Page 194 of Mario
Green lace lies delicately against her pale skin, highlighting her curves, making her look more naked than bare skin would. Her nipples are already tight beneath the fabric. Her breasts are high and full, and the green is exactly as I imagined.
Not as innocent as the blue I ended up gifting her. Not as sweet. This is meant for seduction, for a man's touch. It fits her perfectly, clinging to the curves of her hips and ass, cupping her breasts like it was made for her.
She stops in the doorway, the bathroom light behind her. Her chin lifts slightly, and the look in her eyes makes my chest tighten.
I can practically feel her nerves, her uncertainty, the fear that she will not meet my approval.
The idea that she might believe that is ludicrous.
Insane.
She is not Victoria Murray, consulting attorney, the woman who walks into offices with confidence and authority. She is Victoria Murray, the woman wearing lacy green like a goddess emerging from the sea.
The contrast is enough to make my head spin.
My gaze sweeps over her.
The color of the lingerie brings out the gold in her hair, the red in her lips, the green of her eyes.
"Jesus Christ," I say, staring.
Her chest rises and falls.
She looks at me uncertainly, then her chin lifts.
"Well?"
My gaze moves over her slowly, from her bare feet, up her legs, across the delicate line of the panties, up the curves of her hips, her breasts, the pale column of her neck.
She is breathtaking.
She is always breathtaking.
But this is more.
Deeper.
"Say something," she demands, but the nerves are still there.
"I have no words," I admit.
Her brow furrows.
"Come here."
"Don't make fun of me."
"Victoria."
"Mario."
"Come here."
I have never spoken that particular command to a woman and had it not be obeyed.
Victoria hesitates, but then she steps forward.
Into the bedroom.
