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Tonight, she was miles different from the frightened, panicked slave he’d brought home with him. For one thing, she hadn’t been able to tolerate clothes touching her body at all. Not for days. Gradually, she’d grown accustomed to being covered, but she rarely wore a bra or anything itchy. She hated tags. She hated seams. She hated tight confining garments.
Before she was taken, she’d lived a life of luxury as the daughter of an Italian mob boss. Her father hadn’t been the worst sort of mafia boss, but he still lived below the law.
Damon certainly couldn’t judge the man. His own father hadn’t been much different. Nor had Robert’s, for that matter. Now all three of those men were dead. All three murdered. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
Damon had taken a step back from his ten-year obsession with nailing bad men to the wall to live a little and enjoy his woman. Tonight was no exception. And, God almighty, Gemma looked like heaven.
He’d purchased the clothing she wore, but he hadn’t been sure if she’d like it, nor could he have fully appreciated what it might look like on her until she stepped out of the bathroom and into his line of sight.
Damon was staring at her from across the room. He’d been putting on his shoes, but the second one fell from his hand and landed with a thud on the carpet. He sat up straighter, not blinking, swallowing hard.
She bit her lip as she strolled toward him. “What do you think?”
He nearly choked. “I think we should stay home.”
She giggled. “Not a chance. We’re going to Roses and Thorns. That’s what you bought this outfit for, remember?”
He slowly shook his head, never letting his gaze slide away from her. “No. I don’t even remember my name, and if I bought that for you to wear out of the house, I must have been out of my mind.”
She glanced down, and when she looked back at him, the smile on her face was worth every single star in the sky. She hadn’t worn anything except modest sweaters and leggings since she’d been here. This was a drastic change.
Absolutely none of her attributes were left to the imagination. The dress—if it could be called that—was black. It consisted of crisscrossing pieces of material that hugged her tits and ass, leaving her back and her tummy bare. It barely covered her ass at all.
There was no way to wear a bra with this dress, and her pert tits were pushed up and out by the stretchy material. He lowered his gaze to her pussy. “Please tell me you’re wearing the thong I left out.”
She lifted the hem seductively. “Yes, Sir,” she sassed.
“Turn around,” he growled. “Lift the back of the skirt.”
She did as instructed, showing him her fine ass cheeks. “Happy?”
He growled again. “Not really. I was definitely out of my mind.”
She continued forward, set her hands on the arms of his chair, and leaned over until her amazing tits hung in front of his face. “Don’t growl. It’s perfect. I feel like a princess. I haven’t felt sexy since before I was abducted. Not sexy like this anyway. Everything important is covered. We’ll be with your closest friends. Tuck that scowl away, please.”
He sighed and ran a hand down his face. He’d been incredibly possessive of her since he’d gotten her back. It wasn’t Gemma who didn’t like to be exposed. She hardly cared if anyone saw her naked. Her nudity barometer was broken from years of being kept naked while the scum of the earth stared at her body.
Nope. It was Damon who didn’t like anyone to see her. She was his. His alone. Didn’t matter that he’d dominated naked women many times in the past at Roses and Thorns. He had no intention of ever baring Gemma to a living soul. He wasn’t even fond of doctors and nurses seeing her skin during checkups.
“Damon…” she warned. “I’m yours. I’ll always be yours. I went to Roses and Thorns with you. Half the people there were naked. You’ve told me yourself you’ve done scenes with naked women before. There won’t even be guests there tonight. The club isn’t open. It will just be the six of us. You know Robert and Boyd are totally in love with their wives. They won’t be ogling my body.”
She was right. He still felt like a caveman. “The thong stays on at all times, got it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And I don’t want your nipples popping out either. No one can avoid seeing your globes, but the nipples and the pussy are mine. No exceptions.”
She nodded. “Yes, Sir.” She wasn’t mocking him. She was serious.
He lowered his gaze down her legs next. Her tanned skin was smooth and toned and made his mouth water. But the fucking black heels she wore made him nearly swallow his tongue.
He’d seen her dressed scantily many times when she was twenty and tormenting him around her father’s pool, but that was a long time ago. This Gemma was not the same woman. This Gemma was not a flirty girl just out of her teens. She’d been through things most human beings couldn’t imagine and survived.
Ignoring the dropped shoe, he grabbed her hips and hauled her forward until she was plastered against him between his spread thighs. They were nearly eye-to-eye. “You’re gorgeous.”
She set her hands on his shoulders and glanced down. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Sir.”
He wore all black like her. Black dress pants, a black button-up shirt, black socks and black dress shoes. He thought they looked stunning together.
