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GENEVIEVE
The preparation for the hit is fun. I’ve been to a few too many parties at the Wentworth family estate, which makes it easy to describe the layout and security. Something I picked up on the streets is to always identify your exits. I even manage to check out the social listings for the month and see, luckily, that their huge annual masquerade ball is coming up in a few days.
It's the perfect cover.
Surprisingly, Archer lets me in on the details of the plan. At first, he was against me going, but once I pointed out that I could help them, he let it slide. After all, we will all be in masks for the ball. With a wig and some makeup, no one will recognise me. Booker and Eric head off to get supplies, including outfits, while Gage quizzes me on security for hours.
Two days later, we are ready.
The ball is tomorrow, and fortunately, Booker and Eric got me some good stuff, including a razor, so I shave everywhere, feeling better for it. I deep condition my hair and do some skincare with what they managed to pick up, which was a lot.
They were so happy as well, grinning like kids as they handed over several full bags. I’m pretty sure they cleared the shelves of everything a person might ever need. They even bought me comfy socks and pyjamas, and tonight, I’m finally warm as I curl up between them on the sofa, drifting off to sleep as I listen to them go over the plan again.
I begin to wake when I feel myself being moved and crack open my eyes to see Gage’s stern face above me as he carries me up the stairs. Shock makes me awaken fully, and he glances down at me, his face seeming to soften as he leans down and brushes his lips across my head. “Sleep. Tomorrow is a big day, baby.” His voice is low and quiet, just for me, and it does the trick. My eyes slip closed, and the next time I wake up, I’m in my bed with the sun streaming through the windows and excitement pouring through me for today.
For the hit.
I guess I officially went from kidnap victim to accomplice, but I don’t care. Not when it feels so right.
* * *
I’ve been antsy all day, a mix of nerves and excitement, while the guys have been calm and collected, like they have done this a hundred times, which they have. When it’s finally time to get ready, I’m almost bouncing up the stairs, their laughter chasing after me.
I worry about the dress they have chosen, which is currently hanging on the wardrobe in a bag, but I force myself to do my makeup and hair first, making use of the random bits and ends they bought. I manage to make myself somewhat presentable, darkening my eyebrows a touch, then adding eyeliner and mascara. I have no eyeshadow, so I smudge my eyeliner and use blush for lipstick before I use the straightener they bought to style the wig in loose waves before pinning some strands back. Once I’m done, I open the bag of bras and knickers, picking up pure lace and silk pieces with a laugh.
Most of it is tiny and see through.
“Maybe we were just thinking with our dicks,” Eric calls from behind me. Grinning, I throw him a wink over my shoulder.
“No shit, but I can make it work.” Selecting a red lace push up bra and matching thong, I grab the shirt I’m wearing and carefully pull it over my hair and makeup. There’s a groan behind me that makes me shiver, so I slowly slide the thong up my legs and over my ass, making sure to bend to give him a good view. Grinning to myself, I slip on the bra next, one arm at a time, until I finally turn and find them all gathered at the door, not one bit embarrassed to be caught watching me.
Even Archer.
Rolling my eyes, I move over to the dress. “Did you remember to get heels?”
“Of course,” Booker says. “For purely selfish reasons though. I want to fuck you on the way back so I can feel them digging into my ass.”
I can’t help but laugh, even as my nipples pebble against the lace and my pussy wakes up at the thought. I’ve been so focused on working this hit, on helping, I haven’t had time to think of anything else, but I certainly am now. Grabbing the zip on the bag, I pull it down with deliberate slowness, inhaling sharply at the dress.
“Do you like it?” Eric asks nervously. “I had Booker try some on—”
“Dude, we said we wouldn’t tell her that!” There’s a smack, but I can’t laugh. All I can do is stare because the dress is stunning. It is clearly a local handmade piece, and it’s better than any designer dress I’ve worn in the past because it’s from them and one of a kind.
It’s a deep beautiful shade of red that shimmers under the light. The front is a low-cut V, and I’m grateful for the low bra now. The silk cascades to the floor with straps that seem to tie around the back, but when I pick it up and turn it, I realise I’ll have to go braless. The entire back is open and low cut, cowling just above where my bum will be. Fingering the material, I can’t help but smile.
It’s not something I would have picked out. It’s simple and elegant and ever so sexy—and me to a T. “I love it,” I murmur, carefully hanging it. I unclip my bra and toss it away.
“What are you doing?” Gage demands.
Looking at them over my shoulder, I smirk. “It’s backless, which means no bra. In fact, with that material…no knickers either.” I slide them down my thighs and throw them away before lifting the dress, and then I turn towards them. “Who’s going to help me get in it?”
There’s a flurry of voices and activity, but Booker beats them all, turning to me with fast, eager fingers and plucking the dress from my arm. Lifting the wig carefully, I shiver as he slowly drops the dress over my head, and the feel of the silk sliding down my oversensitive body makes me gasp. When his knuckles run purposely down my spine, I tilt my head back and lean into him. His hands slide down my ass as if to settle the dress, but we both know it’s because he wants to touch me. Kissing my neck, he slowly does up the halter before stepping back.
Releasing my hair and licking my lips, I turn, feeling the dress swish with me, parting down my right leg to expose my skin. “Well, how do I look?” I ask nervously.
I’m used to feeling beautiful, but before them, I worry I’m not enough. I shouldn’t have, though, because with one look into their eyes, I’m tilting my chin back and standing taller. The pure hunger, obsession, and need reflected back at me make my heart flutter like a trapped bird.
“Good enough to eat,” Eric whispers, his eyes locked on the dress.
