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“Right now, I want to possess every single part of you.”
He spins me around so we’re looking into the mirror. This close, it’s clear that his tux was designed with my dress in mind. The velvet sheen of my gown is mirrored in the veridian piping down the sides of his pants and around his lapels. His pocket square matches the lace overlay from my bodice.
We’re a perfect pair.
He leans in close, a blue-eyed devil whispering temptations in my ear. “I want to rip you out of this dress stitch by stitch and fuck you on it,” he growls. “I want to fill you until you scream my name and every person in attendance tonight knows, without a doubt, that you belong to me and me alone.”
I swallow down the desire pulsing through me. “That's… um… pretty possessive.”
He slides his hands from my shoulders to my waist. “It’s only because you look so beautiful. Have I said that?” he asks, his nose buried in my hair. “Have I said how stunning you look?”
It’s taking every ounce of self-control in my body to stand here and not spin around and leap into his arms. I want the dirty promises he made. I want them again and again and again.
And again, and again, and again, and again.
“Not in so many words. But I got the general idea.”
He kisses the junction of my neck and shoulder and smiles at our reflection. “Good. Because you look fucking incredible. No one is going to wonder what Timofey Viktorov is doing with a social worker when they see you in this. No one will doubt our relationship for a second.”
All at once, I remember this isn’t real. I’m not his girlfriend, I’m pretending.
I step away from him and smooth down the folds of the skirt. “You did a great job with the dress.”
“I had it custom made for you. All those dresses I ordered were shit. You needed something that would suit you.”
“Plenty of those dresses suited just fine,” I tell him. “Most of them were more than my monthly rent.”
He rolls his eyes. “Let’s not get started on your rent. The dresses were a disaster, end of story.”
“They were not! That purple one was super pretty. I loved it.”
It doesn’t matter, but arguing about dresses is a nice distraction from the fact that I’m spiraling.
I want to be Timofey’s girlfriend, even though he is a killer and a criminal. Instead, I’m pretending to be his girlfriend while I’m supposed to be trying to get away from him so I can potentially get him sent to prison.
The web of lies and deceit I’ve woven is too tangled even for me to pick apart.
Timofey shakes his head. “The purple dress made your skin look yellow, whereas this shade of green brings out your naturally pink blush points here,” he says, pointing to my cheeks. Then his hand slips down to my collarbone. “And here.”
I blink at him, dumbfounded that he is payinganyattention to me, let alone this much.
“Speaking of here,” he says, running his finger along my collarbone to my breastbone. “This square neckline and tapered waist highlight your incredible curves and show off your bone structure.”
“What do you know about bone structure?”
“In general? Nothing. But yours?” He lowers his chin, his eyes deathly serious. “Everything. You’re a fucking dream, Piper. You have a heart-shaped face, petite shoulders, and hips that make me want to do filthy things all of the time. So I told the seamstress to make you look like my worst nightmare: a fucking fairytale princess.”
“You mean ‘a fuckable fairytale princess’?”
He laughs and pulls me close again, looping his arms around my lower back. “A fairytale princess shouldn’t have such a dirty mouth.”
“Maybe you’ll have to punish me,” I say with doe eyes and an exaggerated porn star voice. “Teach me how to be a good girl, Timofey.”
He growls and dips his head, nipping at my earlobe. “Keep it up and I really will have you screaming my name until all the guests can hear.”
Guests.
Dinner guests.
