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"I'm kind of tired." She stepped back, but he caught her hand.
"Julie."
At his look that could penetrate her so deeply, she couldn't keep herself from saying what was at the forefront of her brain. But when had she ever had a filter?
"I can't do that as a game, Des. I'm a middle-aged woman who's never even gotten close to it, and I'm one of the pathetic saps who really wanted it to happen. It took a long time for me to accept that I'm likely never going to have that, and to figure out how to be happy with my life regardless. It's a can of worms I don't really want to open. Okay? Lot of dysfunctional shit goes with it, and I don't want to feel that with you tonight. I just want..." She swallowed over the ache in her throat, unable to continue.
He drew her against him, his fingertips pressing into her lower back and the upper rise of her buttocks in that firm way that miraculously conveyed just how in control he was. It also reminded her that, while she was exhausted, the exhilaration of the night and the simmering she'd felt ever since he'd kissed her and given her that tiny, intense orgasm were within reach.
Hell, the whole damn night had been an overflowing tub of erotic stimuli. Though she'd been busy doing her job, an important part of her brain had been eagerly drinking in all the pheromones, just like everyone else in the theater. She fully expected a few hundred people had gone home to copulate like rabbits. Some would explore things they'd never thought about, or had carefully buried up until now. Hopefully there'd be no ER visits. That was the kind of publicity they really didn't need. Thank goodness they'd put a bunch of "don't try this at home without proper guidance" caveats in the program, as well as had Billie reinforce that mantra in his emceeing.
When he spoke against her cheek, her hand flexed in his simply from the vibration through her skin. Her internal babblings weren't enough of a buffer against the things he wanted to break open inside of her, force her to release.
"We're back to my earlier reminder, love. This isn't a request. Choose. Trust me to take you somewhere you want to go."
He guided her reluctant hand to close over one handful of rich fabric. "It worked out nicely that you're wearing white lace tonight," he observed, sliding a finger just under the neckline of her black silk blouse to trace the edge of the undergarment. A tingle of sensation shot straight to her nipple.
Shifting behind her, leaving her facing the rack, he reached in front of her to slip the buttons of her blouse. She'd noticed he preferred to remove her clothes himself and, since he combined it with plenty of caressing strokes of his strong fingers, she had no objections.
He'd revealed the lacy cups of her white bra. It was low profile and pushed her up, which won his hum of approval as he slid his touch back over the quivering curves. Her grip tightened on the dress. He moved his hands down her arms, making her release the dress as he drew them back behind her, dropping his grip to her wrists to hold her in that position. His knuckles pressed against her ass as he nudged her hair aside to kiss her throat, tease it with his tongue.
He did that for a while as she swayed in his grip, staring at those dresses, the sparkles and satin. Releasing her wrists, he slipped the button of her slacks and took the zipper down with a quiet tick-tick noise. After he had her step out of them, he looked down at the knee high stockings she was wearing.
"Take those off for me, love. My rough hands will snag them for sure." But he held her as she removed them, leaving her clad only in her filmy underwear.
Her eyes closed. Her head was already tilted for the light kiss he brushed over her lips.
"My gorgeous woman," he murmured, thrilling her. Molding his palm over her buttock, he played with the elastic of her panties for a musing, provocative moment. Then he stepped back, gesturing to the rack again.
"Choose. I'll be setting up behind you." He stroked her hair, caressing her bare back. "Are you cold?"
She shook her head. "Not right now."
He hadn't addressed her reluctance about the dresses. He didn't try to reassure her about things no amount of words could fix. He refused to turn the light away from the dark chambers of her heart, and she kept stepping into those rooms to risk herself with him.
As he retreated, she looked at the dresses. "Des." Her voice sounded strange to her, strained. "I love you. I mean, I'm falling in love with you. Is that a problem?"
A pause, then she heard his footsteps as he came back to her. She was grateful and wary when he pressed against her back and folded his arms around her, one over her breasts and one around her waist. They constricted almost to the point of taking her breath, and he kissed the sensitive and pulsing spot just beneath her ear.
"Yeah, it's a problem."
She couldn't tell what he meant, not with the mixed message of being in his embrace. He nipped her lobe, dipping a hand to pinch her buttock. "Stop stalling and pick a dress. Don't turn around until I say you can."
"I tell him I'm falling in love with him and I'm stalling," she muttered. But his tone hadn't rejected her feelings. It was just a response she couldn't decipher.
Since she sensed he would work back around to an answer in his own way, she let the statement hang in the air, drift and fill the space with feeling and density that increased as she flipped through the dresses. When she found the one that was right, she knew it, but she still checked out the other half dozen.
"This one." She'd been listening to his rustlings, but she hadn't been able to discern much from them. Not turning around to look was difficult. She was curious by nature, but he knew that. She suspected it was just another way he'd found to torment her.
Before her curiosity overrode his direction, he returned to her. As he reached over her shoulder and unhooked the dress from the rack, he put another of those pleasant kisses at the base of her throat. She leaned into him as he held the dress against her, a crinkling crush of satin, his palm warm on her breast even through the layers of fabric. "Let's get you into this."
The beaded bodice had an off-the-shoulder, scalloped neckline that framed and outlined her breasts, offering a provocative amount of cleavage that pleased him, if the flare in his gaze was an indication. In the back, the dress dipped down below the shoulder blades, leaving a lot of bare flesh to stroke.
He had her raise her arms so he could handle the side zipper. He hooked three small fabric buttons at the lower back that sculpted her upper torso further. When he turned her to him, the dress floated around her, covering her bare feet.
"I think someone a few inches taller than me had this dress."
"That's all right. You look perfect." He ran a hand down her arm, back up to her biceps. Drawing her past the curtain line, she saw the set up was a cushioned mat and a few lengths of rope. So simple, yet it still made her breath shorten.
