Page 134 of Sinful Blaze

With memory foam padding for my aching feet.

Bless this man.

“Here,” Pasha says, holding the dress low for me to step into.

“I can manage myself, you know. Been getting dressed for years with little to no help.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” He lofts a brow, his gaze continuously skimming my mostly-naked body.

“So…?”

“So, I bought the dress. I get to put it on you.”

Why does that turn me on? He’s so possessive. So territorial. So demanding. Why do I love it so much?

I do as he requests and step into the gown. He offers his hand for balance and I have to admit—to myself, if not aloud—that it’s not as easy doing this as it was a few weeks ago. My center of balance is a bit more off than usual.

Thanks bunches, kiddo.

When he slides the gown up my body, I can feel his warm breath on my skin. It’s like he’s barely a kiss away, like he’s drinking me in before covering me up. And when he gets to the top, we both realize my bra is not going to work with this outfit.

“Pity.” Pasha’s voice does not sound one bit concerned. “Looks like the bra is going to have to go. What ever shall we do?”

He undoes the clasp before I have the chance to come up with ideas. “Pasha! I need a bra!” I half-gasp, half-laugh as I try to keep the bra from falling off.

“You’ve never been more wrong.”

I should feel somewhat violated as he spins me around. Instead, I feel like he could bend me over this bed and I’ll just beg him for more.

“Perfect.” Pasha ties up the back laces. “Comfortable?”

Honestly? It’s making my breasts look incredible. “Feels… perfect, actually.” I turn around to show him what it looks like put together. “What do you think?”

Pasha stands there quietly. His own outfit, the promised tuxedo, is only halfway assembled, with his cufflinks still missing and the bowtie hanging loose around his neck.

Do we have time for me to tug on that strip of satin and have a little fun?

“I think I need to heighten security.” His mouth curves into a hungry smile. “I might have to fight off a few dignitaries once they see you.”

Pasha reaches for the shoes in the box. Then, kneeling down, he lifts one of my legs by my ankle and slides the slipper on. “How does that feel?”

It’s perfect. He’s perfect. Dammit, I don’t need tears ruining my makeup. “Why are you doing all this?”

He looks up at me, my foot still cradled in his hands. “Why am I taking care of you? Because you’re mine. You are mine, aren’t you, Daphne?”

He’s made the claim so many times. But this might be the first time he’s actually asked me if I really am his. If I want to be his.

“Yes.” The word slips through my lips, breathless and heavy all at once. “I’m yours, Pasha.”

He lifts my foot and presses a warm kiss to my ankle. “Then let me take care of you.”

I don’t know if I should.

Not because I don’t want it.

But because I don’t feel like I deserve him.

And I sure as hell shouldn’t be falling in love with him.

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