Page 70 of Made For Ruin

The associate nods, a satisfied smile on her red lips. "Excellent choice, sir. This gown was made for her."

She steps forward to make a few final adjustments, her deft fingers smoothing the silk over my curves. I can barely breathe, every nerve ending in my body alive and humming with anticipation.

Marcus's hands continue their slow exploration, tracing the delicate lines of the dress. Each touch sends heat rushing through my veins, pooling low in my belly. By the time the associate steps back, I'm flushed and aching, my nipples straining against the thin silk.

"What about shoes?" I ask.

The associate's smile widens. "I have the perfect pair."

She disappears into the back room, returning a moment later with a sleek black box. Inside, nestled on a bed of tissue paper, is a pair of sky-high stilettos. The red soles wink up at me, the same shade as my dress.

"Louboutins," the associate says, lifting one from the box. "The Iriza style, our most popular. The low vamp elongates the leg, while the pointed toe adds a touch of sophistication."

She kneels before me, guiding my foot into the shoe. The leather is buttery soft, molding to my skin like it was made just for me. She fastens the delicate ankle strap, her fingers grazing my skin and sending another shiver through me.

I stand, the added height putting me nearly at eye level with Marcus. The heels force me to arch my back, thrusting my breasts forward and my ass out. I feel sexy. Powerful. Like I could bring a man to his knees with a single look.

Behind me, Marcus makes a low sound of appreciation. "Fuck, baby. Those shoes..."

I glance over my shoulder at him, heat rushing to my cheeks at the blatant hunger in his gaze. The front of his jeans strains obscenely, his cock visibly hard beneath the denim.

"The dress is for you," he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. "But the shoes? Those are for me."

I shiver at the promise in his words, my mind filling with images of all the wicked things he could do to me in these heels. All the ways he could make me beg and scream and fall apart, my legs wrapped around his waist or hooked over his shoulders.

"We'll take them," Marcus says, his eyes never leaving mine. "Both the dress and the shoes."

The associate nods, a knowing glint in her eye as she moves to package up our purchases. I change back into my own clothes in a daze, my skin still tingling from Marcus's touch.

When we leave the store, the bags dangling from my wrist, I'm practically vibrating with anticipation. I can't wait to see what tonight will bring.

We arriveat The Summit just after nine p.m.

As we pull up to the building, Marcus slows the truck to a stop in front of the valet stand. A sharply dressed attendant opens the door for him. But before the man can open the door for me, Marcus presses the button that locks my car door.

“I’ve got it,” he tells the valet as he walks around to my side of the car. The possessiveness in his tone, the way he takes charge, sends a thrill racing down my spine.

I shouldn’t love it, his insane caveman tendencies, but I do.

Marcus opens my car door and offers me his hand. I slide my fingers into his warm grip and let him help me out, my heels clicking against the pavement.

The valet drives off with the truck as Marcus tucks my hand into the crook of his elbow and leads me around the side of the building to a separate entrance. My heart pounds wildly against my ribcage, anticipation and nerves warring inside me.

The last time I was here, I only saw the bar area on the ground floor. I had no idea what existed on the upper levels.

A discreet door opens before we even reach it, revealing a sharply dressed man waiting to greet us.

“Mr. Ruins, welcome to The Summit,” he says smoothly, stepping back to allow us entry. “Please, come in.”

We step into a small foyer, all sleek lines and muted lighting. The employee leads us to a private elevator, swiping a key card to grant us access.

“The club is located on the third floor,” he informs us as the doors slide open. “Enjoy your evening.”

Marcus guides me into the elevator with a hand at the small of my back, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of my dress. As the doors close, leaving us alone, he turns to face me.

“Nervous?” he asks.

I meet his gaze, my tongue darting out to wet my suddenly dry lips.

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