Page 220 of Unexpected Hero

Although he didn’t say he loved me back, what he did say spoke volumes.

For now.

Once our laughter subsides, his posture changes. His expression heats, shooting past warm and going straight for scorching inferno.

Despite still being on his knees, he’s shifting into his Dom mode. I’m already salivating. From my mouth and between my legs.

With hooded eyes, he holds me captive in his stare. “Now, if there’s nothing else to discuss, I want to take you into my room and give you at least two orgasms for every day you’ve been gone.”

“What about supper?” I ask, like a complete and total moron.

Only Lettie Holt would turn down ten orgasms for a pot roast.

“It’s keeping warm in the oven, baby. But I need to have you at least once before we eat.”

Instead of answering with my mouth — which is liable to say something stupid again — I reach toward the hem of my sundress and slowly raise it, baring myself to him.

His eyes cascade down my body, getting to my waist before I lose sight of him for the brief moment the dress passes my face.

By the time my head frees from the fabric, he’s a barely contained ball of lust. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“Happy anniversary, babe. Do you like your gift?”

I’m decked out in a vibrant purple velvet harness bra and panties set. And calling them that is laughable. It’s basically a few elastic straps creatively placed to resemble the outline of a bra and panties.

My breasts and nipples are fully exposed, merely trussed up by the purple bands. Aside from the waistband and straps encircling my upper thighs, the panties are non-existent. The top and bottom are connected by a series of diamond patterned bands, resting over my abdomen.

The manufacturer has record-levels of audacity to charge fifty bucks for this getup. It’s essentially a half-inch-wide purple ribbon. I look like a drunk person with the shakes tried to decorate me like a present but forgot the wrapping paper.

His eyes devour every inch of my exposed skin. “Dinner is going to have to wait, Lettie.”

He stands, offering me his hand. I let him pull me to my feet, enjoying every blissful second of his eyes consuming my flesh.

My belly swirls and pitches with nervous energy as if it knows this moment is more significant than all the other times I’ve been with him.

I’ve been nude with him countless times. I’ve dressed in fetish wear at the club before — but only on nights when I was singing. I was able to accomplish that by convincing myself it was a costume. And it was never anything this revealing. All my girlie goods were covered, thank you very much.

What I’m wearing tonight is a first for me.

Although my stomach threatens to revolt, his covetous expression is all I need to steady my anxiety.

All my life, I was told to dress modestly to protect my virtue, making myself worthy of my future husband and free from sin. Don’t be a stumbling block to the men around me by tempting them.

I was shamed for showing my shoulders. Shamed for exposing the barest hint of cleavage.

Yet what I’m wearing is the furthest thing from modest — it’s the poster child for anti-modesty. It leaves nothing to the imagination. It’s made to tempt, not to shield.

What I’ve chosen to wear may only be purple velvet straps, but it’s more than that. It’s a middle finger to the old me — the one clothed in shame.

For the first time, I put something on without the intention to cover up.I’m embracing my sexuality instead of hiding from it or pretending it’s not there.

And he’s looking at me like I’m beautiful.

For once, I see myself that way too.

My eyes light up as it dawns on me how I can prove it. “Can we do the thing tonight?”

He shakes his head and blinks before letting his eyes drift toward my face. “I don’t know what thing you’re talking about, but I will literally do anything with you looking like that.”

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