His soft, perfect hands slide along my sides, and I startle as he grips my hips. I nearly pant from the heat of his touch as he moves closer. “Don’t like Daddy? What do you want to call me then? Baby?”
I grip the shirt I was blindly looking at, needing it for stability as his smooth voice fills my ears like the sweetest song. His heat and grip remind me how much I want to feel it all over, his soft lips grazing my ear teasingly as he speaks.
“Sweetheart?” he purrs.
“Jelly,” I blurt, needing him to stop or I won’t be able to resist.
He’s still for a moment, then his bright laughter flows free like music and his head leans against my back. When his laughter tapers off, he steps away, and I turn. “Jelly?” he repeats, a wide smile on his beautiful face.
I shrug. “I like jelly. It’s fancy and showy, pretty and tasty, and . . . it shines like you.”
“Tasty, huh? How would you know I’m tasty? Do you want to find out?” he purrs, stepping closer again.
I spin before I take him up on that, grab a bunch of shirts, and turn, holding them in front of me like a shield. “I’ll try these on,” I offer.
His chuckles follow me as I fumble around the store. “This way,” he calls, and I turn back and walk past him to the dressing room he indicates.
I swear I hear him whisper, “So fucking cute,” as I see the dressing room area. There’s a velvet curtain separating it, and it opens as I approach. Atom is there, wearing a smile. “The other clothes are inside. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thank you. That will be all for now,” Zia instructs as I step inside, seeing the changing rooms. I pick the last one at random and go to shut the door when Zia slips in and closes it behind him. My eyes widen.
“What are you doing?” I ask, bumping into the back wall. There’s a small bench to the right, which he sits on, crossing his legs before resting his arm on it.
“Helping you like I said I would. Come on, try them on. I asked Atom for similar styles as well, so there’s a lot. Let’s get started.” When I just gape, his eyebrows rise. “I don’t have all day, Nikko, or do you need my help getting undressed?” I turn, and he laughs softly.
I hang up the shirts and eye the options. There are so many.
I glance back at Zia and find him watching me. I refuse to back down, and it’s not like he hasn’t seen me half dressed. I’m more naked in the ring, so I tug off my hoodie and look for a place to hang it. When I go to drop it on the floor since it’s the dirtiest, least expensive thing here, he plucks it up and folds it carefully on his knee. Zia nods toward the clothes, and I turn away but look at the mirror to see his eyes running down my back appreciatively. I’ll admit I flex a little as I grab the first shirt and carefully tug it on, feeling weird about putting something like this on my body.
When I turn, I swear he’s sniffing my hoodie, but he drops it before scanning me and grinning. “That style looks great on you, but you have to feel comfortable.” I turn to the mirror again. The shirt is plain white, but it hits my waist perfectly and sculpts my arms and chest. I look good.
“I like it,” I comment as I reach down and pick up the tag, nearly having a heart attack at the price. “Two thousand for a shirt?” I carefully reach for the hem, not wanting to rip it as I try to lift it off. Zia stops me and turns me to face the mirror. He holds my waist as he props his head on my shoulder and eyes me.
“Don’t worry about the price, just focus on how you feel. Do you like it?”
I nod. “But the price?—”
“Doesn’t matter. Next,” he says as he steps back. Shaking my head, I carefully hang it, but he picks it up and throws it onto the other part of the seat and waits for me to choose the next garment.
I don’t plan to buy any of this, it’s too expensive, but I can’t deny him. I select a hoodie and try it on next. It feels like butter on my skin, the hood falls perfectly, and the cuffs reach my wrists, which is usually hard to find with my size.
He whistles and nods. “Next.”
And it continues. I swear he just likes watching me take clothes off more than trying them on, but I don’t care, growing more comfortable as we go, especially when he devours me with his eyes.
Nobody looks at me like that.
I grab the next shirt, eyeing it. It’s not my usual style, but it’s nice. It’s a V-neck shirt for fancier occasions, but in a soft material, and it’s white with a slim purple stripe, the Nexus color.
Turning to the mirror, I check myself out. It looks good. Even I can admit that. Although I don’t usually wear this kind of thing, I don’t look uncomfortable despite that, and the material doesn’t cling to my body. It’s loose and comfortable, thin and soft, and still low-key without being too casual.
Zia steps behind me, and I look at him through the mirror. “I like this one. It fits you perfectly,” he complients as his gaze drops to the neckline, which exposes my collarbones and the top of my chest.
“Do you like it more off or on?” I ask boldly.
Our eyes meet in the mirror, desire gleaming in our gazes, and I swear I could cut the sexual tension with a knife. He opens his mouth to talk when a voice speaks farther away.
“Do you need any help?”
