“I’m fine here.” She glances at me in alarm, like I’ll yell at her, then quickly looks away. She gets up. “I’ll move.”
“You’re fine there if you’re happy,” I say, waving her down again. It comes out terse, even though I was trying for calm. I take a breath. “I’m sorry I dragged the lecherous man away from you while he was trying to get a glimpse of your breasts. It made me…”Want to smash my fist into his face over and over until it was a bloody mess.“…uncomfortable.”
She gives me a tremulous smile. “That’s all right. Thank you for standing up for me.”
I nod. “Of course.”
There. That sounded normal, didn’t it?
We finish breakfast in silence.
Twenty-Two
Alex
“Is this all you brought?” Vicky asks.
I pause in the act of buttoning up my shirt.
She has her suitcase open on the bed, the clothes within laid out in neat piles. The suitcase is empty.
“Evidently.”
“It’s all dresses.”
I walk over. “That one’s a skirt,” I say, pointing out the obvious. “That’s a blouse.”
She folds her arms over the thick bathrobe she’s still wearing. “And the rest are dresses. You packed foraccess.”
“Did I?” I ask, continuing to button my shirt while she huffs in exasperation.
“And you forgot my underwear.”
“I did?” I reply, face perfectlyneutral. I manage to pull it off because exasperation turns to suspicion, and then her trademark glare. The petulance is cute.
“I’m not going.” It’s missing a stamp of her foot and a pout, but her tone manages to carry it.
“Yes, Tinker Bell, you are.” I gesture at the clothes on the bed. “You can wear those, or keep the robe on. But youaregoing.” I pause, reflecting. “Actually, wear the robe. I like that you’ve leaked my cum onto it.”
“There aren’t even any tights,” she sulks, picking up a summer dress. “I’m going to freeze.”
“You have a coat,” I point out helpfully. “Besides, I’ll keep you warm.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she mutters.
She shrugs out of her robe, uses the hem of it to wipe between her legs, then pulls the dress on. I watch it all with amusement, and she blushes at my frank appraisal, eyes lowering. That’s cute, too.
The one she’s chosen is a pastel blue, fine cotton, fitted to emphasize her small waist and falling loose over her hips. I think I bought it for her within our first week together. Her shoulders are bare save for two thin straps, and they draw my eye to the curve of her neck, the swell of her firm breasts, nipples prominent against the soft fabric.
She turns to present her back, the skirt swirling lightly around her thighs. “Zip me up?”
Her skin is smooth and flawless, and it’s a shame to slide the zip into place, covering it. It takes more control than I would expect.
This might’ve been a mistake. She’s fucking distracting.
Oh well, too late.
“That looks perfect.”
