Chapter 19 She Deserves Ten Fingers!

Chapter 19 She Deserves Ten Fingers!
Elodie stood in front of the mirror longer than she meant to.

The final outfit hugged her in a way none of the others had. A fitted black pinafore dress with thin straps lay perfectly over a crisp white blouse, the neckline slightly open, just enough to reveal her collarbones and her necklace. The skirt stopped just above her knees, paired with sheer black stockings that made her legs look longer, softer. Her heels were simple but glossy, the kind that clicked quietly with every step.

The reflection still carried that earlier realization—how easily Noah read her, how deeply he seemed to know her without her ever noticing him first. It lingered like a shadow behind her eyes.

Then the door opened. Noah leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, gaze sweeping over her without disguise.

“Do you like it,” he asked calmly, “or do you want to throw it away?”

Elodie blinked, the thought snapping in half. She straightened like nothing had happened.

“Why would I throw it away?” she said, forcing a light laugh. “I love this one. I’ll save the rest for later.”

Noah walked closer. He reached up and gently adjusted her hair, which she had twisted into a high bun. His fingers brushed her neck—slow, almost absentminded.

“But why don’t you just say I’m beautiful?” Elodie asked suddenly.

He paused.

“What?”

She swallowed, suddenly shy. “Praise me. Say something nice. Maybe it would help my confidence… because your silence kind of feels like confirmation that I’m not made for this kind of clothes.”

Noah studied her face. It amused him in genuinely way.

The same girl who once tried to escape him with shaking hands was now standing in front of him, asking for his approval like it mattered more than anything.

How deep has she fallen already? he wondered.

He leaned closer, until his breath brushed her cheek, her ear, the corner of her lips. Not quite touching—just close enough to make her forget how to breathe.

“What if I said,” he murmured, “you deserve all of my fingers tonight? Two thumbs would feel like an insult for you.”

Elodie froze. He stepped back and left the room as if he hadn’t just set her on fire.

The heat crept up her ears, down her spine, straight to her stomach. Her heart raced, a tight, restless rhythm she couldn’t calm.

She stood there, unmoving, and her body betrayed her.

Her mind replayed it—the glass garden, his hand, the way her breath had broken apart so easily. The memory alone made her thighs tense, a subtle ache blooming where she hadn’t even realized she was still sensitive.

Her breath grew shallow, her skin felt warmer like her makeup burnt her face.

Her body responded before her thoughts did, a quiet pulse deep inside her that reminded her of how close she had come to something she still didn’t fully understand.

She pressed her legs together slightly, ashamed of how easily the fantasy returned.

Noah hadn’t touched her, but somehow, she felt like he already had, and owned every part.

She snapped out of her mind and following Noah.

Elodie was already stepping out of the fitting room, ready to leave, when her eyes caught something she hadn’t noticed before; lingeries.

The racks were arranged neatly near the corner—silk, lace, satin in soft shades of black, champagne, and dusty rose. Her steps slowed without her realizing it.

The memory of the magazine flashed in her mind. The models. The way their bodies looked effortless, confident, unapologetically desired.

She drifted toward the display before she could think better of it.

Behind her, Noah noticed but he didn’t stop her or interrupting her focus.

Instead, he smiled faintly to himself, turned around as if uninterested, and walked out of the store first—giving her space without making it obvious.

Elodie stood in front of the lingerie like a student in front of forbidden books.

The same staff member who helped her, approached, her voice polite and soft interrupting.
“Is there anything else I could help you with, ma’am?”

Elodie hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

“Do you… understand clothes?” she asked quietly.

The woman blinked. “Y-yes… pretty much. What can I help you with?”

Elodie swallowed, shy but didn't want to lose the chance so she shot with. “Do you know what someone should wear before… having their first sex?”

The staff’s eyes widened for half a second before she quickly glanced toward the glass wall, where Noah was waiting outside.

Elodie leaned in, whispering, “We’re both women, so… please keep this a secret.”

The staff held back a laugh, instantly charmed by how serious and innocent Elodie looked.

“Is he your boyfriend?” she asked in a lowered voice.

Elodie shook her head too quickly. “No—I mean. Well, I just know him but he feels different. Not because I’m a pervert, I just—”

“That’s okay,” the staff cut in with a grin. “I would make a move too if he was him. I mean… just look at him.”

Elodie followed the staff’s gaze—and finally understood why her voice had dropped into a whisper.

Noah stood just beyond the glass wall of the boutique, framed by the soft lights of the mall like he didn’t belong to the same reality as everyone else passing by. His coat fell neatly over his tall frame, the dark fabric emphasizing how long and straight his posture was. One gloved hand rested casually against the railing, the other tucked into his pocket, as if waiting was something he had mastered long ago.

But it was his face that made people hesitate to look for too long.

His features were… delicate, almost unfairly so. High cheekbones, a straight nose, lips shaped in a way that looked more suited to a painting than to a man rumored to be dangerous. His eyes—brown, calm, observant—carried a stillness that felt heavy, like he was always watching something deeper than what was in front of him.

Under his left eye, just beneath the lower lid, two small moles sat like quiet signatures—barely noticeable unless someone was already paying close attention.

He could have been called beautiful, but no one ever said it out loud.

There was something in his aura that made the word feel wrong. Not softness—never softness. It was control. Distance. A quiet threat that clung to him even when he did nothing at all. The kind of presence that made people lower their voices without knowing why.

The kind of man people admired silently.

The staff exhaled under her breath.
“He’s… pretty, isn’t he?”

Elodie didn’t answer.

Because she knew exactly what the woman meant—and exactly why no one dared to say it directly.

The staff sighed dreamily.
“I would offer you our best of the best. For a man like that? You don’t wear lingerie for him. You arm yourself with it.”

Elodie felt her face burn, but she didn’t look away from Noah.

Not this time.