Virtuous Vows Read Online T.L. Smit

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Tags Authors: T.L. Smit Advertisement

Advertisement

I feel like I’ve got whiplash. This mindfuckery with Dawson has to end. Once I get what I want from him, I can go on my merry way and try for something normal with Kit.

I walk out with Lance and am taken to a white room. There are cameras and racks of familiar lingerie. A small lady approaches me, grabs my hand, and studies me from all angles. When she’s done, she drops my hand to my side and looks up at me.

“White. Innocent.” She nods, then points to the lingerie. “Go and get changed. Hair and makeup are in the back.” She waves me off, and suddenly, nerves flutter throughout my body.

Am I really doing this?

Should I be doing this?

But I do as she says.

I can’t back down.

If I do, Dawson will never let me try again. I promised I would do this for myself. And if I have to get on my knees and take some fucking vows for it, that’s what I’ll do. Nerves be damned.

Walking into the back room, a lady hands me a robe and tells me to undress and to come back and sit down. I do as requested and try not to show my nervousness with everything happening. I honestly thought I would have time to process the decision and not be thrown straight into it. But I guess that’s how Dawson rolls. And it may be a way to ensure I don’t back out.

Dressed in my robe, I sit in a chair as the two ladies do my hair and makeup. One of them undoes my robe and puts shimmer all over my upper breasts. I feel naked, which I guess is the point. I don’t say anything, even after it’s done, I just sit there like a deer in headlights.

As I’m left to stare at myself in the mirror, I can’t help but think back to what happened in his office. This thing between us fucking sucks. I hate him, and I want him. And I just feel like a yo-yo in his presence. But I know I’m not what he wants. And I sure as hell will not change myself to fit what he wants. I’m done with that shit. But, damn, does my body betray me when I’m near him.

I’m handed a set of lingerie and told to put it on. After I do so, I secure the robe around me once again before the photographer walks me out so I’m standing in front of the cameras.

“Remove the robe,” she orders.

I’m hesitant at first. I mean, come on, I’ve spent my fair share of time in Europe, clubbing, beaching, and yachting, wearing nothing but bikinis. But this is different. The intent is different, and I must find a way to make it mine.

I do as she says and listen to how she wants me to move my body and how I should be positioned. She tells me not to smile and to keep my mouth slightly open, showing just a hint of teeth. I awkwardly try a few positions, reminded of my younger years and my mother’s pressure to follow in her footsteps to become a model just like her. But it never felt right. I always felt awkward with that type of attention.

However, no one will bid on me if I don’t do it right this time. Dawson walks in and takes the attention off me as if my saving grace. The photographer watches him expectantly.

I should cover up. Dawson hasn’t seen me dressed like this before. But as he walks over to the photographer, his gaze never lands on me.

He looks through the photographs that have already been taken, then, finally, his gaze locks with mine. It fuels me with flutters and heated need. I don’t feel judged by him. Only desired. Or maybe that’s because I want Dawson to desire me.

And here we go again—mindfuck.

He whispers into the photographer’s ear and then leaves the room, dragging his eyes away from me.

“On your hands and knees,” the photographer commands.

I’m reluctant at first, watching as the door closes behind him.

Fuck him! I don’t want to be seen as a sweet and innocent girl. Just the virgin. And if he wants me on my hands and knees like a fucking good girl, I’ll make him regret not being in the same room.

It feels wrong, though, like I shouldn’t be doing this.

But I chase that thought away.

I’m going to do it anyway.

CHAPTER 21

Dawson

I’m going to hell.

And it might very well be Crue or Mr. Ricci who send me there if they find out what I’ve done. I watch her on the video screen as she gets on her hands and knees. It makes my cock hard seeing her in that position, dressed in all white, a picture of innocence. I can’t stop uncomfortably shifting. A not so pleasant reminder that I haven’t had a release in a month. And right now, the honeypot I want so desperately is in another room just down the hall and I’m the asshole willing to auction her off.

Advertisement