The Interview

“Yes, that’s much better,” Charlotte decrees, fastening the last hook on the most beautiful evening gown I’ve ever seen. Black lace over a sheer under dress, the fabric clings to me like a second skin to my knees where it flares gently. It even has a train! It’s grown-up and sexy and, in truth, makes a person take a second look because it looks like I’m naked underneath. I’m not naked. I’m also not wearing my own underwear. “Infinitely better.” The corseting of this bra doesn’t interfere with the flow of the dress.”

Apparently, my own bra did. It was also an unsightly slash across the backless element. I said my imagination worked just fine, that I didn’t need to try the “correct” underwear. But because Charlotte is very thorough and likely working on commission, she insisted. She also brought matching panties with an obscene price tag considering the tiny amount of fabric, along with a pair of shoes with heels as high as a skyscraper.

“Surely, it doesn’t take that long to put on a dress.”

My stomach flips. There’s something kind of wicked about dressing and undressing knowing Whit is just on the other side of the door, listening to the sound of zippers overlaid by the low hum over our conversation. Conversation, I’ll admit, I’ve been hamming up kind of girl’s time! I’m not sure Charlotte gets what I’ve been putting down, but she’s played her part all the same. We chat, we giggle, we admire, making oohs and aahs before I open the dressing room door with a ta-da! kind of reveal for Whit’s endorsement.

He wanted to play dress-up, so I get to ham it up.

“I love the way this one feels,” I murmur sultrily as I slide my hand over my hip as though he could see.

“Yes, it really is rather beautiful on you.” Bending, Charlotte adjusts the train like a lady-in-waiting.

“Thank you, Charlotte. You’re such a doll.”

“Come on,” Whit mutters in complaint. If I’m not mistaken, that was his forehead hitting the door.

“When was the last time you wore a dress?” I ask, not bothering to hide the smile from my words.

“I remember taking a few of them off.” Charlotte giggles quietly, like he needs the encouragement. “And it never took this long.”

“You probably used scissors,” I call back. Then a little lower but still loud enough for him to hear, I add, “He has to hurry on account of his little problem.” Charlotte’s expression is a picture—a picture reflected back at me from all angles, thanks to the excess of mirrors in here.

“My little problem,” he purrs. “That’s not what you called it this morning. Not when your mouth was stretched wide—”

“In shock? Yeah, sorry. That was unfortunate. I didn’t mean to make you feel—”

“What’s unfortunate is the fact that I’ll need a walking frame before I get to see this dress,” he grumbles. “Charlotte, the phone is ringing in the other room.”

“Thank you, but that’s fine. There’s an answerphone.”

“I think you ought to answer it,” he adds. “It might be your boss.” A pause follows. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard it ringing, either.”

“Maybe you should check,” I suggest.

“Maybe.” Her expression seems conflicted but then she adds, “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“No problem.”

Unlocking the door, she slides silently out. I make as though to lock it, just for fun, when I’m prevented by Whit’s foot.

“It took you long enough…” His words trail away as I pull the door open fully. His shoulder pressed to the doorframe, his stance is utterly casual, though his gaze tells another story as it wanders down my body. The sensation it causes is like his fingers had traveled the same path.

“A sight worth waiting a dozen hours for,” he says, husky voiced with approval.

I pause to unknot my clumsy tongue, my attention on my hand as I smooth it down the front of my thigh. “It is a beautiful dress, but—”

His finger at my chin, Whit lifts my gaze to his. “You are beautiful, Amelia.”

“But this dress…”

“Is perfect.”

“It’s too much, Whit. I can see by your face what you’re going to say, and the answer is no.”

His chest moves with a chuckle. “How did you guess I was about to promise I’d fuck you in it?”

“Funny,” I deadpan. “But you’re not buying this for me.”

“I think you’ll find that has nothing to do with you.”

“No!”

“Yes. I’m also going to take you out on a date while you’re wearing it.”

“Whit—”

“Yes. If you can date other men, you can be my arm candy from time to time.” I narrow my gaze, not sure if I believe his flippant tone. “And if you’re a good little date, I might even kiss you on the doorstep. Of course, I’ll be on my knees, under the hem.”

“Come on, stop it,” I whisper hiss. “She’ll be back any minute.”

“We’d better make this fast then, I suppose.” As quick as those words are spoken, he’s inside the dressing room, clicking the lock closed on the door.

“Not even!” I say with stuttering chuckle.

“Why, whatever do you mean?” His answer is the embodiment of an elderly aunt with a hand pressed to her chest. Not Doreen, obviously.

“You and me.” I waggle my finger in the air between us. “In here?” I make a circle to indicate the space. “Not happening.”

He chuckles as he curls his hand around my shoulder. “You have a dirty mind.” He turns me to face the mirror, the mirror I’m currently pulling a you wish face in. His sly smile feels like a bolt of current as, without moving his gaze, he brings his lips to my ear. “You’ve been so easy to corrupt.”

Were truer words ever spoken?

“I’m serious.” As serious as a girl can be when her nipples are rubbing against the lace of her dress at the illicitness of his suggestion. He hasn’t suggested it, but something tells me it’s only a matter of time. And God help me, for obvious reasons, I’m gonna have to buy these panties myself.

“So am I. I’m buying you this dress.”

“No.” I turn my head over my shoulder, finding his lips impossibly close.

“Yes.” His answer is a bare breath that caresses my lips. “If I can buy you lingerie without knowing it, I can buy you an evening dress for the pleasure of seeing you in it.”

“I seem to remember you’ve had the pleasure of seeing me in the underwear, too.”

“I’ll see more than you just wearing it before we’re through.”

“Except, technically, these panties don’t belong to you.”

“You can’t make me harder than I already am.” His hands slip to my hips, pulling me against him as though to prove the point.

“That’s such a weird thing to say.” Instead of the giggle I’d anticipated, I find myself exhaling a breathless sort shaky thing at the way he’s looking at me, a breath that’s the opposite of the riotous feelings simmering under my skin. God, I want him.

“You should leave.” I don’t sound convinced. “She could be back any minute.”

His fingers slip over my hip bones, the firmer press reminding me of how empty my body feels right now. How it could be if I just give in. My mind hops to all the ways Whit can satisfy this hollowness. How many ways he could take me.

Lord, my insides begin to throb like a bruise.

“She could turn up, or the very astute and practical Charlotte could stay on the shop floor for a very long time.”

“What did you do?” I turn my head over my shoulder as though his dark-eyed reflection is too much.

“That would be telling,” he murmurs as his lips feather mine teasingly. “I think we should get you out of this dress.” The huskiness in his voice makes his meaning more than clear. I might be a fool, a fool for him, but I go with it.

“Unfasten me?” I slide my hand under my hair as Whit’s fingers lift to the nape of my neck. One hook undone, he presses his lips to the bared skin. Another hook and he repeats the action, causing tiny shivers of anticipation to shimmer down my spine.

His hands slide over my shoulder, the sounds of cloth sliding before the weighty dress drops like a theater curtain to the floor. “Show’s over,” I find myself whispering.

“No, sweetheart.” In the mirror, his gaze sweeps over my body, the look bold and possessive. “It’s just beginning.”

His body gracefully folds behind me, his fingers making a loop around my left ankle. As he lifts it, I reach forward, my palms pressing to the mirror for balance. He repeats the action, throwing the exquisite dress to the chair behind him.

“Careful,” I protest, but I have nothing else to offer as he stands, his palms sliding along my calves, my knees, up my thighs. I make as though to move when he stills me with a hand to my hip.

“You have a freckle here.” His thumb sweeps over my shoulder blade before slipping down my spine. “And here. So many freckles to trace.”

“Sound like a good game.”

“Yes. “The looks at me feels like a tongue licking my belly from the inside. “Yes, I think it could be.”

My mind seems to register what he’s about to do a split second before my mind does, excitement rippling through me in anticipation as his arms engulf me, pulling me from my hips, pushing my ass out.

“We can’t—not here.” I turn my head over my shoulder, maybe because I don’t want to see the lies leave my lips.

“We can.” His whisper is hot against my ear, his palm like a brand as he presses it flat to my stomach, sparks of pleasure radiating under my skin. “We just have to be quiet.”

My thoughts scatter as his fingers dip into my panties, my body melting against him like soft wax as he cups me.

“Open your eyes, Amelia.”

My insides ignite at his words and how his middle finger slips through my wetness. His thumb finds my clit, and all doubts—thoughts—disappear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Whit whispers, his body moving with mine as I chase his touch. The mirror fogs with my fevered breaths as his mouth trails my shoulder, the nape of my neck, his free hand sliding higher to mold to my breast. “If only I’d known what fun shopping could be before.”

“You’ve never done this before?”

“Never have I ever taken a woman shopping.” His fingers gather my arousal, painting it across my clit.

“That feels…”

“Never have I ever fucked a girl in a dressing room.” I cry out at the almost reprimanding press of his teeth. My spine arches, my breasts thrusting out in the direction of the mirror as my body yields. “Oh, but I’m about to.”

His finger slips wetly from between my legs, the press of him fading altering. Then the metallic clink of his zipper. My pulse begins to go haywire and I watch in the mirror as, from behind, he slips my panties to the side.

“Open up for me, Amelia.” My thighs begin to tremble, but I do better than he bids. His knees dips, the satin-smooth head of his cock a stroke against my wet ribbon of flesh. “Wider.” His foot slides against mine, his open mouth a wet press to my shoulder. He sucks, drawing a sound from my throat as he coats his crown in my wetness.

Our eyes lock, but he doesn’t smile, the moment too dark for flippancy as he pushes inside. Whit grates out a sound, though it might’ve easily been me, the shock of being so full of him is so sinfully delicious.

He rolls his hips, then thrusts harder, pleasure radiating through me, my body clenching a greeting around him.

“Oh Jesus,” he groans in a plea for mercy. “Do that again.”

But my consciousness too feverish to heed his words. My knees almost buckle but for where he holds me, where he fills me, stretched and full to his hilt. With a flex of his hips, he continues the torment. Long, punishing thrusts, shallow teasing jabs as his finger curl around my shoulder to hold me in place—to hold me for his pleasure as he gives and I take.

“Oh God!” I cry out, my breath clouding the mirror again and again as he fucks me with something that looks like vengeance, those dark, feral eyes watching and his body take, take, taking.

“Louder, darling,” he demands in the spaces between his thrusts. “I want the walls to shake with your sounds.”

I begin to thrust backward, my body in charge, driven by an all-consuming need as hot liquid pleasure spreads through me.

He groans, thrusting firmly, changing tempo at once. This time, he offers me no mercy, which is just the way I want it as I meet him cry for thrust. An exquisite tension builds inside, the intensity mounting and twisting with the collision of skin. Higher and higher it spirals, pushing all the air from my chest until I come loudly, my mind fragmenting, my body flexing and arching through its chemical release.