The Stylist

Mrs. Rochester's got a hot seat at this fancy dinner with the hubby and his cronies tonight, and she's not about to look like the rookie in the room. Honey Gold wants nothing more than to wow them, but every dress she's tried feels wrong. In walks Lilly—Chanel Preston—her razor-sharp stylist with that 'been there, done that, got the money' grin. One glance at Mrs. Rochester's curves and Lilly's smirk widens. She pins her up against the bedroom mirror, yanks down the zipper on a slinky red gown, and those practiced fingers slide over silky thighs like they own the property. Mrs. Rochester feels the heat spike as Lilly palms her ass, testing the fabric, then lingers longer than necessary between her legs. The stylist drops to her knees, peels the thong aside, and gets busy with a wicked little tongue-lashing. Every lick says she doesn't just dress rich women—she tongues them into dripping, shaking messes. When Mrs. Rochester's legs buckle, Lilly stands up, licks her lips, and whispers that confidence looks best with her taste on the client’s clit. By the time Lilly buttons the final pearl on that show-stopping dress, Mrs. Rochester's walking into that dinner flushed, wet, and ready to own the room.