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I’m so mad I’m almost shaking. I step into the stiff, scratchy dress and stand there while Callum zips up the back. It feels like he’s lacing a corset. I have to suck in my tummy and then, once it’s zipped, I can’t let it out again. Which makes me kind of regret all that popcorn I ate.
“Where did you hide my underwear?” I demand.
I feel Callum’s fingers pause at the top of the zipper.
“You don’t need any underwear,” he says.
That fucker. He’s getting off on this! I knew it!
Sure enough, when I turn around there’s a hungry look on his face, like he wants to rip the dress right off me again. But he won’t do that. He’s going to savor watching me walk around in it all night. Knowing that he’s making me do it. Knowing that I’m not wearing any panties underneath.
I’m so infuriated I could scream. Especially once he holds up the shoes he expects me to wear.
“How am I even going to get those on?” I shout. “I can’t sit down in this fucking straightjacket.”
Callum rolls his eyes.
Then he does something that surprises me.
He gets down on his knee in front of me, placing my hand on his shoulder for balance. He lifts my foot and slides the stiletto onto it, like he’s Prince Charming and I’m Cinderella. His hands are surprisingly gentle as his fingers touch the arch of my foot. He buckles the strap, then puts the other shoe on my opposite foot.
When he stands up again, we’re close to each other, so much that I have to tilt my head to look up at him.
“There,” he says gruffly. “I’ll send Marta up to help you get ready.”
Marta is a catch-all personal assistant to the family, and she also happens to be good with hair and makeup, so she frequently helps Riona and Nessa get ready for events. Imogen does her paint job herself, or else goes to a salon.
“Whatever,” I say.
Callum heads downstairs to find Marta, and I start hobbling back to the bathroom on the sky-high heels.
I don’t know if it’s the lack of underwear or something else, but I can feel an uncomfortable wetness between my legs. Every step I take in that tight dress is making my pussy lips rub together. I’m warm and throbbing, and I keep thinking about that look of arousal on Callum’s face. How stern he was when he ordered me to put on the dress.
What the fuck is happening to me?
It must just be the fact that I haven’t gotten laid in over a week.
/> Because there’s no way that I could be turned on by Callum ordering me around. That’s crazy. I fucking hate being bossed around.
“Aida?” a voice says behind me.
I yelp and spin around.
It’s just Marta, holding her makeup bag. She’s about thirty years old, with big brown eyes, dark bangs, and a soft voice.
“Callum said you needed a little help getting ready?”
“Right. Yes,” I stammer.
“Take a seat,” she says, pulling a chair up in front of the mirror. “We’ll have you ready in no time.”
14
Callum
Aida comes down the staircase, gingerly and clinging to the railing, twenty minutes late but, frankly, looking stunning. Marta pulled Aida’s hair up into a slightly retro updo that plays up that classic bombshell look. Her eyes are lined with kohl, which highlights their exotic shape and makes them look almost as silvery as the dress.
I like the fact that Aida can barely walk in the stilettos. It gives her a vulnerable air and makes her cling to my arm for the walk to the car.
