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Okay, cool. I step back, sink onto the chair—on top of all the clothes I’ve been piling.
“Oh my God.” Still laughing, she grabs my arm and attempts to wrestle me back to my feet. I consider pulling her to me instead, onto my lap. Just the image has me hardening again—wait, scratch that, hardening more—and I know it’s a bad idea.
I know, okay?
Which is why I let her tug me to my feet and pretend to study the garments she chose for me while she goes off to the changing room to try on the dress.
I’m in the process of pulling a shirt over my head, a metallic blue fabric that scratches my face, when I hear her voice again.
“What do you think?”
“Give a man a moment to breathe,” I gasp as I struggle to shove my head through the opening. It’s too small. What the fuck?
A light giggle, a light pressure, and the opening widens enough for my head to pop out.
“You didn’t unbutton it all the way to the top,” Amber says, smiling.
I blink at her, and as she comes into focus, I blink again.
Whoa. The little silver dress clings to her body, outlining her curves, from her heavy tits to the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. She isn’t skinny, and I like that. I can imagine filling my hands with her ass and her breasts, and the image has my dick roaring back to life.
Dammit.
But it’s her smile that does me in. A little uncertain, insecure, yet bright as I look at her.
Not sure what she sees on my face, though, because her smile fades and she tugs at the hem of her dress. It only serves to pull it down, so that the cleavage deepens, giving me a glimpse of the pale mounds of her tits.
“Not good, huh?” She looks down at herself, her mouth downturned.
“It’s perfect,” I tell her and mean it. She’s perfect. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Christ.
Her smile returns. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
Gah. I forgot I have a new shirt on. Metallic, too, like hers, and I haven’t even glanced at the price tag. “We’ll match.”
Her eyes widen a fraction before she catches herself. She bends to pick up some black pants from the chair, and I ogle her, unable to stop myself.
“Try these on.” Her voice has a slight tremor to it, and I want to grab her chin and tell her I want her, I need her, I’m dying to kiss her.
But I don’t. Come on, I’m not that stupid. So I take the pants and go to change.
Although I’ve been to a few stores and bought stuff, it feels weird. I try not to stare at the amount I’m paying for the shirt and pants, plus a pair of faded jeans and two plain T-shirts Amber helped me pick out.
She says what I’m paying is not expensive.
Hard to believe it when a year ago that amount would have covered my expenses for weeks. Granted, expenses only included food—and condoms, because dying of STD isn’t a good way to go, and they never gave us enough at the centers—as I could take free showers at the shelter where I stayed whenever there was a free bed. During winter, I would even hang around the shelter, even if there was no place to stay.
I hate winters. Too fucking cold.
I shiver and find Amber’s hand on my arm.
“Okay?” she asks, and it makes me wonder how long I spaced out.
Not that it’s unusual.
“Yeah, let’s go.” I grab the paper bag with my folded new clothes, wonder briefly if I need shoes but decide I don’t give a damn, and stride out of the shop. Enough for one day. I turn to keep the door open for Amber, who ambles out, giving me a brief, inquisitive look.
“Told you shopping isn’t my thing,” I say by way of explanation—and since when do I feel the need to explain myself? Fuck this.
