It takes a few minutes, but Lucy softens into the process. They cycle through several pieces—the first looks like a pioneer dress, and Lucy cracks up, singing a song fromThe Sound of Music. Then she comes out in a striped, belted dress, followed by a gauzy, flowing white dress with floral patterns on the skirt.
“That one,” I say, gesturing with my champagne glass. Strangely, I can picture her wearing it on Nico’s boat, the air ruffling it out behind her. It’s not very practical for the winter, but when it warms up, she’ll look radiant in it.
Lucy starts to have more fun as the girls dress her in more casual outfits—a black skirt and thick button-up shirt that makes her look like a schoolgirl. Jeans and a boxy pink top that she “loves!”
Then, they get into the evening wear.
“It’s a jumpsuit,” one of the shop girls says, gesturing to the lush black fabric that cascades over Lucy’s body. Lucy turns back and forth, pushing her mass of hair over one shoulder.
“What do you think?”
“Get it,” I say, because she looks good in it. She looks good in everything.
We continue like this, going from boutique to boutique, shop workers ferrying our bags to the car, Lucy trying on every piece of clothing they bring out for her. She laughs and sips champagne, eventually ties her hair up out of her way as she rushes in and out of clothes.
When we’re finished, and I’m sufficiently turned on by the amount of money I’ve spent on her, I ask her to pick her favorite piece to wear to dinner.
Lucy emerges in a simple black flared dress with a small golden clasp just under her breasts. It was a few thousand dollars, and worth every penny.
Our next stop is a towering, pitch-black building in Manhattan. We pull up outside and the driver leaves to park the car while I take Lucy’s hand and lead her inside.
“Oh my god,” she whispers, bringing her lips close to my ear again. “Is that Scarlett Johansson?”
I glance at her, “Who is that? An actress?”
Lucy stares at me, open-mouthed. When I grin, she shoves me playfully, “That is so not funny. I’m going to have a heart attack if we’re around famous people, Dane.”
We don’t eat out at restaurants like this often—I just prefer having my privacy—but when we do, it’s always around other people who value discretion. Who don’t want to step out into the street, only to be bombarded with the flashing of cameras.
The meal is perfect. Succulent, organic meat from Japan that melts in our mouths. Lucy closes her eyes and goes boneless in her chair more than once, which is a precursor for what’s to come. Through the windows around us, the city sparkles, both the lights and the snow. From here, I can just make out one corner of Rockefeller Plaza, busy with people skating and celebrating the season.
Cole, Nico and I have already purchased far too many gifts for this woman. And we’re not quite done. We know how much it’s hurting her to miss Christmas with her family, so it’s only right that we bridge the gap as best we can.
After the meal and the decadent chocolate dessert that follows, I hold the door for Lucy, and she climbs back into the idling black SUV.
It takes us to our hotel. Of course, I could take her back to my place, the high-rise, but it’s more utilitarian than I want for this. The suite I choose is classic, with a large claw-foot bathtub in the middle of the room I plan to make good use of. A chandelier twinkles in the center of the vaulted ceiling, refracting off the gilded crown molding.
“Ohmygod,” Lucy says, in the way she does when she’s really excited. She spins in a circle in the center of the room, her hair looking like so much spun gold right here in the epicenter of luxury.
I move close to her, enjoying the way her head drops back when she looks up at me. “You like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, rising up on her toes to kiss me. I like it when she kisses me first. Even more, I enjoy taking over the control.
Settling my hands on her hips, I turn her and walk her backwards, toward the bathroom. It’s as large and luxurious as the rest of the suite. As much as I want to watch her in the bathtub, I can wait. Right now, I need the shower.
I strip her down, remove my suit, and follow her into the large rain shower. Lucy sets it to the temperature she wants—positively scalding—and we stand under the stream together, hands and lips on each other. She trails kisses over my chest, even running her tongue along the trough between my pecks.
Every day, this woman gets more bold.
Which is a good thing, considering what I have in mind for her today.
“Turn around,” I murmur against her ear, water dripping from my hair and sliding down her breasts. Of course, I could just maneuver her, but I like administering commands. Like watching her obey.
Lucy turns, and I kiss her neck, trail my hands over the front of her body, down her arms. Fingers loose around her wrists, I take her hands and plant them on the wall, bending her so the water runs down her back and over her ass.
“Dane,” she breathes, when I slide my hand between her legs, find her wet for me, growl in response. Lucy widens her stance slightly, clearly waiting for me to find her clit, but we’re doing something else this time.
“Oh,” she gasps, when I slide my hand up, instead, over her ass, then between, thumb circling. Lucy looks over shoulder, eyes wide, and I pause.
