He holds up both hands and gives me a look of feigned innocence. “What else would I be to the little boy who thinks he can ask out my girl?”
“Royal,” I warn. “He’s a nice guy.”
“If he was a nice guy, he wouldn’t have asked you out again after you told him to fuck off last week. Now go get ready before I change my mind and just stay here and fuck you all night to remind you who you belong to.”
I roll my eyes, but I turn and head down the hall to put on the dress. In truth, staying here and fucking Royal sounds way too fucking tempting, especially when a high school dance is the alternative. Which means I need to get out of the house before I lose my head and do something I’ll regret.
The dress does not, in fact, make me look like a streetwalker. It’s the softest, most buttery smooth fabric I’ve ever felt, in a shade of red so deep it’s almost black. When I pull on the rich garment, I just about melt. It hugs my curves and cinches at the waist like it was custom made for me. The bodice is fitted but not too tight, with a high, halter neck that shows off my toned shoulders instead of attempting to make me look like I have cleavage. After the tapered waist that highlights my tiny middle, the cut loosens, opening up at the hips, the luxurious fabric falling in silky folds to my feet. I don’t even have to look at myself in the mirror to fall in love. It feels so good I want to moan just standing in the middle of my room in it.
When I look in the mirror, though, I’m dumbstruck all over again. I turn a minute later and see Royal standing in the door to my bedroom, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed. I have no idea how long he’s been standing there, but I’m too awed to care.
“Royal,” I say, trying to put into words how incredibly, amazingly beautiful he made me feel. “It’s… How did you know my size so well?”
“It’s made for you,” he says, his eyes heated as he takes me in.
“I can tell,” I say, turning and watching the skirt flow out slightly around my ankles. “But… How?”
“Once in a while, a Darling makes himself useful,” he says. “Now come here and put your shoes on.”
I remember Preston measuring me over the summer, and it feels like a different lifetime.
Royal holds onto my hips to help me balance while I step into the heels he brought, which are also the correct size, although that’s less impressive than a dress that actually fits my bottom-heavy figure. When I straighten, he pulls me closer, his hands circling my waist possessively. I slide my arms around his neck with no hesitation. I don’t know when I stopped thinking he’d hurt me, but there’s no fear in me as I stand on tiptoes and pull him down for a kiss.
He presses his lips to mine, a little growl of pleasure catching in his throat as his hands tighten, pulling me flush against him.
“Thank you,” I say, pulling away at last. “This is so beautiful, Royal. I didn’t know it was possible for clothes to make someone feel so good.”
“You sure you want to go to this conformist nightmare, Jailbird?” he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Because I could take this right back off and make you feel a hell of a lot better than this dress can.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I say. “So, stop tempting me.”
“You’re tempted?” he asks, smirking down at me and flattening his huge hand against the small of my back. “Then let’s get this over with so I can spend the rest of the night with my head between your thighs.”
I roll my eyes. “I told you, we’re not together, and you’re not changing my mind.”
“Okay, Cherry Pie,” he says, shaking his head.
“And I’m driving my car,” I say.
“Not happening.”
“Fine, thenyoucan drive my car,” I say. “But I’m not responsible for what happens to yours if you leave it parked here.”
He just smirks at me. “I have insurance.”
“I thought you were afraid my neighbors would dismantle it for parts,” I say, repeating something he once said when he dropped me off.
“I’m not afraid of your neighbors,” he says, holding out a hand. I sigh and hand over my keys. I’ve accepted the fact that I will never drive anywhere when Royal’s involved. He’s way too much of a control freak to let anyone else behind the wheel.
At school, I make my way inside with Royal, ignoring the whispers and stares in our direction when people see last year’s king returning. Royal puts on an air of complete boredom, but I know he’s watching. In a weird way, his presence allows me to let my guard down. I can take out my phone and text my friends, find out where they are, without worrying about watching out for myself.
“Harper!” someone calls.
“Great,” Royal grumbles.
Dixie rushes over in a black satin dress that shows all her curves, a pair of red lace-up boots, and red clutch to match, Colt trailing behind her.
“Damn, girl,” I say, looking her over. “That dress is criminal.”