The boutique’s air is thick with leather and silk, each gown shimmering like starlight. You stand before the mirror, draped in sapphire silk that clings to your curves. Behind you, Simon reclines on a velvet chaise, his tailored suit exuding effortless power.

“Turn around, love,” his low, familiar voice rumbles.

You sigh, smoothing the gown over your hips, the movement almost a caress. “Simon, it’s breathtaking, but this is the fourth dress. My closet is already choking on your generosity.”

He chuckles, deep and warm, pushing himself to his feet with predatory grace. “Nonsense. You deserve them all. Besides,” his gaze sweeps over you, devouring every detail, “this blue makes your eyes burn like fire.”

He moves closer, circling you with unhurried confidence, his fingers grazing your shoulder - a featherlight touch that sends a shiver racing down your spine. “You could wear burlap and still be the most captivating woman alive,” he murmurs, his voice a husky tease.

You roll your eyes, though a smile tugs at your lips. “Smooth, Lieutenant. Really smooth.”

His gaze softens, warmth and possession lighting his eyes, making your heart race. He steps behind you, hands on your waist, pulling you into the solid heat of his chest. In the mirror, his dark suit contrasts your sapphire gown, his focus solely on you.

“This,” he whispers, his breath brushing your ear, “is special.”

His touch shifts, becoming bolder as his fingers trace the elegant lines of your dress. Heat blooms under your skin, the air between you charged with something undeniable.

“Simon,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

He turns you in his arms, amusement fading into something darker, hungrier. His hands slide up your arms, thumbs grazing your inner wrists with dangerous intimacy. You feel his heat, the raw power beneath his calm exterior.

Leaning in, his lips hover just above yours, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “You’d look even better out of it.”