Page 5 of Every Shade of Shadow

CHAPTER TWO

A sleek black box sits on my doorstep, incongruous against the peeling paint of the hallway. I drag it inside, pulse racing.

When I lift the lid, red silk slithers into my hands.

The Dior dress.

It’s fucking amazing.

Crimson as sin, it pools onto the floor as I lift it from the box. Beads and sequins catch the light, winking seductively.

I strip off my clothes and slip the dress over my head, the cool silk caressing my nipples into hardened peaks. It clings to my curves like a lover's hands, hugging my waist and hips. I mean, if sex was a dress, this would be it.

The neckline plunges between my breasts, so yeah, those will be on display for all to see. For once, I don’t mind. I’ve done worse for the common losers I keep bringing back to the apartment. A slight peepshow for some of the most influential Society types in the city? Sure.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Speak of the busty devil.

"Did it arrive?" Sab purrs through the speaker.

"It's stunning,” I tell her, turning to admire my reflection in the mirror, running my hands over the slippery fabric.

"Send me a picture."

I pause, then snap a quick selfie and text it to her. "How do celebrities avoid panty lines in dresses like this?"

"Ah, they don't wear any."

A blush steals over my cheeks at the thought. "But then everyone will see..."

"That's rather the point of an outfit like this, isn't it?" Sabrina laughs, the sound curling in my belly. "Go on, take them off, you big prude. I'll be there soon to zip you up."

“Fine.” I hang up.

I slide my panties down my legs. The silk slides over my bare sex, teasing my sensitive skin. I gasp at the sensation, warmth flooding my cheeks.

It feels naughty, wrong, knowing I should be nowhere near such luxury, such opulence.

The air itself seems to caress my nakedness as I move, raising goosebumps across my skin. I've never felt so exposed, so aroused by a damn dress. Who needs Mr. Fumble-Fingers when you’ve got liquid sex like this to swan around your Manhattan apartment in?

If only.

A needy whimper escapes my lips as I squirm against the silk dancing between my thighs. Come Monday morning this very dress will be back on the rack at the fashion label, and no one will be any wiser. That thought alone is deliciously evil.

Sabrina arrives half an hour later in a stretch limousine—compliments of her boss. Read: he wants to fuck her silly, even though she’s got no interest. She’s smart like that, has always played that aloof flirtiness well.

Me? Not so much.

I’ve gone light on the makeup, little more than foundation and blush, but couldn’t resist red lippy to match the Dior.

I slide into the cool leather seat beside Sabrina, hyperaware of my exposed sex against the smooth surface.

Sab pops a champagne cork with a grin. "To new adventures."

I dodge left as it pings off the window, laughing. “Okay then.”

Sabrina takes a flute from the shelf next to the door and pours me a glass, passing it over. “Come on. Take it. You look fucking amazing, by the way. Knew that dress would slay on you.”

I take the flute of champagne. “If you insist.”

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