Lashings of Sauce

Dressing Down by Clare London-3

Vincenzo stepped up beside us. “Guys.” He didn’t seem able to take his eyes off the black silk lacing up the front of Gaz’s corset. Nor did he seem to have anything more in the way of conversation.

Gaz’s hair was tousled, the fringe tickling at the corners of his deep, dark eyes. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his throat. I gave him my drink for a moment while I straightened my collar and he stood there calmly, holding a drink in each hand. I’d rarely seen anyone stand as confidently in black patent high heels.

Vincenzo cleared his throat. “Why did you…ah…choose this particular costume, Gaz?” There was more than a hint of admiration in his tone. “You could have come as a Vicar, too.”

Gaz’s eyes narrowed. “And you could have come as a Tart, Vince.”

“I could,” Vincenzo said. “But…I didn’t. Should I have?” He glanced down at his own glass of punch. Perhaps he was wondering how heavy-handed Chris had been with the mix. Then slowly, his gaze slid back up to settle on Gaz’s torso again. He took his time, lingering over the groin and satin pouch area. A light flush appeared, high on his angular cheekbones.

Bren staggered up beside him. Another guy who couldn’t take his eyes off Gaz. Lucky I wasn’t the jealous type, eh? “Gaz. Sorry…um, I was a bit of a prick before. You can wear whatever you bloody well like, of course you can.”

“Thanks, Bren,” Gaz said. Maybe only I saw the glint of amusement in his eye.

“You…er…ever done anything like…this, before? You know. The clothes…”

Gaz just smiled back at him.

I retrieved my drink from Gaz’s steady hand. “Is there a problem, Bren?” I asked, kindly.

“No. Of course not.”

Gaz seemed to take pity on Bren’s bluster. “It’s just for tonight, Bren. For a laugh. After all, we’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

“For a laugh,” Bren repeated.

“Yes,” Gaz said. “That’s the purpose of fancy dress, isn’t it?”

He looked at me for confirmation. I wondered if I looked as thrilled as I felt: hot with desire and swelled with pride. For him. He stood there, calm and confident, the unassuming man who’d just been waiting for his moment. Not a single sign of nerves, and his hand still draped possessively across my shoulders. My boyfriend.

Gaz’s gaze shifted, but he was still smiling. Apparently casually, he rested his free hand on his waist and tilted his hips. It pushed out his groin and made the silk of his stockings tighten on his thighs.

My groin tightened, too.

It was Bren’s turn to whimper. I think the gargling noise came from Vincenzo.

I took a deep breath and glanced once more around the room. I wondered for how long I could enjoy the look of shocked curiosity on Vincenzo’s face; the unadulterated envy on the faces of our girl friends. Rather more unkindly, I wondered how long I should torment the look of unbidden lust on Bren’s. Gaz was right—it was, indeed, a laugh. I wasn’t sure when I’d last had such fun.

“f*****g brave, is all I can say,” Bren muttered. His drink lolled in his hand, dripping over the edge of the glass on to the thick carpet.

“I don’t know about that.” Gaz pulled me closer. “Sometimes bravery’s just trying something different. Playing a different role.” He pressed his mouth to my ear. “An exciting one.”

I don’t think I was entirely in control of my reactions. I was just a rather messy swirl of emotion and sensation. I cupped my hand around the back of his neck, caressing the skin, and his head pushed back against my fingers, nuzzling into the touch. His eyes looked a little unfocused, but he smiled one last time at Bren’s look of struggling incomprehension. “And, of course…I did it because Joey asked me to.”

I made a soft sound of delight. My free hand ran down his back, sliding over the soft, boned silk of the corset and under the clinging satin of his skirt, until my palm nestled on the firm, muscled bulge of his half-bared arse.

Vincenzo almost choked, then insisted he needed to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Bren was speechless, but he also left us, rather swiftly and—as far as I could tell—in the direction of where we last saw Chris.