Read Online Just One Night, Part 2: Exposed by Kyra Davis - Free Book Online

a pop star wearing a similar dress to the VMAs or something like that, but I doubt Dave knows this is a knockoff of a piece just slightly less tacky. For Dave, this probably constitutes lingerie.
    I squeeze into the dress. It’s skintight and oddly flattering but it’s also a little slutty. Much more so than the Herve Leger dress I wore in Vegas the night I met Robert Dade. One glance in the mirror tells me that I’m going to need to change out of the bikini panties I’m wearing and into a thong.
    I fish through the few items of clothing I have stored here to see if I can find one.
    “You won’t be able to wear underwear with that,” Dave says.
    I whirl around to see him standing in the doorway.
    I smile slightly. “Are you trying to humiliate me?” I ask.
    He shrugs, giving away the answer in his silence.
    I won’t give him the satisfaction. Not over a dress worn within a private residence. “Why would I be embarrassed? Only yesterday you saw me in less.”
    I let my hand slide over my exposed stomach and then up my skirt. It takes effort to wriggle out of my panties without flashing him, but I manage it and then throw them at Dave, who catches them in one hand. He looks mildly embarrassed and slightly aroused.
    I walk up to him, lean in, and say with a singsong whisper, “If you touch me, I’ll kill you.”
    And then I walk past him to make dinner, leaving him with an erection he’s going to have to take care of all by himself.
    It’s a struggle to prepare the lamb with my movements restricted by the unforgiving fabric. My guilt over what I’ve done is slowly dissipating with each one of Dave’s pathetic attempts to debase me. While Asha’s attacks are polished and executed with a vicious grace, Dave’s moves are clumsy, only hitting his mark by the occasional stroke of luck. The single advantage he has is that, unlike with Asha, I’m still not clear I fully understand what motivates him.
    And what does he have to lose by calling my parents or his godfather right now? Is he stringing me along until he does? Am I playing for salvation or time?
    The oil in the frying pan pops and sizzles as I sprinkle in bits of bloody red meat. I turn the knife on the vegetables, slicing through them with precise and violent movements.
    I’ve been fighting like a civilian, wildly swinging at anything that resembles an enemy. I need to be the soldier. I need a battle plan.
    As I wield the blade across the cutting board, I wonder if the violence will remain in the form of metaphor. How far can I be pushed before I snap?
    Twenty-five minutes later dinner is nearly ready but before I can reach for a single plate, the doorbell rings.
    I hesitate. This doesn’t feel like coincidence. I look down at my dress. It was one thing to wear this in front of Dave but someone else?
    And then an odd thought crawls into my brain. What if it’s Robert Dade?
    I imagine Robert bursting though the door. He doesn’t see Dave, only me. “You don’t need to do this for me,” he says. And just like that I realize that it’s always been about us. Dave isn’t important. I turn my eyes to Dave and watch as he fades away, like an apparition or a shadow destroyed by the light.
    It’s an indulgent fantasy, one I don’t allow myself to entertain for more that a minute but it’s long enough to excite me. My heart beats a little faster; I feel a small ache of yearning. . . .
    It’s pathetic, really. The chances of it being him at the door are slim to none. He doesn’t even know where Dave lives. He’s not here, so why am I feeling these things?
    I know you, Kasie. I know that even when I’m nowhere near you I’m inside of you. I can touch you with a thought.
    The doorbell rings again, pulling me out of my fantasies and reminiscences. But by now I already feel a slight moisture between my legs.
    I shouldn’t have removed my underwear. Self-consciously I walk to the entryway of the kitchen as Dave approaches the door.
    “Who is it,