But Boone shot with her and actuallylikedthat she was better than him.
He didn’t mind her giving him pointers. He appreciated it.
Later that night, curled up on Kenny’s chest, she remembered the big fir out front and the pack’s decorating traditions. She’d been rotating through the same damned dresses since moving in, and she wanted to wear sweaters and boots — and a cute new outfit for the decorating party.
“Sir?” she asked.
Kenny raised an eyebrow and responded, “Fucktoy.”
“I’d like to buy some Christmas clothes, and I miss wearing sweaters. Can I maybe wear loose skirts and sweaters, instead of dresses?”
“I’ll consider it.”
“More dresses, too. Winter ones that are meant to be worn with boots. I know I can’t go shopping without one of you, Sir, so will you take me shopping before the big decorating party, so I can get a denim skirt and Christmas sweater?”
Kenny sighed like the weight of the world had landed on him, but there was a glint in his eyes that made her sure he’d already decided to. “My Friday afternoon is pretty open. I’ll leave to come get you at noon, possibly a little before if I can swing it.”
“Thank you, Sir!”
Boone rumbled from the other side of the bed, “Thanks for not asking me, my stretchy little fuckhole.”
“I do have another request, Sir. More than a handful of dresses to choose from at a time, please? Sweaters, skirts, dresses. At least thirty things? Pretty please? This means so much to me. I know some of your rules are about dehumanizing me, and I don’t want to fuck that up, Sir, but the pack sees meall the time, and you want me normal around them, but I’m not showing them who I am when I can’t dress with flair, Sir.”
“We’ll keep that under consideration,” Kenny grumbled. “No more talking. If you don’t go to sleep, I’ll wear your ass out until I’m sure you’re too exhausted to keep me awake.”
She shut up and closed her eyes.
* * * *
Kenny was looking forward to a day with Willow by himself. She came out of the house in flats and a dress that was nicer than the ones she usually wore around the house. It was deep red with black trim, so the black leggings and low black boots looked nice under it.
And the fact he knew the leggings were crotchless so he could bend her over and fuck her at his whim nearly made his dick wake up and start growing.
“Where to first?” he asked.
“We’re going to end at Hamilton Place, Sir, but there are some boutiques I want to hit downtown. We’ll start at Warehouse Row.”
Something about that sentence seemed off. “How many places are we going?”
“Ummm, I mean, I mapped them out so we won’t have to backtrack, but I don’t get to go shopping often, and Ireallyneed new clothes to fit your rules, Sir.”
“You didn’t answer the question, Willow.”
“Fourteen sounds like a lot, Sir, but some are tiny boutiques I can look through in ten or fifteen minutes, and then try stuff on and we head to the next place. Only a handful are huge.”
The first hour wasn’t terrible. He shook his head or nodded when she came out of the dressing rooms, and when she tried to argue the first time, he telepathedArgue with me andeverything you’ve taken back there to try on goes back on the racks.
At the third store, before she went into the dressing room, she showed him a dress. “I love this designer, this cut. Everything about this dress. If it fits the way I want it to, I willneedthis dress, Sir. I don’t think you can understand how much I’m hoping this dress fits me the way I want it to.”
He’d nodded and waved her in, and it turned out, he very much liked the dress on her, so it was fine, but he wasn’t actually sure what he’d have done if he’d hated it.
She was right about needing to be her own person around the pack, and that meant dressing for the everyday in a way that defined her. And yet, he didn’t want her in clothes he didn’t like. That one would take some thought.
She came out after trying things on a few stores later, three dresses, a skirt, and a couple of blouses to purchase, and she telepathed,You look like you’re being tortured, Sir.
That’s because I am, fucktoy.He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms.This has to violate the Geneva Conventions.
“Thank you for doing this. I’m sorry you aren’t having fun.” She sounded genuinely sorry, but then telepathed,You could change the rule, Sir. I can text you pictures of me in dresses from the dressing room, and you can approve or deny.
