Page 36 of Ruined By a Devil

The third dress is the one.

It’s silk heavy enough to feel like armor, draped low across the front, clinging to my hips before falling to the floor. But the back is wide open, held together only by a long, intricate row of tiny silk-covered buttons that run from the base of my spine up to my shoulder blades.

The saleslady has left the room and I want to change. My decision is made.

I manage to unbutton the first few, but the rest are impossible to open alone.

“Malachi?” I step toward the curtain of the private fitting room.

“Yes?” He calls out from the sofa where he’s been sitting since we got inside, without lifting his head.

“Can I get a hand?”

“I told you how I feel about seeing you in the dress before the wedding,” he responds.

“Please?” I know that the word is going to get a reaction out of him. He’s the only bet I have right now to get out of this dress.

He appears almost instantly, stepping through the curtain into the small, mirror-lined space. The room is cramped, barely large enough for the two of us.

“Help me with this,” I say, turning my back to him and lifting my hair over one shoulder.

In the full-length mirror, I watch him step up behind me. His eyes meet mine in the glass before dropping to my bare back.

I watch as his hands reach out, his long fingers moving with agonizing slowness, his knuckles dragging over my bare skin as he unfastens the first button. The memory of his hands on my skin in my dream and the kitchen, flashes once again in my mind and I blink to force it away. But it’s too late, my pussy instantly reacts, with a low, persistent throb starting up between my legs, slicking my lace panties.

“You're shaking,” he murmurs against the nape of my neck, his breath hot against my exposed skin. “Are you cold?”

“Yes,” I lie, my voice tighter than I want it to be. “The room is quite cold.”

“Liar,” he whispers.

Instead of moving to the next button, his hands slip around my waist, his broad palms pressing firm against my stomach, pulling me back until my ass flattens directly against his groin.

I gasp softly as the hard, thick ridge of his cock presses right into the dip of my lower back. He’s fully erect, rock-hard and heavy and I hate how good it feels against me.

I wonder how it would feel inside of me.

His right hand slides slowly down the heavy silk of the dress, pressing between my thighs from behind. Even through the fabric, the pressure of his palm against my body makes my knees buckle slightly. He tilts my chin up with his other hand, forcing me to look at him in the mirror.

“Say it again,” he growls softly, his voice dark near my ear. “Tell me this wedding isn't real while I have you trapped in this dress, so soaked for me you're going to ruin the silk.”

My breath hitches. I can feel the intense, burning ache between my legs, my body practically begging him to slide the dress up, rip my panties aside, and take me right here against the fitting room mirror. My pulse hammers violently in my throat.

“It's a contract, Malachi,” I choke out, holding his gaze in the glass, refusing to yield entirely, even as my hips instinctively push back against his hand.

A dark, dangerous smile touches his lips. “Keep telling yourself that, Jade.”

He slow-drags his hand back up my belly, agonizingly slow, before finishing the rest of the buttons with calm precision. The shift back to absolute discipline is so sudden it leaves me breathless and aching, my core throbbing with unfulfilled need.

He steps back, giving me space, though his dark gaze never leaves me in the mirror. I reach for my shirt on the side table but accidentally drop it.

I go to reach for it, but the tight silk of the gown restricts my movement.

“Damn it,” I sigh. “I guess this isn’t the dress…”

Malachi stoops down smoothly, picking it up before I can. He holds it out to me.

“Hold onto that for me while I change out of this,” I say, trying to regain my breath and my posture.