Page 134 of Picture Perfect

"Give her space," I murmur to the others, depositing our finds on a bench outside the fitting rooms. But when I hear the curtain rustle again and see Princess's reflection in the mirror, lost in a sea of options, I can't help myself. I push through the fabric barrier and close us off from the world.

"Hey," I say softly, watching her turn around, her face a mask of uncertainty. "You need this, Princess—new clothes, a fresh start. But I get it, it's a lot."

She fiddles with the hem of her shirt, those Nordic features etched with stress. "I... I don't even know where to begin."

"Let's start simple." I pick up a sky-blue blouse and hold it against her. "What about this? You don't have to think about whether you should like it or not. Just if you do. So, do you like it?"

Her eyes linger on the blouse, then meet mine. There's a spark there, something igniting. "I do. It's... pretty."

"Then it's settled." I give her an encouraging nod. "That's one for the 'yes' pile. What else do you want to try?"

Her shoulders drop a fraction, some invisible weight lifting. "Can we keep going like this? Just... choosing what I like, not what I'm supposed to like?"

"Exactly like that," I affirm. "This is all about you, Princess. Your choices. No one else's."

"I think...I think I'd like to try some jeans."

"Then we'll grab you jeans to try."

"Okay."

"Is this too much?" I ask, watching Princess's green eyes flicker across the mountain of fabric choices surrounding her. She's a vision of nerves and excitement, a contradiction that suits her more than she probably knows.

She chews on her lip, an unconscious gesture that sends heat straight to my groin. Damn, even in indecision, Princess has an effect on me I can't ignore. "You look like you could use a break," I say, my voice low. "Do you need to relax? I can handle the attendant if you want Chess or Dre—or both—to come in."

Her teeth release her lip as she shakes her head, her blonde locks catching the light of the fitting room. It's like watching the sunrise after a long, dark night; it's stunning, it's warming, and somehow, it's all mine.

"Saint, I..." She starts, then stops, her gaze locked onto mine. The air between us is thick with unspoken words, each one heavier than the last.

I don't push her. I know the value of patience, learned from years of holding my tongue and waiting out the storm of my father's rage. So, I just wait for Princess, because she's worth every damn second of silence.

And then, like the flip of a switch, her decision is made. I see it in the way her shoulders set, the determination that lights up her eyes. Princess steps forward, closing the distance between us, and presses her lips to mine.

The kiss is a promise, a silent vow that speaks louder than any words could. Her softness melds against my hard lines, and the world outside this cramped dressing room fades away. Everything else ceases to exist—it's just Princess and me, learning the language of touch and taste we've been denied for so long.

"Saint," she whispers against my mouth, and fuck if that doesn't seal my fate right then and there.

Pulling back slightly from our kiss, I catch the shimmer of something like wonder in Princess's eyes. It lights a fire inside me, one that rages with the need to protect and claim. "I don't deserve you," I murmur, my voice low and rough with emotion. "But damn if I'm not grateful for this."

Before she can protest, I turn her gently so we're both facing the mirror—her back flush against my chest. There's an audible groan from deep in my throat as I feel her pressed against me, the warmth of her body seeping into mine. Our eyes meet in the reflection, and it's a punch to the gut, seeing the raw honesty there.

"Look at us," I whisper, running my hands down her sides, over the curve of her hips. The sight of my dark, tattooed fingers against her pale skin is intoxicating. She's soft where I am hard, light where I am shadow, and it's a contrast that I never knew I craved until now.

"Saint..." Her voice is a sigh, a delicate sound that sends shivers down my spine.

"Shh." I press a finger to her lips, a command silencing any further words. "You'll need to be quiet, Princess. Can you do that for me? Be a good girl and stay quiet?"

The way her eyes widen at my words tells me everything I need to know. She likes the praise, craves it. And I intend to use that to both our advantages. My hands find the zipper of her skirt, and slowly, ever so slowly, I pull it down. The fabric parts like curtains on a stage, revealing the main act, and then it's slipping down her legs to pool around her feet.

"Good girl," I breathe out, watching her reaction in the mirror. The praise washes over her, and she leans back into me, seeking more. It's a game now, one of silence and reward, and I'm all too willing to play.

"Look at us," I murmur, my breath hot against the shell of Princess's ear, sending shivers through her. My voice is a low hum, filled with the kind of praise I know she responds to. "You're perfect, aren't you? My good girl."

I can see her reflection in the mirror, those green eyes of hers locked onto our intertwined figures. Her lips part slightly, quivering in anticipation as my hand ventures beneath the elastic edge of her panties. The gasp that escapes her is cut by a groan from my own throat as I encounter the slick warmth waiting for me.

"Saint..." she whimpers, the sound barely audible.

"Keep watching," I command softly, keeping my tone steady despite the rush of blood echoing in my ears. "See how much you want this."

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