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“Excuse me?” I blink. He must be joking. “Why the hell would I do that?”
His eyes grow even darker, his thumb smoothing over his bottom lip while incinerating me with his stare. “I want to corrupt my filthy little wife while she wears it. Because you should have never been wearing a white dress for anyone but me. ”
Oh.
He’s not joking.
I stifle a nervous laugh, but I can’t ignore the burning hot fire that his words just ignited inside of me. Still, I say, “There’s nothing hot about that dress, Connor. It’s a puritanical nightmare.”
He hasn’t moved an inch. “That’s not the point of this, now is it?” He holds his hand out to me, teeth flashing into a wide smile.
An invitation. A summoning.
And I take it.
He pulls me with more force than I expect and I fall into his body, catching me by wrapping a strong arm around my waist. He almost looks giddy and I can’t help but laugh.
“You’re psychotic, you know that?” I say while pushing off of him, heading to the bedroom.
“And what does that make you, darling?”
I don’t bother answering, because—well, he has a point.
He sits on my bed while I disappear into my closet, knowing exactly where the damned thing is even if I’ve avoided looking at it for years now. I find it tucked at the very bottom of a box in a forgotten dark corner high up on a shelf. My heart pinches when I pull it out, remembering how I tried to wash it by hand as if the stains were a metaphor for all the sins I had recently committed. I never did get all the stains out.
The air around me seems to electrify, crackling from everything left unspoken or omitted from that day. I take off my clothes and slip the dress on, the skin on my arms breaking out into goosebumps as I slide into the sleeves and pull the soft fabric up my shoulders. It’s impossible for me to button up the back without someone’s help so I leave it undone. The hushed swish of the fabric against my feet makes me freeze and I’m suddenly back in my mother’s bedroom, facing the mirror beaming at my reflection.
I don’t know how long I stand there for. It’s long enough for Connor to find me motionless in my closet, lost in a waking dream.
I land back into my body with a jolt when I feel his finger graze my spine. From the open back, both hands find my shoulder blades and then slide down to my ribs, slipping underneath the dress and around the front.
He closes in, his chest pressing into me, his palms finding my breasts, toying with my nipples and then squeezing. I let my head fall on his shoulder, his lips brushing the sensitive skin near my ear and I let out a small sigh. The moment is so delicate. Especially for us.
Such an undisturbed kind of quiet that I don’t expect what comes next.
His hands leave my body and the next thing I know, he’s thrown me over his shoulder and is walking out of the closet.
I yelp in surprise, but don’t have time to struggle against his hold before I’m landing on the mattress with a bounce.
I glare at him as he looms over me, but then I’m suddenly struck with how breathtaking he looks. In a simple t-shirt and jeans, he still exudes such power, it’s hard not to respond to it.
There’s madness in his eyes, and my core clenches at the sight.
“Let go,” he says softly.
Like an incantation.
And again, I’m lost in all the different meanings these two words can mean.
Let go of this memory haunting you.
Let go of this piece of you.
Let go of your control.
I sit up straight, my hands clasped almost demurely in my lap, my head tilted back, looking up. His pupils dilate at the sight and I lean into this moment even more, smiling with all the naive innocence I still have tucked away somewhere inside and nod.
I watch Connor’s throat bob as he swallows, the rest of him motionless. The seconds stretch slowly between us. Then he smiles and I fall head first into the abyss.
