“Are you the designer?” Vandal asked.
The girl grinned at him. “I wish I was this talented. My sister is the designer.”
Vandal nodded. “I found your website on Google and liked what I saw. We need something classy for a release party in New York, and I’m hoping we won’t have to drive to Toronto or Montreal.”
The woman raised her brows but didn’t ask him much more other than what time of day the party was planned for. She sized me up with a glance and started pulling dresses for me based on what Vandal approved of, probably taking the cue from me that I had no real opinion.
Maybe she was used to overbearing men dragging women into the shop, or maybe she realized he might be famous and decided not to cross him, just in case.
I was in a fitting room before Vandal gave me time to muster an opinion on any of the designs, and for a brief, horrifying moment, I thought the woman was following me into the change room to help me try on clothes the way they did sometimes in fancy shops on TV.
Thank God she withdrew and closed the door behind her. I wasn’t sure how visible the butt plug would be through the thin fabric of my underwear, and I kept having the horrifying sensation that if I moved the wrong way it would fall out entirely. What was the standard protocol for that situation? Pick it up and tuck it in my non-existent purse? Shove it back in? Carry it around in my underwear? Kick it under a display?
I slipped off my sundress, trying to ignore the way the rayon felt skimming over my body.
The first dress I tried on was lovely—black and classy, but once it was on, I realized it was made for a woman who had more up top, like the saleswoman.
“Are you coming out?” Vandal asked impatiently.
“Not in this one. It doesn’t quite fit.”
“Anything we sell gets custom tailored,” the saleswoman said helpfully.
“No, I don’t think this is for me,” I hedged, trying to think of an excuse that would convince Vandal he didn’t need me to come out and show him.
“Come on,” he said, snapping his fingers. I closed my eyes and stabbed the man repeatedly with my mind. He was going to get overtly dominant with me about things if I didn’t give him what he wanted, and I didn’t think I could live with that in front of a stranger.
Sullenly, I slid the lock aside and left the fitting room, all too aware of the fabric bagging in the bodice.
Vandal chuckled. “I guess this one will have to wait until you grow into it.”
I could feel my face heating to what had to be a ferocious crimson.
The saleswoman shot him a sharp look. “She’s perfect. This dress doesn’t suit her.”
She turned stiffly away to browse through their collection, and I stuck my tongue out at him. He backed me into the change room and groped my breast through the slack fabric, his mouth coming down hard on mine. He pulled away quickly and whispered in my ear, “Don’t make me look like an asshole.”
“I didn’t do anything. You made yourself look like an asshole.”
“You have sexy tits.”
“You torture them enough that I was pretty sure you liked them fine.”
He gave me a wicked grin and licked the seam of my lips, backing off just in time for the saleswoman to turn back with a different dress for me.
“Jackass,” I whispered. If he wanted a woman who looked more like the sales associate, maybe he should have blackmailed someone else to stay with him for the summer.
I took the next dress in with me and tried it on.
“You having better luck with that one?” he prompted.
It was...a pretty shade of green, but the sleeves looked sort of like bubbles. I grimaced at myself in the mirror but turned to open the door anyway. At least it fit.
Vandal looked me over. “Not a fan of the sleeves.”
“You’d stand out in the crowd,” the woman said, her tone implying the dress wasn’t her favorite design.
“It’s not my release party, so I’d prefer to blend in a bit more.”
Vandal shook his head at me. “You don’t want to be arm candy?”
“If you want to bring arm candy, you should have chosen accordingly.”
“You sort of landed in my lap, so I’m stuck with you for now.”
The saleswoman moved away, glaring at him over her shoulder as soon as he couldn’t see her face.
“You’re not making any friends here by being mean to me.”
“You can take it.”
“I’m used to your bullshit, but I think you’re shocking her,” I replied, tipping my head toward the departing saleswoman.
“You know I’m not serious,” he said, frowning.
“Do I? Maybe I’m only a body to abuse and a few holes to fuck. I can’t know what you’re thinking.”
He opened his mouth, looking uncomfortable but not sure what to say to me.
“Women are so needy,” he complained. “You always need a man to tell you how hot you are.”
“No, we just need men to not make little disparaging comments about our looks all the time—making us wonder if maybe there’s a grain of truth to all the jokes.”
He grumbled something under his breath. “You don’t tell me I’m pretty either.”
“I let you fuck me, and it’s not because I’m after the money you don’t currently have.”
“It’s not my sparkling personality either, is it?”
“No.”
“Hmm. I must be hot, then.” His eyes narrowed. “Or you just like it rough.”
“I’m only in love with your dick—at least your dick can’t ruin things by talking. Now shut up.”
She was on her way back and the store wasn’t that big, even though we were whispering.
“You don’t think my dick can ruin things, huh? How about it ruins your pretty pussy when we get home?”
“Vandal, ssstop,” I hissed.
“I don’t remember ‘Vandal, stop’ being your safeword.”
Then the saleswoman was at his shoulder and handing me a dress. I didn’t even look at it, focusing all my concentration on Vandal and the hope that he wouldn’t say another fucking thing on the topic.
I slipped into the fitting room and locked the door behind me.
“What was that word anyway? I keep forgetting.” Vandal called through the door, loud enough for the saleswoman to hear no matter where she might be in the store.
I had to rifle around in my brain trying to remember my safeword. There’d been so many instances where I should have used it, but it never leapt to mind. The one time I would have safeworded if I’d had the presence of mind, Vandal had ended the situation on my behalf.
It popped into my head as soon as the next dress was on, an interesting midnight blue. It clung to my skin as though the seamstress had tailored it specifically for me, and the full, swinging skirt of it made me happy.
Ah, yes.
“Winter.”
“That’s what it is? Really?” he said with a laugh. “Why is that always so hard to remember?”
“I think you don’t want to remember it.”
I slid the bolt aside and his dark gaze went from mocking to rapt as he took in the dress.
“Fuuuck yeah.”
The saleswoman smothered a laugh.