My head falls back against the wall, moaning as his tongue traces my pulse. “Cock.”
Wickedness curls his upper lip “You want mine?”
He mauls my mouth long and hard, kissing me with such intensity, I cry out when he abruptly pulls away, attempting to drag him back by the lapels of his jacket. Then I realize the elevator is open on the lobby floor and several people are staring at the spectacle we make.
“We have one more surprise,” Jack rasps, peeling me off the wall of the elevator and hustling me through the lobby. “Then it’ll take an act of God to pry me off of you.”
The next stop is a clothing boutique.
Although, it’s like no shopping experience I’ve ever had. Or even knew existed.
Jack and I are met at the ornate entrance by a sleek blonde woman in her forties who carries a clipboard. With an official air, she leads us to through the shop and I’m immediately made breathless by the gorgeous creations hanging from the racks. Evening gowns, party dresses, lingerie, shoes. To call the merchandise luxury would be an understatement. There is only one other customer in the store, an actress I recognize from a recent period film. I try not to stare at her. Or the teacup poodle she’s clutching under her arm—and I fail, nearly bumping into a mannequin before Jack smoothly helps me avoid it.
We’re brought to a dressing room that is roughly the size of a studio apartment. There are two chaise lounges, mirrors taking up every wall, striped velvet wallpaper and the requisite chandelier. The light is low, creating a mood that is nothing like the awkward, overly lit dressing rooms of my experience. This space has an almost moody ambiance. Sensuous.
I assume Jack is going to wait outside, so I do a double-take when he follows me and Clipboard Lady inside, removing his jacket like he’s in his own living room and tossing it casually onto one of the lounge chairs.
“Now,” says the woman, tapping her pen. “Miss Whitaker. I can judge your sizes for myself, but if you could give me an idea of the wardrobe pieces you require, I can get started pulling options.”
“I-I mean…” My laugh is slightly high-pitched. “I don’t require anything—”
“She requires everything,” Jack interrupts in a gruff tone, coming up behind me. His breath stirs my hair against my shoulder and I shiver hotly, sucking in a quiet breath when he wraps an arm low around my hips and draws me back against his front. “Dresses and skirts. Several pairs of shoes. Panties.” His palm drags up my ribcage to pinch my nipples through my top, turning them to straining peaks. “Bras, but I’ll need to be able to see through them.”
“Yes, sir,” replies the woman, making notations on her clipboard, though I can see her glancing at us occasionally beneath her lashes, professional but curious. “We can make adjustments as we go. But are there any other notes to begin?”
“Yes.” Jacks turns us to the side, a mere three feet from the sales lady, and wraps my hair tightly in his fist. My loins coil in response, desire a prison that I can’t escape. Jack has me in a spell that I don’t want to break, no matter how wrong or scandalous. He somehow makes it all right. Makes me feel safe, even as he unravels me, exposes me, revealing this core need to be…petted. Doted on. Observed.
I’m his doll, here to be dressed up to his taste and everyone is going to know it, whisper about us. And being objectified in this manner would be less acceptable to me if he hadn’t just watched me in the sound booth for two hours with his heart in his eyes. He’s bad, but he’s so good at it. Because he’s looked inside me and learned all the right tweaks that correspond to my heart—and this darker, more illicit facet of my personality, too.
“Yes, I have another note.” My hair is wound tight around his hand and he uses that hold to bend me forward slightly, curving my bottom firmly to his lap. “I need to be able to get inside of her fast.” His free hand flips up the hem of my dress, leaving the loose material draped over my waist, my tight, white panties on display. “That means short skirts.” He works my panties down over the curve of my backside, cool air kissing the hot skin. And he fondles it roughly, giving me a little slap. “Underwear I can get off fast when I need to fuck her.”
My knees are shaking, my vision distorted under the onslaught of lust. I’m being raked down the middle by sharp claws of need so vicious, breath is clattering in and out of my lungs. The way he speaks about me, like I’m a toy to be used at his convenience, is making me so wet, I worry the evidence is going to streak down my inner thighs at any moment.