Page 39 of Beautiful Savage
I don't answer. I cross to her.
I stop behind her, my chest three inches from her back. We're both visible in the mirror now. Daphne in her golden gown facing the glass directly, me half-visible behind her in my dress shirt and pants. My hands come to her shoulders, pause for half a heartbeat, then begin.
The shoes first. I kneel, slide one gold heel off her foot, then the other. She steps out of them, three inches shorter now but still elegant. I stand, move back behind her.
My fingers find the pins in her hair. One by one, I pull them free, watch in the mirror as dark strands fall loose around her shoulders. The chignon unravels slowly until her hair flows down her back, catching the lamp light.
The dress next. My hands find the hidden zipper at her spine, draw it down tooth by tooth. The gold silk parts, revealing skin underneath. I push the fabric off her shoulders, let it fall. It pools at her feet. She steps out of it.
My breath catches in my throat as I examine her reflection. She is an angel. A fucking angel. No artifice, no sultry pose, noheels, just a perfect fucking woman standing straight-on to the mirror, looking right back at my face.
Her bra and panties are black lace, and my cock throbs against my pants. Her dancer's body is visible now: strong legs, lean torso, the elegant line of her shoulders. I'm watching her reflection while my hands work. The double-sight makes my blood burn. My hands on her actual body, my eyes on the mirror.
The bra clasp opens under my fingers. I slide the straps down her arms, let it fall. Her breasts are perfect, small and high, pink nipples already pebbled in the cool air. The mirror shows everything, and fuck, she's gorgeous. My cock goes fully hard, straining against my zipper.
My hands hook into her underwear, slide them down her hips, her thighs. She steps out of them.
She's completely naked now. Her skin glows gold in the lamplight. The vanilla scent of her is stronger without the barrier of clothes. I can see her pussy in the mirror, the neat strip of dark hair, already glistening with wetness. I'm still fully dressed behind her. The contrast makes my cock leak precum into my boxers.
I step back half a pace. Just look. Here I am, staring at Daphne naked in a mirror while she stands perfectly still. She doesn't cover herself. Doesn't flinch. Just stands there letting me see her, letting us both see her. My cock is so hard it hurts, pressing painfully against my pants.
"Your turn." Her voice is steady, but I hear the slight breathlessness. "Face the mirror."
"Face the bed," I counter, stepping backward. "Time to lie down."
I beckon her with my hand, but she just levels a flat look at me.
"No."
I stare at her a full five seconds, unable to find the words to convince her. My brain screams to stay away from the mirror that will show everything, to bring her to bed in the relative dark instead.
"Either you let me undress you in front of the mirror, or I'll go and take care of myself in the bathroom. Alone. Then I'll sleep in the bed, you'll sleep on the bedroll, and we'll go back to business as usual."
I run it through for another few seconds and come to the only possible conclusion. That's not going to happen.
"Fine. You win."
I cross back to the mirror and stand beside her, so our profiles face the glass. The glass reflects both of us. Me in my dress clothes with an obvious bulge in my pants, her completely naked.
She reaches for my shirt. Her fingers work the buttons slowly, deliberately, brushing against my chest with each one. The shirt comes off, drops to the floor. The mirror shows my chest, every detail the lamp light catches, though I never look too closely. The body of someone built for destruction.
Her hands go to my belt. The buckle comes loose with a soft click that sounds like a gunshot in the quiet room. She unbuttons my pants, slides them down and helps me step out of them, along with my shoes. The pants join the growing pile of clothes.
My cock strains against my boxers, the arousal impossible to hide. The mirror shows exactly how hard I am, how much I want her. The fabric tented obscenely. A dark wet spot where precum has soaked through.
She hooks her fingers in my boxers, pulls them down. My cock springs free, thick and hard, the head glistening with precum. I step out of them.
Fully naked now. Both of us. The mirror shows everything. My height dominates the frame. The lattice of scars across mytorso. The full sleeves of ink. My cock standing proud and heavy, curved slightly upward. Every imperfection the world has carved into me on display.
But I'm not looking at myself. I'm looking at her face in the reflection.
What I see changes everything.
Her eyes move across my body. Chest, tattoos, cock, scars, face. She's taking in every detail, lingering on my erection. But her expression isn't what I've been bracing against for my whole life. No fear. No disgust. No flinching.
Hunger. Pure, undisguised want. Her eyes are dark, almost black. Her lips parted slightly. Fuck, I can see her tongue dart out to wet them. Her breathing has changed, gone shallow. Her nipples are hard, her thighs pressed together. She looks like a woman seeing exactly what she wants to devour.
"God, you're perfect," she breathes, and something breaks open in my chest.
