What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [30]
A white card rested on the bench, so she snatched it up.
Change into the items in the chifforobe, leaving the lingerie on underneath.
After you’ve dressed, come inside, prepared for class.
Don’t be afraid. Be ready.
Jenna sucked in her breath. So there were more props here. She began to get nervous again.
At the same time, though, the juncture of her thighs still tingled and she suffered the sense of having come too far to turn back, the sense that whatever pleasure he’d laid out for her, she owed it to herself to experience.
Still, when she opened the wardrobe, she gasped—at the sight of a small white blouse and short plaid skirt, à la naughty Catholic schoolgirl.
Okay. So she’d been wrong, as in ridiculously naïve. This wasn’t a soft, romantic fantasy. This was . . . kinky. And she clearly should have paid more attention to the emerging school theme. What was that about?
Yet he’d told her there would be costumes involved and roles to play, so maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised.
And it could be worse. He only wants you to be a sexy schoolgirl. And at least she’d been a schoolgirl before, even if not a sexy or Catholic one.
As she reached for the skirt, she started to wonder why she wasn’t stopping this now, why she wasn’t backing out and changing her mind, screaming, “Marie Antoinette!” through the door and running like mad in the other direction.
But she didn’t allow herself to go there. Since something was telling her to put on the outfit.
Lust, she decided. It was lust. It was wanting to be with Brent Powers again. It was the way her feminine mound pulsed from all the anticipation, the way desire stretched all through her now, the same as last night at dinner. And maybe, just maybe, it was . . . realizing that she’d never again in her life have this unique opportunity, at a place where no one knew her or would judge her, and maybe she actually wanted to have the experience.
Of course, she knew what happened at the Hotel Erotique wouldn’t really stay at the Hotel Erotique—it would come with her and be a part of her for the rest of her existence. So if she ended up with regrets . . . well, she’d had very few in life so far. So if that happened, she would simply push it aside and consider it an honest mistake.
Thus it was lust and curiosity and the invisible sense of arousal permeating everything here that had her zipping up the scandalously short skirt, which began well below her navel yet barely covered her butt, and tying the tight white, short-sleeved blouse—no buttons—under her breasts.
Then she spied the shoes on the floor of the chifforobe—white strappy platform heels like strippers wore. Oh my. She’d never even thought about putting on such a pair of shoes before, and she questioned whether she could walk in them, but . . . she’d decided to do this, right? So she sat down on the bench and slid her feet into the ultra-sexy heels, then stood to look in the long mirror inside the wardrobe’s open door.
Whoa.
She blinked, studying herself from head to toe, trying to adjust to this new image of herself.
She looked downright sinful. Naughty indeed.
And . . . oh God, she liked it.
She’d just become . . . every man’s dirty fantasy. Fresh moisture pooled in the area she’d so recently shaved, and she was stunned to discover she could get so hot looking at . . . herself.
And she knew instantly, she wanted Brent to see her this way. She wanted him to know she could look like this.
Not that she didn’t remain nervous as hell. She was nearly as nervous as she was turned on. But in this moment, she wanted to find out what waited on the other side of that closed door more than she could have imagined a few hours ago. Brent had seduced her again, it seemed—this time with risqué clothing and written commands. But that was who he was—a wildly seductive man. She’d accepted that about him quickly and surrendered to it. And she felt like Alice in Wonderland as