Page 45 of Unraveled

Tanned skin.

Black thigh-high stockings with lace trim at the top.

Red curls framing delicate shoulders and naked breasts.

And that fucking choker …

She had taken the image in front of a mirror, from her painted-red smile down, but it was perfect. He was instantly hard and no longer giving any shits about his problems.

Took you long enough, he texted back instantly. Then adding, But so worth the wait.

He got a wink in response, but that wasn’t enough for Gian.

I’m coming over, he messaged, don’t take any of that off.

Gian didn’t even wait for Cara’s response before he grabbed the key fob from his pocket, and pointed it at his car thirty feet away. He hit the unlock button, felt his phone buzz, and then the blast came.

Hot.

Loud.

Dead.

Gian was sure he was dead.

Except, dead people couldn’t feel pain, and he was in a hell of a lot of pain.

I’m coming over, don’t take any of that off.

Cara stared at Gian’s final text message, and then the one she had sent to him right after. I’m not home right now, at dinner with my aunt.

The reason it had taken her so long to send him the picture that he wanted—as he was quick to point out when she had finally sent it—was because she was in a rush. Her aunt had called last minute to invite her over for dinner, and as much as she wanted to say no, Cara wasn’t very good at doing it.

She’d taken the picture for Gian before she’d thrown on a suitable black dress to match the stockings and heels. Then, she forgot to actually send it until the taxi dropped her off at her aunt’s home.

Nonetheless, Gian hadn’t answered her reply back.

That wasn’t like him.

Cara didn’t actually spend a lot of time on the phone with him, as far as that went, but when she did, Gian never wasted time on replying. His texts were always an instant response to hers, never leaving her waiting.

It left her with an odd feeling.

Cara shot off another text when her aunt’s back was turned, asking Gian what in the hell was up. She stuffed the phone into her clutch before her aunt could see her with it when she turned back around.

Daniele gave Cara another once-over, her gaze lingering on the very short length of the black dress. It fell high on her thighs, enough so that the lace at the top of the thigh-high stockings were visible.

“Were you going out tonight?” her aunt asked.

Cara shrugged. “Nope.”

It wasn’t a total lie.

She hadn’t expected to be leaving a bed, after all.

“You wear outfits like that on regular nights at home?”

“I grabbed the first black dress I saw—it was a bit short. It still worked.”