Ruthless Spring - Page 42

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: WINTER

“Thisdresslooksso lovely with your skin tone,” the store clerk says as she fawns over me.

I stare at myself in the mirror and I realize she isn’t wrong.

The gold dress hugging my figure makes my skin glow. The sequins covering the bodice glitters underneath the lights of the room. As I shift slightly, I realize I don’t hate how my body looks in it either. It stops just above my knee and hugs my stomach, accenting the curve of my hips. My cleavage is on full display. I can’t help but lightly graze my chest, my fingertips dancing across the flesh.

I’ve grown used to having my body on display, but there’s still a small part of me that is mortified.

“It looks nice on you.”

I glance up in the mirror again and this time my eyes meet another pair. Vito stands behind me, looking as healthy as ever. He’s back to wearing a suit, and his brown hair looks recently cut, no longer long enough for a short ponytail. His eyes move around the mirror, taking in my body.

I’m surprised he’s here.

Enzo mentioned that Vito had scheduled this appointment for me and that he’d handpicked all the outfits I’d be trying on. But unlike the last time we came to this boutique, he wasn’t waiting upstairs when we got here. And Enzo remained downstairs, like he was guarding the shop to make sure no one else came in.

I clear my throat, my cheeks warming. “Thank you,” I tell him.

I haven’t seen him since Giovannni kicked him out of his office the other day, before he… I shake my head at the thought, moving uncomfortably. I’ve dreamt about that moment more than a few times, waking up covered in sweat and my body shivering as I come down from an orgasm that I didn’t ask for.

Giovanni isn’t the only one to appear in the unwanted dreams either.

I’ve seen Maximo, his hands wrapped around my throat as he fucked me deep, ignoring the screams coming from my throat. Sometimes I liked it, other times I didn’t. And Vito himself had made a few appearances, those dreams always more pleasurable. They never end with blood, or with me screaming until my lungs are raw with pain.

I look at him now, my face still hot. He raises a brow.

“How are you feeling? '' I ask after a moment, lowering my eyes to the ground.

I feel his fingers trail across my cheek, and my heart flutters in my chest. I look up, finding him watching me closely.

“I feel okay,” he tells me. “How are you feeling, Winter?” My name rolls off his tongue far too sensually and again, I have to look anywhere but at him.

I center my gaze on a dress across the room.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking.” I quickly direct attention away from me. I’m not the one who got shot a few weeks ago. “Are you still in pain from the bullet?” I ask him, wringing my hands together.

He clears his throat and when I glance at him, I find him staring at the store clerk who I forgot was in the room. He waves a hand at her. “We’ll be taking this one. Give us a moment, and go put it on our tab,” he tells her.

The woman gives a sharp nod before disappearing down the stairs.

Vito holds a hand out to me and I glance at it briefly before taking it. Our fingers lock together, warm and tight, as he helps me down the platform. Electric shock shoots up my arm as the silk of the fabric rubs across my skin.

Vito removes his fingers from mine.

“Turn,” he gestures with his finger and I do so, my skin abuzz.

We’re back facing the mirror, his taller frame hovering over mine. His fingers dance across the top of my shoulders, brushing so gently, yet leaving an intense feeling. I suck in a breath, my heart hammering in my chest.

There seems to be something different about Vito today.

He never touches me this much, usually just a brush here or there. His fingers running over my skin as he inspects me for injuries, his touch dancing along my ankle as he helps me into a pair of heels.

But this… this is different.

The dress suddenly goes loose around me, as he slides the zipper down and cool air brushes against my skin.

The rapid beating of my heart thunders in my ears. I draw in a breath, grabbing onto the fabric and molding it against my body so it doesn’t fall away.

Tags: Quirah Casey Erotic
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