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Authors: Tielle St. Clare

Tags: #Erotica

Crimson

Crimson

Tielle St. Clare

 

Book 1 of the Red Panty Diaries.

 

Three friends, three blazing-hot pairs of panties…and one wicked, wicked wedding gown.

Cait has had it with men who happen to be cops—too arrogant, too dominant…too sexy. But when the borrowed wedding dress she’s wearing falls off in front of Rain, her resolve to stay away from cops vanishes.

Rain attends a fundraiser under duress, but his evening is looking up when he finds himself alone with Cait. One moment she’s wearing an ugly wedding dress, the next, nothing but a pair of crimson panties. He’s fantasized about her often, but she’s dated his best friend Tanner, which makes her off limits.

Tanner knows Rain and Cait would be perfect together, but he still wants her all to himself. Until she stands before them naked except for her panties. Suddenly Tanner is willing to share…

 

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

 

 

 

Crimson

 

ISBN 9781419939006

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Crimson Copyright © 2012 Tielle St. Clare

 

Edited by Briana St. James

Cover design by Dar Albert

Photos: Lucky Business/Shutterstock.com

 

Electronic book publication April 2012

 

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

 

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this
book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

 

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

 

The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

 

The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.

Crimson

Tielle St. Clare

 

Chapter One

 

Dear Diary,

I found the perfect panties today—bright red and silky soft. Love ‘em. And they make legs look freakin’ long. Not that anyone but me is going to see them any time soon. Still, I love going to work with all those guys and none of them know that beneath my uniform, I’m wearing crimson panties.

 

“You’re sure she won’t mind?” Cait asked as she followed Heather up the back stairs.

“No problem.” Heather opened the apartment door and walked in. “My aunt has been a bridesmaid more times than the law allows. For one friend, she’s been a bridesmaid three times.”

Cait clued in to the first part of the statement. “Natasha’s your aunt?” Natasha was only a few years older than either of them.

“Yes. It’s very convoluted. Older siblings, surprise baby but yes, technically she’s my aunt.” Heather walked into the bedroom and flung open the closet door. A plethora of pastel colors interspersed with bright blinding jewel tones assaulted Cait’s senses.

“Oh my. I take it Natasha has a lot of friends.”

Heather wagged her head. “Actually she just has a few friends, but they all seem to get married a lot. It’s getting to the point where she’s the only unmarried one in the group.”

Cait reached out and cautiously picked up the skirt of one dress, holding it between thumb and middle finger. “Are you sure they’re her friends?”

“A bridesmaid’s dress is designed to be ugly so the bride looks particularly beautiful on her special day.”

Cait shuddered at the fuchsia and green satin in her hand. “Then Tasha’s friends must be extremely homely.”

Heather laughed and shrugged—but didn’t deny the claim. “So, what are we looking for?”

Cait had to fight the urge to wilt. “It’s the Family and Friends of the Police Fundraiser.”

“Oooh, the Secret Policemen’s Other Ball?”

Cait winced at the title. Try as she might, she couldn’t get people to refer to the event by its
proper
name. Instead she sighed. “Yes.”

“And what insane theme has Madam Chairman come up with this year?” Heather’s eyes twinkled with laughter.

Madam Chairman referred to Mrs. Warren, the Police Chief’s wife. She was a dear woman who loved to throw events like this. Thankfully, her personality allowed her to carry it off. People seemed to find her strange ideas charming instead of irritating. Cait wasn’t sure she agreed, but it was her job to convince the community they wanted to attend the annual event.

“It’s a bridal ball. Everyone is expected to show up in bridal attire—wedding dresses, tuxes, ugly bridesmaid’s dresses.” That was explicitly mentioned on the invitation. Mrs. Warren decided it was the perfect opportunity to get a second wearing out of those bridesmaid’s dresses that every woman had in her closet.

Except Cait didn’t have one in her closet. She’d never been anyone’s bridesmaid. She’d been too busy working. Heather and Natasha were her best friends and she’d only known them a year. Still, she’d bonded pretty tightly with the two women during that time.

Heather tipped her head to the side, doing a remarkably accurate imitation of a curious puppy.

“The party is in two hours. You didn’t think before
now
about what you were going to wear?”

“I wasn’t planning to go. I’m advance publicity. I’m the PR person. I don’t need to actually
be
at the event.”

“But…”

“But, Mrs. Warren seems to believe I’ve volunteered to help, so she expects me to arrive in one hour, dressed for this stupid ball!”

Heather laughed and didn’t even bother to disguise the sound. “Don’t worry. We’ve got what you need.”

She started combing through the closet, rejecting dress after dress. After dress. Damn, how many times
had
Natasha been a bridesmaid?

“Oh, this is perfect.” Heather reached into the back of the closet and pulled out…a wedding dress.

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s perfect.” Heather held it up. “It’s hideous.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“I can’t wear that.” She looked at the white gown. It wasn’t in any sort of plastic covering. Not boxed up or wrapped in special paper to preserve it for subsequent generations. Strapless, the gown hung on the hangar as though it was a crumpled sack. The bodice plunged deep and would no doubt reveal Cait’s overly ample breasts as though they were two ripe melons begging to be squeezed. The skirt was a wide—expansive—mass of material, littered with crushed white appliquéd flowers.

“Why not?”

“It’s someone’s wedding dress.” Though who would buy such a thing, she didn’t know.

“It’s not in any sort of casing. It’s certainly not an heirloom.” Heather looked at the tag. “It was probably a joke at some bridal shower or something.” She thrust the wedding gown into Cait’s hands.

As soon as the material touched her skin, a deep abiding need to wear the dress surged through her body. The need to strip off her clothes and don the gown was almost overpowering.

Her fingers twitched, but she couldn’t quite let go of the ugly dress.

“Maybe it has special meaning to Tasha.”

She held the gown up to her body. It was hideous—the dress, not her body—but she wanted it. On closer inspection, the section beneath the arms consisted of narrow elastic strips and thin boning. The bodice would probably stretch enough to fit over her chest and still give her a hint of support.

A strange hint of pleasure slipped into her subconscious at the knowledge the dress might fit her.
What is going on? The dress is horrible, but I want to wear it. Weird.

“I’ll call Tasha and ask.” Before Cait could protest again, Heather had grabbed her cell phone and tapped the screen, hitting Tasha’s name on her “favorites” list. “Hey, Tasha, Cait needs to borrow a dress for the Secret Policeman’s Ball.” Static crackled through the line. Heather’s face screwed up. “What? I said, Cait needs to borrow a dress for the ball. We’re in your upstairs closet. Is it okay to take the wedding dress?”

“Whatever.” Even without the phone pressed to her ear, Cait could hear Tasha’s reply. “It’s fine.”

“See, it’s fine.” Heather hung up and smiled at her friend. “You’d better hurry.”

“Well, I’m basically ready.” She’d showered before she’d come over and her hair would dry naturally. She’d pull it back in a bun. The brown curls were too unruly if she let them go. “I’ll just run home, put on the dress and do my makeup.”

“You should try it on first.”

Cait hesitated. The shy girl who’d developed too big, too early returned with a vengeance. But Heather was a friend and she wouldn’t laugh no matter how horrible Cait looked.

With a sigh, she went into the bathroom and stripped off her clothes. She reached behind her and undid the plain, white bra. It was boring, but it gave her the support she needed. She’d have to leave the bra behind, which was a problem for her. She never went without a bra, but the gown just wouldn’t allow it. If the dress fit, she had a strapless bra at home she could wear.

Unable to resist, she turned and stared at her butt. The bold crimson panties cupped her ass perfectly. They were her one guilty indulgence. She had to wear sturdy, practical bras to keep her breasts in place when she was on the job.

But underneath her uniform…something about the tiny red panties gave her an extra boost of confidence when faced with half a dozen macho guys who would prefer she wasn’t around.

God, she could just imagine the hassle she’d get if Rain ever found out what she wore under her blues. Or Tanner. He’d tease her relentlessly. The two dates they’d had six months ago hadn’t led to anything, but they’d remained friends and Tanner was an unrepentant flirt. Unlike his friend who just growled every time she came near.

Pushing the thoughts aside, she wiggled her arms into the opening and dragged the gown over her head. Shivers ran across her skin as the slick material slid down her back. The fluffy skirts floated around her ankles. She squirmed, twisting to pull the zipper up.

Her first thought was her breasts. She grabbed the sides to test the fit. The bodice was snug around her chest but not too bad. The elastic stretched enough so she could breathe.

Cait pushed her shoulders back, gathered her courage and looked in the mirror.

A crazed bride stared back at her. Her hair poofed around her head as if she’d been electrified. The dress practically glowed as though it was a tacky neon sign. Flowers appliquéd to the skirt added unneeded volume, making her ass look big. And her chest…

The bodice made her breasts looked huge—squeezed and squished and about ready to fall out.

“I can’t wear this.”

“Let me see,” Heather called through the door.

“No.” Cait reached around back and grabbed the tab of the zipper, but while it had slid up easily, it wouldn’t budge coming down.

A knock preceded the door opening and Heather leaning in.

“Let me see,” Heather insisted.

“It’s horrible.”

“Of course. It’s supposed to be.”

“No. The dress is hideous, but it looks worse on me.” She turned her back to her friend. “Help me with this zipper. It’s stuck.”

“Turn around. Let me see it first.”

Cait’s shoulders sagged and she turned around. Heather’s eyes grew wide.

“See?” She tried to laugh it off, except no woman wants to be ugly…even in an ugly dress. “Help me take it off.”

“No! You look incredible.” Heather blinked and met Cait’s eyes. “Seriously. You look sexy and wicked. Your hair has that ‘just rolled out of bed after really great sex’ look. Even your eyes are sparkling. Dang, if I wasn’t firmly into nice hard cocks, I’d do you.”

Cait laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Her hands fluttered and she fought the urge to cover her chest. “I’m just not sure I can go out like this. It doesn’t really fit my image at the office, you know?”

“Well, maybe you need a new image.”

“Right. But office slut isn’t going to endear me to management.”

“You don’t look like a slut.”

Cait squished her lips together and cocked her head to the side, challenging Heather to stand by that blatant lie.

“Okay, maybe you look a little like a slut, but—” She giggled and waved her hands toward the ugly dress. “You’re getting married, so doesn’t that wipe out all past indiscretions? That’s how it works in historical romance novels.”

Heather spun her index finger in a circle. “Turn around. Let’s get you out of this and you can go home and put on makeup.”

Cait spun around, facing the mirror, staring at herself, trying to see what Heather saw. Her breasts did look good in the dress. The elastic fit her rib cage and the boning gave her enough support. The heart-shaped neckline dipped down, revealing her cleavage. And it wasn’t as if she were flashing her nipples to the world. Everything that needed to be covered, was.

But the dress put her breasts
on display
—and Cait had been doing her best to minimize their existence since junior high.

Heather tugged on the zipper and the back of the gown pulled down. “Damn, this thing is really stuck.”

“I know. I was—” Her phone chimed, interrupting her thoughts. She grabbed her shorts and dug the wireless leash out of the pocket, groaning when she saw the number. She had to answer. “Hi, Mrs. Warren,” she greeted.

“Cait, dear, where are you?”

“I’m getting dressed.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and peered at the clock on the screen. “I was planning to be there in an hour or so.”

“Oh, no. I need you now. The room is not ready. The hotel workers are understaffed because of some flu. How soon can you be here?”

“I’m not dressed, exactly.”

“I’m sure you’re fine, dear. I can’t do it without you. You’re my rock. Now shake a leg. We’ve got a party to throw!”

The phone call ended and Cait stared, open mouthed, heart pounding. When had she become warden of the madhouse?

“Damn. I’ve got to go.” She looked in the mirror one more time. “Shit, I don’t have any makeup on.”

“And still you look gorgeous, you bitch.”

Cait smiled. “You’re such a good friend.” She scooped up the yards of material that made up the skirt. “I’ll worry about the zipper later.” With Heather leading the way, she inched her way down the steps. The voluminous skirt making it impossible to see what was beneath her.

“Wait. You need shoes.”

Cait paused. Responsibility demanded she leave right now, but fashion-sense wouldn’t let her. She’d arrived in shorts and tennis shoes. The shoes certainly couldn’t hurt the dress—because really there was no way to make it any uglier—but she couldn’t show up at a formal event in tennis shoes.

Heather practically danced as she walked out of the room carrying insanely high crimson heels.

“Uh, I don’t know…”

“They don’t match the dress.”

“It’s a costume party. They don’t have to match.”

“They match my panties,” Cait blurted out.

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