by M R Field
The other mannequins wear tight-fitting purple satin pants with purple lace bras to match the other mannequin. This time around, I used silver suspenders that match the silver back pocket edges that I made across the back. Normally I have more designs, but lately my inspirations haven’t been so forthcoming.
“Ladies,” I greet as I reach them.
Eloise turns and gives me a cheeky grin as she tilts her head towards the red mannequin. “Should I be calling you mistress?”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Not today. That’s only on Friday and Sundays.” I wiggle my eyebrows at her. She isn’t too far from the truth.
“Right, so like, have you got something to show me today?” Virginia snips, making Queen Bitch eyes to Eloise before flipping her hair over her shoulder. Ugh.
“Yes, Ginny, I certainly do!” I smile as she flinches at my nickname for her. I try most times to call her something different from her name, and the temptation to call her Vagina is always at the front of my mind. But, I’m not that cruel … well not today, anyway. I step to the side and gesture for them to walk to the other part of the warehouse, where I’ve already moved the bride’s dress to the dressing room.
The girls begin to walk over, but not before I can have some more fun. “I hope you took the time to shave, hon, as it would be super awkward if your jungle legs were on display while we dressed you.”
Virginia’s shoulders stiffen mid stride, but surprisingly, she keeps on walking. Hmm. For the past six months, it’s been a love/hate relationship between us. As in, she tries to give me horrible ideas that I change constantly. It is a wonder she hasn’t tried to request to have angel hair weaved through her veil—she is that demanding.
Anyone who knows me knows that I do not stand for any shit. If need be, I tell her to shut her mouth when she is being a super bitch to her bridesmaids, and I make sure that she is going to look amazing on her big day. I am proud of my designs and don’t need some stuck-up bitch to be rude and spiteful to her girls or me. I don’t need to prove myself. Even if I do give Madam Vag the shits, she is going to look fabulous while I do it.
I draw the dressing-room curtain back and point to the chairs to the side of the waiting area that I organised earlier. I gesture for the girls to take a seat while Virginia and I step into the room. She stands for a moment with her handbag, and I roll my eyes, pointing to the stool in the corner. “Put it there, princess. It won’t run away.”
She huffs and stomps towards the chair, hesitating before placing her bag there like it was a porcelain doll.
“I’m half expecting you to give it a pat or something,” I mumble as I begin to lower the mock-up from the hanger.
I’ve sewn together a muslin mock-up. Due to the nature of the low-cut front, I’ve used strips to link the front together so her “girls” aren’t on show for us. Only a third of the hand-beaded overlay is completed; the pieces are kept in my workroom, but Miss Fussy Pants has kept a close eye on the intricate detail I’ve interwoven through the satin. Which I’m sure she’ll ask to see again, today.
I hold the dress open for her to step into, turning my head slowly so she is a little hidden from my view. Once she has stepped into it, I move the fabric up her body and hold it for a moment with one hand while I bring the back straps up to fasten securely with the pre-existing pins across each shoulder. The final design will have an open back with lace and beaded overlay at the sides, but for now she has the main material. I pin the base at her spine, folding the material to bring it closer to her waistline.
“Now, remember, this isn’t as glamorous as your real dress. This is to see the seams and adjust where we need to. Got it?”
“Yes, fine,” she barks. “Just hurry up; I can feel pins in my side.”
I’m half tempted to make a few more prick her, but I draw the curtain open and lift the back to help her shuffle out of the dressing room instead. We move over the step that she’ll perch on while the girls are sitting near, which she steps on too quickly. As she faces the wide gold-trimmed mirrors, I release the hem to allow it to fall gracefully at the back.
I glance in the mirror. The grimace that lines Virginia’s lips hightlights her irritation as she squints at the fabric. I move to adjust her left side, but movement from her right catches me off-guard. Her right knee shifts back and forth under the fabric, a nervous twitch I’ve noticed in our private discussions about her ideas. It is usually a warning that she is about to explode.
“Honey.” I soften my voice to gather her attention. “I want you to stand very still for me. I need to make a few adjustments.”
Her eyes widen as she nods in silence.
I move to the stool nearby to gather a couple of pins and put them through my belt. I’d love to have a pin-cushion holder attached to it, but I know I’d bend or something and get pricked a zillion times at once. I quickly bring in the edging along the side of her skirt, drawing the material in at her waist, pinning it securely. Stepping to the front, I grab a few more pins from my belt and then blow on my hands quickly before using my fingertips to adjust the front V of her dress. Releasing one side of the strip, I pin the loosened side and then unpin the strip completely, pleased with the result. The girls are still safe. I continue adjusting and pinning the fabric until I’m happy with the outcome.
Stepping back, I wait for her to explode, ready to try to pacify her. Her eyes are wide as she stares up and down the gown. From the front, thin straps begin at the shoulders and then thicken gradually in a semi-Grecian look as they plunge into a V between her breasts. The muslin rests tightly against her narrow hips until it flows down in an A-line skirt.
“Remember, along here”—I point to her stomach—“and here”—I move my hand down her body—“we have those sections to add with the beading and ruffled edge strips.”
“It’s so fucking plain,” she whines. “It looks shit.”
I take a deep breath before repeating myself. “We still have to add the extras to your dress. It will not be plain. If anything, you’ll be a Grecian sex bomb. Just trust me.”
“How can I trust this?” She swipes her hand at the skirt. “I can’t see what the hell you’re trying to do.”
That’s because you’re a vapid bitch who needs me to draw it in fucking crayons for you to see.
“Virginia, you need to use your imagination.” Leah leans forward in her seat, her eyebrows drawing together.
Skye rises from her seat and stands in front of Virginia. “You’re going to look amazing. Just wait until you see this in the material.” She scans her phone, then brings it up to Virginia’s face. “Remember the beading? It’s going to look fantastic. Like, totally hot.” She lowers the phone for me to glimpse a photo I had sent to Virginia of the beaded section.
“Well, I’m sure those will cover this shit.” Virginia flicks the material again and shrieks. “Ouch! A pin got me.”
Hello, Karma. Thanks for stopping by.
“Well, that’s what you get for being mean to the material.” I can’t help but smile. “Let’s get you out of this so I can make a start on the ‘non-shit’ part, hey?” I tap her arm and gesture for her to follow me to the dressing room, not helping with the back of her dress. Fuck her. She can handle that by herself.
She stomps to the dressing room, and I take pride in watching the grimace that lines her face as a few pins poke her. That’s what you get for rushing and not being careful.
Afterwards, as the girls gather at the door to leave, Eloise steps closer to me and squeezes my hand.
“Don’t let her get to you,” she whispers. “We’re on the home stretch. Five months to go.”
“Yeah, thank fuck for that,” I murmur.
“Let’s do coffee sometime,” she adds. “I like your style.”
“You know where I work. Happy to.”
They make their way out, farewelling me, while Virginia reaches into her bag to grab her sunglasses. Pushing them onto her face, her lip curls as she turns towards the street, i
gnoring me.
“See you later, Virganina!” I can’t help but call out. So much for not calling her the V word.
Strolling back towards my office, I raise my arms to stretch the tension out of my shoulders. Moving them as if I’m climbing an imaginary ladder, I move my hips in sync, enjoying the fluidity in my joints.
The front door to the warehouse suddenly slams, causing me to jump, my hands landing on my chest. I turn quickly to see Theo strolling over to me, a hard look on his face. His broad shoulders move with determination as his fisted hands hang by his sides. His nostrils flare as he gets closer to me, his deep green eyes watching me intently.
“Hey.” I wave. “What’s up? Looks like someone pissed in your cornflakes.”
“Back room,” he seethes. “No talking. I want you on your desk. Take off your skirt.”
“Um, hello to you,” I say sarcastically, as I put my hand on my hip. “What has gotten into you?”
He walks until he is a step away from my face. Grabbing my hips, he moves me into his hard body. Even with my wedges, I’m not even up to his shoulder.
His breathing deepens as he moves his lips an inch away from mine. “I said …” His hard voice stills me. “Get to your desk and take your skirt off. I want to eat you. Now.”
My pulse quickens as a deep throb pulses between my thighs, causing me to rub them together.
His eyes drop to my thighs and his face softens slightly. A wicked smile appears across his lips. “My firecracker wants that.”
He brushes his lips against my cheek. I have a feeling he’s about to make me want it badly.
“The panel shows the man, staring at her from a distance. Wanting. Waiting. Imprisoned by the pain of never being seen.”
TTE
THEO
Get her to the back room.
Get her there now.
My pulse quickens as I curve the base of my palms into her hips to start moving her backwards to her office. She stumbles slightly as her hands grip my upper arms.
The rage that fills my veins continues to flow through me. Wayward thoughts of my encounter with Ricardo’s pass through my mind. “Because you’re my son … get close to you … I’ll create another hundred restaurants if it means working with you, Theo. I will do it … the only way.” I continue to move us as his voice tries to trespass into this moment. I need her. I need her to stop my brain.
“I presume you locked the door after you tried to slam it off its hinges?” Her husky voice tears through and centres me.
I stare down at her, watching her every move as I lead her along the polished floorboards, moving stealthily in a seductive sway. Fuck. Everything she does is sexy. Even walking backwards.
“Of course I did.” I squeeze her hips to move her faster. “Though I wouldn’t care if anyone walked in.”
Her breath hitches as I glance right into her blue eyes, a faint blush appearing across her cheeks. Yes, she remembers that night too.
Her footsteps pick up momentum, and she sidesteps her front counter and shuffles into the back room. The crisp swish of fabric passes our feet as we stumble farther into the colourful space. Mannequins with half-pinned get-ups and countertops with measuring tapes, sketchbooks, and pencils surround us. Her talent is etched across every surface. I could have taken her upstairs to her room, but my parched tongue craves her taste to burn through me. To settle me. To prove that not all my life is shit.
Her lower back halts against her main drawing desk, causing a wisp of air to curl under it and flick a sketch up like a wave until it sails to the other side and onto the floor.
“Hey!” Trin grumbles. “That’s my latest sketch. You better pick that up.”
“Later,” I growl, moving my lips closer to her face. “I’m busy.” And with that, I grip her hips tighter to hoist her onto the desk. She squeals, her eyes lighting up with excitement. Her hands move quickly up my forearms, but I release my own grip to catch her fingers before they move any higher. “Hands on the desk. Now. If you move them I will stop.”
A cheeky smile appears across her red glossy lips. “Um, it’s not like you’re doing anything at the moment, so I thought I’d take the reins a bit. You know, get to the good stuff. Seeing as you like to head there usually.”
A chuckle abruptly passes my lips, releasing the tension in my shoulders. As my muscles marginally relax, my anger changes into fevered desire. I want to tear each wisp of clothing off her and tie her to this fucking desk. I’ll know next time to bring my satin ribbon.
“Hands. Desk. Right now.”
She raises her hands by her sides, a foot above the desk and smiles at me, casting me a wink as she moves her palms slowly to the sides of the mahogany surface. I lower to my knees, shifting her legs onto my thighs. Without breaking eye contact, my fingers crawl up the pleats of her skirt until I find the edge of her boy-leg underwear. My fingertips curl into the waistband, moving it slowly down her thighs. I grin as her hips rise off the desk, her Black Widow underwear shimmying down her legs. Her teeth bite deeper into her lip, and I struggle not to stand and replace those teeth with my own. She shifts a little to allow the smooth fabric to glide off her feet.
“Good, honey.” I lean closer to whisper my lips against the edge of her pussy, a mere breath away from tasting paradise. “Hold on tight.”
My lips touch the edge of her pussy. Her chest rises with every touch of my mouth. Her lips pucker, desperate for a kiss. But I stay down. Her eyes narrow at me in frustration. We haven’t kissed since we were sixteen. Our kisses are for another day. One day.
I shake my head at her, grip her knees firmly, and open her legs wide. Sinking between her legs, I watch her. I watch her chest rise in anticipation. I watch her bite her lower lip. I watch her frustrated eyes darken with want. I could watch her all day.
I stare at her in silence, watching her chest continue to rise and fall rapidly, and I linger in her sultry wave of desire. If I lean closer, I will smell what I do to her. I will see what my touches and looks make her feel.
In this instant, her need for me is real. Her need for me is the palpable link that ties us together. Like a thread, it is only a matter of time before it snaps. The resulting carnage would be irreparable, our time together so fractured that none of my actions or pleading would draw her to me again. But I’d rather suffer through a thousand moments of watching her than never having her at all.
I turn from her gaze and move closer, abruptly flicking up the skirt onto her narrow hips. My breath sharpens as her arousal reaches me. My finger glides down her, relishing in the feel of her smooth, soft skin. I have barely touched her, and now I’m calmer. I trace her lips, up and down, quickly discovering her edges, feeling her desire coat my restless fingers. I need to taste her.
Leaning forward, I look up from her swollen cunt to her darkened eyes and wait for her to make the next move. I know she wants me, but that tiny nod, the movement showing she is barely holding on while her fingers dig into the impenetrable surface of the desk, spurs me on. Our eyes hold as her tongue moves under her teeth to trace her swollen lip. I raise one eyebrow and smirk, waiting for her command. With a deep breath she pants, “Yes,” and I burn for her. My girl has been patient, so the reward now will be sweeter.
I smile before I take my first lick into Eden. I groan as her taste coats my tongue, calming my senses. This. This is what stills the anger that soars through my veins. I continue to feast on her, moving my hands to grip her hips closer to me, increasing each lick to get her nearer to coating my tongue. My lips narrow down on her swollen clit, and I suck it sharply as her pussy quivers against my feverish mouth. Her breaths quicken as I feel the tell-tale sounds of her approaching orgasm. My fingers move in under my mouth, pushing into her in a steady rhythm against my hungry tongue. Her walls tighten against me as her head tilts back, and the desk creaks under her grip, gasping into the open air. I lick her slowly through her release, clutching her thigh to my cheek as I take in that last tremor.
�
��Fuck,” she gasps, her back falling to the bench top. Her legs shake against my face, so I lean back to hold both sides of her legs with my arms. I watch her for a moment, her chest rising and her arm thrown over her face in tired ecstasy. I could stand and crawl along this desktop and lie beside her—but we don’t do that. My chest tightens. We will never do that. Unless I can break her down. I need to. We have the destructive force that could tear us apart. But within the wreckage lies beauty for reformation and rebirth. For a new us.
She sits up slowly, her top hanging over her shoulder, revealing the red cherry blossoms underneath. Her skin is a tapestry of art—how she lives her life, like her workroom that is filled with vibrant materials. All around us is a whirlwind of colour, and I gaze at her body, wanting to see the colour that covers her skin blending into mine.
“So, you gonna tell me why I’m gonna have fingerprints in my hips?” Fuck. I must’ve done that on the way in, while dragging her to the back.
My hands slide to her hip, lifting her off her desk to stand in front of me. She flinches in my grip. “And on my arse?”
My jaw clenches for a moment. I want to tell her, but I can’t. I’ve spent so long with my thoughts, it’s hard to share them. It’s hard to share that my identity is a lie. I’ve spent so many years hiding that my disguise has moulded into my skin. It’s a part of me. From the moment I wake, it consumes me.
I look at my hands and see faint smudges of black lead. Miraculously, I’ve left no stains across her pale and red skin. Only traces of my fingertips bruising across her body remain.
“I can still taste you; don’t sour that for me,” I mutter, rising from my seat. Her tussled hair falls to the side of her face, causing me to lose my breath for a moment. There’s not a day that goes past when her beauty doesn’t stun me.
I bend down, retrieve the sketch that fell, and hand it to her.
She stares at me, studying my face. The sketch is quickly thrown onto the table before her eyes return to mine. She tilts her head to the side and stands with her hand on her hip. “You looked like hell when you stormed in here. What’s up with that?”
