Page 63 of Fierce

“Perfect,” he said, “as I mean to buy it. It’s your size. Put it on.”

I pulled off the pretty blue bra and, at the waggle of his forefinger dangling the thong, sighed with mock reluctance and slid my own underwear down my hips, trying to ignore the fact that I was, yes, naked. I pulled on the black lace thong with its edging of pink, settled it into place, and looked in the mirror, twisting and turning to get a view.

“All right,” I admitted. “Pretty. Thank you, since you just bought this. But still not worth forty euros. And I still don’t need three of them.”

He didn’t answer that. Instead, he leaned forward, looped a finger over the tiny side band of the thong, and pulled me toward him with it, the first time he’d touched me in here, then made a lazy circular gesture with his other hand. “Around.”

“I mean it,” I warned. “No.”

“Ah,” he said. “But you seem to forget. You’re not in charge.”

My heart began to pound. So far, this had only been a sexy game, one that had pushed me to the limit of my comfort zone all the same. It wasn’t public, but it was totally public. There was classical music playing from speakers overhead, but it wasn’t nearly loud enough even for us to be saying…what we were saying. The snatches of French conversation were clearly audible, the rasp of a fitting-room curtain sliding along its bar down the row. We weren’t even behind a door.

“Around,” Hemi said again. “I want to check the fit.”

I turned so I was facing away from him, looked into the mirror, and he got that hand under the band again and pulled me back.

“Mm,” he said judiciously. Before I knew what he was doing, he’d shifted so one hand was on my hip, holding me for him, and the fingers of the other were under that other band, the one that ran down between my legs. And after that, he was “checking” it all the way down, his feather-light touch stoking the flames that had been burning since he’d come in here with me, and I was watching in the mirror while he did it.

“Hemi,” I whispered. “No.”

He sighed. “You’re right. Take them off.”

I saw my eyes widen in the glass. “What?”

“Take them off,” he said. “So we can buy them.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling foolish. I did it, then put out my hand for my underwear. But he just smiled.

“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you in here,” I hissed. “You said I could say no, and I’m saying it. I mean, if you want to buy me underwear, all right. I’ll be…I’ll be gracious. Thank you. But that doesn’t mean you’re buying me, and no.”

“Didn’t think I asked you to have sex.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No. I just said that you’re not putting your undies back on. And you say I’m suspicious.” He picked up my purse from the floor and held it out to me. “Put them in there. The tights as well.”

I was naked in a fitting room with an assistant walking by four feet away. I couldn’t have this conversation here. Surely that was why I did it. I sighed, did my best to look martyred, and put both items into my bag.

He handed me my bra and, when I started to put it on, shook his head. “Oh, no. It goes in the bag, too.”

I looked at him in shock. “I can’t wear that little sweater with no bra. It’s…thin. And my skirt is…” I swallowed. “Short.”

“And quite nice, too. Put the bra away. You’ve got such pretty little breasts, and I want to see them.”

I looked at him, at the mouth that wasn’t smiling a bit now, and slowly complied. “But if I do this…” I started to say.

“Yeh?” he prompted when I didn’t go on. “What?”

“I’m…” I looked around, and whispered it. “Wet. I’ll…”

It was the real reason I hadn’t wanted to put the black thong on. The throb had started as soon as he’d sat down on that stool, had only increased since. I’d seen my face in the mirror as we’d gone on. I knew my cheeks had grown increasingly flushed, my eyes ever brighter, and I was pretty sure he’d noticed, too.

“Yeh?” he asked. “You’ll what?” He reached out a hand and was tracing down again, all the way to where I was swollen and aching for him. He rubbed a few times, and I squirmed and tried so hard not to moan.

“Hm,” he said. “You just may. And I want to watch that, too.” And then he took his hand away. “When it happens.”

“Hemi. I can’t.” I could barely get the words out, because I was having all I could do not to pant.

“Oh, no,” he said. “You’re not thinking positively enough. There’s no such word as can’t.”

He handed me my skirt, and I pulled it up helplessly and fastened the zipper as he watched. He was still watching while I pulled the sweater over my head and looked in the mirror at my nipples pebbling under the thin fabric.

“Cold outside,” he said. “You’ll be wearing a jacket. I know your legs will be a bit chilly, but we’ll walk fast, eh. We’re not going far.”

“Oh.” I felt foolish again. Nobody was going to see. He was trying to make me feel sexy, that was all. And it was working. “Right.”