Taryn
The mirror caught my flushed reflection as I fumbled with the back of my dress, fingers slipping uselessly over the zipper. My hair was pinned in soft waves and my makeup was done — smoky eyes, a berry-stained lip — but I felt anything but composed. The satin bodice clung to me in a way that made every breath feel like a tease.
“Caz,” I called, frustration edging into my voice. “Can you come here?”
He stepped into the room a moment later, already dressed in a sleek black suit with the first few buttons of his shirt left undone, revealing a sliver of his marked skin. His golden eyes locked on me — and then wandered. Slowly. Deliberately.
He stopped walking halfway across the room.
“Turn around,” he said softly.
I did, lifting my hair off my neck so he could reach the zipper.
Hi
