Addicted to Pretty (2/7)

Dustin showed up the very next day, acting casual—too casual. He flopped onto the couch like it was just another lazy hangout, but his eyes kept drifting toward Ember’s vanity.

“So…” he said, settling back into the couch. “Wanna make another bet?”

She glanced over at him. “Alright. And what are the stakes this time?”

He shrugged. “Same as before.”

A faint smirk played at her lips. “Mm… no. Makeup’s not enough this time.” She looked back at him, cool and composed. “If you lose again, I’m picking out an outfit for you too.”

A little shiver ran up Dustin’s spine as he grabbed a controller and settled in beside her, the game loading up on screen.

It wasn’t even close. Dustin fumbled easy shots, missed obvious moves, and once even walked his character off the edge of the map with a mumbled, “ugh, messed that up.” The way his fingers lingered on the controller made it obvious he wasn’t really trying. By the third loss, Ember wasn’t even hiding her amusement. Every time she landed a finishing blow, she caught the twitch of his lips, the flicker of a smile he tried to smother.

When it was over, Ember couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped. Dustin mumbled something about “bad luck,” but the flush in his cheeks said everything.

She grabbed his wrist. “C’mon. Let’s get started.”

In the bathroom, Ember stripped his shirt off with zero ceremony and pushed him back against the counter. A sharp rip—then a yelp. Then another. Over and over, she tugged hot wax strips from his chest and legs, leaving him smooth and pink and squirming.

When it was done, she turned him around, nudging him down to sit on the edge of the tub.

“Stay still,” she said, unscrewing the white polish.

Each stroke was clean, slow, and precise. Ten glossy little toes by the time she was done—soft, feminine, and gleaming like tiny pearls.

She handed him a pair of black thigh-high stockings without a word. He sat down to pull them on, dragging the smooth nylon up his freshly waxed legs, and couldn’t quite hide the little smirk that slipped across his lips—it just felt too good. Then came a playful little skater skirt—short, flirty, and soft, the kind that bounced with the tiniest movement. It sat high on his waist, just barely brushing his thighs. The matching top was sheer black mesh with lace-trimmed sleeves, light and delicate as it slipped over his arms.

Ember stood back, letting her eyes drag up and down as he smoothed the hem, adjusting it without thinking.

“Cute,” she said simply, and tapped her vanity chair. “Now sit.”

She worked faster this time. No hesitation, no commentary. Just fingers brushing across his skin as she applied foundation, blended contour, traced his brows into sharper arches. She dusted shimmer across his lids and packed a smoky haze into his crease, lashes added with gentle, practiced presses.

Then the lipstick—soft and velvety, with a creamy matte finish. She leaned in, holding his chin between two fingers as she painted it on.

When she was done, she stepped back and let him look.

He adjusted a lock of hair that had fallen across his cheek, then slowly slid his legs against each other, savoring the feel of the stockings. After a moment, he gave a tiny twirl, watching the skirt fan out with a soft, flouncy bounce. A little pout curled on his lips as he tilted his head, blinking slowly at his reflection like he was testing how the lashes looked when they fluttered. Ember bit her lip to suppress the giggle threatening to escape.

They spent the rest of the afternoon curled up in front of the TV, but Ember couldn’t help glancing over at him every few minutes. Dustin was barely paying attention to the movie. His eyes kept drifting to the mirror, or his fingers would absentmindedly trace the lace at his sleeve, or smooth down the edge of his skirt. Every now and then, his toes wiggled in his stockings, the white polish catching the light. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to.

He was completely absorbed.