Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
By five-thirty, I gave up pretending to work. I saved my progress and went to my closet, standing before it in just the horrid belt that had become my strange uniform these past two days. Something nice. Something I’d wear on a date. The problem was most of my wardrobe consisted of either New Modesty-appropriate clothing or the office attire Scott had specifically said not to wear.
My fingers traced over the hangers until they found a dress I’d almost forgotten about—a deep burgundy wrap dress that Jacob had bought me for our first anniversary but had never let me wear, saying it was too revealing. The fabric was soft and clingy, the neckline lower than anything I’d worn since joining the New Modesty program, the hem hitting mid-thigh. It was the kind of dress that suggested sophistication rather than innocence.
I pulled it on carefully, the silk whispering against my skin. The wrap style accommodated the belt without showing its outline too obviously, though I knew Scott would be able to tell. Looking in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. Without panties, with just the belt beneath, I felt naked despite being dressed. The burgundy brought out the flush that seemed permanently painted across my cheeks these days.
I found the thigh-high stockings Scott had referred to, in the back of the drawer: black, with lace—of course—at their elastic tops. A pair of black heels made my stocking-clad legs look longer, more elegant. My hands shook as I applied a touch of makeup—nothing dramatic, just enough to make my eyes look bigger, my lips fuller. I left my hair down, the waves falling past my shoulders in a way that felt almost wanton after so many years of severe up-dos.
The shuttle ride to Scott’s building felt endless. Every bump in the road made the belt shift against me, and I had to grip the seat to keep from whimpering. Other passengers glanced at me occasionally—a young woman dressed for a date, heading to the expensive part of town—and I wondered if they could sense my desperation, if they could tell that beneath my sophisticated dress I was locked in leather, dripping with need I couldn’t satisfy.
Scott’s building was one of those gleaming towers that screamed money and power. The doorman nodded respectfully as I gave Scott’s name and apartment number, and the elevator that whisked me to the penthouse floor felt like ascending to judgment.
The door to Scott’s apartment opened before I could knock. He stood there in dark jeans and a charcoal sweater that made his eyes look even more intense than usual. For a moment we just stared at each other, the air between us electric with tension.
Then, without warning, he pulled me against him. His mouth crashed down on mine with a hunger that stole my breath. One hand tangled in my hair while the other pressed against my lower back, holding me tight against his body. I could feel his arousal through his jeans, pressing against my belly, and I whimpered into his mouth, my hands clutching at his shoulders.
The kiss was nothing like the controlled interactions we’d had in his office. This was raw, desperate, consuming. His tongue claimed my mouth with the same possessive intensity he’d shown when claiming my body. I melted against him, my legs going weak as waves of need crashed through me. The belt seemed to pulse down there, a cruel reminder of my enforced chastity even as every other part of me was on fire.
When he finally pulled back, holding me at arm’s length, we were both breathing hard. His hands gripped my upper arms, and I could see him fighting for control.
“I hadn’t meant to do that,” he said, his voice rougher than I’d ever heard it. “But Christ, Grace, when I saw you standing there in that dress… I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t want to help myself.”
My lips felt swollen, tingling from his kiss. “I… I didn’t mind,” I whispered, then immediately flushed at the inadequacy of the words. Didn’t mind? I’d nearly come just from his kiss, despite the belt’s imprisonment.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Come in before I do something else I hadn’t planned.”
He stepped back, and I entered his apartment on unsteady legs. The space was exactly what I’d expected and yet nothing like it—modern and masculine, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a spectacular view of the city lights. But there were surprising touches of warmth too: rich leather furniture, bookshelves lined with well-worn volumes, artwork that suggested actual taste rather than mere investment.
“You look beautiful,” he said, closing the door behind me. His eyes traveled slowly down my body, lingering on the way the wrap dress clung to my curves. “That color suits you.”
“Thank you,” I managed, hyperaware of how the silk felt against my skin, how naked I was beneath it except for the belt. “Your apartment is lovely.”