He puts his hands over my shoulders, blocking me from getting away. He leans in, getting very close to me, until I can feel his breath on my lips. “You might want to rethink that,” he whispers with a crooked grin. “I can make you feel things you’ve never felt before. It’ll blow your mind.”
I’m getting wet again. Wetter, I should say. I’ve been wet this entire time. Heart racing, I struggle to catch my breath. Feels like it will explode. My body begs for him to lean in closer, to press up against me. I need something hard between my legs, something to satisfy the hunger pulsing inside of me.
As if sensing that desperate need from me, he shoves his knee between my thighs, sending a jolt through me. I hadn’t realized I’ve been holding my breath until this point. When I finally let it out, a whimper comes out with it, which makes his wolfish smile grow wider.
“That face you’re making right now, it’s very close to the one you’ll make when I have you coming and screaming my name,” he says.
I’m at a loss for words. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Suddenly he steps away from me, his cocky smile gone. “Now,” he says as if he hadn’t just forced me against a wall and made me rethink this whole ‘never having sex with a stranger’ thing,’“let’s go shopping.”
I watch him, shaking my head in disbelief. He’s so incredibly infuriating and frustrating, and … I don’t know what! Yet I’m fairly certain I want to fuck his brains out. I’m so confused right now.
3
The mall is packed with shoppers. Christmas music plays over the loud speakers and a youth choir sings carols, gathering a crowd. Even though Christmas is my favorite time of year, from the smells to the sounds, and the general mood of everything, I don’t know how I’m supposed to shop after what happened outside with Heath. I can’t seem to focus on anything else. I even run into a guy walking passed me, bumping shoulders with him because I’m too busy focusing on Heath. I’m not sure how he managed to get this kind of grip on me so quickly. I need to focus on getting my boss a gift and forget about Heath.
I try to think about the task at hand. I steer us toward Macy’s and we make our way to the men’s clothing section. My boss is always wearing sweaters, but they are old and unraveling. Those strange Fargo-looking sweaters with the strings of moose appliques wrapping around the middle that look like they’re from the 1980s. It’s time to update his look.
I can feel Heath watching me as I sort through the racks.
“What are you shopping for?” I ask.
He glances away from me quickly and has the embarrassed look of someone who’s been caught staring. “Gifts for friends mostly,” he says.
“Isn’t the O-Maker gift enough?” I say, laying the sarcasm on thick.
He finally makes eye contact with me, and chuckles. “You must really think I’m full of myself, don’t you?”
“You are someone who calls himself the O-Maker. If you were me, what would you think?”
He shrugs, his smile never wavering. “I have a skillset that I’m pretty good at. Isn’t there something you’re good at that you’re proud of?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m a great baker, but you don’t see me calling myself Callista Cookie-Maker Walker.”
“Really? You’re a baker? I would love to try your cookie.”
I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling. “I bet you would.”
“You might not believe it,” he says, “but there’s more to me than my online persona.”
“Yeah, like what?”
“I rescue dogs and run a charity that helps prevent animal cruelty.”
My eyes open wide. That, I wasn’t expecting. “Is Opie one of your rescues?” I ask.
“He is. Every dog I’ve ever had has been rescued.”
I nod. “That’s commendable. What else?”
“I also rescue sad, insecure women from a lifetime of mediocre sex,” he says with a wink.
I laugh and throw a sweater at him. It goes wide and he catches it before it hits the mannequin behind him. His smile is breathtaking.
“You’re terrible,” I say.
“Not as terrible as your aim.”
I huff out a breath of laughter and go back to sweater hunting.
“I’m also kidding,” he says. “Well, not about your aim,” he adds. “But about the other stuff. While all the O-Maker stuff is true, it’s not who I am anymore.” The look on his face turns surprisingly serious. “I’m actually looking for something with more substance.”
I stare at him. He starts to fidget under my watch. “Wow,” I say, clapping my hands. “You’re good. I almost believed that.”
He takes a bow. “Why, thank you.”
Part of me actually believes him. It’s hard to fake sincerity like that.
I lift up a sweater from the rack in front of me for him to see. It’s black and gray argyle. “What do you think about this one?” I ask. Since I have a guy around, I might as well get some use out of his opinion.
He raises his eyebrows.
“I know,” I say before he can protest. “For anyone else, this would be a terrible gift, but you don’t know my boss like I do. He’s totally a sweater guy. He lives for them.”
Heath studies the sweater in my hand, tilting his head from side to side. I start having doubts about my choice.
I say, “It’s so hard to pick something off the rack without seeing it on someone first.”
“Hand it to me. I’ll model it for you,” he says, reaching out for the hanger.
“That’s actually a really good idea,” I say and hand it to him. I grab three others in different colors and hand them to him as well.
I’m sure Heath could try on a woman’s mu-mu and still manage to make it look good. Whatever it looks like on Heath, I know it won’t look that way on my boss with his plumping dad bod and receding hairline, but at least it will give me a gist on the size and a color that will look decent.
We go over to the men’s dressing room. I wait on a bench for him to come out. There’s some rustling on the other side of the door, then his voice: “I think I might need your help with this.”
“You need my help?”
It’s not like there’s a zipper or anything. It’s just a pullover sweater. How hard can it be?
“Yeah,” he says. “Can you come here for a sec?”
He unlocks the door. I go inside. He’s not wearing a shirt. My eyes wander over his incredible body. It’s even better in person than it was in the pictures. Even in this harsh overhead lighting he looks amazing.
I squeeze into the tight space with him. There’s no way to avoid touching each other—not that I’m trying all that hard. My face is in front of his chest. I’m tempted to stick my tongue out and taste his tan skin. How is he tan in the middle of summer when I look like part of The Addam’s Family as soon as fall hits?
He smells so good. Masculine, clean, all male. My face starts to twitch. I’m not sure why. Nervousness, would be my guess. It’s not every day I find myself in a cramped dressing room with a half-naked stranger who wants to make me come. I’m seriously thinking that if he offers to have sex with me again, there’s no way I’ll be able to turn him down.
He touches my waist. The same spot where the man on the subway had grabbed me. But with Heath it’s different. It’s welcomed. It’s wanted.
I shiver as he reaches under my layers of clothing until finding skin, rubbing his palm against my stomach. His warm hands start to move upward until they rest just under my breast at the underwire of my bra.