Page 101 of Sweet Temptation

Kinda like when you stand up for the first time after drinking too much and realize how wrecked you are.

I was careful not to look at her as I loaded the garment bags with her new outfits into the trunk of her car for her. Devoid’s seamstresses had finished some of them, and the others would be delivered to her house next week.

I really couldn’t wait to see her in them—and have a hard-on all fucking night at every one of her shows, since that seemed to be the way this was headed. Devoid had insisted she wear the white sex-warrior dress and the headdress with “some serious spread-’em-and-fuck-me-up-against-the-wall boots”… which Summer had assured him she owned.

Yeah. Couldn’t wait to see that.

Literally.

Jesus, I was fucked here.

“About what?” I said, as flatly as I could. Like I’d tuned right out and had no idea what she was talking about.

I was just her bodyguard, right? And today, I’d learned a major lesson.

Next time, I could stand my ass outside the door of the designer’s studio and keep her just as safe. Because there was no way I was sitting through that again. I felt like I’d just had a front row seat to the hottest, slowest, most torturous strip show in history… and now had to sit right next to the star of the show and pretend I didn’t want her.

“The outfits, obviously,” she said. “I’m wearing them at some of my final club shows this year. But I wanted some pieces that would also work for my new life as a rock star. Devoid’s creations aren’t cheap.”

“Right,” I said vaguely.

I shut the trunk and she followed me around the car. “So, which ones did you like?”

“I really don’t have an opinion.” I reached to open her car door for her, but she didn’t get in. She just stood there, staring at me while I avoided her eyes.

“Sure you do. You wear clothes. You look at women in clothes, and out of them. So tell me what you thought.”

“I’m really not an expert in fashion.”

She put her hands on her hips, which was never a good sign; I’d learned that by now. “How did I look in them?” she demanded.

“You looked great.”

“Great…” She considered that. “Great, like, ‘Yeah, grandma, you look great in that sweater.’ Or great, like, ‘I want to put my dick in that?’”

Her boldness, as usual, left me kinda speechless.

“Uh… more of the second thing,” I muttered, and gestured toward the car seat. “Please, have a seat.”

But she was still staring at me.

She finally got into the car and I shut her door. As I walked around the car, I adjusted my dick, hoping she couldn’t see me in a mirror, and equally hoping Devoid wasn’t looking out a window. Because if he was, he was definitely texting her that information.

When I got in the car, she didn’t start it up. I felt her looking at me, so I looked her right in the eye and tried to relay the message that nothing was wrong here. That I was cool and in control, as always.

I wasn’t sure it worked.

“I consider it part of my job to be sexy,” she informed me. “If you hadn’t noticed.”

Yeah. I noticed.

“So. Which outfit made you want to fuck me the most?” she pressed. “That’s what I’m asking.”

I fixed my gaze somewhere out the window and muttered, “They were all pretty equal in that regard.” If I didn’t answer her honestly, I was pretty sure we’d be sitting here all day.

When she still didn’t get us moving, I glanced at her again. She was grinning. “You really didn’t have to sit through all that,” she said. “I was kinda messing with you.”

Well, fuck. That was irritating.

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