Vivienne dreses him for the occasion

Vivienne's low purr lingered, wrapping the room in a silken hush as she eased free from the tangled sheets on the couch. She rose in one fluid motion, long limbs stretching tall, her black suit jacket gaping wider to reveal the bronze camisole molded damply to her curves like a second skin.

Around Peter, the others began to rouse—Val arching her back with a cheeky yawn, her slim thighs flexing and pert breasts rising under the thin fabric; Mami rolling her generous hips as she propped up on an elbow, the soft give of her body shifting with a lazy sigh; Ilona combing her fingers through those platinum strands, her lips curving into a knowing smirk that crinkled the corners of her eyes. Yet Vivienne claimed the spotlight without a word, her manicured fingers curling in invitation as she reached down and drew Peter upright, steady and sure.

"Come now, darling," Vivienne murmured, her voice dipping into that subtle rhythm—smooth as aged whiskey sliding over ice, each word rolling with a gentle, melodic flow that wrapped the room in quiet elegance. Her emerald eyes appraising him from head to toe as if he were a canvas ready for her brush. "If you're set on this interview—for whatever delightful reason—let's ensure you look the part. Tell me, what did you wear to the first one? I need a full picture to work my magic."

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, fingers digging in as the fog from last night's whirlwind clung to him, the phone call's surprise still buzzing like static in his ears. The remote sat heavy in his pocket, a silent anchor. "Uh, the usual—button-up, khakis, tie. Went for that sharp look, you know? Shoes buffed till they shined."

A soft laugh bubbled from Vivienne as she cocked her head and stepped around him in a slow loop, heels tapping a quiet rhythm on the floor. Her finger grazed the wrinkled collar of his shirt, light and teasing, before her eyes fluttered shut for a beat. One hand swept through the air in a graceful arc, as if painting the scene from his words alone. "There it is," she said, voice warm and sure. "The fresh face pushing too far—tie yanked snug, pants creased razor-sharp, shoes reflecting every light. It shouts try-hard, darling, not self-assured. They picked up on the strain, not the spark."

Warmth seeped through their clothes like a shared secret as she slipped in right behind him, her toned body grazing his back. Strong but soft, her hands came to rest on his shoulders, thumbs circling in slow, easing rhythms that melted the tension knotted there.

From the couch came Val's light giggle as she pushed up onto an elbow, her slim form twisting in a languid arch. "Ay, Vivi nails it, Papi—you must've come off like a boy in his dad's suit."

Dark waves of Mami's hair spilled forward with her quick dip of agreement.. "Sí, but we've got the fix." A sharp sparkle narrowed Ilona's eyes as she inched nearer and leaned forward. "Turn him into something they can't resist, my love."

A decisive, indulgent smile spread across Vivienne's face as the leather portfolio flipped open in her grasp, her phone emerging with a quick tug.

"Relaxed but semi-professional it is—think effortless charm," she declared, voice brimming with assurance. "A crisp white Oxford shirt, untucked for that casual edge; slim-fit chinos in charcoal gray; loafers without socks. Skip the tie altogether—let the open collar reveal a glimpse of that fresh confidence. And don't forget fresh underwear—silk boxers, naturally, blending comfort with a dash of luxury."

Her fingers danced swiftly over the screen, pulling up her exclusive Vanderbilt Vanderlace app, where empire perks unlocked same-hour delivery from elite partnered boutiques. "Done," she announced with a satisfied tap. "Arriving in twenty minutes, darling. My treat, of course."

In less than ten minutes though, discreet knock echoed at the lounge door, heralding the delivery's early arrival—boxes cradled in the attendant's arms, each swathed in sleek black tissue that rustled like whispered secrets. With a flick of her wrist and a teasing lilt—"Let me take this one; it's my delight"—Vivienne shooed the others back, their giggles fading as she led Peter to the room's heart, her shadow falling over him in a way that shrank the space to just the two of them, every gesture unfolding like steps in a private ceremony.

She sank to her knees before Peter, the motion fluid and poised, defying her stature as if gravity bent to her will. Emerald eyes held his captive, unblinking, while her fingers hooked into the waistband of his worn boxers and tugged them down in a slow, deliberate slide, nails grazing his hips with feather-light trails that prickled his skin.

"Step free, darling," Vivienne whispered, voice a low hum that vibrated through the air. The new silk boxers followed—midnight blue and whisper-soft—gliding up his calves and thighs under her guiding touch, her palms pressing flat against the muscle there, lingering just long enough to ignite a cascade of electric tingles racing upward.

Vivienne rose in a seamless flow, fingers working the buttons of Peter's wrinkled shirt one by one, each twist lingering as her nails skimmed his chest, leaving faint trails that tingled in their wake. The new Oxford whispered over his shoulders next, crisp cotton settling cool against his skin; she fastened just a few buttons, enough to frame a sliver of bare collarbone. "See? Effortless edge," she murmured, her breath warm on his neck, palms gliding flat across his abs to chase away any creases.

Charcoal chinos followed, slim and tailored—they hugged Peter's legs as Vivienne steadied him with one hand, guiding each foot through, the zipper's rasp cutting the quiet when she pulled it up, her fingers delivering a firm, claiming press at the waist. Close now, her curves brushed his front while she tugged the shirt hem partway in, letting the sides hang loose in deliberate disarray.

Loafers came last, supple leather easing onto Peter's feet without a sock in sight; on her knees once more, Vivienne ran her hands up his calves in slow strokes, muscles flexing under her touch like a promise unspoken.

With a step back, Vivienne's eyes traced him slowly—pupils dilating, lips curving into a subtle arc—as soft hums of agreement rippled from the others, their voices blending in low, approving waves. "Perfect, darling—you command the space now." In the lounge mirror, Peter's reflection stared back: shoulders squared under the open collar, chinos hugging his frame with easy poise, a casual authority sharpening his stance. Flexing once, he felt that spark of **** ignite, coiling tighter within.