I glance at him, smiling despite myself. “You think?”
“Iknow.” His smirk returns, teasing but not cruel. “C’mon. Let’s find something that’ll make him forget how to breathe.”
I roll my eyes, but my pulse skips. “You’re ridiculous.”
He bumps my shoulder again, his arm brushing mine. “And yet, you’re still walking in there with me.”
The moment we step through the door, the noise of the mall fades into something softer—low jazz playing from hidden speakers, the faint scent of vanilla and roses. The lighting is warm, flattering, everything dipped in gold. It feels intimate, secret, like the kind of place where people confess things without meaning to.
A woman behind the counter greets us with a knowing smile. “Shopping for someone special?” she asks.
Cast chuckles under his breath. “Something like that.”
I reach for the hanger almost without thinking, drawn to the shimmer of deep green tucked between the brighter reds and silvers. When I lift it free, the breath catches in my throat.
It’s emerald mesh, nearly weightless in my hands, stitched through with gold and violet thread that blooms across it likewildflowers caught in moonlight. The embroidery climbs over the cups and along the waist in soft, tangled vines—bright petals over sheer fabric, bold against the dark green. It’s fragile and wild all at once, like something grown in secret and meant to be touched carefully.
The bra is delicate, the kind of piece that knows exactly what it’s doing: thin satin straps that would frame more skin than they cover, gold clasps that glint like jewelry. The garter is a whisper of silk and restraint, and the thong—barely there—hangs from the hanger like a dare.
I hold it up for Cast, against my body. “What do you think?”
“Mmm,” he hums slinking forward. “I won’t know until you try it on.”
“Cast!” I giggle, rolling my eyes.
A strong hand closes around my upper arm, the grip firm but not painful.Predictable.I suppress a shiver of delight.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me, Angel?” Cast’s voice is a low, velvet rumble that goes straight to my core.
I bite my lip, the bratty persona I’d been cultivating all afternoon surging forward. I can’t help myself. “Maybe. The dressing room is right there. You can see the outfit just fine from here.”
His other hand lands on my ass with a sharp, stinging smack that makes me gasp. The sound echoes softly in the intimate boutique. Heat blossoms across my cheek, a delicious promise of what’s to come.
“The mouth on you today,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my ear. “I think you want to be punished. Do you want that, Angel?”
I bite my lip, nodding slightly and receiving a sinful smile across Cast’s beautiful face.
He grabs the hanger next to me holding a leather set out for me. “Go. Into. The dressing room. Now.”
I grab the hanger from his hand, my fingers brushing the soft, sinful green silk, and turn toward the back of the boutique where the velvet curtains sway gently in the warm air.
The attendant—pretty, flustered, all pastel lipstick and holiday nerves—spots us halfway there. “Excuse me! Only one guest per fitting room!” she calls out, her voice high and nervous.
Cast doesn’t even pause. He reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out a roll of bills, and tosses it onto the counter without breaking stride. The money lands with a soft thud beside the register, startling her into silence.
“We’re renting it for the next two hours,” he says simply, his tone calm but final.
The attendant’s mouth opens, then shuts again. Her eyes widen as the bills register, and she manages a faint nod. “Um—enjoy your… shopping.”
Cast grins, satisfied, then turns back to me. “Go on, Angel,” he murmurs, that teasing glint back in his eyes. “Show me what we’re buying.”
The command is absolute, brooking no further argument. A thrill, sharp and electric, slices through me.This.This is what I craved.
I hear the door to the back changing rooms lock as I slip behind the heavy velvet curtain, heart racing, knowing he is waiting on the other side.
The room is small, but lit like a runway. My heart is hammering against my ribs. I hang the ensemble on the hook and just stare at it for a moment, my breath catching. The leather two-piece gleams in the golden light—black, sleek, and sinful. The top is a strappy harness that crosses in a deep V over molded cups, silver rings glinting at each intersection. The matching bottoms are high-cut and minimal, soft leather meant to cling and command.
I know Vincent normally picks out my clothes, but Cast has picked up a few tricks as well.
