“Do not call my booty fat again.”
“Baby,” he cooed. “Nothing wrong with a nice, fat booty.” Then he cackled loudly… and winked at me.
Summer turned toward the mirrors—and gave me a sudden, front row view of her ass. Because of her elevated position, I could just see her ass cheeks peeking out.
Devoid smacked her ass, then turned to me. “Isn’t she fabulous? I could dress her up all day.”
I tried to make a noncommittal sound, but it came out a garbled growl that neither of them probably heard over the music. Summer met my eyes in the mirror. She smiled a little, then rolled her eyes.
I tried to smile back, a little, but it didn’t happen.
If this guy wasn’t so obviously gay, that ass slap would’ve really fucking bothered me. This whole conversation would’ve bothered me.
Kinda did anyway.
“It’s very warrior-chic,” Devoid announced, looking her over. “But the pièce de résistance…” He reached for what looked like a hat box on one of the tables.
Summer gasped. “It came already?”
“Baby, I only work with the best.” He lifted the lid off the box and held it out to her, like he was presenting a crown to a royal. “Custom-made to our exact specifications.”
Summer reached in and pulled out what was obviously some kind of headpiece. He helped her put it on. It looked like a tall, stylized mohawk; a strip of white leather ran down the middle of her head, with a plume of white feathers in a line.
“You need a sword,” Devoid concluded.
Summer laughed. “Music is my weapon, sweetheart.”
He turned to me again. “Would you dance for this woman?”
“I might,” I forced out.
Summer smirked. She checked out her reflection again, gushed, “Love,” then removed the headpiece and handed it to Devoid. “Wearing it at the Toronto show.”
Devoid seemed thrilled.
He said something flirtatious and put the headpiece back in the box, but I didn’t even see him anymore. I couldn’t stop staring at Summer.
Her toned thighs in that short dress…
She smiled at me a little, when she caught me staring, her pale-blue eyes meeting mine… and my heart creaked in my chest under a thick layer of ice.
I barely clocked what was happening as Devoid reached to unzip the dress and she peeled it down—shaking it down over her shoulders, so her tits jiggled obscenely in her nude bra.
I looked away again.
My balls were fucking aching.
I really wasn’t sure if Devoid was embarrassing her… or if she was loving the fact that I was sitting through this, and I was uncomfortable as hell.
Either way, I sat through five more outfits—and the near-nakedness in-between—before it was finally over.
Devoid’s lack of subtlety? It extended to his clothing designs. Every outfit looked a lot more like lingerie for some bawdy burlesque show than actual clothes.
By the time Summer slipped back into her wrap dress and said goodbye to him, I was covered in sweat. My cock had been hard so long, everything was kind of a blur.
All I could think about was jacking off. Soon.
With visions of Summer in her see-through underwear in my head.
Chapter Thirteen
Ronan
“So?” Summer said. “What did you think?”
We’d just walked out of Devoid’s studio, and she was glowing.
I was throbbing. My whole body was thumping with arousal, and now that we were outside, it didn’t feel any better. More like I realized how intense my reaction to her changing in front of me was.
Kinda like when you stand up for the first time after drinking too much and realize how wrecked you are.
I was careful not to look at her as I loaded the garment bags with her new outfits into the trunk of her car for her. Devoid’s seamstresses had finished some of them, and the others would be delivered to her house next week.
I really couldn’t wait to see her in them—and have a hard-on all fucking night at every one of her shows, since that seemed to be the way this was headed. Devoid had insisted she wear the white sex-warrior dress and the headdress with “some serious spread-’em-and-fuck-me-up-against-the-wall boots”… which Summer had assured him she owned.
Yeah. Couldn’t wait to see that.
Literally.
Jesus, I was fucked here.
“About what?” I said, as flatly as I could. Like I’d tuned right out and had no idea what she was talking about.
I was just her bodyguard, right? And today, I’d learned a major lesson.
Next time, I could stand my ass outside the door of the designer’s studio and keep her just as safe. Because there was no way I was sitting through that again. I felt like I’d just had a front row seat to the hottest, slowest, most torturous strip show in history… and now had to sit right next to the star of the show and pretend I didn’t want her.
“The outfits, obviously,” she said. “I’m wearing them at some of my final club shows this year. But I wanted some pieces that would also work for my new life as a rock star. Devoid’s creations aren’t cheap.”
“Right,” I said vaguely.
I shut the trunk and she followed me around the car. “So, which ones did you like?”
“I really don’t have an opinion.” I reached to open her car door for her, but she didn’t get in. She just stood there, staring at me while I avoided her eyes.
“Sure you do. You wear clothes. You look at women in clothes, and out of them. So tell me what you thought.”
“I’m really not an expert in fashion.”
She put her hands on her hips, which was never a good sign; I’d learned that by now. “How did I look in them?” she demanded.
“You looked great.”
“Great…” She considered that. “Great, like, ‘Yeah, grandma, you look great in that
