Page 41 of Vow to Corrupt You
If I make it out of this alive, I’m pretty sure I’ll end up severely traumatized.
“I’m taking you out on a date,” Nikos adds, snapping me out of my inner monologue.
“A date?” I shoot him a glance. “I didn’t think the infamous Nikolaos Romano did dates.”
There are moments when I speak before I think. This is one of those times. I nibble my bottom lip nervously, processing what I just said to him, but he scoffs with amusement.
“I don’t.” A smirk twists his lips. “You’re the first woman to go on a date with me in many years.”
Holy cow, should I break out the confetti?
In any other circumstances, it’d be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I’d feel so incredibly special. But considering Nikos’s desire for dominance over me, his obsession with breaking the innocent, his possessive nature, and the reason he married me, I’m actually scared. Maybe this is part of his plan. To fool me with sweet lies and kind gestures so he can get under my skin, into my bones, and then shatter me into pieces. Possibly.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say so quietly I’m not sure he can catch it.
“Why not?”
“Well, I…” I look at him, trying to think of any excuse that would allow me to avoid spending time with him that would sound legitimate enough. “You’re so dressed up. I feel out of place next to you.”
It’s not a lie, and that actually sounds convincing. He’s wearing a tailored shirt and pants, matched with Fendi sunglasses, a Panerai watch peeking out from under his slightly rolled-up sleeve, and black leather shoes. Compared to my casual jersey dress, he’s exactly the opposite.
He steals a quick glance at me. “You look like a goddess no matter what you wear.”
“Oh, yeah? And what about when you literally forced me to go shopping because you didn’t like my pink dress?” I can’t help my sassy side.
A scoff follows an amused grin, “That’s the thing. It was pink.” The way he looks at me makes my heart flutter. “I didn’t like the color of the dress, not you in it.”
There’s a weird sensation in my chest that renders me speechless.
“But if that’s something that bothers you, we’ll stop at a boutique,” he says casually, focusing on the road again.”
“No, that’s not what I meant—”
Nikos makes a U-turn, and I know there’s no point in arguing because he will buy me something to wear, and we are going on a date.
After a few moments, he parks, and we enter one of the boutiques on Via della Libertà. The moment the shop employees see Nikos, they bustle around, attending to me as if I were royalty.
I choose some dresses—black, of course—and go to the fitting room.
“What are you doing?” I flinch at the sight of Nikolaos in the doorway.
A devious smile curls his lips as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. “I’m here to help.”
“That’s not… appropriate.” I swallow. “What will the employees think?”
With one swift move, he swirls me around so we both face the mirror.
“You are my wife, Serena, nothing they might think could be considered inappropriate.” He brushes my hair from my back, letting it fall over my chest. “But if you want, I can order them all to wait outside the store.” The sound of my dress’s zipper muffles his husky voice as he slowly drags it down.
“No, don’t…” I whisper.
That would be even worse. I know people don’t understand why Nikos married me or why I married him. And those who know the real reason have signed NDAs. To the store’s employees—or anyone outside our circle, for that matter—we appear to be a newlywed couple who can’t keep our hands off each other. So, I suppose him being locked with me in a fitting room is nothing unusual. At least to them.
My jersey dress falls to the floor, pooling at my feet. My breath comes in shallow waves as our gazes lock in the mirror’s reflection.
His gaze roams my figure, drinking in every curve, down to my feet and slowly trailing its path up again. The heat of his intense stare lingers on my body, igniting a flicker of desire deep within my core.
Why does it feel so satisfying when he looks at me like that? As if he’s savoring every inch of my body, devouring me with lust-filled eyes. But it’s a mad kind of lust.
