Sinful Dress Novels & Stories

Just like she wears. All of these things crept her even more. She never thought he had given this much attention to her everything. She once heard that too much obsession can be lethal and seeing all of the things he has been doing made her believe those words. His feelings, his possessiveness, his obsession. Everything is lethal for her. Wearing a beautiful light purple colored ankle-length dress she brushed her wet hair leaving them open. She wore the simple sandal and walked down the stairs to have breakfast. It’s not like she wants to accept all of this but she has no other option.

"Of course not, I mean who'd stop you from jumping into the ring to beat up your fighter?" We fall into a comfortable silence. "Lana." "Yes Hunter." "I mean it. If you ever need me, call me. I'll bring my shotgun, okay." "Okay, I'll keep that in mind. Bye Hunter. "Bye Lana." The line cuts. I go back to my closet now fired up and in a better frame of mind. My attention is drawn to a tight crimson dress with a thigh slit and a v-neck that reveals the ideal amount of cleavage. It shapes my figure, enhancing my gorgeous curves. With red, you can never go wrong. I decide to leave my hair down and accessorised with a gold necklace and pair of earrings to complete the look. I add a little makeup an

“Marcus was never good in bed anyway. What exactly was he cheating for?” The laughter soon faded. She needed to feel desired. Needed to erase the memory of Marcus’s selfish, lazy fucking. She showered, shaved, and slipped into a tight little black dress that barely covered her ass. Smoky makeup, red lips, and heels that made her legs look endless. Tonight, she wasn’t going to be the heartbroken girlfriend. Tonight, she was going to get fucked properly. The Velvet Room was perfect, dark, expensive, and full of strangers. Adrianna ordered a dirty martini and scanned the room. Her eyes landed on him almost immediately.

Of course it is. Short. Sinful. Bare back until my hip bone. I gasp. “What the hell,” I mutter, eyes scanning through the dress. Snow's still swooning. “This man is so hot. I can't help it.” he mused. “At this point it'll be a waste not to root for him,” I stare at the dress. Not only is it sinful, revealing but it damn well will give me that golddigger tag without trying. But who cares?

I turned my eyes forward again, rolling them when she couldn’t see. “You should keep it in mind,” she repeated, emphasizing the word 'should'. I kept my mouth shut after that. I simply nodded in acknowledgment and stayed silent. When the elevator doors opened on the fourteenth floor, she stepped out. The moment the doors closed again and the elevator continued upward, I raised both middle fingers in the air while my bag hung loosely from my shoulder. Dumb bitch. I didn’t see anything wrong with what I was wearing. It was a white floral flared off-shoulder dress with lace around the waist. The hem ended just above my knees, though it got slightly shorter when I moved around—but that was perfe

“Put this on.” I pick up the piece of clothing, holding it up by the straps. It’s a tight, sleeveless black dress crafted from a material that looks like liquid obsidian, designed to cling to every single contour of a woman’s body without a single inch of mercy. “Are you sure this isn’t just another excuse to torture me?” I mutter, raising a brow. “Whose dress is this anyway?” “Like I need an excuse,” he scoffs, turning his back to give me privacy as he walks toward the hearth. “Just put the dress on and be down in five.”

ERICA The sound of laughter and clinking glasses drifted up from the living room as I stood in front of the mirror, tugging nervously at the hem of the dress Raffael had chosen for me. It was a sleek black gown that hugged my figure in all the right places, yet it felt like a prison. Every inch of fabric reminded me of who had sent it—Raffael. Why does he always have to control everything? I smoothed the soft fabric and let out a shaky breath. The thought of stepping into that room full of people made my stomach churn. What if he found something to criticize? What if he ignored me completely? I wish! The latter felt like a great mercy.

Chapter 15: The Widow’s Second Wedding "White is for the innocent, Bianca. You’re wearing the blood I spilled for you." Dante’s voice rumbled behind me as the seamstress tightened the corset. I stared at my reflection. The dress wasn't the virginal silk my father would have chosen. It was a heavy, structured ivory that caught the light like polished bone, but the underskirt was a deep, bruised crimson. Every time I moved, a flash of red peeked out—a secret wound trailing behind me.

Sofia’s eyes lit up. The dress was a stunning deep red, its satin fabric smooth and flowing. The fitted bodice hugged her curves, featuring intricate gold embroidery that shimmered under the soft lighting. The off-the-shoulder sleeves draped gracefully over her arms, and the skirt cascaded to the floor in elegant folds, with a subtle slit on one side. “It’s perfect,” Sofia whispered, running her fingers over the delicate fabric. Damien smirked. “I thought so.” One of the dressers stepped forward, guiding her toward an adjoining room. “Come, Miss. Let us help you get ready.”

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.