Anna looked down at the bed, her stomach lurching.
If it was supposed to be a dress, it suffered on a number of points. Not the least being that it was something she would never, ever choose to wear herself.
The red rubber was polished to a shine, almost like patent, and held together with black buckles. And it was short. So short it would hardly cover the cheeks of her arse. She supposed she could pull it down, protect her modesty, but the front was even worse. It was cut open on the diagonal and exposed her practically from belly button to neck. A single black strap and buckle under the bust held the garment together, although given the minimal rubber available, if it made it over her nipples she would be surprised.
And then there was chain attached to the rubber dog collar.
It was fetish clothing. The BDSM variety. Where the hell was he taking her?
She had no idea what to think. This was new. A departure from the games they had played before.
Even given her line of work, she’d very little experience of the scene. It wasn’t her thing and besides, there were plenty of others far better at it than she was. She leaned down and stroked the rubber with a fingertip.
It was warm and incredibly smooth. She lifted the hem and rubbed the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. She shuddered but also felt the stirrings of excitement.
She looked around the room, searching for the other paraphernalia she knew went hand-in-hand with bondage play. A whip, perhaps. Handcuffs. Or worse, a gag or mask.
Nothing. She let out a long sigh of relief.
Then she wondered if he had remembered to include footwear. She could hardly go barefoot in such a dress.
There was something deliciously obscene in the way the black patent stilettos were lying, almost as if they had been tossed aside by a previous wearer. She picked one up. The heel had to be five inches; her foot would be almost vertical. Thankfully, the lace-up panel at the front would prevent her from falling out, even if she couldn’t walk easily.
Adam had changed too, but his outfit was nowhere near as outrageous. Just black pants and a form-fitting black silk shirt. He was concentrating on the screen of his laptop when she walked back in, and hearing the orchestral soundtrack and tense dialogue, she gathered he had downloaded a movie.
He looked up, saying nothing. There was no need; his eyes spoke for him. He was taking her in. Every inch of her. From her hair, now scrapped back into a tight plait, to the teeteringly high lace-up shoes.
She waited, her back straight, her feet slightly apart. Her hands were on her hips. The pose was deliberately aggressive.
“Turn around,” he demanded.
She did so, raising her arms above her head and crossing her wrists. The movie ceased abruptly and there was the sound of the sofa giving. Then he was behind her.
She felt his strength, heard his measured breathing. She lowered her head. It was the appropriate gesture, she felt.
His hands were on her shoulders, the touch light. But nowhere near as weightless as his lips on the nape of her neck.
“So beautiful,” he murmured.
He leaned closer and ran his hands over the skintight rubber. She felt naked, exposed. Deliciously vulnerable. Her belly was stroked, and then a hand moved over the protrusion of her mound. She let out a sigh of pleasure as he pressed and rubbed the constricting material against it.
“You like it.”
She wasn’t sure whether he meant the dress or what he was doing to her. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered at that moment.