“It’s stunning. Let’s try it on you.” Still keeping her pinned to my side, I crook my finger at the two women hovering a few feet away. “Would you mind getting this one down for my fiancee? Also, she looks parched to me. We’d like some Cristal.”
The woman trip over themselves and each other trying to run out back to grab the dress and our drinks.
“Ma’am, you said a size two?”
Next to me, Clarissa snickers. I’m glad to hear her respond. “I believe you said I was a size ten. So, you’re the expert. Why don’t you get for me what you think is best.” Her hand squeezes mine, and I know she’s feeling better.
I kiss her cheek and say, “You’ve fought worse than this, my sweet demon of hell. You can snuff these bitches out with your pinky toe.”
The dress and champagne arrive at lightning speed, and the sales assistant slides open the curtain of a dressing room and hangs the dress up inside.
“Ma’am, would you like to try it on?”
Clarissa glances at me, still lacking that last morsel of confidence she needs. I nod reassuringly. “I can’t wait to see it on, Clarissa.”
She fiddles in the dressing room for a few minutes, but finally, in a voice sounding more like herself, she calls out, “I’m coming out.” I hold my breath.
Since we’ve been together, she’s been dressed in a variation of the same outfit for work, an elegant ensemble of shirts and skirt, and the occasional black dress. At night, in bed, she’s either naked, in a silk robe, or in one of my T-shirts.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her dressed up, and when I last did, I wasn’t actually looking.
I was so blind.
The curtain rings rattle as she pushes through the hanging fabric, and my heart skips a beat.
“Up here, Clarissa,” I say, pointing to a raised stoop in the middle of the dressing area, surrounded completely by mirrors. She strides over, completely comfortable in the garment.
As the saying goes, she doesn’t wear the dress, it wears her.
She’s molten sex and feminine elegance in motion, the hint of the length of her leg as she takes each step is breathtaking, the fabric as light as a whisper over her decollete, hinting at the fullness of her breast. Her waist is accentuated by the most delicate pinch of the seam.
I can’t help but beam with pride.
To know her. To be with her.
Venus in stone, except now she’s living, breathing, perfection.
It’s too bad she won’t be wearing this dress.
“What do you think?” I turn to the two sales assistants.
Now they trip over their tongues.
“Oh, she looks absolutely beautiful, stunning, sir.”
I stop them by holding up my hand. “No, don’t tell me. Tell her.”
The younger one blinks and looks down at the floor as she mumbles, “Ms. Masters, the dress looks amazing on you. Like it was made for you.”
Clarissa says thank you, but she’s looking at me.
I turn to the older one and say, “I need a pair of scissors, please.”
The poor woman blanches but thinks twice about refusing. It’s the smartest thing she’s done thus far.
Less than a minute later, a pair of fabric scissors is placed in my hand. I close my fingers around it, enjoying the feel of the weight in my palm.
Clarissa watches me closely, as if she knows something’s about to happen.
“Thank you for the scissors, and now, ladies, I’m going to have to respectfully ask you to leave.” “I’m sorry, sir?” the older one stammers.
“Get. Out.” “Sir?”
My eyes bore deep into their faces, making sure to burn mine into their memories of this moment.
“I said, leave. Unless you want to hang around and watch while I fuck my fiancee right here in the middle of your showroom floor. Your choice.”
Their mouths fall open, spluttering, cheeks blazing red
“What are you worried about? You think Ravel is going to mind? Do you know who owns this building? Do you think he’s going to tell me that he’s not happy with how I treated his employees who made my fiancee feel like shit? Basically treated her like a criminal?” Anger leaches into every cell. “So, I’m going to say it one more time. Get. The. Fuck. Out.” Balled up fists by my sides turn white, “Now.”
They scramble, shoes slipping, sliding on the floor as they flee out of the door. And when it closes behind them, I turn to her.
Resplendent in her dress, I’m almost loathe to ruin the illusion.
“Matthias.”
“Yes, darling?” I say, the anger gone now that they’re out of my sight, but the intensity of my emotions is still there.
For her.
All hers.
I walk up to her, circling her as she models the dress on the stoop. Her neck invites my touch, and I run a single finger up from her decollete to her lips. God, I’m so obsessed with her neck. The little stretch of skin between her neck and shoulder is where I want to be reborn, live for the rest of eternity.
“Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are? Do you have any idea that it’s a privilege to be near you? Do you know that there’s never a single moment when I’m not thinking of you?” “Matthias,” she says again.
“Yes, my darling?”
Her bottom lip dips where her teeth bite into it. “Did you mean what you just said? About fucking me here?”
I’m almost scared to touch her, she’s too good to be tainted by my hands. “When have I ever said something I don’t mean?”
I kneel at her feet, pulling on the hem of the dress, and make a single cut with the scissors.
She watches, as I grab a hold of the two sides of fabric I’ve just separated, and tear them apart.
The sound of the fabric ripping is oddly satisfying. All the more because I enjoy the sight of the ruined dress in my hands. I keep tearing all the way up the skirt until it meets the bodice. I grab the straps and separate them from the dress with a snip of the scissors.
“Careful, don’t move,” I whisper to her as I slide the scissors down the middle of her breasts, slicing at the bust until it hangs lifelessly on either side of her body.
My pulse roars in my ears as it rushes to my groin. I walk backwards until I reach the armchair and settle into it, taking in the view of her standing there in a destroyed dress, eyes trusting me all the same.
Under my intense gaze, she starts to feel self-conscious, though, her hands coming up to cover her body where she can.
Good. I want her to feel it, and work through her emotions.
“Take off what’s left of the dress off, Clarissa.”
“I can’t.”