Page 137 of Silenced

I frown in bewilderment, but I don’t have to wait long to see the next monstrosity.

That’s all it takes for me to surge to my feet and to move around the dresses that are on the racks as well as on mannequins.

I find three, each one with a soft flow that I know will suit her. She isn’t made for those clinging gowns, the ones that are like bandages, but gentler styles. Not because of her curves—which are glorious—but because of her nature.

When she returns to the changing area, her shoulders hunched with embarrassment, I’m waiting for her.

I shove the three gowns at her. “Try these on,” I rasp. Her courage deserves an attempt at speech.

She picks them up, studies each one, then she nods.

I can tell she doesn’t want to though.

The first one doesn’t suit her—we both know it. It gapes at the back where she can’t fasten it. The second one does, but it’s not special enough for the gala. Its golden tone is pretty but the lines are more semiformal than formal. It’s perfect for her though, and the sparkle in her eyes says she knows it.

“We’ll take this one home and get it fitted for you,” I sign and smile at her happy nod.

It’s the last one that’s perfect.

It drapes off her shoulder in a swirl of fabric that swags and swathes on her, clinging to her tits, smoothing over her belly, flowing along the lines of her hips and legs.

She looks like a goddess.

“It’s a toga,” she chuckles softly as she turns on her heel when I move my hand in a circle.

“I suppose it is. Maybe that’s why it suits you,” I tease her. “We can have this fitted for you if you like it?”

She nods. “It’s beautiful.”

“Youare beautiful,” I growl.

That gorgeous blush makes another appearance. “Thank you.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” I sign with a smile as I get to my feet and approach her. Fingers trailing over the single strap, I trace the line of her décolletage. “I have the perfect necklace for this.”

She blinks up at me, all innocence and temptation in one fell swoop. “You do?”

I nod.

Pressing a kiss to her lips, I dance my mouth along her jawline and, in her ear, whisper, “You are a goddess.”

Her chuckle is shy. “Hush.”

I nip her earlobe. “Say it.”

Not unsurprisingly, she doesn’t obey, but she goes one better by nuzzling her nose against me in a tender display of affection.

Fuck, she can’t know what that does to me when I’ve been deprived of anything tender my whole life.

It’s no wonder my craving for her is only increasing with time.

She’s about to speak when an alarm sounds in the distance—the armed robbery, no doubt. Uninterested in that and knowing Igor has set Pavel’s choice in motion, I bring her back to the moment by nipping her earlobe again.

In a soft, breathy whisper, she concedes, “I’m a goddess.”

“Mygoddess,” I amend, pleased by her concession.

She swallows—I can hear it. I half expect to have to force those words from her via an orgasm, but, cheeks a vicious pink, and with words that are more of a croak than anything else, she gives me the greatest gift in the world: “Yourgoddess.”

---