I must have been gaping, because Tyler laughed and took my arm. “Come on,” he said. “I promise you this will be fun.”
I’m not entirely sure “fun” was the word, but the trip to Tonic was definitely educational. Whoever designed the place was clearly as passionate about purple as they were about haute couture. Every wall, every tile, every surface was either white or some shade of purple. I presumed the white was supposed to provide contrast, but there wasn’t nearly enough of it. And though the purple was charming at first, after a while I felt a bit like I was engulfed in a giant bruise.
Bizarre sculptures descended from the ceiling, and the mannequins turned out not to be mannequins at all, but instead were live women who spent the day wearing the designs and standing frozen in place.
I really didn’t see the point.
The one thing I couldn’t argue with was the clothes. Everything shined and swirled and was designed to flatter.
Zelda—the sales associate who materialized the moment we entered the store—led Tyler and me to the evening gown section where she proceeded to show us dress after dress. Each was more fabulous than the one before—and each was summarily rejected by Tyler.
“Not even close to worthy of her. And the color—it can’t clash with the fire of her hair.”
“I have just the thing,” Zelda said, in a thick accent that sounded Eastern European, but was probably fake. Just more window-dressing for the clients. “Arrived today. I go look, yes?”
She was gone only a few moments before returning with a simple dress that somehow managed to put all the fancier ones we’d seen to shame. It was a backless sheath, the front piece held in place by a thin strip of material over one shoulder.
The entire dress, including the skirt, was designed to hug a woman’s curves, but the skirt was slit so that the woman could actually walk.
Best of all, it was the color of the sky on a clear summer day. In other words, it perfectly matched Tyler’s eyes.
“I love it,” I said. “Can I try it on?”
Zelda led me to the back of the store and the dressing room, which was about the size of my Chicago apartment. It had a chaise lounge, a vanity with a mirror, and a full array of toiletries so that the customer could emerge refreshed and primped. There was even a small refrigerator with bottles of Chablis and sparkling water.
I gaped a bit when Tyler joined me in the room. Zelda, however, seemed completely nonplussed. Clearly, she knew who would be paying the bill for today’s excursion.
As soon as she closed the door, I turned to Tyler. “I usually shop at T.J. Maxx. I think this is a step up.”
“Just a bit,” he said, taking a seat on the chaise. “Let’s see how it fits.”
I slipped out of my shoes, then pulled off my T-shirt and wiggled out of my jeans. Clad in only my bra and thong panties, I took the dress off the padded hanger. The material was thin, clingy, and as soft as a cloud.
“Take your bra off,” he said. “It’s backless.”
I did, then inspected the dress for a way in, finally deciding that I was meant to unfasten the single decorative button at the shoulder and step in from the top. The button seemed too minuscule to be up to the task of holding the dress up, but considering how little dress there actually was, I imagined it could probably handle the job.
“Sloane,” Tyler said once I was wearing it, and there was something almost reverent about his voice.
“You like?”
“I like,” he said, making a turning motion with his finger so that I would turn and look in the tri-fold mirror behind me.
When I did, I saw a woman who looked like she should be on a red carpet. I stood up on my toes and the effect was even better. “I’ll need the right shoes,” I said.
“Of course.”
“And this is a problem.” I pointed to the back, where the top band of my panties showed in the deep dip of the back.
Tyler stood. “Take them off.”
“Commando?”
“This dress is made for it. Take them off,” he repeated.
I did, shimmying out of them and tossing them on the pile with the rest of my clothing.
I walked toward the mirror, sexy and vibrant and daring. Maybe too daring. “I love it, Tyler, but I don’t know. The slit up the thigh is so high. If it were over my hip, maybe. But …” I trailed off as I took more steps and then turned. You couldn’t actually see my crotch, but it was high enough that someone might imagine they could.
“Let them,” Tyler said, when I told him that. “What’s life without a little imagination?”
“Tyler …”
“You’re beautiful and sexy, Sloane. Even in your jeans and T-shirt. But in this, you’re breathtaking. Enjoy it. Better yet, let me enjoy it.”
I frowned at my reflection. I did look seriously hot. Hotter than I’d ever looked before, that was for sure, and I couldn’t deny that it was tempting. So very tempting.
“Besides,” he said, standing and coming to me. “There will be dancing, and this dress was made for it.” He drew me into his arms, one hand holding mine, the other at my back. As he hummed something smooth and classical, he led me around the room, and even there, in a dressing room with no real music, it was almost magical.
“You see?” he said, his grin just a little bit wicked as he dipped me, making me cry out, then laugh in surprise and delight. My back arched, my leg extended out, and he pressed a kiss to the side of my neck.
He pulled me back to my feet, running his hand along my bare thigh as he did. “That slit is a very important selling point.” His fingers continued along the length of the slit until he reached my sex. I was slick and wet, and I groaned when he thrust his finger inside me. “Definitely a selling point,” he murmured.
“Tyler …” My protest was thin and weak.
“Hush,” he said, dropping to his knees. He lifted his hands, pushing the material up on my hips so that the top of the slit framed my sex. “I have to taste you,” he said, then laved his tongue over me once before tilting his head up to face me. “Don’t make a sound.”
Oh, dear lord …
I reached out, steadying myself with the side of the mirror as he drew in close once again, his hands now inside the skirt, holding tight to my thighs, his tongue so intimately stroking me.