Page 35 of The Fall of Sin (The Sins of Saint 2)

“Of course it can,” he replied as if he couldn’t understand how I could think that.

“I’m serious, Saint.”

“Fine,” he conceded and waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I’m willing to make an exception. You can have a wardrobe that consists of all the colors in the rainbow,” he licked his lips, “as long as you wear nothing but red underneath. Red brassieres, red panties. I’d like to see the color against your skin whenever I decide to fuck you.”

A deep-rooted ache throbbed between my legs, and my thighs clenched with a need to feel his body between my legs. By the smug look on his face, he knew what kind of reaction he had instigated, how my body always betrayed me whenever it came to him. But I wasn’t quite ready to accept his demand. “Are you going to pick my lingerie for me as well?”

He lifted a brow. “Is that your question for today?”

“Of course not.” I crossed my arms. “I meant to say that you can’t choose my lingerie as well.”

He positioned the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other, leisurely leaning back. “Your lingerie will be for my eyes only. So, it makes sense that I choose it.”

“Have it your way, then.”

“Finally, you’re starting to get it. My way.” He smirked.

“Yeah, your way.” I held the velvet curtain in my hand. “But having it your way all the time won’t allow any room for surprises.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder and cocked a brow. “And I’m a woman with a ton of surprises up my sleeve. Too bad you’ll never have the privilege to be on the receiving end.”

The curtain rail screeched as I jerked it closed, but not before I caught a glimpse of Saint’s face which showcased a rare stunned expression.

12

Saint

The thick velvetcurtain taunted me. I wanted it gone. I wanted to sit on this expensive goddamn couch and watch as my wife got dressed and undressed, trying on different dresses that accentuated her every curve. My dick was already pressing uncomfortably against my zipper ever since our little spat about the color red, lingerie, and how I wanted to fuck her while her skin blended beautifully with the crimson color.

While I sat there with a throbbing hard-on, the extremely incapable salesclerk walked in with arms full of red dresses and handed them to Mila through the curtain.

A sly grin tugged at my mouth. “My wife decided she’d like to see other colors as well. Maybe some corals and pinks.”

The hard look on her face spoke volumes, and I merely lifted a brow in warning, which was enough for her to keep her goddamn mouth shut and do as she was told. “I’ll go get some items from our latest collection.”

“You do that, Maria.”

The click of her heels was about as loud as her animosity, which was such a contradiction to the lecherous glances she snuck my way whenever she thought my wife wasn’t looking. I also knew of other husbands who accompanied their wives to this very room who tipped Maria for more than just her fashion expertise. The woman was worse than a scarlet letter in stiletto heels. An upscale whore with nothing but greedy intentions. Even now, after I had put her in her place, I was willing to bet she’d pull down her panties for me and be ready to get pounded like a fucking blow-up doll.

Another hour passed. To watch Mila trying on every dress, sashaying her sensual hips and voluptuous curves in front of me, then disappearing behind that wretched curtain while I imagined her naked body was time spent in my own personal hell. I found myself back in high school, trying to hide a hard-on I had no control over when a girl with a short skirt came prancing past. In this case…Mila.

“What do you think?”

I was reluctant to look up since I was already hanging on my last damn thread of control.

“Saint? Do you like it?”

I braved a glance, ignoring the ache in my groin. And what I saw just about took my breath away. In front of me stood the most beautiful woman I had ever seen wearing a crimson, lush velvet dress draped over her perfect physique. The lowcut neckline gave a teasing peek of the swell of her breast, though not too much that would send me on a murderous frenzy whenever a man looked at what was mine. But just enough. The embellished straps added a dash of sparkle to an overall exquisite dress.

“Mila.” I breathed and stood, stalking closer as I admired every contour of her body. “Bellissima.”

Her cheeks flushed. “You approve?”

“Oh, I more than approve.” I took her hand and let her twirl in front of me, the flare of the dress gently brushing against the fabric of my pants. With a subtle tug, I pulled her up to me. “You are a rare beauty, Mila.”

“And you are a smooth talker.”

“I only speak the truth.”

She caressed my shoulder. “Well, I’m glad you like the dress, because I was hoping,” she bit her lip, “I was hoping I could wear it on Friday evening…when I accompany my husband to his charity ball.”

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