Page 68 of Cinderella Is Faking It

I tried the dress on with underwear first, but I figured out what Beck meant within ten seconds of zipping it up and turning in front of the mirror. The dress molded against my body, and it pulled on my underwear with every tiny movement. The friction on my waistband was the worst, like someone trying to saw me in half with a piece of elastic. I sighed, peeled the dress off, tossed my underwear in the hamper, and tried again.

The second time, the dress fit so much better. And even though it barely covered my ass, it didn’t move an inch, no matter how I bent or turned. It had glued itself to my skin. That also meant every dip from my breasts down my belly button to my hips was clearly visible through the fabric, but that was kind of the point, right?

Was I hot?

I’d always considered myself on the cute side, but this dress made me look like I actually had curves. I sucked in a deep breath, watching the ripple of my stomach under the pleather. Part of me had expected a wave of anxiety and self-consciousness to wash over me, but I liked what I saw in the mirror.

I stepped out of the bathroom, arms open in a ‘here I am’ kind of gesture, only to falter in my steps. Because Beck was in my bed. He was propped up against the headboard, swallowed by the 10 throw pillows I’d brought from home, using my blue axolotl plushie to prop up the book he was reading. He was a streak of blackness against all my pastel and my stomach flipped because of how much space he took up in a queen sized bed.

He looked up from the book and his brows jumped up. “Fuck,” he mumbled as his eyes raked down my body. I swore he had to have Clark Kent laser eyes because my skin was heating fast under his charcoal gaze.

“Good to go?” I asked.

“Sure, but I might have to bring your stuffed animal along or Yelchin out there is going to get a good look at what you’re doing to me.”

“What? Yelchin?” I furrowed my brows. “Victor?” What was it with men and calling each other by their last names? “Doing what?”

Beck tossed the axolotl aside and I understood. As tight as his jeans were, they left very little to the imagination now that he was sporting a semi. I quickly tipped my head back, blinking at the ceiling, pretending that I had not just gotten a very good idea of the exact shape and size of his penis. I’d felt it before, but that was nothing against being confronted with the actual sight.

“At least throw on a jacket, so I don’t have to punch him if your tits in that dress get him hard, too.”

“Yep, I can do that,” I squeaked, still looking at the ceiling as I turned towards my wardrobe. I didn’t lower my eyes until he was out of my line of sight and I could grab the thin kimono-style jacket that Cordelia had insisted I get for mild summer evenings. It reached down to my knees, so as long as I kept the belt wrapped tight, it covered more skin than the dress did.

We didn’t even cross Victor’s path on our way out, and were greeted by Beck’s driver, Fred, on the street. I climbed into the limo in front of Beck, still refusing to glance in his direction.

“You can look at me again,” he said when the car stopped, “although you might not like it in there if that’s how you react to every erection.”

“You had an erectionin my bed.” I glared at him, but then Fred pulled the door open for us. We got out in front of a nondescript building in town. A few people stood outside with drinks and cigarettes, but otherwise it didn’t resemble a club. At least not from the outside. Beck scanned a key fob at the entrance and punched in a four digit code. The door swung open to reveal a lavish, modern foyer with two girls taking the coats from a couple that had walked in before us, and four refrigerator-sized bouncers positioned in the corners.

Beck grinned down at me as he started unbuttoning his shirt. “Well, now we can call it even for you masturbating inmybed.”

Coherent thought left me, because Beck was shrugging out of his shirt and his body had to have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. The way his shoulder muscles sloped down from his neck, the way his stomach was clearly outlined without him flexing, and his arms… God, I wanted to wrap my hands around that dip of his biceps.

“Miss?” My head snapped up. One of the girls held out a hand for me and it took me a moment to realize she was already holding Beck’s shirt.

“Sorry,” I mumbled and pulled the Kimono off, heat shooting to my face. I felt Beck’s eyes on me and didn’t have to look up to know the huge grin he was sporting right now. The girl scanned his key fob again, then sauntered off towards a backroom. Props to her for not ogling the customers, even when they looked like Roman statues. She had better composure than me.

Beck placed a hand on my shoulder and gently directed me towards a table with three boxes full of colorful ribbons. “Look, things in there can get a little intense. You know your safe words, right?”

“Stop, wait, slower?”

“Good. Don’t hesitate to use them atanypoint.” He picked one of the ribbons from the box and placed my right hand on his chest. I was lightest-shade-of-concealer pale, but I hadn’t considered the contrast to his olive complexion until now. I had to look like a ghost next to him. “I don’t care if we walk two steps in there and you call tonight off. It’s not for everyone. You say stop, we stop.”

“What are the colors for?” I asked, looking back and forth between the boxes of ribbons and the red one he was tying fast around my wrist.

“Red means nobody touches you. Nobody tries to fuck you. You’re here with one person and that person is the only one who comes near you.” A low warning carried in his voice, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that was for my benefit - or directed at me. Nobody but him was allowed to touch me.

“Blue and green?”

“Blue means consent check. The person is open to sex, but they have ground rules in place. Usually along the lines of no anal, no sex with the opposite gender, no sex without condom. It’s the most common one you’ll see in there,” he slipped his fingers through mine, and pulled me forward into a long hallway, “and green means free use.”

“Free use?”

“If you walk in there with a green band, it means anyone can fuck you however they please. You wouldn’t get further than two steps into the room before someone would have you pinned to the nearest sofa, fucking your ass while someone else pushed their balls in your mouth. Anything goes.”

I was beginning to understand that he wasn’t being graphic to be crude. He was being graphic because he was describing sex in its rawest form. No emotional attachment, just bodies coming together in certain ways. It mirrored the descriptions in many of his books. “That sounds exhausting.”

He chuckled. “Probably.”

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