ARIA’S POV
When Xander pulled away from our kiss, I thought he was going to lay me down and climb on top of me.
Instead, he stood and tugged me up with him.
“Where are we going?” I asked, still catching my breath.
“Just come here,” he said, dragging me by the hand across the room.
He stopped in front of a full-length mirror mounted to his dresser. The reflection was immediate—me, flushed and messy, him standing behind me with one hand on my waist.
“Look at yourself,” he said.
I glanced at the mirror and instantly wanted to look away. “I look like shit.”
“No. You don’t.” His grip tightened slightly. “Keep looking.”
“Xander—”
“What do you see?”
I sighed. “A girl who’s been crying. A girl who doesn’t belong in a room like this. With you.”
“That’s not what I see.”
I felt him step closer. His mouth brushed against the shell of my ear.
“Let me show you what I see.”
He bent slightly and tugged my panties down. I froze.
“Relax,” he murmured. “Trust me.”
He crouched down, sliding the fabric off my legs slowly, dragging his hands along my thighs as he rose. Then he moved to the dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a piece of red lingerie—thin straps, sheer lace, barely anything.
I stared at it. “You want me to wear that?”
“I want you to see yourself in it.”
Before I could argue, he was already helping me into it. Lifting it up my legs, sliding the straps over my shoulders, smoothing it down over my body. His hands weren’t shy—they cupped, grazed, dragged over every curve like he had a right to. He kissed my back as he worked, his mouth hot against my skin.
My nipples were hard. My thighs were already pressing together.
When he stepped back, I finally looked.
And I didn’t recognize myself.
The red lace hugged my body like it was made for me. My skin looked warm, flushed. My chest was rising fast. I looked… hot. Like someone I’d look twice at.
“Say what you see,” Xander said.
“I—” My voice caught. “I don’t know.”
“You do. Say it.”
I looked again. “I look… sexy.”
He smiled behind me, teeth grazing the back of my neck. “Yeah, you do.”
My pulse thudded in my throat. “It barely covers anything.”
“That’s the point.”
He pulled me tighter against him. I could feel his cock, hard and thick, pressing against my lower back. His hands slid down my stomach, low enough to make me squirm.
“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s what you do to me.”
I let out a shaky breath. My thighs were wet. Everything in me screamed more.
Then I heard a click. I looked up—his phone was in his hand.
“Are you taking a picture?” My voice spiked.
“Just one. In the mirror. You in this.” His free hand slid back to my hip. “For me. For you. For when you forget how fucking good you look.”
I hesitated. But I didn’t move.
He held the phone up. I saw our reflection in the screen—his chest against my back, his hand gripping my waist, me in nothing but red lace, flushed and needy.
“Fuck,” he said. “This is my new favorite photo.”
I didn’t stop him. I didn’t feel embarrassed.
I felt wanted.
His hand came between my legs, fingers brushing right where I was soaked. I gasped.
“This turn you on?” he asked. “Seeing what I see?”
I nodded, too breathless to speak.
“Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”
30
