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Unless Dacia and Diane spilled my whereabouts, which I doubted, the bastard was keeping tabs on me. “Tell him to go away.”
She laughed. “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises.”
When she shut the door, I undid my laces at the back and shimmied my gown down my legs.
As a fashion designer, Anna’s vision was everything gold and lush. Her creations were on the scandalous side and meant to make you feel empowered, like the sexiest temptress to have ever graced the earth. Backless dresses held together by diamond mesh. Deep plunge tops that were more chains than fabric. Gauzy skirts that left little to the imagination. And sparkling lingerie à la burlesque showgirl style.
I’d been obsessed with Anna’s art for years now—half of the professional attire in my closet was custom Maison Sereno—and practically begged her to design my bridal gown.
Zeno wasn’t my dream match, but I’d be damned if I didn’t wear my dream dress to the only wedding I’d ever have.
In the midst of reaching for my blouse, the fitting room door slammed open and I yelped.
I felt his presence before I saw him in the mirror.
Zeno entered the enclosure with a thundering beat, his face a legion of emotions. The primary one being lust, from the second he took in my body clad in nothing but a white lacy bra and thong.
Locking the door, he advanced towards me like an angry god.
Black suit. Black oxfords. Black tie. Everything black, just like his surly mood that gyrated with a spark of concupiscence.
Never mind that seeing a bride’s dress before the wedding was bad luck, Zeno kicked aside the fabric like it wasn’t the most expensive of silks. Ironically, it looked like a fallen white flag after a war.
“Get out.” There was no bite to my bark. I might as well be hollering ‘Get In!’ with the way my thong dampened.
“Make me,” he rasped, coming up behind. The crispness of his suit against my bare skin caused goosebumps to erupt over my flesh. Zeno placed a hand against the mirror and another one on my hip in a caging manner. “Address me with disrespect again and you’ll have my handprint tattooed across your ass.”
I never broke away from his turbulent gaze, my mouth parting when his palm travelled over my stomach. So low that his pinky dipped under the elastic of my thong. “I’ll talk to you however I want—”
Thwack.
I swayed, holding the mirror, my right ass cheek flaming with Zeno’s handprint. “Z-Zeno—”
Thwack.
This time I moaned wantonly, pushing my ass back into his hand. He smoothed a palm over my throbbing cheek and jiggled it. “There’s more where that came from. Keep pushing me, and the next slap will land on your tits.”
“How dare you come into my fitting room and—”
A tattooed hand ripped the front clasp of my bra, freeing my breasts, before delivering a stinging slap.
I gasped.
He did it again.
“Watch your mouth.” He molded both my breasts in his hands and played with my nipples, pressing himself firmly to my backside. “Now tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”
Indignation flaring, I reached back to grasp a fistful of his black strands. He barely flinched at the pain. “Maybe I don’t want to see your face.”
I was avoiding him. Missed calls. Unopened text messages.
I only allowed myself to think of him at night, when I lay lonely in my sheets, with his name on my lips and the memory of his touch on my fingers.
Zeno’s lips voyaged to my jaw, biting hard. I whimpered. His hand connected with my lace-clad pussy in two successive swats. “The way your thong is sticking to your pussy says otherwise.”
“I’ve been avoiding you because I have better things to do,” I said through gritted teeth. His thumb snagged my thong near my hip, letting it snap against my skin. “Like running a school and writing books.”
He knew I was lying. Zeno understood I wanted boundaries because of what he’d done. Yet every single line was blurred with him in the same vicinity as me, playing with my pussy the same way hunters played with their food before going for the kill.
