The next mailer I open contains another dress, but this one is… extremely tiny and now that I’m seeing it up close, I have no idea why I even ordered it in the first place.
It looked so hot on the model, and I thought I could maybe pull it off. But now that I’m staring at the leather material, I’m having serious second thoughts.
I don’t even know if I can fit mythighin this thing.
There’s absolutely no way I can wear this bra with the dress since it’s strapless and probably going to fit like a second skin, so I reach behind me and unhook it, throwing it on top of the previously discarded dress on the floor.
Okay, now to get this thing on.
It takes me ten minutes to even work it up to my hips, but I somehow squeeze into the tight, unyielding material. Then I realize… if it’s taking me this long to get iton, then how in the hell am I going to get itoff? Something tells me that it’ll be even harder to remove.
It’s so tight I’m pretty sure you can see the outline of my belly button.
Sweat coats my hairline by the time I pull it up over my chest, the tight leather barely covering the tops of my nipples before it stops completely.
My God, Rory, what were you thinking?
This is built for bodies that are not shaped like yours.
I can’t suck in a breath in this thing.
Taking a couple tiny steps at a time, I turn toward the door and realize there’s no way I’m making it another step.
I slip my fingers beneath the hem and try to tug it down, but it doesn’t budge.
A single inch.
Groaning, I pull harder. Nothing.
Another thing I clearly underestimated? The fact that leather makes yousweat. And even with the sweat forming underneath the dress, making my body damp and slick, it’s not going anywhere.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Maybe I need to go from the top? I slip my fingers beneath the fabric cups of the dress and try to pull them down but I can barely get my fingers in the impossibly tight space.
In the shuffle, I fall against my dresser, knocking over a picture frame and a trinket tray from the top, making the heavy wood hit the wall behind it.
Great, I’m going to end up having to go to the hospital or something because I got stuck in a leather dress like some type of dominatrix.
“Everything okay in there?” Cillian’s smooth, deep voice sounds from the other side of the door, and I suck in a sharp breath.
As big of a breath as I can in this… contraption.
“Um… well, that depends on the definition ofokay?” I call back.
A beat passes before he says, “Elaborate, St. James.”
I sigh. “Just open the door, and don’t say a freakin’ word, Cillian.”
A few seconds later, the hinges of my bedroom door creak as it opens and he strides through. When he sees me leaning against the dresser with my palms shoved in the front of the dress, seemingly holding my boobs, he just lifts a brow, blinking slowly as he takes in the scene in front of him.
The space between his brows crinkles as he slides his gaze down my body, pausing at the dress that’s molded to me. “Now,thisdress is bloody hot.”
“Yeah?” I retort sharply. “Great. Imagine wearing the equivalent of a latex glove. I’m stuck.”
“What do you meanstuck?”
I try to pull my hands free, and they don’t move like they’re in one of those finger puzzles I did as a kid. “I mean I’m quite literallystuck. I can’t get it off. You’re going to have to I don’t know… cut it off, I think.”