Page 48 of Tipping Point

When Camille steps back out, she’s dressed in a floor length sapphire gown that accentuates her eyes. The deep V-neckline draws attention up towards her face, where her eyes are roving my face uncertainly. The dress cinches at the waist, hugging the curve of her figure, before flowing down into a softly draped skirt. The dress has sheer sleeves of chiffon that give it a dreamy quality. Paired with her golden curls, it gives her an ageless elegance.

When she turns, it’s backless. She looks back at me over her shoulder.

It stirs something in me.

It makes me want to fuck her, just like that, the way she looks back at me. I could press her against the wall, back to me, and just slowly start pulling up the hem.

I would prefer for her to wear nothing underneath.

When I look at her face again, her eyes are locked onto mine and she gives a slow, intentional smile.

“You like it,” she states.

I shrug. “It’s about what you like.”

Brigitte points out some small details on the dress and the two of them make their way over to the garment rack to select another option.

She whips behind the screen.

“Need some help?” I can’t resist the tease.

She laughs but doesn’t answer and steps out soon wearing a rose gold dress with a scooping neckline. It’s sleeveless, and cinched around her waist, celebrating her fuller figure, with a full flowing skirt, dotted with sequins that catch in the light. It’s simple and elegant. It has a slit up to mid-thigh and she inspects it curiously by stepping forward with her leg, her creamy skin exposed as the golden skirt parts.

If I twitch it aside, I could kneel there, bury my face in her.

Fuck.

This isn’t going as planned. It’s supposed to be a peace offering, a truce.

Was it, or had you hoped for something more?

Either way, I’m hard and have the ruthless urge to act on it. I adjust myself in the seat and give her a neutral nod.

She’s been watching me.

Daringly she inches the slit up higher, pulls out her leg, and points a toe.

She’s teasing me.

Blood starts pounding in my ears.

Brigitte approaches her, and they go over more details on this particular dress. I don’t get it, but it gives me a moment to collect myself.

She disappears behind the screen again, and I drain my glass of champagne. Brigitte tops me up.

When Camille steps out again, it’s in a black dress, a velvet sheath that clings to her and contrasts perfectly with her pale complexion. It has a boat neckline, her collarbones and neck peeking out above it. It skims all the way to the floor, where it pools just a little around her feet, the length made for high-heeled shoes.

It is simplicity and grace, and she steps over towards the mirror to admire herself in it.

She’s wrapped in it, a conservative fit, yet it plainly shows every curve of her body, tight under her breasts, hugging her ribs, surging down towards the smooth bump of her belly, and lower over her thick thighs, hugging her calves as she walks.

It would be an absolute drag to get her out of it, and I want nothing more than to try.

We make eye contact in the mirror. Her eyes are large and blue and serious, the teasing gone.

We look at each other.

I lick my lips.

---