Page 47 of Where We Began

Trepidation makes my mouth taste funny, like stale crackers. I'd managed to forget about my encounter with Annie. Putting the note in my pocket, I take my time opening the door, as if there's an army inside ready to ambush me.

A rack has been arranged in the middle of the room. The sight of it makes me whistle. Strung on hangers are a variety of gowns. Each sparkles like a lake in summer, their colors ranging from ruby to spider-silk white.

I leave my door half-open, too amazed to think about shutting it. My hand extends, brushing over the sequins of one dress. The gold fabric shimmers.

“Wow,” I say out loud. Annie was right. The dresses in my closet are nothing compared to these. I feel like I'm about to play dress-up, slipping on a costume that will disguise me as a queen. That's who should be wearing these gowns.

Intrigued by the texture of the gold one, I rub it between my fingers.Just try it on. You have to pick one, anyway. See what it looks like.In the floor length closet mirror, I catch my absent grin. No point in fighting the urge; Iwantto wear this dress.

Stripping down to my underwear, I unhook the gold gown from the rack. Pressing it to my chest, I sway in a pretend breeze, studying myself in the mirror. There's a zipper on the back of the dress. I peel it down, spreading the cloth like it's golden scales shed by a giant snake. It feels like that, almost—the hard discs rattling under my nails.

I step into it carefully. It shimmies over my hips, the A-line style hugging my waist. It's not all the way on, and I can already tell it's gorgeous. The lining isn't rough like the sequins; it's similar to being wrapped in warm silk.

It's obvious the design isn't meant to work with a bra. Without hesitation, I throw mine off onto the bed. Reaching back as far as I can, I yank the zipper upwards. It takes all of my flexibility to notch it into place, but the effort is worth it.Holy hell,I think, turning side to side. I grab the hem and fluff it, then let it hang heavily from its own weight. It reaches my ankles, the bottom of the dress dedicated to hiding skin, while the top... is less so.

It leaves my shoulders bare, a sweetheart neckline that clings to me thanks to some boning and the zipper. Imagining myself waltzing around the ballroom, like a princess in a story, I spin slowly. I take a few more twirls, captivated by how the gold glitters, before I finally slow down.

My fingers touch my collarbone.I think he'll like me in this.“He.” That title has come to mean one man, and one man only. Dominic.

Shivering just thinking about his square jaw, his wicked smile, I reach back for the zipper. There's no reason to keep the dress on. I'm nervous I'll stain it or tear it. I'm sure it costs a fortune. “Urgh,” I grunt, struggling to catch the zipper. I tug it, but I can't get it past my shoulder blades. Is it caught on the fabric somehow? Fuck.

“Are you stuck?” a masculine voice asks.

My head whips up; I spot Dominic in the mirror. Turning, I stare at him where he's lingering in my doorway. I was stupid to forget to close the door. His eyebrows arch, silently repeating his question.

“Whoever invented this dress is a sadist,” I say.

“Do you want me to help?”

“Yes,” I answer, before I think about what I've agreed to. With his heel, he shuts the door. He comes up behind me, his face peering over my shoulder in the mirror. Expectation has colored his cheeks red, his eyes warning me not to move. My hands are still reaching for the zipper.

He touches my wrists, and the contact sends fire to my belly. With an easy strength he moves my arms down and out of the way. Two fingers press at the nape of my neck, then they stroke over the metal teeth that run from the top of the dress, down to just above my ass. “You look so amazing in this,” he whispers. “I almost don't want to help you out of it.”

It's obvious from his hungry stare that he wants me stripped down to nothing. I shiver at the idea of being naked in front of him. I don't know if I want it or if I don't.Remember what you told him,I think seriously.You can't do anything with him. He's not the boy you knew. He’s a stranger. Resist.

His nails scrape gently over the material, tracing my shoulder blades until he's back up to the dress's collar. My skin still feels like he's running his fingers over it and I clench my hands by my hips, demanding my body hold still. I don't want him to know that he's getting to me.

He steps closer and something hard rubs against the cleft of my round behind. His breathing grows louder in my ears. Gripping the zipper he begins to inch it down, moving at a snail's pace. Each inch he exposes of my spine is torturous. Over and over, small bursts of pleasure pop in my blood like freshly poured champagne.

His desperate arousal is infecting me; his need for me is turning me on. I've never felt so wanted and I've never wanted someone so much. And I know it would be so easy to simply turn my head and taste his lips again. I remember how warm they were, how delicately his tongue had flicked the roof of my mouth.

Our one kiss had been unfairly brief, like a story that's cut off after the first few chapters. I want to know how a real kiss with him would end.

“Are you okay?” he teases. “You seem to be breathing heavily.”

“I'm fine,” I insist.

His chuckle makes my skin vibrate. With his free hand he follows the curve just beneath my right breast, going down until he hits the widest part of my hip. Then he comes back up, feeling everything he just did from the opposite direction. He does this three more times and at the end of each stroke, he moves the zipper down a fraction. It leaves me disoriented.

His fingers spread over my flat stomach. He presses hard in front of me and from behind, pelvis thrusting forward. The hard thing digging into me is his massive erection. I groan before I can stop myself. Dominic growls like a bear, his reaction to mine is 10 times stronger. He knows he's getting to me and it's turning him on, which is turning me on, creating a crazy feedback loop.

His fingertips glide down the front of the dress over the creamy material. He's pushing insistently through the thin fabric, so much so that when he reaches the elastic rim of my panties he can feel the fine line. His breath comes out like a shudder as he traces the top of my panties from one side to the next. “I want to fuck you so bad,” he says into my ear.

My eyes roll in my head and my inhibitions crack. The warm, throbbing pulse between thighs is maddening. I feel painfully empty no matter how hard I push my knees together or squeeze my muscles.

“You want me to fuck you, too, don't you?” he asks. His fingertips glide lower and he stops on the mound of my pussy beneath the dress. I don't think he should be able to tell where anything is when he can't even see, but those two fingers perch right above my twitching clit. My mouth is open; I'm panting wildly.

“Dominic, wait. You need to know something.” I hesitate before I press on. “I'm a virgin.”

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