She slid her feet into them and looked up at him, lit from within. “Sir, these are perfect.”
And damn if his chest didn’t twist at the joy on her face.
He covered it with a smirk and telepathed,Good. You’ll wear them while marching under the winch with your arms bound overhead, holding in the heaviest plug and cunt ball. Every. Step. Will. Echo.
She wasn’t a fan of the horrendously tacky whore-shoes he made her try on, however. But the next pair was a different story.He’d made her try them on because of the gaudy rhinestones, but on her feet, under her calves, they were perfect.
And then there were the designer heels with an extra loop around her ankles and some serious hardware for the buckles.
She hadn’t liked them, but he was going to buy them anyway because he could put a padlock on the buckles to lock her into them — until he saw the price. He could buy actual bondage shoes for a third of the cost, and he resolved to do so.
Then he’d lock her into five-inch heels when he left in the morning. Do it on a day with tons of housework and no workout. A day when she was his for the evening, and she’d have been in the shoes eleven hours when he allowed her to step off the red medallion into the playroom, the heels still locked on.
He bought a pillar candle in the next store — narrow at the top, widening to a ridiculously flared base. It was absolutely going up her ass. He figured he’d make her sit on it while he tortured her breasts.
What Kenny hadn’t understood was that she’d had the mall itself marked as one store, not the dozen plus she wanted to go in, but that was fine. It was possible he had too much fun with her, too much fun with the salespeople. He thought one might need surgical intervention to get her tongue untied when she tried to convince him Willow needed this fancy hair doodad to go with one of the dresses she chose.
“This piece is exquisite on blondes. It would look stunning on her and is aperfectmatch to the aubergine dress she asked me to take to the register.”
It was a bunch of rhinestones on something between a hairclip and a clamp, and it cost a penny less than fifty bucks.
“Mostly, we say eggplant here in The South, and sure, it’s pretty, but I can get a five-pack of industrial-strength nipple clamps at the Home Depot for ten bucks. Two of those would be a hundred bucks, but I guess they’d be prettier on her nipples.”
She froze like a robot hung in a loop, her face somewhere between shellshocked and blank. Silas gently took it from her hand, tried the clamp on his pinky, and shook his head. “Not nearly enough tension for that much money. For a hundred bucks, I’d expect to still see marks and bruising three days later.”
She spun on her heels, and he didn’t see her again until she rang Willow up — pointedly not looking at him even though he was standing right fucking behind his little hawk.
On the way to the next store, Willow looked longingly at the high-end undies store as they passed, so he telepathed,A girl not allowed to wear underwear saves a fuckton of money, I bet.
Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you have to be smug, Sir.
Of course I do. Smug is my job, and since you’re being mouthy, you can march your pretty little smartass in there and ask if they carry crotchless panties. I’ll even buy them if they do. I’ll enjoy seeing you parade around the upstairs in them on my nights. I’ll even let you pick out the color that’ll go best with the stainless plug I most love to cram up your ass to hold my jizz in because I like knowing you have to squeeze hard to hold it in.
She kept walking until he told her he was dead serious, and she made a U-turn to walk in and ask but was sadly told they don’t carry them. But then the cheerful employee told her which store upstairs stocks them, and Willow knew by the look on his face they were about to backtrack.
When he thought they were within an hour of being finished with the mall, he texted Boone and Kenny:I figure we’ll be done in about an hour. Taking her to the endless steak place after. Traffic and parking are a bitch. You should leave now if you want in.
In the last store, she tried on a red dress that pulled her boobs together to give her more cleavage than he’d ever seen on her. Boobs for fuckingdays.
If she showed it to him, it meant she wanted it, so he nodded, and when she went in, he waved the saleslady helping her over. “I’d like to go ahead and purchase that dress so she can wear it out of here.” He handed her his card. “Can you handle that?”
“I can, Sir.”
* * * *
Boone saw her walk toward them in a red dress that showed way too much leg, was plastered to her stomach so he could see every fucking ab striation he’d carved into her, and displayed so much of her tits she’d be arrested if the fabric dropped another millionth of an inch. And what magic gave her all that damned cleavage?
His wolf damn near went feral on the spot.
And it didn’t get any better when they were seated.
He figured the gaucho bastards had a death wish. Every time one of them leaned in with a skewer, their eyes dropped straight to Willow’s tits, and his wolf wanted their throats between his jaws.
Didn’t matter that Kenny was steady in his head, telling him she was going home with them tonight. Didn’t matter that Silas was over there giving telepathic orders to pull her shoulders back farther to make sure the meat boys got an eyeful — laughing in his own sick way about how they were getting more meat brought to their table than anyone else in the joint thanks to their little fucktoy’s cleavage.
Boone’s wolf’s solution was simple: if they lost their heads they couldn’t gawk at her tits.
His wolf wasn’t built for sharing.
