She was buffed, polished, and she’d brushed her hair until it lay in silky waves all the way to the top of her ass. She loved how it felt moving over her sensitized skin. She’d opted for minimal makeup, reasoning that she would be shedding tears and there was nothing attractive about smeared mascara. She’d peeked into the bedroom earlier and was amazed to see the dress Ian had placed over the end of the bed. It was a deep-purple silk with random threads of various shades of gold. It was perfect for her, it would highlight her eyes and her hair, and the style would accentuate her petite frame. Gotta give the guy credit, he’s got a wicked fashion sense. Shit, he’s really pretty wicked all the way around. She snickered at her own joke only to hear Ian’s voice from the corner. “Care to share that thought, pet?” Holy pickle fudge, how did I miss him sitting over there? “Well, not really, but I’m betting you’re going to insist, so I probably should just fess up, huh?”
