“I’ll close my eyes if you want so I don’t see, but look at yourself—your real self—like this.” My voice is so low, so tight with lust, I barely recognize it. “You’re fucking fantastic.”
Her eyes go wide with surprise. “But you’ll know who—”
“I already do.” I’m not supposed to be telling her this. She isn’t supposed to know I know who she really is. But what’s happening right now isn’t a part of any scheme. This is outside of it, uncontrolled by it, and free of everything else there is in this world. We’re just LeLe and Erik, nothing more, nothing less. “I can see you, the actual you, the one who wants to let go of the responsibility and the expectations and the requirements.” I hook my finger around the strap of her dress hanging loosely against her upper arm, ready to tug it down and break whatever spell is keeping her dress up over her glorious tits, but not yet. “It’s Vegas; if you can’t let yourself be a little bad here, what’s the point?”
The urge to yank on the strap has me by the balls, but I can’t give in. This has to be all LeLe—the actual LeLe—calling the shots.
The air shimmers around us, and the scent of warm donuts fills the space before her reflection in the mirror changes to reveal Leona Sherwood with her signature red hair, freckles, and mind-blowing curves.
“Fuck, you are gorgeous.”
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