Day two of charm school began in the closet.
Julian laid the outfit out on the white velvet chaise in Brett's suite like he was dressing a doll for a ball. Black stockings, sheer as smoke, with a deep lace top. A matching black satin garter belt with six silver clips, black lace bra and panties. And the dress.
It was black velvet, bodycon, long-sleeved, with a back zipper that went from nape to just above the curve of his ass. A mini that would barely cover the tops of the stockings when he sat.
Next to it, the shoes. Black patent 120 mm Louboutins with the red soles that Julian called "weapons."
Brett stared at them, his heart already hammering. He was twenty-one, five foot eight, one hundred and fifty pounds now, his waist twenty-six inches without trying, his skin golden from tanning, his face smooth and hairless. His long honey blonde extensions hung down his back in soft waves.
"Tonight you don't practice flirting on a sofa," Julian said, spritzing "her" perfume into the air, a warm vanilla and jasmine that Brett walked through. "Tonight you have a date."
Brett's big blue eyes flew to his. "A date?"
"A practice date," Julian corrected, already heating the flat iron. "Dinner for two. Dancing. Matteo is cooking."
Brett's stomach flipped so hard he thought he might be sick.
It took two hours. Julian straightened his hair until it fell like silk past his breasts, which were finally real enough to need the black lace bra, small and tender and perfect under the velvet. He did glam makeup, smoky eyes that made Brett's blue eyes look huge and mysterious, contour that sharpened his cheekbones, and a deep berry stain on his full lips that Julian said was "kiss-proof, but let's hope you don't need that."
When Julian zipped the dress, Brett gasped. The velvet hugged every new curve the hormones had given him, his small waist, the gentle flare of his hips, the swell of his chest. The long sleeves made it classy. The short hem made it sinful.
He stepped into the stockings himself, rolling them up his endlessly long, hairless legs, clipping each garter with shaking pink-nailed fingers. The familiar pull of the straps against the lace tops sent a shiver straight up his spine. He slid his feet into the Louboutins and stood.
He was six inches taller instantly. His legs looked miles long in black nylon. The red soles flashed when he walked.
He looked like a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.
Even though he didn't.
Matteo was waiting downstairs by the fireplace, and when Brett came down the curved staircase holding the railing in his insane heels, Matteo actually stopped mid-sip of his wine and stared.
"Dio mio," he breathed, setting the glass down. He was in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, dark hair perfect, jaw shadowed with perfect stubble.
Brett's entire body went hot under the velvet. He forced his shoulders back the way Mara taught him, let his hips sway just a little in the heels, and walked the last three steps like he owned them.
"Ciao, Matteo," he said in his soft girl voice, and held out his hand.
Matteo took it, kissed his knuckles, his lips warm against Brett's skin, his dark eyes never leaving Brett's face. "Brielle. You are dangerous tonight."
Brett laughed, a breathy, real laugh, and felt his cheeks flame.
Dinner was on the terrace overlooking the lake, candles everywhere, even though Elena had cooked and left. Matteo pulled out Brett's chair, his hand brushing the small of Brett's back through the velvet, and Brett felt that touch like a brand.
They ate salmon and talked. Matteo asked questions and actually listened, leaning in, his cologne, something dark and spicy and delicious, wrapping around Brett every time he moved.
Brett found himself touching Matteo's forearm when he laughed, the way he'd been taught. He found himself tilting his head, playing with a strand of his straightened hair, crossing his long stockinged legs slowly so the dress rode up just enough to show the lace top of his stocking.
Matteo's eyes followed the movement and his jaw tightened just a fraction.
"You learn fast," Matteo murmured.
"It's the shoes," Brett whispered, feeling bold from wine and hormones and the way Matteo was looking at him. "They make me feel powerful."
After dinner, Matteo stood and held out his hand. "Dance with me. For real this time."
Music started from hidden speakers, something slow and low. Brett slipped his pink-nailed hand into Matteo's and let himself be pulled onto the heated stone patio.
Matteo's arm went around his waist, his hand splaying wide and hot over the velvet at the small of Brett's back. Brett's hand rested on Matteo's broad shoulder. They were chest to chest, and in the heels Brett was almost tall enough to look Matteo right in the eye.
They swayed. Matteo led effortlessly, turning Brett in slow circles. The velvet dress moved against his stockings. The garter straps pulled with every step. Brett could feel Matteo's thigh brush his through the thin dress.
He smelled so good. So damned good. Like heat and man and spice.
Brett's head went swimmy. His big blue eyes dropped to Matteo's mouth, to his perfect lips, to the stubble on his jaw. A wild, hormone-fueled thought crashed through his brain so loud he was sure Matteo could hear it.
I want to eat him. I want to climb him like a tree. What would it be like to kiss him right now?
His breath caught. His full lips parted. His body, soft and curvy and buzzing from five weeks of estrogen, leaned in a fraction before his brain caught up.
No. Fight that. Fight it.
That's the hormones, right? Right? It had to be the hormones making him feel this liquid, aching want pooling low in his belly. Making him notice the way Matteo's throat moved when he swallowed. Making him want to be kissed by a man for the first time in his life.
"Omg," he breathed out loud without meaning to.
Matteo slowed the dance, his dark eyes searching Brett's face. "You okay, bella?"
Brett nodded frantically, his long hair swinging. "Fine. Just... heels."
Matteo smiled, slow and knowing, and pulled Brett just a little closer. "You're doing perfect."
The song ended and they stood there a second too long, Brett's chest heaving against Matteo's, his hands clutching Matteo's shirt, the perfume and cologne mixing in the cold night air.
Matteo finally stepped back, professional again, but his voice was rougher. "Lesson over for tonight."
Brett walked back inside on wobbly Louboutins, his stockings whispering, his garter belt pulling, his entire body humming like a live wire.
Upstairs, alone, he kicked off the shoes and collapsed onto his bed in the velvet dress, his face in his hands.
His phone buzzed at 9 pm.
Lance: How was date night?
Brett stared at the ceiling, his berry lips swollen from biting them, his heart still racing, his thighs still tingling where Matteo's hand had been.
He typed with shaking thumbs: He's so dam hot I wanted to eat him. He smells delicious. I almost kissed him. That's the hormones, right?? OMG fight it fight it fight it.
He hit send and buried his burning face in the pillow, the black velvet dress riding up over his black stockings, the garter straps still clipped tight, his body confused and alive and aching for something he didn't have a name for yet...