Vanilla On Top

by C. J. Ellisson

  Carla laughs, a full-bodied sound that turns more interested men our way. “Good point! I have no room to talk. But seriously, I don’t act like that on a date. He just gave off the player vibe.” She picks up her spoon. “It didn’t sit right with me.”

  I eat soup and think about how Tony acted with me. I can’t help but wonder if he would treat me differently in public than he did in private. He’s been a perfect gentleman, so far. My face heats as I remember him touching himself, the naked desire on his face as he looked down at me. Well…at least until I told him to come. After that, his eyes closed briefly in rapturous delight as he shot ribbons of—

  “Spill, Heather.” Carla smiles. “You’re five shades of red, right now. I want to know what off-color thoughts you’ve got spinning in that pretty little head of yours.”

  “Tony came over to my place last night.”

  Carla squeals with delight, leaping out of her chair to hug me. “Oh, my God. Tell me everything. Did he stay the night?” She hastily returns to her seat, eager eyes glued on me.

  “No!” I laugh at her exuberance. “Come on, Carla. You know me better than that.”

  She waves me off. “Yeah, yeah. A girl can hope. So, how did it go?”

  I sigh, the deep breath spilling out of me and taking my tension with it. “Incredible. We talked and ate for hours.”

  “And then?” Her eyes widen. “What happened for dessert?”

  I squirm in my chair, unwilling to share too much in a public place, especially after she broadcasted my patio exploits over coffee. “I fed him chocolate covered strawberries…from my mouth.”

  “Ooo…sexy. Nice touch.” She digs into her soup. “Then did he do you all night and you booted him out before morning?” Humor lights her eyes as she waggles her eyebrows.

  “No…but we both had a satisfying evening, if you get my meaning.”

  “Damn, hon, I’ve known you for years. Of course, I get your meaning. I just want to know the how.”

  I look out the window, uncomfortable with revealing the intimate details and my actions of the evening. “Not much to tell, really.”

  “Oh come on, did you tell him what to do again? Order him around like some dominatrix?”

  Anger lights inside me, swift and sure over her belittling question. What Tony and I shared last night was intimate, not some power play enacted for a man who wants to be told he’s a bad boy and needs to be whipped and humiliated to reach orgasm.

  “It’s nothing like that, Carla.” I put down my spoon, no longer hungry. “I don’t dominate him or humiliate him, for crying out loud. It’s just good, clean fun.”

  Carla’s demeanor changes when she sees I’ve taken offense. “Okay, relax. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off. Geesh, you’re sensitive today.”

  My mouth opens to apologize and I snap it shut. She says something crappy and I’m the one who needs to say I’m sorry? The old Heather would have bent over backward, accepting fault for a misunderstanding, but the new me is saying not today, dammit.

  “I’m sensitive because you implied what I’m doing makes me a dominatrix?”

  Carla’s hands fly up in a stop motion, palms facing me. “Whoa. You’re right. It was the wrong choice of words.” She smiles, possibly hoping to put us back on firmer ground. “Besides, if we were going to get technical,” she winks to show she’s kidding, “I bet you’d fall under the category of a ‘vanilla dom.’”

  My anger deflates as I think about her words. I may not be ready for whips, chains, humiliation, and name-calling…but I do like the sound of vanilla. “Is that a real term? Vanilla dom?”

  “Nah.” She relaxes, sitting back in her chair now that the tension has drained between us. “But if it was, you’d be it.”

  We finish our meal in companionable silence, talking about our own up-coming weeks every now and then. She’s traveling to Philly and we won’t get to hook up again until at least Friday. We leave and go our separate ways, my invitation to have her join me for shopping turned down once she complained about laundry and packing. I’ve got several hours before meeting Tony and decide to shop on my own.

  I catch sight of my reflection in a passing mirror, pleased anew with my bouncy curls. More male eyes seem to be drawn toward me, and I’m not sure if it’s the hair or my attitude.

  Strolling toward my destination, the indoor mall on Broadway, I spot a black corset in a shop window. A quick glance at the leather shop’s signage has me smiling. I may not be a biker chick, but I bet I’ll find some fun stuff in here.

  The rich smell of new leather fills my senses as I enter. The muted lighting and loud music almost feel at odds with one another, each giving off a separate and distinct vibe. Coats, chaps, boots, shirts, pants—dozens of colors and textures hang on racks and wall displays. You name it, it’s here and made of leather.

  A rugged man in his late thirties with sideburns and a wickedly sexy grin approaches me. “Can I help you find something today?”

  I try my best not to stare at the swirl of colorful tattoos over his chest and arms peeking behind his skimpy black leather vest. “Yes. I like the black corset in the window.”

  His smile grows, and the twinkle in his eye makes me think he’s picturing it on me as we speak. “Sure thing. Follow me and I’ll help find your size.”

  I trail after him toward the back of the shop, noticing his leather pants really show off his butt nicely. “Here we are.” He whips around and my face burns, sure he’s caught me staring at his backside.

  “Thank you.” I reach blindly for the rack, willing the redness to pass. “Uh…how are these sized?”

  “Some are small, medium, and so on. Others are bra band sizes.” He eyes me with masculine appreciation, no hint of reproof or judgment that I might not be well endowed up top. “You look like a thirty-four, that about right?”

  My facial burn returns, as I try to look anywhere but at his welcoming face. “Yes, that’s right.”

  The salesman pulls out a beautifully intricate style, something I never would have chosen. The bodice is offset with a black embroidered swirling design, reminiscent of vines and leaves. He turns the corset around to expose an open-back weave design, large crisscrossing straps of leather instead of the traditional solid back with corset ties.

  Immediately, my mind goes to Tony’s hands running down my back last night, almost reverent in their touch. A slight chill runs through me as I extend a hand to accept the hanger. “I’ll try this one, thanks.”

  He nods toward the dressing rooms, giving me space to get there on my own. My eyes sink to the bulge in the front of his pants, well hugged and cupped by leather. My voice rings out before I’m even conscious of the thought, “How about pants, too?”

  Within thirty minutes I’ve bought leather pants that fit like second skin and a corset top to pair with it. If the hint of appreciation in the salesman’s eye is anything to go by, they look damn good on me. Anticipation spikes through me. What would Carla say if she saw me in such a get up?

  I’d like to think she’d hoot and holler for me, but with the way we’ve been at odds lately, I’m not too sure. Warmth starts low in my middle when I ponder what Tony would say. I bargain he’d love the outfit—what man doesn’t like a woman in tight leather?

  I travel to the mall, which is near the coffee shop where I agreed to meet Tony later, and remember last night. Our mutual ending was out of this world hot. I never expected it would go so smoothly, not in a million years. I’d enjoyed hearing about his likes and interests, even though he divulged little about his family.

  But, who am I to complain? If I’m perfectly honest, I haven’t exactly presented myself as I really am, more like who I’d like to become. Can I meld this new me with the old me?

  I stop in front of a shoe display, eyeing the expensive designer shoes I’d never normally buy. The spike heels and strappy designs scream sex. I walk in, zeroing in on the handsome salesman near the counter. His olive skin and brown hair remind me a l
ittle of Tony, and the idea of shopping and pretending it’s him intrigues me. I smile and he jumps to attention, rushing over to assist me.

  “Hi. Was there a style that caught your eye in the window? I’d be happy to get it for you.”

  I can do this. I can flirt and not stumble on my words. I nod. “The red ones with the silver heel, please.”

  He gestures to an empty chair near the front of the store. “Please, take a seat. What size?”

  “Seven.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I make myself comfortable and wait. In a moment the man returns, carrying three boxes of varying sizes with him instead of one. I hide a smile at his obvious attempt to sell me more shoes than simply the pair that caught my eye.

  “I brought out two other pairs I thought would look stunning on you.”

  “Sounds nice. Let’s try the first one.”

  With great showmanship, he removes the paper and bars used during shipping. I slip off my flats and, with my feet, scoot them beneath the chair. A warm hand glides down my ankle, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

  “May I?” he asks while looking up at me through his thick lashes.

  I nod, a lump in my throat. He’s handsome. Not as good looking as Tony, but not shabby by a long shot. Or as Carla would say, Damn, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.

  Gently he raises my foot, angles the pumps over the toes and slides the red leather onto my foot. A shiver steals up my back as I watch each sensual movement of his hands. Wow. I must be shopping at the wrong stores. I’ve never been turned on while buying footwear before.

  You’ve never been turned on by much before. Embrace it, don’t analyze it to death!

  He repeats the process with my other foot, then rises and waits for me to stand. The warmth from his hands lingers on my skin, reminding me of Tony’s hands on my backside last night. Recalling his attention, the heat in my middle spreads to my panties. I stand, experiencing a slight head rush from moving too quickly.

  I must look unbalanced because the young man reaches out a hand in offer if I need it. “How do they feel?”

  I ignore his hand and take stock of my feet, placing my weight firmly in the shoe and getting a sense of my balance. “So far, so good. They don’t hurt, but the real test will be walking in them.”

  I pace the length of the store, moving my hips a little more than I normally would. I like the way I feel in them. Sleek and powerful. Turning around, I catch the man’s eyes at butt level, not near the floor on my shoes. I march back to my chair, feeling like a lioness going after prey. By the look on his face, I bet he’d be eager to be caught.

  “You look good,” he says. His face freezes once he realizes what he said. “I mean the shoes, they look good on you.”

  I smile and stand near the chair, testing my weight on each foot to check for pinches. “I like them, too.” I lower to the seat, offering my ankle for him to assist. “Let’s try the next pair.”

  A familiar voice comes from the doorway. “I agree.” I whip around to see Tony moving straight for me, a dark look of desire and anger mixed in his expression. “You should get those.”

  Chapter Six

  Tony

  White hot rage coursed through me when I saw that punk sales guy kneeling at Heather’s feet with a hand on her leg. Her sexy stroll across the room had me ready to run in and sucker punch the look of interest off his face.

  Every fiber of my being wants to claim this woman as my own, but common sense stops me before I do anything rash.

  “Tony,” her voice comes out low and breathless. “What are you doing here?” She looks down at her wrist, checking the time.

  I stare at the kneeling man, letting my displeasure show. He jerks his hand off her ankle likes he’s been burned. “Just walking by,” I say, trying to calm the jealousy swimming through my system. The salesman scrambles to his feet and steps back, wisely putting distance between me and my intended target—Heather. I stalk forward. “Happened to see your familiar profile.” I smile while lowering to one knee, hoping the expression on my face is more seductive than scary-jealous-guy.

  I stare into her surprised face and curve a hand possessively around her exposed calf, trailing it slowly down to her ankle. “Your hair looks great,” I say softly, resisting the urge to touch the soft curls. I want to run my hand through them and grab a big fistful while driving into you over and over again. Her eyes widen when my hand reaches the red shoe on her foot. “May I help you with the next pair?”

  She shifts in the chair, an answering light of heat sparking in her eyes. “Y-yes.”

  I love that I’ve flustered her, and I’m going to enjoy touching her in public even more. Let that young idiot paw someone else. “What else did you pick?” I open the next box, larger than the first, to reveal a pair of black leather boots, a shiny metal zipper running down the back. The spiked heels are silver, just like the first red pair she tried.

  My eyebrows creep up my forehead over the bold choice. “Nice.” I glance at the price tag on the box. “Fifteen hundred?” I let out a low whistle. “You ladies and your shoes.” I smile to soften the comment, desperate to make this a lighthearted moment where I can tease.

  “I didn’t cho…er…,” she blushes and looks away.

  My earlier anger, at seeing him touching her drains out completely at her reaction. She’s so fresh and innocent, like she’s trying on shoes she’d never normally buy.

  I lift the first boot and unzip the back. The metal rasps as it descends, sparking little jolts of arousal through me. Heat flushes my face as I touch her ankle and calf a little more than necessary to slide in her foot. The material folds over her cropped jeans, eventually lying flat against the faded fabric, two inches above her knee.

  I reach behind the heel and tug the zipper slowly, reveling in my closeness to Heather. Shifting to grasp the pull-tab better, my mouth hovers over her thigh and I stifle the urge to place a kiss on the supple material covering her flesh. The zipper snags behind the curve of her bent knee. “I’ll pull it up the rest of the way when you stand.”

  She nods, a flush creeping up her neckline. I suppress a smile, pleased she’s as affected by me as I am by her. I start the intense process again with the other boot, this time more blatant in running my hands down her calf, dragging out my movements, feeling the soft smoothness of her skin before I slide the next boot heel in place.

  The rest of the store melts away while I’m lost in the sensual moment, with my black-haired vixen at the center. Once the second zipper reaches the bend, I offer Heather my hand to stand. She does, staring down at me with an expression I can’t read. I reach behind her thigh to finish zipping both boots, then quickly roll to my feet and step back.

  Some of the coyness I witnessed earlier is missing from her as she struts back and forth on the carpet, testing out the sexy boots. The heels shape her calves and raise her firm butt, forcing her onto her toes. My eyes trail from the glint of metal on the zipper, up the snug fitting jeans, to linger on the overall enticing image she makes in the boots. I’m buying them for her even if she doesn’t want them. I’d love to see her wearing them out for an evening, or staying in with nothing else on.

  “They feel fine,” she says while lowering herself once again to the chair. “But I don’t think I’ll wear them much.”

  A naughty flash singes my mind: her on my bed wearing these boots, legs in the air, spread wide, while I thrust into her…a chill courses down my back. “You never know.” I smile at her while she reaches to unzip them. “You may wear them more than you think.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Let me buy them.”

  She looks up from her task, surprise etching her features. “What?”

  “And the first pair, too.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t need you to buy shoes for me, Tony. I’m perfectly capable of purchasing them myself.”

  Crap, this isn’t going as I’d intended. What w
oman wouldn’t let a man she’s dating buy something for her? “But I want to,” I say, looking toward the salesman for assistance.

  Sensing an imminent sale, he rushes forward to claim both pairs before she can utter another word.

  “Tony, no.” She stands, motioning for the man to put the boxes down. I pull out my wallet and he ignores her. “It’s inappropriate. They cost too much.”

  “Nonsense. They aren’t too much.” I think back to what I’ve spent on Vegas weekends with past girlfriends. This purchase wouldn’t have even covered the rooms. I stride to the counter while she slips her regular shoes back on.

  A tingle buzzes through me as I picture how she can thank me for the shoes…maybe I can convince her to wear a pair today. I smile at the young salesman, no longer angry from his earlier behavior. I should cut the guy a break. She is sexy as hell, and he’s only trying to make a living.

  We complete the transaction and he hands me a big shopping bag with both pairs inside. I turn to Heather, a smug look on my face…to see the store lies empty. “Heather?”

  I look back at the salesman who shrugs. “Sorry. I didn’t see her leave.”

  I rush to the doorway and scan the crowd. She’s well and truly gone.

  Fuck. What did I do wrong?

  I dig in my pocket for my cell phone, scrolling through my call list until I come to her number from Friday. I try it and wait while it rings and then goes to voicemail.

  I text her. Where are you?

  I stare at the screen for a minute, hoping she’ll answer. Nope. Nothing.

  Did I do something wrong?

  Maybe she was flustered and went ahead to the coffee shop? My heart tells me yes while my head hammers no. I hurry the block to the café, hoping she’s sitting at a table waiting for me. The small place is packed with people, no sign of her shiny black curls among them.

  I debate taking a cab to her building, but foot the many blocks in silence, checking my cell phone every few minutes. Dammit! What did I do? Buying her expensive shoes isn’t a crime. I’ve never had a woman react like this to a gift before.