“This dress is made for it. Take them off,” he repeated.
I did, shimmying out of them and tossing them on the pile with the rest of my clothing.
I walked toward the mirror, sexy and vibrant and daring. Maybe too daring. “I love it, Tyler, but I don’t know. The slit up the thigh is so high. If it were over my hip, maybe. But …” I trailed off as I took more steps and then turned. You couldn’t actually see my crotch, but it was high enough that someone might imagine they could.
“Let them,” Tyler said, when I told him that. “What’s life without a little imagination?”
“Tyler …”
“You’re beautiful and sexy, Sloane. Even in your jeans and T-shirt. But in this, you’re breathtaking. Enjoy it. Better yet, let me enjoy it.”
I frowned at my reflection. I did look seriously hot. Hotter than I’d ever looked before, that was for sure, and I couldn’t deny that it was tempting. So very tempting.
“Besides,” he said, standing and coming to me. “There will be dancing, and this dress was made for it.” He drew me into his arms, one hand holding mine, the other at my back. As he hummed something smooth and classical, he led me around the room, and even there, in a dressing room with no real music, it was almost magical.
“You see?” he said, his grin just a little bit wicked as he dipped me, making me cry out, then laugh in surprise and delight. My back arched, my leg extended out, and he pressed a kiss to the side of my neck.
He pulled me back to my feet, running his hand along my bare thigh as he did. “That slit is a very important selling point.” His fingers continued along the length of the slit until he reached my sex. I was slick and wet, and I groaned when he thrust his finger inside me. “Definitely a selling point,” he murmured.
“Tyler …” My protest was thin and weak.
“Hush,” he said, dropping to his knees. He lifted his hands, pushing the material up on my hips so that the top of the slit framed my sex. “I have to taste you,” he said, then laved his tongue over me once before tilting his head up to face me. “Don’t make a sound.”
Oh, dear lord …
I reached out, steadying myself with the side of the mirror as he drew in close once again, his hands now inside the skirt, holding tight to my thighs, his tongue so intimately stroking me.
He teased my clit with tiny, fluttery strokes, then stroked me, gloriously hard, before sucking and teasing.
My knees were weak, and I had to take one hand off the mirror to bite the soft pad at the base of my thumb simply to quell the need to scream in both pleasure and frustration. Pleasure at the riot of sensations he was sending through me. Frustration that I could do nothing more than stand there biting my lip when I wanted to cry out and beg him for more, beg him to lay me down and shove the dress up and bury himself inside me.
His tongue continued its sweet torture, and I clung to the side of the mirror, feeling the climax build, knowing I was close, so close, and any moment I would completely shatter.
And then he backed away. “I think that’s far enough.”
I gaped at him. “Excuse me?”
He stood up, then kissed me, long and deep. I tasted my own arousal and moaned against his mouth, my hips crushing against him as I writhed, shamelessly seeking my release.
“Mine, remember?” he said as he broke the kiss and backed away. His expression was smug and very devious. “I want you wanting. I want you desperate. I want you so ready for me you’ll come with the slightest of touches, and then again and again when I fuck you.”
My body trembled from his words. “Bastard.”
He laughed. “I’ve been called worse.”
“You know I’m going to make you pay.”
He bent down to pick up my bra and shirt, then unbuttoned the shoulder. “Sweetheart, I sincerely hope so.”
Since there was no winning this battle, I got dressed, stifling a frustrated moan as the jeans rubbed provocatively against me. I glanced at Tyler, certain he was aware of this new distress, but he very wisely didn’t meet my eye.
I picked up the dress, turning it over to look for the tag. “There’s no price,” I said.
“Trust me. There’s always a price.”
In this case, the price was five digits, and I about had a heart attack.
“For a dress? And you spent it?” We were back on the street, heading toward Michigan Avenue so we could catch a taxi back to The Drake. “I could buy a car for that.”