Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
She giggles. “Wow. You just assumed a whole lot there, buddy.”
“I really did. But it’s what you mean though, right?”
“I suppose it is. I’d like to see the real you. The everyday Amon Parrish.”
“What if this is the real me?”
“Come on now. You live on a compound overflowing with dangerous men. This is not everyday you.”
“Well, I like doing stuff like this. And if you’re asking to move in with me, the answer is yes. Come on over. I’ve got a nice house and room for more.”
She smiles and shakes her head as we head down the alley where all the women are out in their backyards doing their Bishop backyard stuff. Roosters are crowing, pigs are snorting, and there’s even a couple of moos.
Then we are at her front porch so we stop and look at each other. I know she’s about to say goodbye, so I interrupt and just say what I came for. “Can I come in?”
Rosie’s eyebrows go up. “You want to come in? Well, it’s really not a place to host people, Amon. It’s just a dressing room.”
“Right. Where people undress as well, correct?”
Her face goes pink and I swear, it’s so fuckin’ cute, my dick jumps in my pants. “You want to… oh!” Again, she blushes, her face almost red now. “Well… all right. OK. Come on in.”
There are no fewer than seven backyard busybodies watching us on both sides of the alley. Some peeking over clothing lines, some looking through fences, and two just standing right there in the alley holding baskets of eggs with their mouths open.
But I just salute them as I turn and follow Rosie to the door.
Inside it’s cool and comfortable and there are so many feminine, womanly things around, I don’t know what to look at first. Her elaborate gowns take up most of the space, since it’s very small in here. And I look at each one, studying details. Then I walk over to the vanity where she must do her makeup or something, and pick up a fancy hairbrush.
I can see Rosie in the mirror behind me and our eyes meet. Then I look down at the chaise in the middle of the room covered in light-blue velvet. I turn and look at her straight on. “So.”
“So.” She looks a little bit uncomfortable.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Her head is shaking before I even finish. “No.”
I take two steps in her direction but that’s all it takes to have us practically pressed together. And then I’m looking down, and she’s got her head turned up, and there is only one way this ends.
With that dress on the floor and us fucking on that chaise.
“What do I take off first, Rosie? Tell me how to do it.”
She bites her lip, trying to stifle a grin. “Well… the stomacher comes first.” She points to a light pink triangle section of stiff fabric that covers her front. “It’s got hooks on both sides and you do it like—”
She begins to unhook the top left side, but I gently push her hands away. “That’s my job. You just get to watch.” I mean this literally and nod my head at the mirror.
Rosie’s breath comes out in a rush, but she doesn’t say anything.
I take a step closer, which shouldn’t actually be possible, so we are right up against each other. She’s breathing a little faster now and this makes her breasts even more tantalizing, even though this dress wasn’t designed to be sexy and absolutely does not show cleavage. But that’s what makes it so alluring. It’s all left to the imagination.
The hooks holding this center piece in place are tiny, so I might fumble a little bit. But after a few moments I get the hang of it and soon this piece is free and I drop it on the ground. I’m not trying to disrespect her dress. I just kinda like the idea of taking everything off this woman and leaving it in piles all around us.
“Now what?” I ask. She takes a breath, and this time, with the stomacher thing gone, it’s very sexy. Because even though I can’t see those breasts yet, the cleavage has made an appearance. “This part?” I reach up to one of the little bows on either side of her clavicles and pull, letting the lace fall free, then do the same on the other side. But that doesn’t actually remove anything because they’re only the delicate shoulder straps of another stiff undergarment that laces in front and looks likes a corset.
Rosie points to it. “This is the stay.”
“The stay? Well, it needs to go.” I untie it, then start unlacing it until it completely opens up. But those breasts of hers are still covered by yet another layer. Some kind of undershirt.