."
I'm breathing too fast, my heart racing, but the way he's looking at me makes me bold in ways I've never been before. Makes me want things I shouldn't want.
I take his hand and place it just at the top of my white panties.
"Do you want to show me how wet you are for me?" He makes a sound low in his throat, part growl, part groan, pure masculine satisfaction.
I bite my lip to suppress a moan, nod.
He gives a small slap to my ass and demands, "Say it!"
My mind is fuzzy. "Yes!"
"Yes, what?"
"I want you to feel how wet I am!"
His hand slides inside my panties, fingers finding me slick and ready, proving exactly what he does to me.
His other hand moves to my breast, fingers finding my nipple, pinching and rolling until I gasp.
He sucks on my neck, hard enough that I know it will leave a mark.
The pleasure builds too fast, too intense, spiraling upward until I can barely breathe.
His hand moves from my breast to cover my mouth. "Shh. Nobody needs to know what a dirty girl you are. You're my dirty little girl, aren't you?"
The combination of his fingers inside me, his hand over my mouth, his voice whispering dirty things in my ear pushes me over the edge.
I come hard, shaking in his arms, my vision whiting out as pleasure crashes through me.
He holds me through it, murmuring praise against my skin in a mix of English and Albanian, words I don't understand but feel the meaning of anyway.
When I can breathe again, when my legs feel steady enough to support my weight, he turns me around.
Kisses me.
It's devastating. Deep and claiming, his tongue sliding against mine, taking everything I'm willing to give and demanding more. This kiss is different from what I expected, more intense, more possessive, more everything.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, he brings his fingers to his mouth, the ones that were just inside me.
He groans, eyes closing briefly. "Fucking delicious."
Then he kisses me one more time. Quick and hard, a promise and a threat all at once.
"I'll get you the right size," he says, voice rough. "Wait here."
He leaves me standing in the fitting room, panting and confused and wondering what the hell just happened, wondering what any of this means, wondering if I just made the best or worst decision of my life.