Evie Stanton

Thane’s mother stared at me as I fiddled with the hem of my pants. While I was relieved to be in something that covered my skin from prying eyes, the fabric felt odd against my skin. The leather material felt stiff, scratchy.

I still wore Thane’s blouse, feeling incredibly unsupported without my corset. I constantly folded my arms across my chest to hide my breasts. Usually, from the neck down, I wore layers upon layers and gloves, hiding ...