A super secret excerpt from The Tour (Sequel to The Stage) Warning, 18+ Copyright, Shelby Rebecca. “You’re beautiful,” he says. “I just need to zip you up.” “It’s not right. I need something on underneath,” I say, with my still gasping lungs, as I hold my breasts into the minimal fabric of this low-plunging neckline. “Why? Do you feel vulnerable again?” he asks, causing me to have to swallow down my punishment again. I nod my head. I feel a muscle in my lip flutter and heat come up to my cheeks. “Don’t treat me this way,” I whisper, and look down. “No one will know but us. Leave your hair down. Don’t touch your make up. It’s perfect. You’re perfect as you are.” I walk to the mirror, the long gown shimmying around my ankles, and adjust the straps. I’m pretty sure I should use some of that fabric tape they used on me on The Stage to keep this dress from opening or moving, but I don’t have any. My hair is mussed up in the back and the mascara and eyeliner around my eyes has smudged into a smoky eye look. I’m flushed and pink. My lips red from kissing. “Why won’t you let me touch you now? I ask, my breath calmer now, but not unaffected. “Or put something on underneath?” He comes up behind me and moves my hair over my left shoulder. Just the tip of his finger moves down the curve of my spine, making me shiver. As he pulls on the metal zipper, his finger moves up the curve of my ass, up my lower back, and stops the zipper just there at the place where my hips meet my rib cage in the back. “I need to look across the table when I’m feeling naked and uncomfortable with my secret on the tip of your tongue,” he says, just before his lips and the scruff of his new beard softly caress the curve of my neck, “and know that you’re naked and uncomfortable, too. I know it’s wrong. But I need you, Mia. Do you understand?” “But why are you denying yourself right now? Why can’t I touch you back?” He moves his hands through the tangles in my hair until it’s flowing down over my shoulder in soft waves. “Because I’m going to have you when we get there,” he says, and when I try to turn around to face him, he stops me, puts his hand inside the fabric under my hand and squeezes my breast into his palm. “Look at me,” he says to me in the mirror, and mirrors are where we can see our true selves. “I’m going to make a new memory there. We’re going to christen it. It will be our place—not her’s,” he says. Copyright (C) Shelby Rebecca. The Tour, 2014.
Posted on: Mon, 24 Nov 2014 04:17:44 +0000
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