Backstage of Irresistible red

Oh Titus, bless his hopeless heart—he won’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell once he clocks this outfit. I picked it out just to wreck him: all frilly edges that sway when I walk, and see-through fabric stretching snug over everything he likes looking at. One twist and the lace lifts, teasing whatever he’s trying not to stare at. Yeah, mission accomplished, he’s already shifting on the sofa, doing that half-crossed-leg maneuver like nobody’s gonna notice the sudden tent in his jeans. I’d give him maybe four seconds before those big hands grab my hips and yank me closer, because what this outfit hides is far dirtier than what it shows—and my sweet, doomed Titus knows it.