Page 12 of Corrupting Lily

"And how do I look now?" I ask, that word definitely no longer applying to me. I sometimes wonder if it ever did. Some days, I think I was born this way. Rotten to the core.

"Older and wiser." Not what I was expecting. Dangerous. Like a killer. Jaded. Those are the usual ones. But my little flower is not usual.

Her eyes dart to where Sally and the other women wait expectantly. They could stay there all day and night. I don't give a fuck.

"Anyway. With this being a temporary reassignment, I don't think new clothes are necessary." She turns in her seat as if that has settled the matter.

With a dip of my head, Sally returns with the rest of the shop assistants in tow.

“Are we ready?” A yes from me clashes with a no from Lily.

“Yes.” The finality in my tone draws both women's gazes.

“Come,” Sally says, her hand sweeping the air in front of Lily towards the changing room behind her.

With one last glance at me, Lily lets out an annoyed huff before rising, her bare feet swiftly padding across the room.

“I want to see the outfits,” I say, uncertain of where this request stems from, as I glance at my phone, which pings with Dante's update on the shipment situation.

A short while later, Lily appears, her face devoid of happiness as she stands awkwardly before me in a two-piece jacket and pants. I can see why she would be unhappy. It is unflattering and a style for someone much older.

“Do you like it?” I ask, the immediate shake of her head confirming what I suspect.

“Forget what they are picking out for you. Walk around and select the items you like. And pick a few nice dresses, we might be going out tonight.” Surprise coats her face, and a small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. I turn my attention back to my phone, only returning my focus to her when she finally moves. She hesitantly approaches the racks, her gaze darting around the shop anxiously. It's as if she has never chosen her own clothes. How fucking bizarre. She came from a situation of luxury, which raises the question of why this is such a significant issue for her.

She finally gathers some items and walks back to the changing room, reappearing a short while later in a long-sleeved, figure-hugging floral dress. The outfit looks like it was made for her, and her shy smile tells me she likes it. I nod in approval, which continues for what feels like seven hundred more outfit changes. I’ve never stuck around for this part of a shopping outing before. Usually, I send them with a driver and my card, as I did with Mia. But sticking around for this wasproving useful. I was learning more about Lily.

With dress after dress, one thing stands out: all the outfits have long sleeves and high necklines. When I call Sally over to inquire, she explains that it’s one of Lily’s specifications when searching for new outfits to try on. Interesting.

Lily’s muffled voice calls for Sally.

“Everyone out. Now,” I command, rising and heading toward the changing room. Behind me, I hear the hurried footsteps of people quickly exiting the store.

I don’t hesitate as I walk in, my eyes finding Lily, who has one arm over her shoulder and the other around her back from the bottom. Her fingers meet in the middle, and she struggles with a zipper that appears to be stuck.

She calls for Sally again, her frustration evident in her anxious tugging at the zipper and fabric, which I’m sure could actually break.

“Allow me,” I say, stepping toward her.

She stills, her hands falling as her gaze catches mine in the mirror.

Shock. Confusion. Desire. Fuck. They are all there. All there for me to see.

Let's see what else she is hiding under these clothes.

Chapter 9

Lily

Shit. He is here. In another confined space. Alone with me. Not a good idea, considering how sexually frustrated I am from our previous encounter a few hours ago. Is he trying to punish me some more? Do I want him to? I'm not sure how much more I can take.

"Dominico, what are you doing here?"

His gaze is unreadable as he approaches me slowly, my question unanswered, though I am not surprised. He selects what he considers worthy of a response. I have noticed this since the first moment we met—a trait often exhibited by powerful men.

Controlling men have been a constant in my life, but this one is different. The others terrified me. This one does more than just scare me. He excites me too, as if fear and desire coexist on a knife's edge, dangerously close. Especially now that I know he is one of the most powerful men in the world—the head of a friggin mafia. My heart races, trying to escape from its location in my chest, and when I feel his finger brush the skin just above the zipper, I think I might actuallydie from heart failure. This is what he does. Puts me on a rollercoaster so that I feel all my emotions simultaneously. He overloads my senses, and I think he knows it.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, this changing room having plenty of them. Mirrors adorn two walls, feeding the egotistical nature of the patrons who typically shop at these boutiques. I almost laughed when I came in earlier, realizing that this room alone is nearly as big as my apartment. There is a beautiful daybed in the corner for customers to relax while attendants wait on them hand and foot. Perhaps I was being too harsh on my former kind, but I had witnessed nothing but self-conceit and greed from the lot of them.

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