Entitled: A Bad Boy Romance (Bad Boys For Life Book 1) by Danielle Slater, Roxy Sinclaire
Authors: Danielle Slater, Roxy Sinclaire
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mirrors around the dressing stage allow for an all-access view of Ayron as she models dresses for tonight. I brought her to Baraide’s Boutique—the same one that my family has used for generations—to get the full stylist experience.
“You like her,” Denise Baraide observes, her large false eyelashes fluttering, as Ayron disappears down a short hall into a dressing room to try on another gown.
I’m glad that she doesn’t have any clients to see and is free for the day. I’ll be free for the next thirty days. Being a rich kid, I always felt the need to prove myself, that I wasn’t soft. My cousins hadn’t been as fortunate as I had been, and made it be known that I had it made, that I wasn’t as tough as them because my parents had money. In the beginning, in an attempt to prove them wrong, I worked extra from the bottom of my father’s company to show them that I had what it takes. Eventually, their opinion stopped mattering, and hard work had become habit and the best way to have a semblance of a relationship with my father. I hadn’t allowed myself to take a break in years.
It is not possible for me to like Ayron as much as Mrs. Baraide thinks I could. I’m just not capable of it.
“Maybe,” I half admit with a shrug from a cushioned sofa in the studio.
Denise takes a seat next to me.
“I remember when you were a little boy running right under your mother’s heels, playing with her dresses.” She claps her hands together with delight, her long rounded nails clacking together as well. “Oh, and when you got your first tailored suit, how you puffed out your chest and strutted around here like your father.” She laughs. “I know you better than you think. You could have taken her to the mall—” she scrunched her face at the mention, “but you brought her here.”
I look at the woman who had been a stunner in her time and had helped create styles for every important event in this generation of my family. Even though I lost my birth mother, throughout the years, I had gained several surrogates who imparted their wisdom as though I were their own.
“There may be something to that.” I shrug. “Maybe not.”
Ayron emerges from the hall that she had taken to the dressing room and prances onto the dressing stage in front of the mirror. Like a bee to pollen, I want to be near her, in her, taste her sweet nectar.
“Do you like it?” Ayron asks, a grin overtaking her face.
Denise stands as I do, and I assume that it can only be because she sees what I see.
“Wow.” I’m mesmerized
Denise touches and tugs on the dress.
“Deep gold is your color,” she says. “The sweetheart neckline and mermaid cut of the gown are perfect for your body.”
The dark gold material pools atop her perfectly painted taupe toenails, flows along the contours of her legs, and tightens perfectly to cup the girth of an ass that I plan to lay my head on at least twice in my life. The center of the dress pivots inward to accommodate her waist, and circles around her pert, pronounced chest in a heart shape without a strap or wire to hold it up or in place.
Ayron playfully snaps her fingers in my direction.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to stare?” Her face is flushed and she looks delighted. I like this sassy side of her.
“Umm. Yeah.” I let my tongue run the length of my lip, wishing that it were the lips below her hips that my tongue had the pleasure of indulging.
“All right, Ayron,” Denise says. “Let’s get you out of this dress and over to hair and makeup.”
“Yeah. Let me help you out of that dress,” I say, following the pair.
“Shoo,” Denise pushes. “You let her stay a lady. You’ll see her in four hours.”
“Wait.” Ayron steps forward. “Promise me that you won’t act on anything until we’ve had a chance to talk out a plan.”
Her eyes are wide with concern.
“I won’t do anything without you,” I say and truly mean it.
“You better not,” she
“You like her,” Denise Baraide observes, her large false eyelashes fluttering, as Ayron disappears down a short hall into a dressing room to try on another gown.
I’m glad that she doesn’t have any clients to see and is free for the day. I’ll be free for the next thirty days. Being a rich kid, I always felt the need to prove myself, that I wasn’t soft. My cousins hadn’t been as fortunate as I had been, and made it be known that I had it made, that I wasn’t as tough as them because my parents had money. In the beginning, in an attempt to prove them wrong, I worked extra from the bottom of my father’s company to show them that I had what it takes. Eventually, their opinion stopped mattering, and hard work had become habit and the best way to have a semblance of a relationship with my father. I hadn’t allowed myself to take a break in years.
It is not possible for me to like Ayron as much as Mrs. Baraide thinks I could. I’m just not capable of it.
“Maybe,” I half admit with a shrug from a cushioned sofa in the studio.
Denise takes a seat next to me.
“I remember when you were a little boy running right under your mother’s heels, playing with her dresses.” She claps her hands together with delight, her long rounded nails clacking together as well. “Oh, and when you got your first tailored suit, how you puffed out your chest and strutted around here like your father.” She laughs. “I know you better than you think. You could have taken her to the mall—” she scrunched her face at the mention, “but you brought her here.”
I look at the woman who had been a stunner in her time and had helped create styles for every important event in this generation of my family. Even though I lost my birth mother, throughout the years, I had gained several surrogates who imparted their wisdom as though I were their own.
“There may be something to that.” I shrug. “Maybe not.”
Ayron emerges from the hall that she had taken to the dressing room and prances onto the dressing stage in front of the mirror. Like a bee to pollen, I want to be near her, in her, taste her sweet nectar.
“Do you like it?” Ayron asks, a grin overtaking her face.
Denise stands as I do, and I assume that it can only be because she sees what I see.
“Wow.” I’m mesmerized
Denise touches and tugs on the dress.
“Deep gold is your color,” she says. “The sweetheart neckline and mermaid cut of the gown are perfect for your body.”
The dark gold material pools atop her perfectly painted taupe toenails, flows along the contours of her legs, and tightens perfectly to cup the girth of an ass that I plan to lay my head on at least twice in my life. The center of the dress pivots inward to accommodate her waist, and circles around her pert, pronounced chest in a heart shape without a strap or wire to hold it up or in place.
Ayron playfully snaps her fingers in my direction.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to stare?” Her face is flushed and she looks delighted. I like this sassy side of her.
“Umm. Yeah.” I let my tongue run the length of my lip, wishing that it were the lips below her hips that my tongue had the pleasure of indulging.
“All right, Ayron,” Denise says. “Let’s get you out of this dress and over to hair and makeup.”
“Yeah. Let me help you out of that dress,” I say, following the pair.
“Shoo,” Denise pushes. “You let her stay a lady. You’ll see her in four hours.”
“Wait.” Ayron steps forward. “Promise me that you won’t act on anything until we’ve had a chance to talk out a plan.”
Her eyes are wide with concern.
“I won’t do anything without you,” I say and truly mean it.
“You better not,” she
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