Page 85 of Whiskey Splash

“You cover up something that beautiful and I’m going to murder someone,” he growls, and I shake my head at him.

“You have impossible taste, Mr. Pike,” I tease, heading back into the dressing room.

“You could just go naked,” I hear him say through the wall, and I laugh.

“I’m not sure you’d let me out in public naked,” I throw back, taking off the emerald one and putting on the next. “I distinctly remember you having very strong opinions about anyone seeing me in my wet sundress.”

I don’t hear his response, but in the mirror of the private room, I look at myself and can’t help but think about that sheer fabric when I was on the beach. Today, I’m wearing undergarments made by the same company as the lacy white pieces from that date. Only, now I’m wearing a sheer grey set. The bra is a balconette with thin pinstripes, like on a suit, only, my nipples are visible through the transparent fabric, giving the bra a singular intent—to drive Desmond wild. The same pattern is mimicked on the panties below, and I know Connor told me to invite Desmond in to zip up one of these dresses, but honestly, I don’t think either of us could deal with the consequences if Desmond saw me in these. I slip on the second dress quickly, covering myself and feeling too heated by my own overt choice in undergarments.

I walk out in the second dress and Desmond’s eyes are hooded. I can tell he’s been thinking about me running around in the rain in that sundress and I almost make a quip about how this is Hawaii and freak thunderstorms are Oahu’s jam, they happen almost every day. But his predatory expression makes me step up on the pedestal and leave it alone.

The second dress has a beaded bodice and soft tulle skirt that floats out like a fairy gown. The top curves with a neckline that gives the illusion of swirling vines cupping my cleavage.

“How many of these are there?” Desmond says with a rawness in his throat, his eyes dancing over me and making my skin heat.

“What?” I tease. “I thought we were going to try on half the store!”

“Please tell me there’s only one or two more.”

“You don’t like this one?”

“That’s not what I said.” His voice is low and direct. I smile, sauntering over to him and leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. His eyes rake down my cleavage, which was my intention of course, and I can feel the tension in his arms, forcing himself to stay seated.

“Three more,” I whisper, and his eyes flick up to me and narrow as if to say this dress charade was a very mean trick I’ve played.

I come out a few moments later in something short and lacy, then I show off a sheath black number, but it’s the last one that makes me weak in the knees. It’s an ombre chiffon gown that starts out a soft grey tone that then turns lavender. It matches my hair perfectly, but it’s the romantic draping that makes me feel like Grecian Queen. Two drapes of fabric cover my breasts, creating a deep V, and then the fabric collects together at my hips and fans out. Ribbons tie under my breasts and around my waist, Aphrodite style, with the sheers spilling over my hips to play peek-a-boo with my thighs and knees. Silver beads dot the bottom of the skirt, creating constellations around my ankles. It makes me feel sexy and beautiful at the same time, like I’m not just an elegant lady, but someone powerful.

I spin on the pedestal and the whole time Desmond is quiet. When I turn to look at him, he’s gotten up out of his seat and is walking over to me. He takes my hand and pulls me down off the pedestal, wrapping a hand around my back.

“This one,” he says quietly. “I don’t care how many more there are, I’ve never seen your face light up like it does in this one.” His fingers cup my shoulder blades so delicately, I want to melt. “No contest.” He pulls me closer. “You look like the universe, and the whole universe looks like it’s in you.”

Our eyes lock and the depth in his eyes makes me feel full, like I could get lost in the safety and beauty of them. I reach up and trace his lips. I don’t kiss him. Instead, I build constellations on his mouth, a cosmos of tenderness for me to slip away on.

“You still haven’t told me what this is for,” he says softly, and I kiss the dimple at the edge of his mouth. Worlds between us to breathe.

“Nothing important,” I say, taking his hand and leading him to the private dressing room and locking the door behind us. One of his eyebrows raises and I turn to show him my back and nonchalantly say, “I need help with the ties and zippers on this one.”

“Do you?” Desmond says in a low voice, and I shrug, not allowing myself to be baited by him. I face the wall of dresses that hang in front of me and wait patiently, pretending the mounds of tulle and embroidery and ribbons are far more interesting than the fact that I’ve asked him to undress me.

“Untie the ribbons first,” I say, loosening a breath as Desmond lifts my hair off my neck, slowly collecting it. “Then you’ll see where the zipper begins.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Desmond hums, pretending to listen as he brushes the waves of my hair forward. He drags his fingertips along the nape of my neck several times, making a show of removing every wisp of purple before the soft pads of his fingers trace down the sheer panels on my shoulder blades to find the ribbons that tie at my waist. His mouth brushes against my neck as he undoes them, his lips and breath painting my skin, the warmth of his exhale sliding across my collar bone and down the deep V at the front of the dress.

Then he finds the zipper at the middle of my back and starts to part the fabric. Connor didn’t warn me about how incredibly erotic this would feel. The point was to tease Desmond, but suddenly I’m the one heated. Chiffon hugs my hips and drapes down my sides, and when I close my eyes I imagine myself cloaked in the darkness of night, gazing out at the sparkling ocean after the wrap party, his fingers unearthing diamonds beneath every parted inch of this gown.

He takes his time, his knuckles tracing my spine, his mouth still breathing at the crook of my neck. When he reaches the end of the zipper at my lower back, he slips one hand inside the dress around my ribs, sliding his fingers over my stomach. The heat of his palm is sinfully delicious, my body fluttering as his touch ghosts over my navel. My insides soften and my breath shallows as he idles there, his hand a universe of delicate sensation, as if he’s memorized all the constellations and wants to record them in my skin.

His free hand grazes back up to my shoulder and starts to peel away the panel of fabric that hangs there. He’s unzipped me and I can easily get out of the dress on my own now, but the delicate way he slides the strap off my skin has me aching for him to always undress me with such attention.

The hand on my stomach moves up, grazing the underside of my breast before he pulls it out to remove the other strap. The dress slips off my body with the weight of the fabric, pooling in a cloud of chiffon and stars at my ankles.

Desmond tilts his head to the side, and he must look in the mirror, because he curses. “What are you wearing?” he hisses, the wick of his voice making my nipples tighten as if they know they’re only hidden by the finest of pinstripes molded to their shape.

I bite my lip and say coyly, “What you normally wear under your clothes. A bra, panties.” He flips me around callously for being so coquettish, my ankles tangling in the chiffon. His barbaric eyes rake down the front of me, and I see the glint of the beast that’s not going to be able to control himself.

“I’m buying you that one,” Desmond growls, pointing at the dress at my feet and pushing me back up against the wall and kissing me fiercely. “And for the record—” He cups my breasts savagely, thrumming my nipples through the sheer fabric. “That dress looks incredible on you, but it also looks amazing on the floor.”

I buck against his advance. “You’re not buying me anything,” I snap, his hands dragging over my stomach and breasts wickedly. “It’s my dress. My purchase.”

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