A woman in a sleek black dress approaches us, her face a mask of professionalism.
“Mr. Brooks. The private dressing room you requested is ready for you. Would you care for some champagne?”
“Please,” I say, just as Camryn starts to shake her head.
“I have Claudia, our personal shopper, on standby if you’d like—“
I cut her off with a shake of my head. “That won’t be necessary.”
The woman nods. “Very good. I’ll have the champagne sent to your dressing room.”
I incline my head at her and then with my hand on her lower back, steer Camryn towards a rack of blouses and skirts. But when I glance down at her, she’s chewing on her lip, her gaze darting around.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, and she lets out a sigh.
“Jake, this is too much,” she says quietly. “I can’t…I mean, this place is so expensive, and…” She gestures around helplessly. “Most of these items cost more than my rent.”
I turn to her, and because my hand is still on her lower back, it’s like I’m pulling her towards me. Completely unintentional, but I can’t say I hate the result. I can feel the warmth of her skin, and I get a front row seat to the way she melts, just a little, at the close contact.
Alarm bells are going off in my head, but I ignore them.
“Here’s what you’re going to do, Cam,” I say, keeping my voice low so only she can hear me. “You’re going to let me pick out whatever I want for you. You’re going to pick out whatever you want. You’re going to be a good girl and let me spoil you rotten.”
She lets out a shuddery sigh at my words, her eyes going heavy lidded, her lips parting slightly. “Y-yes,” she says in a shaky voice. “Okay.”
Something inside me loosens, and I nod. Even if I can’t have her—that can never happen—I can pretend she’s mine for the afternoon. That I’m her very wealthy, much older boyfriend, ready to spoil and pamper her in every single way.
I take a step back, because Jesus fucking Christ, I should not be having these thoughts. I take a breath, swallow, and square my shoulders, pushing the exhilarating, ridiculously arousing fantasy away.
Clothes. I just need to focus on the clothes.
The first rack we pass has an emerald green dress that catches my eye. It’s vaguely reminiscent of the dress she wore to prom, but made for a woman, not a girl, and far more elevated in style. The shimmery fabric is draped in a way that makes me imagine the way it would cling to her hips. I reach out, skimming my fingers over the silky material. It’s soft. Luxurious. And it’s the exact shade of green that would make her skin glow.
“This one,” I say, pulling a dress in her size from the rack. An assistant is right there, rolling rack in tow behind her as she follows at a polite distance.
“Jacob, I’m in grad school. When would I ever need a dress like that?”
I tilt my head at her. “I have a charity gala coming up in a few weeks. Come with me as my d—“ I catch myself in the nick of time. “As my guest, and you can wear it then.” Maybe at the gala, I can give her the evening she deserved four years ago.
Cam twists her fingers together, looking uncertain, but then she straightens and nods. “Okay, sure. I’ll try it on.”
I’m quickly discovering how much I love it when she’s a good girl for me.
We move to the next section, and slowly the rolling rack fills with blazers, blouses, jeans, skirts, sweaters, dresses, a leather jacket. With every single item I select, I picture Camryn in it. I imagine the way the blazers will accentuate her waist, the way the low cut blouse will show off her cleavage. The way the jeans will hug her hips and thighs and make her ass look like a fucking dream. I pick a soft pink sweater, and I’m not going to lie—I pick it because of how sweet and innocent it looks.
It’s official. I’m definitely going to hell.
After a little while, Camryn’s feeling confident enough to start adding pieces of her own to the rack, and I grin at her encouragingly. I love watching her tackle an unfamiliar situation, her confidence growing by the minute.
“Okay, this is pretty fun,” she admits, holding up a shirt, scrutinizing it, and then adding it to the rack.
My smile grows. “Good. It’s supposed to be.”
Spend Daddy’s money, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.
Oh, Christ.
The thought is so dirty and so powerful and so, so…I don’t even know that I take a half step back and press a hand to my chest. I know where my body stands when it comes to Camryn, but apparently my brain’s leaning in that direction, too.
