Page 59 of Wine & Dine

I simply hold my position, teasing but not forcing. The increase in her rhythm tells me she might like the hint at her back door—a little excitement from the unfamiliar—but I lose my concentration when she touches herself while she rides me and comes undone in record time.

“Santa’s not done with you yet,” I warn, tossing her forward so she lands on her front. I crawl over her and lift her hips. Instantly missing her warm wetness, I slam into her. Another litany of curses scrolls through my head, mixing with audible grunts and skin-slapping thrusts as I lose myself in her again and again and again.

“One more, stunner,” I demand, slipping my fingers to her front, tugging and flicking at the nub to set her off. She presses back at me, hinting she’s there, and then she stills, curling her back like a stretching cat. Fuck. I come so hard I see stars dancing over her body. My dick pulses and pitches and jets an unending release.

“God, I needed that,” I mumble into her back, my forehead resting on her shoulder. She chuckles with me inside her.

“Me too.” The air turns serious, heavy with the weight of more to be said. Then I realize I’m bare inside her.

“Dolores,” I groan. “I wasn’t wearing a condom. Again.” The comment should crush our moment, but Dolores simply collapses to the mattress, and I follow as I can’t seem to pull myself free of her yet.

“Well, Santa, it seems you’ve been a bad boy yourself. How does Santa punish himself for misbehaving?” She giggles into the mattress under her head, and I quickly pull out of her. I smack her plump backside, and she lifts the upper half of her body to look at me over her shoulder.

Dear Santa, please let me keep her. Keep me on the bad boy list if this woman will continue to look at me like she is at this moment. Satiated. Complete. Happy.

How would I live without her if she decided to leave?

“Santa’s always good,” I mock, and her eyes sparkle as she stares back at me. Her hair drapes over her head like a freshly fucked sex kitten.

“So good,” she purrs, and I’ll take lumps of coal in my stocking forever to hear this sound from her again.

23

My Fair Lady

[Dolores]

The next day, a car picks me up and takes me to Le Couturier, a quaint, high-end dress shop off Rodeo Drive. Michel, which sounds like Michelle, is the woman I’m to meet, and I wonder if she’s another someone who might have slept with Garrett. He certainly is well acquainted with personal shoppers and salon stylists. With a kiss to each cheek, Michel leads me into a back room where I stand on a circular platform.

“Mr. Fox has asked me to dress you.” Her accent is as rich as her name, and I’m beginning to feel a little outside myself just as I did the day I was pampered at the salon. I don’t know who I am in these fancy places, and I’m not used to being handled by others. Hair. Makeup. Dressmaker. It’s all foreign to me.

“Hair down or up?” she questions, and I look at myself in the mirror. It’s down today, but I don’t know how I’ll wear my hair the day of the Christmas-themed event, as Garrett called it. Just call a spade a spade and say Christmas party. But something tells me, with the type of dress required, this is more than some holiday office get-together. Garrett will be arranging hair and makeup appointments for me at Denton’s place on Saturday afternoon. I’m certain that costs a pretty penny.

He’s done so much for me. A bit of My Fair Lady meets Pretty Woman. A new me. A real lady. The clothes. The dance lessons. The weekend wine tasting. My thoughts drift to the diner and how much I miss the place and the woman I was. Not the tired, strung-too-thin, be-responsible-for-it-all person, but the woman in charge of her own business. The independent woman who took care of herself. It’s been nice to have someone else meet my needs, and Garrett certainly does that in the bedroom department, but what am I doing for him?

I stare at my too-wide eyes as the designer decides for herself that my hair should be half up and half down. She gives it a messy look with a hairclip on top of my head and then steps back for the clothing rod holding three sample dresses. The first is long, black, and glittery with spaghetti straps and a slit up the side. It’s form-fitting and elegant, but I don’t feel quite right in it. It screams red carpet and trophy wife, which I’m clearly not. The second comes to my neck in a halter cut with nude fabric to the top of my breasts. It emphasizes my arms, which shouldn’t be the focus as I don’t have any definition in them. It isn’t flattering. When the final dress is removed from the bag, I can’t get a sense of it. It’s lace from waist to neck with a nude inlay bodice. I’m thinking I’m too busty for the thing, not to mention the full skirt that cuts across the simple black silk with a rather revealing stretch of the fabric. It’s more than a subtle slit up the side panel but a fully exposed left leg.

“This is my favorite,” Michel mutters as she helps me into the dress. With my back to the mirror, I don’t get the full effect until I turn. In the reflection is someone I don’t recognize. The bodice clings to my midsection, accentuating my breasts yet keeping them contained. Lace wraps from neck to wrist with large cutouts of exposed skin. The waist hugs my true waist and flows A-line to the floor. The large swatch of fabric opening the skirt does what I expect—exposes my left leg almost to my hip.

“You won’t be able to wear thigh-highs with that,” a rough male voice says behind me, and I twist to find Garrett in the room. Suddenly, the place seems too small for three people and this dress. Michel walks over to him—dressed impeccably in a charcoal gray suit with a vest—and gives him the two-cheek kiss. She mumbles something to him, but he isn’t looking at her. His eyes are trained on me. He chuckles softly and then asks her if we can have a moment alone.

Garrett steps up on the circular platform and runs his hands down my sides, under my arms, outlining my hips. He’s examining the material like he’s a connoisseur of female clothing. His head lifts, and he meets my eyes in the mirror. His hands pause at my waist.

“This isn’t the one I envisioned, but now I don’t think I can see you in anything else.” His voice is chalky, deep, and low. We stare at one another in the mirror. “You are so beautiful.”

A blush creeps up my skin, tainting it pink, and Garrett’s hand slips to the revealing slit. His mouth presses below my ear. “Shimmy out of your panties.”

“What?” I choke, trying to find his eyes in the mirror, but he faces the side of my head, his eyes close as his lips press under my ear again. I reach within the skirt and tug until the material slips over my hips and falls to my feet. I step left, revealing the deep cut, leaving my underwear wrapped around my right ankle. Garrett faces forward once again and watches his hand disappear under the black silk. Without a word, his fingers plunge into me, and my mouth falls open with the intrusion.

“Watch yourself,” he whispers. “See what I see when you come apart.”

“Garrett,” I warn. “The dress?”

“It’s already yours, and I want to watch you fall to pieces in it.” His fingers slide in and out, curling in a manner I hadn’t felt before with him. He’s demanding and delving, and the rush comes quickly. I watch myself as my breathing accelerates, and my chest heaves. Garrett’s bright eyes don’t leave the mirror. His fingers are hidden under the skirt, but I don’t need to see them. I feel them. Every fiber of my being feels his fingertips and the edge of his knuckles and the hair on the backs as he takes me with those firm digits.

“Garrett,” I whisper, warning him again. It’s going to be fast, and it’s going to be huge. A scream rumbles in my chest. My eyes widen in the mirror, but Garrett doesn’t break his expression. His concentration on bringing me to my knees remains intact as we both watch me explode. I need something to hold as my legs shake, so I reach back for his neck, curling my arm behind me to hold on to him. His fingers on my hip tighten, and I close my eyes.

“Watch,” he commands, an edge to his voice as if any moment he’s going to tip over instead of me. When I open my eyes and witness our position, I come undone. I bite my lip to hold in the scream burning up my throat. I moan and curse him in my head until he starts swearing at me.