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My gulp was audible, and I knew he’d heard it by the amused glint in his eyes.
“Because I’m going to dress you.”
The nerve endings throughout my body were on fire and I was falling down a lustful rabbit hole which threatened to rob me of common sense and every shred of self-preservation I had.
Reaver—Goddess, why did his name have to be so sexy—was a bad guy. And not just any bad guy, but a fucking prince of hell. And yet… I let him get close and take the weird garment from my hand. Mesmerized, I watched as he set it down on the back of the chair, instead picking up a long strip of fabric, which he then wrapped around me. I obeyed his every command as he dressed me in the most exquisite clothing, the style so different from mine, but no less flattering.
Goosebumps exploded on my skin as the pads of his strong fingers glided over it, ever so lightly. Goddess, he was a bad guy, but he didn’t take advantage of me, and he was gorgeous, dominant, confident, and his scent made me want to do very naughty things to him.
“You don’t smell like any mortal I’ve ever met.”
I considered myself mortal since I’d displayed no mystic powers. If the empowerment (the process through which mystics came into their power) hadn’t yet hit me at twenty-five, I doubted it would ever come. I had resigned myself to the reality that the mystical genes of my ancestors had skipped my generation, as it had skipped so many before me.
My heart pounded fast in my chest as I stood in front of him, letting him dress me. He wrapped the leather corset around my torso, coming to stand close behind me. “Walk to the bed.”
“What? Why?”
Patience was not a virtue for him because he moved me until I stood in front of the bed. “Hold on to the bedpost.”
Not waiting for me to comply, Reaver pulled at the silk laces threading through the back of the corset. All I could do was hold on to the bedpost and beg my body to behave as he expertly tightened the garment. He did it a little too well because I thought I’d pass out. “I can’t breathe,” I heaved.
The laces loosened, allowing my lungs to re-inflate. Once he was done, he turned me to face him. “Come here.” Unwilling to wait for an answer, he took my hand and pulled me forward, his big, warm hand enveloping mine.
Fuck me, he was hot, and not just physically. His dominance was the stuff of wet dreams. Once we got to the chair, he picked up a black, lacy garter and a pair of matching panties. My breath hitched at the sight of this ridiculously handsome male holding the sexy fabric he planned to put on me.
I should’ve protested, should’ve pushed him away. But his eyes held me captive, promising me so many things, and there was nothing I could do but stare back.
With one knee on the ground, Reaver took my foot, placing it on his other knee as he then slid the panties up one leg and then the other.
The sexual tension thickening the air in the room suffocated me. I put my hands on his shoulders to keep my balance, my clit throbbing as he pulled the panties over my hips. His eyes darkened as he stared at my pussy with no shame, then licked his lips, making a strangled sound in his throat, like he was suppressing a groan.
Fuck, I was on fire and so entranced when he stood, I almost lost my balance, but he caught me by the waist and I felt like I could climax right then, the feel of his proximity and big warm hand on me almost too much to handle. Reaver leaned into my body to grab something behind me, and that something was the garter belt, which he clasped around my waist with both hands. The shiver that went through me proved impossible to hide, and his lustful stare was the only acknowledgment he gave me. I was too turned on to be embarrassed by my reaction to him.
Dropping back down on one knee, Reaver took my foot, sliding it into some sheer leg cover with a lacy band at the top. It was beautiful, and despite my circumstances, I felt sexy in a way I never had before. My sense of confidence took on an unfamiliar edge, and I wanted to deny myself that I wanted this man and all the danger he brought with him. It was exhilarating.
His stare never wavered as he rolled the other leg cover on. I stared right back, my body sizzling under his scrutiny.
Sliding his hands over my upper thighs, he clipped the lacy tops of my leg covers to the garter. The urge to open my legs wider and guide his hand up my center was difficult to control, as was the shaking of my thighs under his maddening and confident touch.
Blazes, I was in trouble, not only because of the situation I found myself in, but because I was figuring out I liked a bad guy. I liked the bad guy.
What did that make me?
He stood, picking up another garment from the chair behind me. A long shiny skirt he wrapped around my waist under the corset. Then, his hand climbed up my thigh, bringing the front of the skirt with it, like he was about to touch me there. I wanted him to. Goddess, how I wanted him to touch me everywhere.
But common sense seeped back into my consciousness, and I knew I had to resist. “What are you doing?” My voice was low and gritty and nothing like how I wanted to sound.
He didn’t reply, simply gazing into my eyes and smirking before looking down, rolling the front of my skirt and tying each side to the leather straps dangling from the bottom of the corset. That’s when I remembered the women I’d seen outside when I’d tried to run away. Some of them wore their skirt the same way. Stepping back, he crossed his thick arms over his chest and scanned me from top to bottom; the approval on his face undeniable. I melted, and common sense left me once more. If he’d tackled me and taken me to bed, my objection would have been non-existent.
Instead, he turned to the door and opened it, speaking to whom I assumed was the guard, and then closed it, turning back. “Someone will come in to do your hair and makeup.” And with that, he turned to leave.
“Consequences, shmonsequences,” I muttered, but unfortunately not quiet enough because he turned back around to face me.
His eyes shone with deviant amusement. “I will return for you and take you to the king.”
Shit. Suddenly, I wanted him to be the one hurting me or whatever the fuck they planned to do. I crossed my arms across my chest, which made his eyes wander to my now very pronounced cleavage, thanks to my arms and the corset, which clearly was some magical boob pusher. “I’m not interested in meeting Murmur, the king of assholes.”
“Let me make something clear. Your interests are of little concern to me.”
