Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Next, she shimmies out of her jeans, pushing them over her round, tight ass to reveal the string of her thong that disappears in her crease. I study her shamelessly, following her actions as she pushes the jeans down her thighs and frees her feet. She avoids meeting my gaze in the mirror while I pretend I’m not sporting a boner when her T-shirt comes off and she stands in black lace underwear in front of me.
Sandy rushes to her aid, helping her into the dress and assisting with the zipper.
My phone pings with a notification. It’s a message from HR, instructing me to inform them of the reason for my absence at my earliest convenience.
Before the dress is fully zipped up, I say, “No.”
I don’t even look up from my phone. The dress is pretty enough, but it doesn’t suit Violet. The cut must be from the sixties. Vintage isn’t her style.
Shopping, I reply.
Let the fuckers have a field day with that.
From my peripheral vision, I spot a fuming Sandy peeling the dress off Violet.
She helps her fit another and poses Violet in front of me.
“How about this one?” Sandy asks. “The knee-length is back in fashion big time.”
“No,” I say, not gracing Violet with more than a glance.
She looks like she walked straight from a commercial for vacuum cleaners, one of those tacky ones in which the housewife poses in a fancy dress and heels on a floor so clean her image reflects in the tiles.
Huffing, Sandy takes the next dress off the rail. “This one has more of a wedding flair. Personally, I think it’s the best choice of the lot.”
Violet steps into the dress while Sandy zips her up.
When I lift my gaze, I forget to breathe. The dress is a tight fit, the simple cut hugging Violet’s generous curves and flat stomach. The hem ends mid-thigh, exposing her long, tanned legs. The old-gold fabric has a mat shine that brings out the bronze color of her skin. The dress looks perfect on her. She’s a goddess.
Sandy gasps. “It’s gorgeous on you.”
Agreed.
Smoothing her hands over her stomach, Violet finally speaks. “It looks like I’m going to a nightclub.” She couldn’t look more ill at ease in the dress if she tried to be.
I stand, pocketing my phone. “We’ll take it.”
Violet gives me a startled look. “I don’t want it.”
“I do.” Walking over, I take her shoulders, turn her around, and pull down the zipper. “That’s all that matters.”
The shop assistant stands aside, clearing her throat.
Violet shivers as I push the sleeves over her arms.
“I don’t even need a dress,” she says.
Now that she broke her silence, the floodgates have opened. She’s as mouthy as I got to know her. Good. I like the old Violet.
I gently work the fabric down her hips, brushing my palms over her silky skin in the process. Goosebumps break out on her arms. The dress pools around her feet, baring her toned back, ass, and thighs. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess and then some not to wrap an arm around her waist and slam her back against my chest. I want to be rough, to bury my cock deep in her core and kiss her until my teeth draw blood, but I need her gently more, and for that I’ll always hate her. I’ll never again give her the soft part of me that makes me vulnerable.
It takes even more self-control to will my hard-on away before Sandy gets an eyeful of my cock tenting my pants.
Setting Violet aside a little too roughly, I go to the counter. “How much?”
“Twenty thousand,” Sandy says.
Her contempt makes me smile. “Do I get a discount for cash?”
“No.” She cocks her hip. “We don’t offer a discount on our new range.”
Bullshit. I always get discounts for cash. She’s being spiteful, but I let it slide. The dress is worth every penny.
I take a credit card from my wallet and flick it onto the counter. “Here you go.”
Sandy shakes her head and mumbles, “Asshole,” under her breath as she picks up the dress.
While I pay, Violet gets dressed. Since I’m no longer occupying the sofa, she can sit down to tie the laces of her sneakers.
Sandy hands me the parcel and a receipt, omitting a thank you.
I snatch them from her hands with a grin. “Thank you for your time.”
When Violet passes the counter, Sandy says, “I’d seriously reconsider tying the knot with him if I were you.”
Taking Violet’s hand, I interlace our fingers. “Keep your advice to yourself, sweetheart. I don’t think you’d like me to mention that to the owner.”
Sandy pales a little and shuts her mouth. That doesn’t stop her from staring holes into the back of my head.
“So this is how it’s going to be,” Violet says as I drag her along to the car.