I stood in front of the cracked mirror in the Omega bungalow and hated myself.
The black halter crop top clung to my skin like a second layer of sin. Metal studs glinted across the plunging neckline, holding the fabric together over my breasts. Below my ribs, a diamond-shaped cut-out bared my stomach. The mini skirt barely covered my ass, the asymmetrical slit flashing the top of my left thigh every time I moved. Studded waistband. Killer heels.
I looked like I was begging to be fucked.
And the worst part? I was thinking of his hands when I put it on.
My fingers found the silver chain at my throat—the one Gideon gave me years ago—and I squeezed until the clasp snapped. The necklace clattered to the floor. Good. I didn't want anything gentle on my skin tonight.
