All Chapters of Sinful Pleasures: In Bed With His Best Friend : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

DOMINIC I slouched on the couch with a whiskey glass dangling from my hand, the ice clinking softly against the rim, and my eyes drifted between the muted fashion show on the TV and the call I was barely paying attention to. “Can’t we get on that cover?” I muttered into the phone. “What’s Mike saying about it? My girls are—” The door swung open before I could finish. Vivienne walked in, her heels striking the floor in quick, clipped steps. Her face was tight, lips pressed together, and brows drawn into a sharp V. I didn’t need her to say anything because I could already tell I was in trouble. With a flick of my wrist, I ended the call and dropped the phone onto the armrest. I leaned forward, elbows braced against my knees, and let out a long breath before meeting her eyes. “What is it?” I asked. “You look upset.” She didn’t answer right away but raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. “Figured it out already, huh?” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “I’m not a mind reade

OLIVIA I studied my reflection in the mirror, already dressed for the dinner date, and wondered why I couldn’t steady my breathing. The nerves in my stomach weren’t unpleasant but they almost made me laugh. I’d been on plenty of dates yet this one felt different. There was something strangely intimate about starting over after everything. Divorce had stripped me down, but tonight I wasn’t dressing up to prove anything to anyone. I was doing it for myself and for someone who seemed to see me exactly as I was. I shifted slightly, glancing over my shoulder at the black cowl dress Dante had sent earlier. It hugged me like a second skin, the silk falling over me in a way that made every curve feel outlined. The back was open, the fabric trailing down my spine and every detail of it told me Dante had chosen it himself. I paired the dress with strappy stilettos, a mini designer clutch, and far too much of my favorite perfume. And, of course, no panties. The thought made

OLIVIA Every time the vibration stopped, I was left hollow, and somehow, I waited for what should come next. My legs still twitched under the table, a tremor I had to hide even as my body wanted more. But when it started again, I couldn’t handle it. This dinner was driving me insane. I didn’t know whether to cry, scream, or beg for mercy. I shifted in my seat, lifted my glass to my lips, and forced myself to look normal. I would not moan into my wine, at least, not in front of Dante. “It has four levels,” He said calmly and sipped his wine. “That was just the second.” My heart slammed against my ribs and my eyes widened. Two? If that was only level two, I wouldn’t last. There was no chance I’d make it through this date without an impossible orgasm in the middle of a restaurant. Just perfect. “Why am I wrong?” I swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table. “You like me, don’t you?” Dante leaned forward. “You’re not the first woman I’ve liked.” My lips pa

OLIVIA I wasn’t just nervous, I was anxious. No, that wasn’t even the right word. It felt like I was on the edge of a full-blown panic attack. My chest rose and fell too quickly as I took shallow breaths, and no matter how hard I tried, it felt like nothing could fill my lungs. I paced the narrow strip of backstage, willing myself to calm down, but the more I moved, the more the room closed in on me. People streamed past me, rushing in every direction, their arms full of clothes, makeup brushes, and clipboards. No one stopped. No one noticed that I looked like I was about to collapse and their voices blurred into a hum. Thirty minutes. Dante’s fall show was starting in thirty minutes. And I was a mess. I’ve walked hundreds of shows and runways have been my second home since I was a teenager. It had always been fine, even more than fine. I knew the rhythm, the lights, the cameras. I could usually slip into that cool, amazing version of myself and get through it.

DANTE I planned this night down to the smallest detail. From the lighting along the runway to the final beat of the soundtrack, everything had been checked repeatedly. Every moment, every step, and every look….it all had to be perfect. Months of preparation had led to this moment. Two gowns were the centerpiece: one to open the show, the other to close it. Olivia was wearing the final dress, and I knew that when she walked, everything: the night, the spectacle, and the applause would align perfectly. I sat in my box, near the edge of the stage, my gaze fixed on her as she stepped forward. Her skin shimmered under the lights, and the gown flowed around her like it had been made for her alone. It was magnificent, every bit as I had envisioned. And yet… something was wrong. Her shoulders were too rigid and her steps lacked their usual grace. The way her feet met the floor was tentative, and stiff, like she had never done this before. Unease prickled along my spine. I reac