Page 30 of Seeking Her Studs
I do this a few times, accepting the fate of my new wardrobe and approving them all. Except for one waterproof plaid shirt, which is a tragedy and I can’t in good conscience condone.
Then I get to one item that stumps me. I spend about five minutes toying with it before giving up.
“Briggs,” I shout from the dressing room. “Can you come in here and tell me what the hell kind of pants these are?”
He opens the curtain hesitantly until he sees I’m decent in an oversized canvas shirt that fits me more like a dress, which I actually like.
“Which ones?” He says, looking around the chaos of the dressing room with clothes everywhere.
I hold up the thick suede pieces of fabric that make no logical sense whatsoever.
“Oh, right.” He nods. “Chaps. If you want to start taking the horses out.”
“Like assless chaps?” I cock an eyebrow at him.
“That’s like calling your tank a sleeveless t-shirt. They’re built like this because the thick fabric protects you while riding and would be too difficult to move in if they were full pants.”
“I’ll call them assless chaps if I want to.” I smile sweetly at him. “Now, how do I try them on?”
He takes them from me and holds them up. “They only have the kind that snaps up the side.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” I nod, looking at all the snaps. “It’s kind of where I had some issues.”
He grumbles as he tries to undo the tangle that I made and finally straightens them back out so they look somewhat like pants again. He undoes the belt piece and wraps it around me, dropping the unsnapped pieces of fabric so they slide under my legs and hang there.
My stomach flutters as he applies pressure to the belt and closes it right above my belly button. Suddenly, we’re so damn close to each other.
He looks down at me and his entire expression changes as he makes the same realization. His sweet, relaxed face becomes serious and hyper-focused on me.
“You really should be wearing pants for this,” he says softly, with real regret in his voice.
“I thought they were pants,” my tone mirrors his.
“They’re chaps,” he says, his minty breath washing over me.
“Assless chaps,” I correct him with a small smirk.
This breaks him out of his trance with a laugh. He shakes his head and bends down on his knees to continue putting these damn things on me.
He pulls the suede further under my legs so it’s aligned and he tucks the fabric of my oversized shirt in as he does the first snap. Even on his knees, the man feels huge. I can smell his shampoo as the top of his head moves in steady rhythm while he snaps all the way down my leg. He switches to my other leg and works his way up. Each inch closer he gets to my waist stirs something in me. Somewhere along the way, I go from enjoying his closeness to needing him touching me. Every time his fingers pull away, my body screams for them to get closer again.
He presses the last snap closed firmly on my hip and stands up. Our eyes connect and I see that this has been an intense experience for him, too. I’m glad I’m not the only perv that can be found in this suddenly very small dressing room.
“Do they fit?” I ask, my voice throaty and unsure.
He slides his big hand into the belt and pulls at the buckle. I rock forward, closing in the small distance separating us. Only then do I realize the bulge in his pants.
“Seem to fit perfectly,” he says quietly.
Our eyes bore into each other. I open my mouth to say something, anything. But instead a small frustrated sigh comes out instead.
And it’s like a gunshot to start a race.
Briggs and I clash into each other at the same time, finding each other’s lips with studied accuracy.
We breathe each other in. All the tension in the room shatters with each kiss.
I wrap my hands around his waist, guiding his huge frame closer.