The next stop is the mall and Finley is in raptures from the start. She picks up a large milkshake from a booth near the door and uses it to gesticulate wildly at all the things she wants.
When Trent privately discloses his credit card limit to her, she goes a bit crazy. We whirl from store to store, Finley steadily growing giddier with excitement.
Everything looks good on her, something she uses to her full advantage. I’m in hysterics as she carefully explains to a shop assistant that the ball season is only just getting into its swing, so having three choices of gown is essential just to get through the week.
It’s so much fun tagging along and watching her exploits that the lingering awfulness of the day before is soon blown away.
“You know, I could get used to this,” she announces as Trent becomes weighed down with bags, moving behind us like a personal luggage rack, never uttering the slightest word of protest.
Anyone looking at him would think trailing two teenage girls through a shopping mall was the epitome of his life ambition. Even when Finley insists on buying him the most outrageous hat with large clapping hands set on the top, ‘So we can find you if you get lost in the crowd.’
Perhaps he does finally tire of the situation because his effusive encouragement for Finley to get a haircut, colour, manicure, and pedicure, ties her to the salon for a good two hours. He drops the parcels at the car before escorting me back into the mall.
“Where are we going?”
“So many questions,” he mutters, holding my hand and walking backwards in front of me until a near miss with a group of determined mall walkers forces him to reconsider.
He whisks me inside a clothing store, moving to the racks and selecting garment after garment while I stand there, blinking in confusion. “What’s this in aid of?”
“You,” he says, swinging me close enough to press a soft kiss on my lips. “Or me,” he admits with a shrug. “I’ve been watching you avoid picking anything out for yourself all day long and it won’t do.”
“That’s not true,” I protest with a laugh. “At least three of those bags were mine.”
“Three of the eighty I just hauled to the car?”
“Don’t look at me, mister. You created that monster all on your own.”
He laughs, his hand lightly pressing against my hair. “And now I want to create a new monster. So,” he hands me a dozen different outfits, “here you go. Now get into those changing rooms and try them on while I dream up the fantastic pieces of lingerie I’m going to make you buy next.”
Inside the cubicle, I slip into the first dress, smoothing the dark green fabric over my hips, twisting in the tiny changing room mirror to check the back. When I reach for the zipper, my shoulder sends a warning message. I woke this morning with a dozen new aches and pains, stiffness setting in overnight and never quite shaking out again.
I pop my head out, smiling as I see Trent trying to look inconspicuous and absolutely failing. For a minute, I just stare at him, appreciating the eye candy of his well-built body, then I whistle and watch his face light up.
“Need a little help here,” I call out, frowning at the shop assistant who turns, ready to be of service. “A big strong man would be preferable.”
He saunters over, resting his arm along the top of the frame, his body filling the space better than any door. His eyes slowly travel down the length of my body, then take their lazy time coming back up to rest on my face, one eyebrow raised. “Problem?”
I turn around. “If you could…?”
His fingers envelop the tiny zipper, and he slowly draws it up, his knuckle tracing a slow burning path of fiery tingles along my spine ahead of it. By the time he reaches the end, my skin is pulsing with a thousand different tingles. If it weren’t for the lurking assistant, I’d pull him inside, thrust him in the laughably small chair, and mount him right then and there.
The shopping trip, enjoyable as it has been, suddenly drags at me, sparking my impatience.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers into the curve of my neck, and I’ve never felt sexier, more desirable, on fire with dozens of cravings that only Trent can satisfy.
Fuck the assistant.
I turn around, grabbing at his shirt to tug him near enough to kiss me, the gentle press of his lips both satisfying and awakening a thousand more demands, each needing satisfaction.
When I come up for air, my cheeks are burning, his eyes have never looked so dark, black holes sucking me towards their centre. Trent pulls me hard against him and I can feel how much he wants me, feel him stiffening against me, prodding into my lower belly.
And I smile broadly, feeling spicy, naughty, feelingin controlfor the first time since Andy pushed his way into my room.
“Thank you for your help,” I say sweetly, moving past him to look at myself in the full-length mirror at the end of the row of changing rooms, running my hands over my curves, angling my body so when I turn, the reflection shows off my tits and my arse, giving a small wriggle before I pout. “I mean, it’s nice but I should really try on all of them, don’t you think?”
He looks confused, sweetly baffled. “Or I could just buy them all and we could retire to the car to wait for Finley.”
I bite on the corner of my lip, leaning towards him as though considering the proposal. Then I stride past him, swinging the cubicle door closed. “Not without trying them on,” I admonish. “You don’t want to waste all that money only to discover they don’t fit.”
