She picked out the skimpiest dress. The night was going to be horrible. Painful. She'd do well to mitigate her circumstances wherever she could, beginning with the slit-up-to-there gold lamé dress that have recovered her breasts and bared her back completely. There would be no bra, not with this dress and and no hose. In the top dresser drawer she found several purse of the tiniest thongs she ever seen, mere teasing of fabric. She put on the white ones.
As she dressed, she turned it all off. Her repulsion, her fear, her worry for Shaun. She turned it off and went as far deep inside as she could. It had been a long time since she'd taken refuge there, but she found her safe zone waiting, as if she'd never left.
She took her hair are down as she walked to the bathroom, there to painstakingly put on the makeup of a showgirl. No. Of a whore. By the time she was finished, with only five minutes to spare, she hardly recognized herself.
Which, she supposed, was a good thing.
She checked her reflection, made sure he'd approve, then grabbed a gold handbag and slipped on the four-inch heels that hurt with her first step. It didn't matter. That would be the least of her discomfort tonight.
YOU ARE READING
Not-So-Secret
RomanceLike father . . . like son. The empty crib, the warning note - Kelly Declaremount-black recognised the signs that her secret life had been discovered. To save her son, she became the willing captive of a man arrogantly convinced that her baby was hi...
