Chapter 33 Dressed to Destroy
KIER
She walked out of the closet in that dress, and I swear—I forgot how to breathe.
Black. Tight. Elegant. Deadly.
The dress hugged every curve like it had been sewn onto her body. Her skin—soft and pale—seemed to glow under the lights, casting shadows along the delicate slope of her neck and the sweet dip of her waist. It was all too much. Too tempting. Too her.
And somehow, she was mine.
But tonight, I'd have to share her.
I couldn't touch her the way I wanted. Couldn't tear the damn thing off like I needed to. I had to be composed. Polished. CEO.
Meanwhile, men would stare—no, gawk—and I'd be expected to smile through it.
I adjusted my cufflinks, jaw tight. "Turn."
She blinked up at me with those wide, sweet, infuriatingly innocent eyes. Then she nodded and turned, just like I asked.
My hands slid into my pockets. Needed them there—needed—because the maids were still in the room, and what that dress did to me didn't need an audience.
It wasn't even an extravagant dress. She picked it out herself when Anna brought options. Simple, classy. But as she spun, the fabric clung to that perfect, pert little ass—so sinful it made me want to cancel the damn charity event.
To hell with appearances.
I wanted to grab her, push her against the wall, and bury myself in her until we both forgot our names.
I groaned low in my throat. Not helping.
I stepped toward her, slow and deliberate, my voice barely a rasp. "You like it?"
She nodded, smiling—then bit her lip. Hard.
Red lips. Red like sin. Red like everything I could never get enough of.
She knew what she was doing.
I closed the space between us, my hands finding her hips, drawing her in until there wasn't an inch left between us.
"No biting those lips in front of anyone," I murmured, voice rough with need. "No smiling. No eye contact with any man."
Her lashes fluttered. Confused? Maybe. But I didn't explain.
Instead, I kissed her—hard, possessive, like it was the only way I knew how to claim her when the rest of the world was watching.
She clutched my shirt, small fingers trembling. Soft. Desperate.
She didn't know what she was doing to me.
Or maybe she did.
When I finally pulled away, her lips were swollen, the gloss ruined.
Good. I liked her like this—wrecked. Marked. Mine.
I took a steadying breath, then turned to the maids. "Out."
They didn't wait. Smart girls. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving us in silence thick enough to choke on.
Genesis looked up, lips parted, like she wanted to ask something. Probably if we were still going to the event.
I didn't answer.
Instead, I reached for the slit in her dress, fingers sliding up until I grazed over her panties. Just a tease. Just a threat.
"I should take this off you," I growled.
She shook her head quickly.
"I know. The event." I stepped back, dragging a hand through my hair. "I know."
But I didn't care.
I wanted them to see her—see what they'd never have.
And if any man so much as thought of touching her, I'd bury him six feet deep in his own damn tux.
My jaw ticked at the thought of it.
Some bastard leaning in. Smiling too wide. Thinking he had a chance.
Over my dead body.
I turned, walking over to the liquor cart, pouring myself a drink—anything to calm the storm raging inside me.
She followed silently, as always. Silent. It was maddening, but also exactly what I craved. The peace. The submission. Her presence was louder than words.
Then she touched my arm.
I looked down at her, then at her hands as she signed slowly. She was still learning, but I understood enough to get by.
You don't want to go?
"No," I admitted, my voice rough, gravelly. "I want to fuck you against that window and make you cry with those breathless little silent sounds you make when you can't take it anymore. But we have to go."
She blushed, fingers twisting nervously together. Then she reached for her purse, pulling out her notepad to scribble something.
You can have me after.
I stared at the words, my cock twitching in my pants. She knew exactly how to drive me insane.
"Genesis," I growled, struggling to control my breathing.
She looked up at me through those dark lashes, and I couldn't resist anymore.
I grabbed her face, kissing her again—slower this time, deeper. I needed her to remember who she belonged to when every goddamn man in that ballroom tried to undress her with their eyes.
"Fine," I muttered against her lips. "But when we get back…"
I didn't finish the sentence. I didn't have to.
I'd show her.
Even in the car, I couldn't keep my hands to myself.
She sat beside me, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap like the perfect little doll she was. But her scent, that soft, sweet, addictive scent, clung to the air, driving me mad. And that dress? That body? I couldn't sit still.
I reached over, dragging my fingers slowly up her thigh, the slit of her dress making it too easy. Her breath hitched, and she looked at me, wide-eyed, her cheeks flushed.
I pushed my hand higher, slipping under the fabric until I felt the lace of her panties. Damp. Fuck. My jaw tightened.
"Look at that," I murmured, brushing one knuckle gently against the soaked material. "Already wet?"
She grabbed my wrist, her other hand quickly scribbling on the notepad before showing it to me.
Driver. People.
"I don't care." I leaned in, brushing my lips over her ear, my voice low and menacing. "He knows better than to look. And you, baby... you knew exactly what you were doing in that dress."
She whimpered—just a breath, barely audible—but it hit me like a punch to the chest.
I moved my hand away. Not because I wanted to. But because if I didn't, I'd ruin her makeup, tear that dress off her, and bend her over the seat right there.
I wanted this night to be over. I wanted to take her home and des
troy her, body and soul.
When we pulled up to the venue, I helped her out of the car, my arm firm around her waist, keeping her close.
I couldn't wait for this night to end, so I could remind her, over and over, just who the fuck she belonged to.