Sweat beaded on her forehead, her pants now shoved down to her knees, her legs spread wide. She thrust harder, the stretch burning so fucking sweetly as she rode her hand. “Fuck, yes.”
Her orgasm built, her breath coming in ragged as she pictured Billie’s eyes, dark with desire, locking onto hers as she drove Debra over the edge. With a choked sob, it hit full force. Wave after wave crashed through her, her walls spasming around her fingers while her wetness coated her hand and thighs. She kept moving, drawing it out, until she collapsed back, her chest heaving. She may have taken the edge off, but the craving was deeper than ever now.
Debra lay there, her fingers still buried inside, staring at the ceiling. Billie was a drug she couldn’t quit, and this…this was just a pathetic substitute. Maybe she’d push at their next fitting. Maybe she’d make Billie see the need she’d ignited and refused to quench.
Or maybe she’d do nothing…and forever wonder about Billie Brown.
Chapter Nine
The last weekor so hadcrawledby. Each morning, Debra had woken up determined to put it behind her and move forward, but by the time she reached the evening, her mind looped through the same reel of moments. The stillness of the fitting room, the way Billie had looked at her one day and avoided her eyes the next. The tilt of her head, the sound of her voice, the words Billie had spoken about how Debra should see herself.
Every night, Debra told herself to forget.
And every night, she failed.
When the message came through with a date for her suit fitting, she’d quickly replied, confirming her appointment. She’d convinced herself that she was going there because she’d paid for the suit, that it would be silly not to, but that wasn’t the truth, and she knew it. Deep down, she wanted answers. Closure in some way. Or some shape of either that would help her to breathe again.
By the time she’d reached Savile Row, her heart was steady, but her palms were clammy. The bell chimed as she stepped inside, and that same scent, that same soft music, and that same quiet hit her.
Billie stood behind the counter, her back straight and immaculately poised, adjusting a garment bag.
“Ms Allen,” she said without the faintest tremor. “Good afternoon.”
“Afternoon.” Debra kept her tone in check, aware that she had already given this woman too much of herself. Then came the pause between them. It stretched, likely polite to Billie but unbearable for Debra.
Billie gestured towards the back. “Shall we?”
Debra followed her down the corridor, her pulse picking up ever so slightly. She’d imagined this moment in a dozen different ways since she was practically dismissed by Billie last week—the possibility of a smile, perhaps the warmth in her eyes returning—but none of them had prepared her for this version of Billie. Calm, still distant, and almost too composed to be real.
As she slipped behind the curtain and removed her coat, she eyed the charcoal suit that hung on a brass rail. It was beautiful, elegant and potentially too much for Debra todarecontemplate wearing, but she wouldn’t tell Billie that. Her vulnerability was already balancing precariously on a knife-edge.
“I’ll leave you for a moment to undress. You can leave your blouse on but change into the pants, and I’ll help you into the jacket once you’re ready.”
Debra watched Billie leave, her perfume lingering in the small space. She quickly changed, feeling Billie’s presence just beyond the velvet curtain, her mind racing with all the possible scenarios that could happen once she stepped back inside. “Ready.”
Billie entered the fitting room again with a smile. “We’ll start with this.” She lifted the jacket from its hanger and turned to Debra. “Let me know if anything feels tight through the shoulders.”
Debra slipped her arms into the sleeves, enjoying how the fabric sat against her. Then Billie brushed her shoulders to settle the seams, and Debra shivered. The contact was brief, but God, it was electrifying.
“You’ve lost weight since the last time you were here. I can take this in slightly if you’d prefer a closer fit.”
Debra hated to admit it to herself, but she hadn’t found much of an appetite this week. She was too busy worrying about the impression she’d left on Billie. After all, she must have donesomethingwrong. “Whatever you think is best.”
Billie nodded, then stepped closer, her fingers skimming down the line of the jacket to smooth the lapel. “Turn to the mirror for me.”
When Debra did so, their eyes met in the glass. She almost managed a smile, caught between wanting to hold her gaze and wanting to flee it, and then the brief idea of turning her head and kissing Billie infiltrated her thoughts. God, she had to get a grip.
“Lift your chin,” Billie said softly. “That’s better. See? The suit holds you differently when you remember your posture.”
Debra tried to focus on her reflection, but the scent of Billie’s perfume and the heat of her presence made it impossible. “You sound like a teacher.”
Billie smiled, melting Debra all over again. “It’s what I do.”
“Do you ever let anyone showyouhow to see yourself?”
For the first time, Billie faltered. Her hands stilled where they rested against Debra’s shoulders. “No. I don’t.”
“Maybe you should.” Something settled inside Debra as she held Billie’s gaze. Pity…maybe longing.
