Page 36 of Viper’s Reign

I obey without thinking, spinning slowly as the fabric brushes against my thighs.

His eyes bore into me, hot and unrelenting, burning my back, my legs, the curve of my breasts, everywhere they touch. There’s raw hunger in his expression, and the weight of his attention is so intoxicating I nearly forget myself.

God. The way he looks at me—like he’s about to devour me right here—makes me wet. My heart pounds while I quietly wait to see what he’ll do next.

“Very nice,” he says finally. “But it’s not the one.”

And just like that, the defiance returns.

“I-I know. I was about to⁠—”

“Try on another.” He smirks, not letting me finish.

He is fucking with me, isn’t he? But is it playful, like a tease, or more dangerous? I’m not sure whether to be deathly afraid or turned on.

So I take the next dress Beverly holds out for me and turn back into the changing room. This one is deep red with a plunging neckline that makes my eyes go wide as I try it on. Again, it fits like a glove, but it’s too sexy. The satin cups my boobs, dipping so low I’m convinced one wrong breath will have them spilling out. Completely inappropriate for anything involving a priest.

I pause at the curtain, already bracing for Dimitri’s reaction.

When I step out, he shifts in his seat, his jaw tightening as he takes me in, his lashes lowering in a way that’s frankly sinful. He drinks in the tops of my breasts, then lingers on my ass as I turn, and my body answers like it’s been waiting for it—a warm ache pooling low in my belly, building, wetness gathering embarrassingly fast. At this rate, my panties won’t survive much longer.

“No,” he growls, his voice an octave lower than before. But his eyes don’t move off my chest, making it clear the rejection has nothing to do with the dress itself.

One after another, I cycle through them. A black lace bodycon that bares my shoulders and makes me feel practically naked under his scrutiny—another no, though this time he leans forward slightly, his chest expanding with his deep breaths.

Then a sapphire corset-back that requires Beverly’s assistance to cinch properly and pushes my boobs up, making them look way bigger than they really are.

Each time I step out, his refusals come slower, his eyes get progressively darker, and his voice goes lower and lower until it’s like gravel scraping over my skin. It’s undeniable that he’s getting turned on—and so am I.

It is, without question, the most charged shopping experience of my life.

By the last dress, I’m practically begging for him. So much for wearing him out first.

I find myself drifting closer, unable to resist. The hem of the dress grazes his knees, and the look he turns up to me is enough to stall my breath.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he says, low enough that Beverly, mercifully still pretending to consult a catalog across the room, couldn’t possibly catch. “Do you know how hard I am under this suit? Fucking rock hard.”

I inhale sharply and glance at his crotch, heat flooding me at the sight of the obvious bulge straining against his pants. Fuck. He spreads his thighs a fraction wider, making no effort to hide it. I want to straddle him right there, grind against him, feel exactly how hard he is⁠—

Beverly clears her throat from somewhere behind me. “I may have one more,” she says, eyes carefully averted. “A custom piece came in last night. It’s reserved for a client, but we can see if it works for you.”

I blink at her—the last thing I want right now is to try on another dress. Whatever battle I thought I was getting into with this man, he’s clearly winning. It’s become dangerously obvious that I’m not part of this game, I am the game. He’s playing me. And all I want is more.

Still, when Dimitri nods, she draws it from a separate rack.

My first impression isn’t a positive one. The emerald-green silk is lost in a confusion of drapes and layers that don’t resolve into anything legible on the hanger. I frown as I accept it from her, but she gives me a small, knowing smile. “Don’t knock it until you try it on.”

I take it to the changing room, promising myself this is the last one. My boobs are so sensitive I have to swallow a moan when the material skims over them as I slip it on.

After a quick zip, I turn toward the mirror. My lips part in a silent gasp.

It’s gorgeous.

Well, damn. There’s no doubt: this is the one. The emerald makes my skin look creamy, and the way it molds to my body—the bodice hugging my chest, the waist nipping in, and the skirt flowing loosely over my hips—gives me a sexy hourglass silhouette.

One shoulder is bare, with sheer material folding and draping across the bodice and waist before climbing over the sleeved shoulder and dropping into a billowing cape of lightweight tulle. The skirt falls in airy, semitransparent layers that sway with my movements, revealing a high slit that flashes along one thigh.

I look… incredible.