Chapter 95: Red Sundress

Cecilia

After lunch, Arthur went to handle some business calls in his study, I found myself wandering back to my old room, drawn by nostalgia and curiosity.

The afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting everything in a warm golden glow that made the space feel almost dreamlike.

Then my eyes landed on the closet.

I pulled open the door and found it full of clothes from my teenage years—dresses and skirts and tops that I'd left behind when I was sent away.

Mrs. Chen must have kept everything perfectly preserved, the garments still hanging neatly on their hangers, protected by cloth covers.

On impulse, I pulled out one of my favorite dresses from when I was eighteen—a soft red sundress with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt that I'd worn to a garden party here at the estate. I remembered feeling so grown up in it, so pretty.

I wonder if it still fits, I thought, already pulling off my sweater.

I stepped into the dress and started pulling it up, but almost immediately I realized something was wrong. The fabric caught at my hips, refusing to move higher, and when I tried to force it, the bodice wouldn't even begin to close around my chest.

I looked down at myself in dismay. The dress was stuck halfway up my body, the fabric straining across my hips and my breasts spilling out over the top in a way that was definitely not how this dress was supposed to fit.

Oh god.

I'd filled out since I was eighteen—my hips were fuller, my breasts larger, my body more curved and womanly than it had been back then. The girl who'd worn this dress was gone, replaced by someone entirely different.

Heat flooded my face as I tried to pull the dress down, but it was stuck, the zipper caught and the fabric too tight to move easily in either direction.

"Shit," I muttered, tugging harder. "Come on—"

"Sweetheart?" Arthur's voice carried down the hallway, making my heart jump into my throat. "Mrs. Chen said you went to your old room."

No no no—

I yanked at the dress in a panic, and heard the terrible sound of fabric ripping. The seam along the side gave way with a loud tear, and suddenly the dress was hanging off me in tatters, barely covering anything.

"Ceci?" His footsteps were getting closer.

"Don't come in!" I called out, but it was too late.

The door swung open, and Arthur stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding me standing there in the middle of the room with torn red fabric hanging off my body, my face burning with embarrassment, one breast nearly exposed where the bodice had torn away.

He stopped dead, his eyes going wide, and for a long moment neither of us moved.

Then his expression shifted into something dark and hungry.

"Oh, baby," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "You're trying to get me in trouble."

"I'm not—this isn't—" I tried to cover myself with the torn fabric, but that only made things worse, the movement causing more of the dress to slip. "I was just trying on an old dress and it didn't fit and I panicked—"

"Uh-huh." He was moving toward me now, slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking prey. "And you just happened to end up half-naked in your old bedroom, looking like every fantasy I've ever had."

"Arthur, I'm serious—"

"So am I." He reached me and his hands went to my waist, pulling me against him so I could feel exactly how serious he was through his pants. "God, Ceci. Do you have any idea what you look like right now?"

I did, actually. I could see our reflection in the mirror on the closet door—me with torn red fabric barely clinging to my body, my curves on full display, my face flushed with embarrassment and something else. Him pressed against me from behind, his hands spanning my waist, his eyes dark with want.

"The dress doesn't fit anymore," I said weakly. "I've... changed. Since I was eighteen."

"You have," he agreed, and his hands moved up to cup my breasts through the torn fabric, making me gasp. "You're more beautiful now than you were then. More everything."

His mouth found my neck, and I felt my knees go weak. "Arthur, we can't—"

"I know." He sounded pained. "I know you're still on your period. But god, Ceci, you're killing me here."

He picked me up easily, carrying me the few steps to the bed and laying me down on the mattress. Then he was over me, his weight pressing me into the soft comforter, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that was desperate and demanding.

I kissed him back because I couldn't help it, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as my brain tried to remind me of all the reasons this was a bad idea.

His hand slid under the torn fabric, finding bare skin, and I arched into his touch with a sound that was embarrassingly needy.

"Feel what you do to me," he growled against my mouth, pressing his hips against mine so I could feel exactly how hard he was. "This is what you do to me, Ceci. Just by existing. Just by being near me."

"Arthur—" My voice came out breathy and weak.

"I know we can't," he said, but his hands kept moving, kept touching, kept driving me slowly insane. "I know. But I need something, baby. Please."

I looked up at him, at the desperate need in his eyes, and felt my resolve crumble. "Okay."

"Yeah?" His voice was rough with hope.

"Yeah." I reached between us, my hand finding the bulge in his pants, and he groaned like I'd just given him everything he'd ever wanted. "Let me help you."

His forehead dropped to my shoulder as I worked his belt open, then his zipper, and then I had him in my hand, hot and hard.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Ceci—"

I stroked him slowly, learning the weight and feel of him, watching his face as pleasure washed over his features. He was beautiful like this—usually so controlled, now completely undone by my touch.

"Harder," he said, his voice strained. "Baby, please—"