Page 8 of The Growly Outcast’s Promise

“Step out of the dress, darlin’.”

She uses my shoulder as leverage and climbs out of all of the white fabric.

“I don’t even wanna know how much this thing cost,” I say. I pick it up and sling it over a nearby chair.

Then I look up and she’s just standing there. Bare legs except for a garter belt and stockings and bare shoulders and arms. Her entire middle is covered in white, curve-molding material.

“What are you wearing?” I ask.

“This is not the part men are supposed to see,” she says.

The fresh bloom of pink in her cheeks tells me how embarrassing she finds this. But I feel like I’m missing something.

I put my hands on her waist. “Darlin’, this feels really tight. Can you breathe?”

Her hands come up to cover her face. “Greyson, you’re making it worse.”

“Making what worse? Why is your perfect body crammed into this contraption. Don’t get me wrong, you look hot as fuck in it, but it can’t possibly be comfortable.”

“Of course it’s not comfortable. It’s shape wear.”

“Huh?”

“You know it’s supposed to squish and mold and hide all your body’s lumps and imperfections so you have a more pleasing silhouette.”

This pisses me off. “Who told you that you had imperfections?”

“My grandmother. Practically every day of my life, but you already know that.”

I dig in my jeans pocket and pull out my knife. I pull out the biggest blade and start at the shoulder straps and then the part between her breasts.

“Greyson! What are you doing?”

“Freeing you from this torture device. Imperfections, my ass. I’d like to wrap your grandmother in this goddamn straitjacket.”

“You’re angry?” she asks.

I pause in my slicing of the material to look at my bride’s gorgeous face. “Fuck yes, I’m mad. No woman should ever have to wear a contraption like this. For any reason. I thought that nonsense went the way of the corset and pantaloons.”

She huffs out a laugh. “Did you just say pantaloons?”

I cock a brow at her. “The book club is reading a historical romance. Pantaloons are a thing. I promise.”

“I know that. I just didn’t think you’d know that.”

I pull the fabric as far away from her skin as possible because I don’t want to nick her perfect, creamy flesh. I’m so goddamn angry, I can’t even enjoy unwrapping my bride like a damn present.

Her hands move up to cup her full breasts as the shape wear crumbles off her body in shards of white.

“Greyson, I am actually naked under this.”

I look up at her and grin while I work on a particularly challenging piece of elastic around her thigh. “I’m noticing that.”

“Well, you can’t see me naked.”

I finish ripping the offensive garment off her body, then stand. “What the fuck does that mean? You’re my wife, Bella, I’ll see you naked whenever the hell I want.” I slide my hand in between her thighs. “I’ll touch you too. Unless you want to fight about that as well.”

My fingers explore deftly, bypassing the parts I know she wants me to touch.