When She Falls (The Fallen, #3)(50)

I snatch the dress off the rack, walk into the change room, and draw the heavy curtain closed with a loud swish.

As I slip out of my clothes, my heart starts to dance to an awkward rhythm at the thought of Ras standing just outside with only a curtain separating us. I undo my bra and hang it off a hook.

“Yeah, this won’t be a problem,” Ras calls out, and it sounds like he’s right there. “I found a video on YouTube.”

A thrill runs up my spine. “Okay, great.”

I shimmy into the dress, and when the fabric drags over my curves, everything feels a little more sensitive than normal.

The dress is a smidge too long, and an inch or so of fabric pools on the floor. I bunch it up and decided that with a small heel, the length should do.

The chest area is a problem, though. The neck is a low-cut V, and it’s made for someone with bigger boobs. I do up the side zipper and step out of the dressing room, holding up the straps at my shoulders.

I stop in front of the mirror, and Ras looks up from his phone. He does a double take.

I feel a flush rise to my cheeks. “What?”

Sliding his phone into his pocket, he takes a few slow and deliberate steps toward me. I can feel my heart in my throat.

“I never told you what I think of you,” he says, dragging his thumb over his bottom lip while he stares at me like I’m something edible.

What is he talking about?

Oh. Right. My mind’s so focused on this moment, it’s forgotten all the other ones.

He stops right behind me, close enough for me to feel the heat of his body spread across my back. Our reflection makes nerves scatter over my skin. He’s so much bigger. Taller. While I was changing, he took off his suit jacket, and that shirt does nothing to hide the muscular lines of his shoulders and arms.

“Want to hear it?” The words rumble inside his chest.

“Sure,” I say lightly. I’m expecting I’ll get something about how I clean up well or how he likes my haircut.

Instead, his eyes darken. “You’re exquisite. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Suddenly, I’m breathless. I press my thighs together, trying to contain the heat that appears between my legs.

In the mirror, I see his gaze dip lower, noting the small movement. The air in the room presses down on me. I’m so thoroughly stunned, I can’t formulate an appropriate response, although I’m not sure such a thing even exists given the context.

He must notice how flustered I am, because he shows mercy and gives me an out. “How does the dress fit?”

I swallow. “The straps are too long.” My voice is so weak, I sound like I just ran a marathon.

“Let me see.”

He lifts his hands to my shoulders and places them on top of where my fingers are holding the straps. I let go and let him take over.

“I think they need to be adjusted by at least an inch.”

Ras threads his index fingers under the straps and gently tugs on them.

I suck in a breath as the fabric flattens over my breasts, pressing against my hardened nipples. The heat at my center pulses insistently.

“How’s that?” Ras murmurs, his hot breath brushing over my nape like a caress.

“Maybe a little more.”

Another tug. I bite down on my lip so that I won’t gasp. My nipples tighten even more, and there’s no way he can’t see them pushing against the delicate fabric of the dress in the reflection.

“That’s good,” I breathe.

“Hold,” Ras says, his voice a rasp. “I need to get the pins.”

I take over, our hands brushing in the process.

When he comes back, there’s an unmistakable hunger simmering inside his gaze. I watch as he presses his thumb on the strap and pushes the pin through.

I wince when the second pin slips through the fabric and pierces my skin.

He clicks his tongue. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing.”

But he won’t take my word for it. He slides the strap off my shoulder, each one of his fingertips a hot brand across my skin. “You’re bleeding.”

Someone’s filling the air in this room with electricity. It skates over my face, my neck, my chest, and I don’t know how to turn it off. “I— It’s fine.”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

The words hang suspended in the space around us. All I hear is the loud pounding rhythm in my chest.

Slowly, so slowly that I think I’m imagining it, he lowers his head and presses his lips to my shoulder.

My breathing stops. There’s a hot, warm brush of his tongue over my skin, and I feel it in places I shouldn’t. My eyes flutter closed. A new kind of need appears inside of me, the kind that buzzes inside my bones. It carries echoes of that stolen kiss in Damiano’s darkened kitchen.

This is so wrong. This is exactly the kind of trouble I was afraid of when I told myself I needed to stay away from him. I’ve never felt this way around another man.

“Ras, we shouldn’t be doing this,” I murmur, sounding breathless.

His lips move against my skin. “Tell me to stop then.”

I intend to pull away, but instead, my body leans into him.

He makes a sound of satisfaction and slides a palm over my waist.

I feel his teeth gently bite into my skin, and my lips part. My chest rises and falls. I’m a hundred degrees. He drags his palm up over the center of my abdomen until the fabric stops and he encounters bare skin above the low cut of the dress.