“Unlace it.”
She steps up, pulling the bow and loosening the corset, so I can push it down and off my body.
“Tell Lavinia to call me when the alterations are done,” I instruct, “and tell her to take it down a size.
”
“It fits you perfectly.”
“To a four, please,” I snip as I pick the dress up off the floor. “And remove this flower.” I grab the one at the center of the bodice. “Are we repurposing wedding dresses from 1982 or something?”
But she’s not paying attention. She stands back and stares at me, and when she turns and checks my reflection in the mirror, I follow her gaze.
The simple hoop skirt wraps around me, thin and absent of bows and ruffles and lace, while the strapless white bustier corset hugs my breasts almost too tightly, and covers my stomach, leaving an inch of skin between that and my skirt.
If it weren’t obvious that they were undergarments, they might be kind of hot.
Lifting up my hoop skirt again, I check out the bare legs and shoes, Liv’s smile looking like the one I was feeling.
I could live with something like this, I guess.
“I could make it for you,” she says. “But better.”
She moves in, placing a hand on my tummy, and I ignore the skip in my heart.
“Maybe a little see-through here with some embroidery,” she explains, “piece them together, and some layering to give it dimension. Tighten up the bodice with some light and subtle gold accents to complement the shoes…”
I envision it in my head as we look at me in the mirror.
For some reason, I have no doubt she’ll pull it off if I let her, and I’d even love it.
If I let her.
She turns her eyes on me again, standing in front of me and looking up and down my garments.
“We can keep it this same shade of white.” She gestures to the gown in my arm. “It’s a perfect color, really.”
She meets my eyes, looking at me dead-on.
“You won’t even see the cum stain when he drunk-ejacs all over you in the backseat of the car after the ball,” she says.
The ever-present knot in my stomach pulls tighter, and I hold her gaze, unfaltering. Excuse me?
“Because ladies in your world don’t talk about those things.” A smile curls the corner of her mouth as she inches in, whispering, “You just go home in tears and do things with a pulsating shower head that God didn’t intend sweet little southern girls to do.”
My blood runs ice cold, and I grit my teeth, the heat of her breath falling across my lips as I curl my fingers into fists.
“Try it tonight,” she taunts, staring at my mouth. “You might like it.”
I stop breathing, the pulse between my legs starting to throb.
She snatches the dress out of my hand, and I suck in a breath as I watch her not miss a beat as she steps backward off the riser and starts to leave. “See you at school, Clay,” she says.
Look for Tryst Six Venom—coming soon!