Vengeful Lies

I’m two drinks in and rocking a nice buzz. All the dresses are tight. Some are poofy, and others look like layers of tablecloths were draped on top of me.

They look great, sure. But every time I put another one on, I’m sucked deeper into a well of anxiety. I don’t get anxious, dammit. But trying on wedding dresses is freaking me the fuck out.

I’ve listened in on some of the casual conversation between Eli and Rya. They’re talking about the wedding planning. I’m grateful to be as far away from that bullshit as possible. Eli is more intelligent than to ask my opinion on cutlery for a wedding I don’t want any part in.

I step out of the changing room, now wearing the fourth dress. Eli looks up at me through his eyelashes with an expression of wanting to fuck me in every dress I walk out in. When I spin to look at myself in the mirror, I feel like I can’t breathe. Maybe she tightened this one too much?

I close my eyes momentarily, reminding myself just to get this over and done with so we can get married, and I can get my fucking guns back and then run away from whatever bullshit this is stirring within me.

“I think that’s a perfect fit,” the sales associate says as she tightens the corset on my back even more. I almost keel forward from how suffocatingly tight it is.

The alcohol was meant to help, but right now, I feel like everything is spinning.

“Do you love it? It fits you like a glove. Stunning, really,” Rya gushes as she stands and approaches me with a third glass of champagne, holding it out to me. Without a word, I grab the glass, throw it back in one go, and then hand it back to her. Fuck etiquette right now. I’m trying my hardest not to freak the fuck out.

I never wanted marriage. I wasn’t made for it. And although I know all of this is fake, my heartbeat is trying to kick through my ribcage.

“Jewel, are you okay?” Rya asks, carefully placing a hand on my shoulder.

I offer a tight smile and nod my head.

“Happy with this one?” I ask Eli through gritted teeth.

He stands and prowls toward me, his gaze taking in every detail before he stops in front of me.

“I think any dress you put on would be perfect,” he says matter-of-factly, but then his hand runs up the outside of the dress, bunching it as his fingers trail up my skin. “But you also have amazing legs. What about a slit up the skirt to show them off?” He smirks, and the heat from my anxiety mixes with something else—desire. I need to be grounded again because I feel like I’m spiraling right now, and I keep my gaze locked with his, as if it’s the only thing keeping me here.

“I’d like to be left alone with my fiancée for a moment,” he announces. Rya and the sales associate share a brief glance and then leave us alone in the room. The moment they’re gone, I storm around him, grab the bottle of champagne, and start chugging.

He snatches it from me. “Hey!” I demand. He steps into my space and turns me so I face the full-length mirror. His hands come around to my front as he stands behind me. “What are you doing?”

“Look at yourself,” he calmly instructs.

I don’t want to. I don’t want to see myself in this dress. I’ve struggled with looking directly at myself this whole time. He grabs under my jaw and tilts my head up. I want to look away but can’t because he holds me in place.

“Do you want to know what I see?” he asks as his hands bunch the front of my dress. He then begins trailing his fingers over the exact same spot he suggested I get the split.noveldrama

“A ticket to your family’s business,” I snark back.

“A powerful woman,” he insists. “A woman who doesn’t run from a challenge and hits her fears head-on.”

“And what do you think my fear is, Mr. Monti?” I breathe out, unable to ignore his fingers caressing my skin. Unable to look away from the view of us in the mirror.

“Marrying me… or anyone else. Commitment. Having a family.”

My eye twitches at the last comment. It was dead on and too close to my truths and vulnerabilities, as they’ve started surfacing these previous few weeks. I smile with twisted hatred at his insight. I adjust my foot slightly and bring the heel of my shoe down hard on his foot.

He grins as I press down harder. His hands continue to trail upward, then tuck under the dress and into my panties.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you fuck me in this wedding dress. Besides, I’m on my period, motherfucker.” I lean back into him, purposefully pressing all my weight onto the heel, digging into his foot. It must hurt, but it doesn’t show in his expression.

His other hand wraps around my throat, and he smiles as he holds me against him. “You forget red is my favorite color.”

“This is a $100,000 dress.”

“The worth of the dress means fuck all when it’s the woman beneath it I want to unravel.”

I try to move away, but he tightens his grip. “You might not think this dress, this ring, or this wedding is for you. But you are my gift to unwrap until our agreement comes to an end. You think this dress is for everyone else? I couldn’t give a fuck what they think. It’s about my wife dressing for me. It’s about my wife tempting me even before she meets me at the end of the aisle. You look delectable in every dress you’ve tried on. It’s not the dress that’s the problem. It’s time you submit to this agreement entirely.”

His thumb circles my sensitive clit, and I want to wring his neck as much as I want him to continue. “So why don’t we have a momentary truce?” he suggests.

“Your mother is standing outside this room,” I whisper-shout.

“I’m not thinking about my mother, Kitten.” He presses himself more firmly against me. Through all the material, I can barely feel him, but I know he’s hard. His hand slips lower, and his fingers feather against my folds.

“This is sick,” I say, conscious of how heavy my flow is right now.

“You didn’t really think you were marrying a sane man, did you?” He chuckles as he gently tugs the string of my tampon. “As I’ve told you before, red is my favorite color.”

The moment the tampon is free from my body, he drops it to the floor. I gape in embarrassment at our reflections in the mirror, but he hisses as he inserts a finger into me, and my expression changes to a mixture of mortified and mesmerized.

“Admit it, it feels good,” he whispers into my ear. “Momentary truce?”

I don’t want to admit it. I want to tell him to stop. To tell him this is wrong. But my mouth is dry. And his fingers feel so good.

Maybe it’s the buzz of the champagne that’s locked up my words, leaving me only able to stare into his eyes, as if right now they’re the one thing keeping me from floating away. I eventually nod in answer to his question. Momentary truce or whatever the fuck it is we’re doing.

“Remove your panties,” he instructs as he steps back.

I gulp as I do as he says and then turn to face him. He watches as they slip down my legs to my ankles, and I step out of them. His nostrils flare as he undoes his pants, his cock springing free as he says, “On your knees.”

That’s when I notice the glisten of red on his fingers and want to shy away. “There is nothing about you that disgusts me, amore mio.” My heart squeezes at the endearment, but then I realize the type of sick monster he is when he brings his fingers to his lips. He licks them, and I fall to my knees. I’m unsure if I do it out of shock or because I can’t not do what he says in this moment. He’s so otherworldly in his sexual and primal demand, pushing me in ways I never thought possible. And it doesn’t repulse me. No, it calls to something in me I didn’t know was there.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises as he looks at me expectantly. I stare at his massive, veiny cock and lick my lips. The white dress pools around me, and despite the expensive garment I wear, he looks at me as if I’m a whore. My core floods with heat, and I lean forward for a taste. I lick a drop of pre-cum, the salty taste far more inviting than the bubbles of champagne that have clearly gone to my head.

I slide my mouth over his cock, my lips stretching to accommodate him. I fist him at the same time, unable to fit the length of him in my mouth. He brushes my cheek with the backs of his fingers, and I make a point not to look away as I try my best to take all of him. “So fucking beautiful on your knees for me, Kitten. Now, dig your claws in and make me come.”

He slips his hand to his back beneath his suit jacket, and a moment later, he pulls out a knife. “If you bleed, so do I.”

I pull back as he brings the tip of the knife to my chest. My breath hitches before I realize he’s cutting down the front of the dress.

“What are you doing?” I whisper frantically, freaking out that he’s so casually destroying a six-figure dress.

“We agreed on a slit, didn’t we?” He smirks. “Besides, your breathing is too shallow in this dress, and I want you to accommodate all of me.”

Suddenly, I can breathe properly, and he smirks as he hands me the knife. “Carve your initials into a place my mother won’t see.”

And my mind goes completely blank as he threads his fingers through my hair and brings my lips to his cock again.