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Is she remembering the way she fell apart on my fingers like I am? Is seeing Juliette a reminder of the sweet moans she made as she ground into my palm, hungry and desperate for something we both wanted?
She swallows and worries her lip before averting her gaze. A wave of emotion hits me like a truck. I set the glass, untouched, on the nearest surface before I break it and hurry down the steps to the cabin.
Bitterness and anger swirl in my chest as I lock myself in the bathroom. No, not swirl. Swirling is what one does at a wine tasting. There isn’t anything civilized about this feeling. It’s a battering hurricane, a rough and choppy ocean storm. Thinking I could play it cool was a fucking joke.2
I can’t do this. I can’t go slow when I need her like I need fucking air. I’m not some gentleman courting a prim and proper lady.
I look in the mirror and remind myself of who I am. I’m a Fox. When we want something, we take it. We don’t wait for others to determine our fates. We don’t shrink ourselves or our desires for anyone or anything.
Stella knows this. She might not bear our name, but she’s one of us. She knew the type of man I am last night when she spread her legs and fucked my fingers. I’m only disrespecting her by treating her like something fragile, something breakable.
Determined to set things straight, I throw open the door.
Stella stands against the opposite wall of the narrow hallway. My chest pounds like a predator’s who’s closing in on his prey. I take a loaded step closer, and she flattens her back against the wall.
I stand taller. “You might want to pretend like last night didn’t happen, but I won’t. Let me be perfectly clear: I want more, réalta.” I close in on her so she has to tilt her head to look up at me, and her breathing deepens. “And I’m done pretending I don’t.”
My eyes drop to her full lips, how they’re parted ever so slightly. The urge to close the distance completely and taste them is overpowering. My jaw clenches painfully in restraint, and I force myself to walk away before I completely forget what no means.
Our first stop was a bust. The sales associate whisked Stella away when we arrived, and they were gone for twenty minutes before reappearing empty-handed.
At the second boutique, the saleswoman is less hands-on. “I’ll give you some time to try on the dresses. Just let me know if you need anything,” she says, leaving the two of us alone in the large fitting area.
I lounge on a couch, kicking my feet up on the ottoman, while Stella surveys the row of formal dresses hanging before her. She chooses one and pulls the velvet curtain closed to change.
A few minutes later, she steps out. Lavender silk hangs loosely on her body. “I need you to zip me up.”
She spins to face a floor-length mirror, the back of the dress open and her flawless skin on display. I watch her reflection as I walk over. Her eyes are slightly hooded, and I don’t try to hide the way I hungrily soak her in.
There’s a silver hue to the dress, making the fabric seem almost metallic or chrome. It clings to her frame like a liquid galaxy. “You look . . .” I search for the right word. “. . . astral.”
“And what does astral look like?” Her back stiffens as I hover inches away.
“You look heavenly, Stella Mae.” As if in a trance, I lightly trail a single finger down her spine. She sucks in a sharp inhale and my cock jerks, and I want to make her breath hitch like that again and again.
She reaches behind her and holds up her hair, revealing her neck. It feels like an invitation, but I know it’s not. The neediness I saw in her eyes last night isn’t there, but there’s something even better. A slow-burning fire telling me that no matter how much she may want to, she hasn’t forgotten.
I zip the dress and step back, giving her room to see how fucking divine she looks. She tilts her head back and forth in the mirror, considering.
“You’re getting that dress,” I say, because there isn’t any other option. “Even if you don’t wear it for this event, I’m still going to buy it.” I drag my thumb across my lip and shrug when she raises her brows at me. “Not to would be a crime.”
She rolls her eyes with a friendly scoff. “First of all.” She turns to face me. “I have other dresses to try on. Secondly, you’re not buying me anything.”
“Yes.” I step closer, and she stands straighter, as if she’s refusing to give up ground like she did earlier on the boat. The fight and challenge on her face ignites me. “I am.”
She crosses her arms, pushing her breasts higher and making my blood heat. “No—”
Surprising us both, I take a lunging step, closing in on her. She flattens against the mirror. Her palms fly out to press against my chest at the same time I lightly wrap a hand around her throat. My breaths are heavy and shallow. The hand at my side curls into a tight fist as I try to get myself back under control.
“Lochlan,” she says through gritted teeth. Her pupils are blown wide, and her pulse races under my palm. It makes me want to lean down and lick a path over the vein to feel it hammer against my tongue.
I release her throat to grip her chin more tenderly. My voice drops. “Let me spoil you.”
“Fine.” She speaks only when I step away, her tone cocky and sharp—just how I like it. “I’m getting all of them then.” She nods to the rack as if it’s a threat, each dress several grand.
“Done.” I smirk.
She brushes a loc off her shoulder and adds pointedly, “And shoes.”
