“That’s nice,” the woman said. “But you’re going to wrinkle the shirt, and we only have ten minutes left before my next appointment arrives.”
Cal glanced down at himself, his cock half-hard under black cottonand his balls aching. He didn’t want to have to zip that into a pair of slim-fit trousers.
“Give me the shirts,” he said. “And give me a couple of minutes, okay.”
She stuck her arm through the curtain, shirts hung from a hooked finger, and waited for him to take them.
“Five minutes,” she said. There was a pause and then a prim little reminder, “Don’t make a mess.”
Cal grimaced. He wasn’t aboutto jerk off on Saville Row, but he supposed some people would. Retail was hell. Instead he closed his eyes and thought about cold showers and the weak, wrung-out feeling when he got stabbed.
It was effective enough to make his ribs itch with the memory of it but didn’t do much to discourage his cock.
“Hope you’re happy,” he grumbled to Joe as he stripped the shirt. He put on one that the womanhad handed in to him. It was still snug over the shoulders, but the collar fit better. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he caught Joe watching with a still, thoughtful expression. He paused, buttons down halfway up his chest. “What?”
“I am,” Joe said. He gave Cal’s ass a quick grope on the way past. “I’ll be happier later, when I can make a mess.”
Heat puddled in Cal’s stomach, a weightof it in his groin, at the low suggestion. His barely discouraged cock popped back up again to nudge against the waistband of his briefs. He swore and pressed it down with the heel of his hand, and the dull ache of it throbbed in his gut.
“Try your suit on,” Joe told him. “I’ll send Ms. Kettler back so she can mark you up for adjustments.”
He ducked out through the curtain and tugged it straightbehind him. Cal snorted after him, finished up the buttons on the shirt, and then grabbed a pair of trousers at random. He didn’t know a dart from a seam. He just wanted to be dressed when the tailor came back. The legs were shorter than Cal usually wore his jeans, bunched around his ankles or frayed where he’d walked on them, and the fit felt odd.
Still, Cal checked his reflection in the full-lengthmirror and rubbed his hand over his cropped head. He did look hot in a nice suit.
