Chapter 111
Every hanger Lola touched was dripping in sequins, lace, leather–pure stripper–ware. Which could only mean one thing: she and Enzo were into freaky shit the rest of them hadn’t even scratched the surface of. Nico swallowed, pulse already kicking.
Christ. This is gonna kill me.
Then she plucked a sundress from the chaos. Soft. Floral. A lie if he’d ever seen one. She held it against her body, tilted her head, and crooked a finger at him.
“Help me,” she said, smirk cutting glass.
And that was it. Game over.
Inside the dressing room, Lola kicked her boots aside and, without warning, peeled her maxi dress off like it had never mattered. Just dropped it. One second dressed, the next standing in nothing but bra and panties, all skin and smirk.
Nico’s jaw locked, throat working hard. “Lo…” He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Do you have to do that right in front of me?”
She flicked him a look in the mirror, playful. “What, you’d rather I turned around so you could stare at my ass while I did it?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Her grin widened. “Mm. Thought so.”
She didn’t stop there. She reached into the pile again, pulled out something black and wicked–a leather… dress? If you could even call it that. Straps, rips, cutouts, barely any material holding it together. She slipped it on like it was second skin, tugging at the back with a frown.
“Hey,” she said sweetly, twisting to glance at him. “Can you fix this for me? It’s all twisted.”
Nico swallowed hard, stepping forward. His fingers brushed the bare line of her back as he straightened the strap, soft touches on smoother skin. The heat of her body burned against his knuckles, every graze sending a pulse of fire through him.
She didn’t move, didn’t look away–just watched him in the mirror, eyes glittering with amusement.
Fuck. This wasn’t helping. At all.
And then as if she didn’t just shake the foundation she quickly stepped out of the dress and stepped into the sundress and turned, holding the zipper down her back open. “Help please.”
Nico stepped closer, caught the zipper. He tugged it up slow, maybe too slow, because her scent hit him–warm vanilla smoke with a bright citrus edge, like sin baked under sunlight. He leaned in without thinking, dragging it in deep.
“Are you sniffing me?” she teased, eyes catching his in the mirror.
“Yeah,” he said, flat and certain. Owning it, getting closer to her neck and taking in the summer and sunshine again. His gaze didn’t waver. “Sweet. Citrus. Like summer I don’t want to end.”
Her lips curved, sharp and satisfied. “Good answer.”
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10:50 Tue, Oct 7
His hand twitched, shot up before he could stop it. Fingers caught the delicate line of her throat–just a brush, no pressure, but contact all the same.
And she froze. Not scared. Not startled. Her eyes locked onto his like he’d just crossed a line she’d been daring him to cross.
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