Sinful Dress Novels & Stories

He tossed it onto the bed, barely sparing her a glance before moving to the dresser, where he retrieved a pile of dark colored clothes. “Here.” Serena blinked as he threw them toward her. She barely managed to catch them, stumbling back slightly from the weight of the oversized fabric. She scowled down at the bundle in her arms. A black sweater, thick sweatpants, and a plain undershirt. They smelled like him…clean, sharp, laced with gunpowder and a hint of whiskey. She wrinkled her nose. Great. Now I’m going to smell like the devil himself. “You can wear those,” Lucian said coolly, as if she had a choice. “Your dress is useless now.”

"Maybe the 'ugly princess' had a wardrobe malfunction. Or maybe she’s busy practicing how to walk in those heels we saw with the dresses." Roman didn't laugh. His mind was still on the center dress—the sheath-styled one that pooled on the floor. He had chosen it precisely because it looked restrictive. He wanted her contained. He wanted her to feel the weight of the Moretti name the moment the fabric touched her skin. The Arrival

The dress was a scandal stitched in midnight blue silk. It lay on the bed in the North Tower, shimmering in the gloom like a slice of the night sky. It was not a servant’s dress. It was cut low in the back, fitted through the bodice, and slit high up the leg—a garment designed for a mistress, for a woman kept and displayed. Saoirse stared at it, her stomach churning with a mix of shame and nausea. The belladonna drops were already working; the edges of the dress blurred and swam in her vision.

As we are shoving her clothes into her bag, she starts sobbing. I turned around. “Sinclair. What’s wrong?” She turned around, and she was holding a blue dress. It’s the same dress from the welcome party. “Who did this?!” I looked at the dress, and it’s shredded. I looked at Sinclair, and she is devastated. “Sinclair, talk to me. What is special about this dress?” It’s a simple dress. It doesn’t look expensive, but it looks like a nice dress to wear on a date to a movie and dinner. I don’t understand why she’s crying.

The invitation came in the form of a package, just like last time. But this time, the note was brief, almost careless. Tonight. Same place. Wear this. My hands trembled as I opened the box, pulling aside the layers of tissue paper to reveal what lay beneath. The dress—if you could even call it that—was an assault on my senses, a vivid, cherry-red creation of lace and satin. It was delicate, sheer in all the wrong places, and designed to make me feel exposed. Vulnerable. The colour itself screamed danger, passion, a warning I should’ve heeded but couldn’t.

But he gave in nonetheless. Penelope watched as the female attendant pulled out the first dress, a strapless one with a large skirt, but quickly dismissed it. "Next one." She said, making the female attendant give her a questioning look. "What about this one, Ms. Cube? It's gorgeous." "I know, but I'm not very much a fan of the color and how tight the waist line looks, please understand." The attendant frowned slightly before she pulled out the next dress. This one was black, strapless and had the bottom glittering like the night sky when thousands of stars were out. It instantly caught her attention and Penelope smiled.

Nora Sinclair slipped out of her sleek black dress in the powder room and stared at her reflection. The sequined fabric clung to her curves, the plunging neckline daring—and entirely intentional. She exhaled, smoothing a stray lock of hair. Tonight was her ex’s engagement party, and she was determined not to look heartbroken. She’d be a vision: confident, unattainable, unbroken.

I sighed in frustration after I saw my designer dresses in my closet. These dresses were stuck in my walk-in closet for years because Cain doesn't want me to go out. He doesn't even care if I wear ugly clothes. He even made me walk around his room naked after he used my body. Thinking about it now disgusts me. I picked a satin beige dress with a length above my knees. It hugged my body perfectly, showing my curves. The sleeves reached my wrist, hiding the scratch Cain left me. I lifted my chin and combed my hair using my fingers after blow-drying and curling it.

Let him watch what he threw away. A wicked smile curled my lips as I yanked open my wardrobe. Sin was already committed—why stop at one line crossed? I slipped into the shortest, slimmest dress I owned: crimson silk, backless, the hem kissing the very tops of my thighs. One wrong move and I’d flash the world my bare ass. Red stilettos, natural makeup with glossy lips that screamed fuck me. No panties. No mercy. I didn’t glance in the mirror. I didn’t need to. I could feel Kane’s marks throbbing under the fabric—his bites on my throat, his fingerprints bruised into my hips. Good. Let them show.

And suddenly, my own words from that morning sounded like poison. _You owe me everything_ But the moment I thought something had happened to her? Nothing else fucking mattered. Well... Except for the goddamn dress she had worn to the strip club. My jaw tightened as my eyes dragged slowly over her body again. Even unconscious, she looked— Christ. The dress was fucking sinful enough to make murder feel reasonable. Short enough to expose most of her slender legs and so tight it looked like it had been sewn onto her skin. Black fabric hugged every fucking curve without mercy, leaving her shoulders and chest exposed in ways that made something dark and violent crawl up my spine.