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Saoirse,
Your princess clothes aren’t appropriate for where we’re going tonight. I took the liberty of sending you something more fitting.
Withpleasure,
Connor.
I fling the card across the room, gritting my teeth. “You are the mostfrustrating—” I hiss under my breath. I have half a mind to take it all out and pitch it in the trash and show up for the date wearing whatever I damn well please, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I undo the white tissue, wondering what will be inside.
It’s something made of black leather,realleather, the softest I think I’ve ever touched. I pull it out and gasp, my eyes widening as I realize it’s a dress.
It’s not like any dress I’ve ever worn, though.
It has a bustier-style top with spaghetti straps and actual boning in the cups, and a body-skimming silhouette. The dress itself comes down nearly to my knees, but it has a slit on either side that goes up to mid-thigh. It’s simple but more blatantly seductive than anything I’ve ever worn in my life, including what I put on to go and meet Connor that first night.
I look to see if there’s anything else in the box. Below another layer of tissue, to my surprise, are a pair of black leather boots so tall that I can only imagine how far up my legs they’ll go, with spiked heels. Next to them is a flat, matte black box, and my heart skips a nervous beat in my chest as I open it.
“Oh, youfucking—”
It’s a fucking collar. A choker really, I suppose, about as wide as my forefinger and made of sturdier black leather, with a rose gold O-ring in the center of it. But even as innocent as I am, I have a pretty good idea of what the purpose of this is. And I’m not going to fucking wear it.
He hasn’t even put a ring on my finger, and he thinks he can put a goddamncollaron me?
I toss it onto the bed, pushing aside the tissue until I see that in the corner of the larger box, there’s one more thing—a tiny ball of black lace tied with a black velvet ribbon and a tag hanging from it, with another note penned in the same handwriting.
I assumed you wouldn’t have any appropriate panties to wear under the dress, so I took another liberty and added these.
It’s the smallest black silk thong I’ve ever seen. I’m not even sure the scrap of fabric is enough to cover me—or if it is, it’ll be only just barely enough.
He can’t possibly think I’m going to wear this.
The fact that he insulted my normal clothes is bad enough. It’s not even just that I’ve never imagined wearing anything like this—but beyond that, I was already worried about my father catching me sneaking out. If I dressed a little more normally, I could make up some excuse that I wanted to go out for a drink on my own. He wouldn’t like it, but I’m a grown woman. I could assert myself a little—or try to, anyway.
Wearing this—there’s no way I’m going to get away with it. If my father catches me, he’ll know something is up. There’s no possible way that he wouldn’t.
I stare at the dress.It’s another dare,I think to myself, looking down at it.Connor thinks you won’t wear it. He probably thinks you won’t even show up, but hedefinitelythinks you won’t wearthis. He’s calling your bluff.
“Consider it called,” I mutter, but even as I say it, I know I’m going to wear it. I’m not going to let him see me back down. He thinks the naïve little rich girl is scared of putting on a leather dress and going to a sex club—and frankly, he’s kind of right. But I’m never going to let him know that.
Sending me the dress was a high-handed, irritating move, but I know what he’s expecting—and that’s exactly what I’mnotgoing to do.
I nearly lose my nerve, though, when it comes time to actually put the dress on.
It’s even tighter-fitting than I thought it would be. Itdoesfit, though, which is incredible considering Connor definitely doesn’t have my measurements. And although I’m still furious with him about the high-handed way he handled all of this, I have to admit—it looks incredible.
Ilook incredible.
I don’t look like myself, at least not the self I’m used to, but the dress is elegant enough that I don’t feel as entirely out of my skin as I had in the skintight jeans and low-cut top I’d worn that first night. It skims over my curves, hugging me in all the right places and pushing my breasts up to their best possible effect. The slits on either side of the dress are narrow enough to not show everything but still giving a flash of pale thigh every time I move. He’s right that I couldn’t have gotten away with wearing anything but the tiniest of thongs—the leather is so tight over my hips and ass that it would have shown the lines of even “invisible” panties. Still, the leather itself is so buttery soft and malleable that it moves with me, making the dress surprisingly comfortable.
The boots are still in the box, and I swallow hard, trying to get up the nerve to put them on. Every little sound from the hall makes me jump, thinking that it’s my father outside, coming to knock on my door and have another talk with me, another brainstorming session about how to handle Connor.
If he sees me in this, I’m fucking done for.
Which means I need to hurry up, get dressed, and get out of this hotel to meet Connor before I get caught.
I grit my teeth, looking at the boots. I’m used to wearing high heels, but they’re something else altogether. It’s not that they’re higher than what I’m accustomed to, exactly, they’re just—intimidating.
Christ, Saoirse, are you scared ofbootsnow? They’re just shoes. Put them on.
