The Prince [BWWM]

EIGHT

She had not known when she woke up from her sleep that she would be ushered to dress for the upcoming ball. The king had entrusted carla to oversee the production of baked goods— the castle was quite busy with preparations and so she could not attend the fitting of her daughters ball gown. She was excited to see it none the less.

It was only hours that passed since she met the tailor in charge of her fitting. She was quite reluctant to accept the exchange as she did not see the need for it. She also did not want to attend this ball that fortified that she will indeed be marrying the prince who she despised the most.

"Bonjour, Ma Dame!" A smiling short statured man welcomed her, outreaching his hand for her to take it. The attire he wore was fitted to perfection in her smaller frame but it was expected from someone of his expertise. Alphonse was a renown tailor in Paris who often made travels to London to provide the best of gowns and suits for the higher status men and women. Newspapers of his work were often pushed not just in Paris— word of mouth was also very in his favor as other people seen his work on others and wanted it for themselves.  He was a smaller man indeed, feminine and soft features, he could be mistaken for a woman if not careful. "Let's get you undressed for your fitting."

Arabella was quite combative when it came to undressing— standing in her undergarments infront of a stranger was not on her list for today. Yet here she was standing in them on the tailors step riser, arms straight out as the tailor got to work with measuring her. That was until the heavy wooden doors cracked open.

Arabella's confused face turned into a scowl once her eyes landed on the familiar dark haired man entering the room. His hands were tucked in the pockets of the brown slacks he wore— held up by golden buttons. A button up biege shirt which wasnt so buttoned up was tucked neatly within them.

"What are you doing here?" She asked in distaste. He ignored her tone and looked at her up and down—plopping himself down on the singular couch available and leaning back to rest his elbows on the back of it with his legs spread.

"I have to see to it that the dress is a good fit. I do not want to be here anymore than you wish me to." He shrugged. "Go on." Ushering her on with a wave of his hand. She could not help the glare upon her face but still allowed the tailor to guide her body so he can get her measurments correctly. The tension she had came creeping back with the presents of him around. She was nearily naked— only her white undergardment bra and underwear to cover her. She hadn't expected for him to be here watching her as well.

Silence had consumed them and she found herself looking to the ground— the feeling of eyes on her was overwhelming. Victor dreaded the walk to this fitting room. The last thing he wanted was to have to sit through a painfully long fitting and dressing of a woman who just yesterday said that he did not deserve her. It was not as if he wanted her to begin with but the audacity had thrown him off completely. He sat with his arms now crossed in boredom— he watched the thin paper used to measure, wrap around her waist. He started to notice her womanly figure in due time.

The dresses do her justice but without them do her even more. He has been with many women in his days away from London and so looking at a woman's body does not surpise him but she had quite a beautiful one. Brown supple skin, soft thighs on long slinder legs with a delicate small waist that held a busty upper half. He took in the sight of her without realizing he was doing so.

"I am done. Shall we try on the corset, Ma Dame?" She nodded. He scurried to the counter to grab the beige corset he had available, ushering victor over with a wave of his hand. He sighed— standing up despite not have any desire to. "Mon Prince, Please assist Ma Dame while I go get the fabrics." He smiled respectfully, excusing himself to rush out to the back room before Victor could protest.

"I can do it." She shut down any attempted to help her by pushing his hands from the corset hanging loosely on her waist. Her hands felt around behind her for the strings to tighten but it was quite hard without knowing how to work a corset to begin with. Everytime she had worn one—The maids had tighten them for her and so she never learned. She thought it shouldn't be that hard but it was infact that hard. Victor let out a deep laugh watching her struggle. "Do you think this is funny?." Her tone was biting as she glared at him.

"Im afraid so. Now stay still." His hands gripped her hips and turned her body to face the mirror sitting in the corner of the room, taking the strings on his hand to slowly tighten them to fit her body. Arabella felt her body run hot— to what? she was unsure. Embarrassment surely. It could not be from the towering man so close to her that she could feel his body heat on her back side. It could not be from him. It could not. She hugged herself— mistakingly looking up at him in the mirror only for them to meet eyes. He had been staring at her the whole time.

She was so much more smaller than him, he thought as he looked at her back. Small and dainty indeed. She felt a shiver run down her skin where his hand traced upon it to swoop her hair off her back and onto a singular shoulder. He noticed this and an unwilling part of him liked the reaction of her body from his touch. Subconsciouslessly he felt a tightness in his groin, between the eye contact and how close she was to his own body— he felt his manhood respond to her without a second thought. He pulled a little more at her corset when she least expected to, her body falling back with the strong pull. She flushed closer to his body. Her back side pressed against his own, she mistakingly caused a fire within him. Her breath hitched at what she felt pressed against her back side—but her body neglected to move. Those piercing bright eyes of his looked almost as if he was only moments away from consuming her as his prey.

"I am back Ma Dame, Shall we begin?" Alphonse broke the heat in the room. Victor pushed himself away as if she was the plague itself. Alphonse could sense some tension in the room but chose to look between the two for an answer to his question— holding the fabric he brought with him from Paris. The finest of fabric indeed.

"See to it that the dress fits well." He spoke harshly, a cold tone in his deep voice. He gave Arabella a distastful look before walking out.