Page 22 of Corrupt Vows

“We both know this isn’t the dress you’re wearing tomorrow. Let me help you take it off,” he rumbles as he pulls down the zipper.

“You can’t stay in here.”

“I can, though,” he says as he sneaks his hand under the fabric and traces the back strap of my bra.

I try to yank my arms free, but he doesn’t let go.

“Nico, stop. Please.”

He groans and drops his forehead to mine. Our breaths mingle as he closes his eyes and grinds his teeth. He opens them to reveal a desperation I never thought I’d see in such a ruthless man’s eyes.

“Mio Dio, say it again,principessa.”

“What?”

“My name. Say my name in that needy little voice again.”

My tongue sticks to the roof of my dry mouth. I give my head a tiny shake, not wanting to taunt the beast, and search for a speck of mercy in his dark eyes.

He inhales. His chest expands, shifting his body against mine.

The attendant knocks on Natalie’s door. She thanks them and shuts the door again.

Nico sighs, lifts his head away from mine, pulls his hand out of the back of my dress, and releases my wrists. I take a relieved breath but squeak when he hooks his fingers under my shoulder straps and pulls them down my body.

The dress pools around my feet.

He grabs my wrists and prevents me from covering myself. Goosebumps cover my skin as he gives me a lazy, appreciative perusal from top to bottom.

Embarrassment heats my face. I didn’t expect to give a strip tease today, so my high-waisted panties with playful, colorful swirls and my lucky white bra—complete with frayed straps and a snag in the lace overlay—are far from sexy. With group critiques going as horribly as I expected—my peers have eviscerated not only my lack of progress but also my overall concept—I chose comfort and bright colors over sexiness. I regret it now.

Until Nico’s low, tortured groan filters through the pounding in my ears.

“It’s like unwrapping the first present at Christmas. Holy hell, woman, what are you doing to me?”

Liquid warmth pools low in my belly and seeps into my panties. I resist the urge to rub my thighs together, not wanting to give away how desperate I am for release.

I’ve never been this aroused before.

His phone buzzes, wrenching me out of the haze of sexual frustration. He releases my arms with obvious reluctance and squats to pick the dress up off the floor.

“Step out,” he demands.

I hesitate. He’s too close. I’m afraid I’ll reveal too much if I lift my leg.

His intense grey eyes trail up my curves before he meets my stare and pierces my soul. My body moves without my permission. I lift my leg and step out of my dress. He sucks in a noisy breath through his nose, closes his eyes, and stands with the crumpled dress in his fists.

“Put on the next dress,” he demands.

When he remains as still as a statue, I rush to cover myself with whatever’s on the next hanger. With a low back and short skirt, I rule it out before the bottom hem settles over my upper thigh, but when I pull the fabric up to take it off, the man hell-bent on destroying my sanity growls.

“Spin before you take it off, just for me,principessa, because no one else on this godforsaken planet will ever see you in it.”

Without his hands on me, my brain gives a slow churn and insecurity grips me.

I don’t know why he’s doing this. Is he just playing with me? Getting payback for whatever I did as a child that made him hate me so much? Is any of this real?

“I know you’re already wet for me, so don’t play with me. I can smell your desire. Give me a spin before I decide I need a tasteright now.”

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