Page 11 of Wicked Games

Lowering my head, I allowed my hair to fall over my shoulders like a curtain to conceal my blush.

Just like he did earlier, he placed a finger under my chin, lifting my head.

“Elizabeth, I’ve asked you to try my gift on. I don’t like repeating myself.”

As if following his commands were second nature, I immediately reached for the dress. Turning in indecision, I didn’t know what to do next. He was blocking the door… the locked door.

“I’ll just change in the next room and be right back,” I offered as I hugged the dress to my chest like a shield.

Nodding his head toward the dressing screen, he replied, “You’ll change here.”

Looking over my shoulder at the dressing screen, my stomach tightened. It was a flimsy prop from some play the theater put on ages ago. It was probably brought in here for when they had larger productions and actors had to share dressing rooms. Swallowing hard, I slinked behind the screen, mortified when I realized it barely reached up to my shoulders.

Turning my back on him, I kicked off my shoes and started to work loose the braided frog fastenings down the bodice of my two-piece dress. Shrugging out of the bodice jacket, I grabbed the dress, intending to pull it over my head to cover my body as quickly as possible.

“You don’t need a corset for that dress.”

Refusing to look in his direction, I put the dress down with shaking hands. Aware of his heated gaze on me, I reached back and desperately tried to untie the tight corset lacings.

When I went for my first costume fitting, I was beyond thrilled to learn Mary wanted to use real corsets for an authentic feel. She was a big believer in the power of a full costume bringing out an actor’s best performance. “You can’t sit, move, and speak like a true Victorian wearing a sports bra,” she would say. I loved the idea of such authenticity, which you rarely got in most budget-strapped theater productions; unfortunately, at this moment, I was damning her to hell for it.

“I think I need to go?—”

“No need.”

I cried out and pitched forward at the touch of his warm hands on my bare back. Mortified, I realized I was now bent over with my ass pressed against his crotch. I straightened so quickly, my head bumped against his chest.

Richard wrapped his arm around my waist to steady me.

The world seemed to stop and tilt.

His body felt warm and strong as it pressed against my own. He felt all male. From the protective press of his arm around my waist to the musk scent of his cologne to the sexual threat of the moment.

You know that feeling that at any moment a man could overpower you and take whatever he wanted and there was nothing you could do to prevent it? And for some strange fucked-up reason you are completely turned on by the idea?

Trying to break the spell, I shifted my body forward. For the barest of seconds, his arm resisted before sliding away. Before I could object further, I felt a tug on the corset laces. The room was silent except for our mingled breaths and the occasional snap of a lace being sharply pulled through a metal eyehole. Outside, you could still hear the din of all the other actors getting ready for the cast party while the backstage crew started tearing down sets and storing lights and props. Yet it seemed like an entire universe away.

The moment the corset began to loosen I self-consciously covered my breasts. Despite my tall, lean frame, I had big breasts. I hated them. If I was curvy at least it would balance out my body, but because of my slim hips no matter what I did or wore I always looked top heavy.

With the laces undone, the corset slipped down my hips.

“Thank you.” My voice sounded low and scratchy as if unused to speaking.

I waited.

He didn’t move.

The heated touch of his fingers was once more on my skin.

“You lied to me,” he rasped.

My heart stopped. His voice held his usual calm and controlled tone without any hint of anger or accusation yet… there was something about even the idea of this man thinking I had been deceitful that sent me into a full panic.

Before I could respond, I felt his body lean in closer. His fingers still tracing a path down the side of my back and along the curve of my waist.

“You said these corsets didn’t hurt, but I see red marks marring your beautiful skin.”

In my anxiousness to appease him I turned to face him; I immediately realized my mistake. His eyes darted down to my chest. While my arms were covering my nipples and the underside of my breasts, the position pushed them together and up.

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