Page 135 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

“It has long gloves, my lady.”

Long gloves? Am I supposed to just leave my breasts swinging free?

I suppose it’s not much of a stretch given how much skin my dress for the ball exposed, and Kitarni repeatedly reminds me that fae are more free with their sexuality than mortals… but still.

The next piece of fabric floats over the top of the screen, and I sigh in relief as I identify straps and boning amongst the soft folds of dove grey silk.

I won’t be topless after all.

Slipping the fabric over my head, I encounter the next problem.

It laces up at the back.

“Bree?” I whisper, clutching the front panels to my chest as I poke my head around the screen.

His ears rotate on his head at the sound of my voice, before his body turns to follow them. When he sees me, his green eyes go wide.

I can’t face him, so I whirl to give him my back, brushing my hair out of the way as I do.

“Will you… I can’t… with the laces…”

His silence hangs heavy in the air, and for a second, I think he’s going to refuse.

Careful fingers pinch the two sides together, pulling the straps over my shoulders tight. The lacing stops just beneath my shoulders, so my wings can remain free, but I can’t move them out of his way. It’s only thanks to his long, dexterous fingers that he manages to studiously avoid the sensitive membranes.

I didn’t even hear him move, but now I’m surrounded. The screen at my front, and the púca at my back.

Then his hands brush against my spine.

Though the contact is brief, his skin against mine causes that tell-tale buzz I now associate with my Guard to erupt across my skin. Goosebumps form where he touched, and my breath hitches before I can control it.

To his credit, Bree says nothing as he deftly threads and tightens the ribbons until the bodice sits snugly against my skin. His hands brush the small of my waist as he ties a bow at the base and tucks the laces away neatly, and I swear my heart tries to beat out of my chest.

“All done.” Is it just me, or does his voice sound rougher than it did a minute ago?

Still, he doesn’t move away.

I turn in place, offering him a small smile, only to falter at the tormented look in his eyes. I can’t hold his stare, but my gaze falls automatically to the heavily inked planes of his bare chest.

I know he wears such open clothing so he can access his magic easily, but Goddess, it does little to help the situation.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, stepping back until my shoulders hit the screen. “I… I can do the rest, if this is too much.”

“No.”

His voice freezes me in place, even though there’s nowhere for me to go. His arms hover in the space between us, like he can’t decide whether to touch or not. In the end, his hands fall onto the wood behind me, caging me in.

“Just give me a moment,” he grunts, squeezing his eyes shut.

I nod, the motion jerky and uncoordinated, before remembering he can’t see it. Somewhere in the back of my traitorous mind, this feeling of being surrounded by him triggers a rogue reaction. I try to contain it, but his scent starts to fill my lungs until every breath merely fans the flames.

The urge to hug him, to offer some kind of comfort, is overwhelming. But he doesn’t like touch. I’ve seen him flinch away from it. So I stand there, unmoving. Unable to look away.

Watching the beautiful, ink-covered man above me struggle for control does something to me. It’s a moment which is strangely intimate, yet fraught with vulnerability on both our parts.

My awareness of our closeness makes me shiver, and goosebumps flare across my skin. Suddenly the dress feels too tight, and I’m terribly aware of the way my breasts are trying to escape the bodice with every breath. To my horror and shame, a tiny thread of arousal winds through me as my mind unhelpfully supplies how good it would feel to be trapped like this in other—less innocent—situations.

Bree’s nostrils flare a second before he shoves away from me and staggers over to the bed. Blindly, he grabs a pile of fabric from atop the sheets and thrusts it towards me.

---