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.
When I speak, my voice is as shaky and wavering as the rest of my body. “You’re obviously not here to shop. You haven’t looked at a single thing since we got here,” I say.
He leans into me until the backs of my knees are against the bench and I’m forced to sit, eye level with his cock that strains hard against his jeans. So much for my theory about “good looks, small penis.” Jesus, that’s an intimidating mound. He wasn’t kidding when he said he had a giant cock. I’ve been with guys who I thought were a decent size, but they have nothing on Heath.
I look up. My gaze meets his and I’m once again struck by those penetrating eyes, the way they devour me hungrily. “I’ve looked at one thing,” he says.
His fingers move beneath my bra, catching my nipple between them and gently pinching and pulling, toying as a gasp escapes my lips.
His grin spreads across his face. “Sounds like you want it too,” he says.
Part of me wants to resist him, to be stronger than the lust I feel. I never thought of myself as the kind of girl who has sex with someone without getting to know him first. But my body is saying otherwise. My pulsing cunt and the gush of lubricant filling my panties are all proving otherwise.
My eyes flitter closed as his hands explore the top half of my body. Someone walks into the dressing room beside us and closes the door. On any other occasion, the clatter of hangers and shuffle of someone dressing would be too distracting to keep this up, but not now. I’m lost in this pleasure abyss.
With expert precision, Heath unbuttons my jeans and slips his hand inside, rubbing the fabric of my panties covering the swollen mound of flesh that might as well be my brain right now because it’s all I’m thinking with at this point.
“Damn, you’re wet,” he says in a low growl.
I spread my legs wider, but there’s not much room for him to maneuver, so I pull down my jeans to my ankles. He shows me that cocky grin. I know that look. He thought I was going to put up more of a fight, but it turns out I’m not as strong as I thought I was. I’m a weak, weak woman longing to have a man make me come. I am powerless to his touch. There’s something about him that makes all my efforts to keep him at bay completely useless. I’ve never struggled to say no to anyone before. Just ask any of my exes.
His hand slips into my panties. He pulls them down to my knees as well. Slow, as if he wants this moment to last. I’m breathing hard, the moisture of my pussy a steady leak, aching, wanting. My clit feels engorged, in need of touching. In need of release.
His hand brushes lightly over my shaved mound. My entire body shivers. He uses both hands to touch my cleft and spread my pussy lips apart. His lips parts and the look on his face is focused and full of longing.
“You have such a beautiful pussy,” he says and runs his fingers through the slippery folds of skin. “So pink and perfect.” The person in the room next to us stops moving. They don’t make a sound and I know he heard what Heath said. He probably has his ear against the partition wall, listening. There’s something really hot about someone listening in. In the event that they aren’t turned on by Heath’s sexy words and find it offensive, I’m careful not to make any sounds.
I try to ignore the thoughts of having an audience and close my eyes, enjoying the feel of him touching me. I thought it would be awkward, but it’s actually a huge turn on.
He dips a finger inside of me. My eyes roll in the back of my head and my body becomes limp. I’m a puddle on the bench as he works his magic. That’s what it is. He’s some kind of wizard. Never have I been so happily fucked by a single finger. It feels so good, and when he adds a second, I’m melting.
He lets out a quiet laugh and kisses the smooth skin above my clit. Never touching that sensitive spot, just around it. Toying with me. Driving me crazy. He then adds a third finger and I feel wonderfully stretched. He’s fucking me good and hard with his fingers, making wet, squelching sounds. It’s hands down the best sexual contact I’ve ever had with any guy I’ve been with so far. It feels amazing, but it’s when he starts to fan out his fingers that’s when the true pleasure begins. His fingers move inside of me, stretching, hooking, massaging. All these different sensations happening in a place where I’m only used to something going in and out.
My body feels as if it’s being transformed into something else. A cocoon hatching, a butterfly spreading its wings into something majestic. I feel charged, explosive, volatile. I could go off at any moment. I’m dangling over an edge I’ve never been near before. Then I realize what’s happening. I’m about to come. This man is actually going to do something no one else has ever been able to do before him.
My eyes spring open. I look at Heath. He’s watching me. He knows it’s going to happen too and the smug look on his face has victory written all over it.
That is until the door opens.
I let out a startled yelp when I see a young woman, nineteen, maybe twenty, standing there, the look of shock on her face mirroring my own. My orgasm is smothered by the sudden intrusion.
The girl, a pretty and petite brunette, has a stack of clothes hung over her arm. Her name tag reads Stacia. She looks at me, then at Heath, as if she’s not completely certain what she’s seeing. It doesn’t take long for her to comprehend—you know, since my legs are wide open, my bare pussy completely exposed, and Heath’s fingers are still inside of me. Kind of hard not to put two and two together.
The girl doesn’t even try to avert her eyes, a shy smile plays on her lips. It’s like she’s under some kind of spell. I’m telling you, Heath is a magician.
“Um …” she finally says. She blushes and laughs. “You guys aren’t supposed to do that in here.”
I want to close my legs, hide myself, but Heath doesn’t remove his hand. The only thing I can do is stare at Heath. It doesn’t do much to help the humiliation I feel.
I’m mortified, but Heath turns on the charm with his confident smile. She watches him intently as he pulls his fingers out of me, the evidence of my near orgasm dripping onto the bench, a cloudy white liquid. His fingers shine under the harsh light, wet with my juices. The girl’s eyes widen as he licks his fingers clean.