Page 40 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

Hell no! You’re gonna look hot as fuck. Wear it. Mr. Dark and Stormy won’t know what hit him.

“He’s never going to lose focus.”

I blush at the memory of his cock pressed against my inner thigh. I want him so badly that my pussy throbs with impatient desire.

Remember what I taught you. When you’re horny… fuck!

“Please stop.”

You don’t need to be ashamed of your desires. That’s something ‘they’ taught you. And it’s pretty clear that everything they taught you is wrong.

“It’s not the desire that I’m fighting,” I reply. “It’s the man.”

Fighting while you’re fucking can be a lot of fun.

“Oh God,” I mutter, torn between a sigh and a giggle.

I get to my feet and start pacing. Every few seconds, I eye the dress, longing to put it on. I’ve never worn anything so luxurious in my life. And, silly and superficial as it might be, I want to now.

“I’m playing right into his hands,” I remark. “Doing exactly what he wants me to do—how’s that supposed to help me?”

No, you’re doing exactly whatyouwant to do. It just so happens to be what he wants, too. Don’t let that confuse you.

I step up to the red dress like I’m facing a firing squad. Picking it up gingerly, I hold it up against my naked body.

I don’t have to know much to see that this is the kind of dress that doesn’t allow for a bra or proper underwear. So be it. Swallowing down my anxiety, I slip into the dress.

I leave the back unzipped as I step in front of the gilded, full-length mirror. My reflection takes my breath away.

The fabric flows over my curves, hugging my torso before billowing out over my hips. Just the feel of it is exquisite. Like being wrapped in a silk cloud.

But I’m not wholly prepared to see what it does to the rest of me.

I swear that my eyes are brighter. My lips fuller. My hair thicker. I look like someone else entirely. Someone taller, sexier, and far more confident than I’ve ever been.

My shoulders are bare, with only the thin straps of the dress to hold it up. The V neckline is deep and reveals a generous amount of cleavage, and the material is so filmy that the peaks of my nipples are on display, too.

Don’t even think about taking it off. It’s perfect on you.

“It’s too much.”

That’s exactly why it’s perfect. You want him to eat his heart out at the sight of you. Now, go find a killer pair of heels before I do something drastic.

I pad over to the walk-in closet barefoot. One of the light switches illuminates a section of shelving dozens of layers tall. Each pair of shoes waits in its own little sconce. Calling out to me. I scan over them all, looking for the right one.

But there’s one set that my eyes come back to again and again.

They’re sleek, black, and absurdly tall—a four-inch heel at least.

Ooh, yes, girl! You know which ones to pick.

“You’re a bad influence.”

That’s why you love me.

I grab them anyway. Sinking down onto the plush footstool, I strap them around my ankles. Once they’re on, I go to the bathroom.

The endless racks of makeup are waiting for me. I go shuffling through, seeing what else is here. But I’m not expecting what I find when I open the top drawer: a diamond necklace with a matching bracelet and studded earrings.

---