by Alexa Wilder
Not to mention the money he’d already spent on the clothes he’d asked his assistant to buy. They weren’t flashy, but I knew the designers well enough to know that there was at least several thousand dollars hanging in the closet upstairs, not to mention the dress, panties and sandals I was wearing at the moment. Part of me was dying to see what his idea of going shopping was, but it felt weird. It was too much for a weekend fling.
“I don’t need anything else. You’ve already bought me too much. We can go back to the room instead,” I said, hopefully. His smile sent a jolt of arousal straight between my legs.
“We’ll go back to the room. Later. First, I want to go shopping.”
“Why? Really, it’s not necessary.”
At that, he laughed. “Of course it’s not necessary. Does it have to be necessary? Or does it offend your accountant’s heart to spend money on something you don’t strictly need?” I looked away, too embarrassed to admit he’d figured me out. He laughed again. “Get over it. We’re going shopping. Please tell me you aren’t in the wedding.”
I shook my head. “No. Thank God. Cathie is the maid of honor and Christie has her friends as bridesmaids.”
“Then we’re at least getting you a new dress for the wedding. And making a stop at La Perla. Or Agent Provocatuer. Maybe both. And more shoes, I think.”
I was completely speechless. I bought my underwear from a catalogue. It was nice enough, I thought. He hadn’t seemed to mind when he’d stripped it off of me. But I’d never owned anything like La Perla or Agent Provocatuer. Dylan was right, the idea of spending hundreds of dollars for a bra, or a pair of panties, was beyond my bank account or my sensibilities. Besides, I was more than happy to skip clothes of all kinds for the rest of the weekend. Except for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding itself.
Dylan, in what I was learning was his typical style, ran right over my objections. He hooked his arm through mine and we walked through the hotel to valet parking, where his Maserati was waiting. A short drive later, we passed the car off to yet another valet attendant and entered the first floor of Neiman Marcus. I’d browsed here before, but I’d rarely shopped. I tried to slow Dylan’s pace so I could take in the displays, but he steered me straight to the escalators. Apparently, he knew where he was going.
14
Leigha
The next thing I knew I was standing in the women’s department surrounded by lovely cocktail dresses, listening to Dylan say,
“Tell Lola that Dylan Kane is here. She’s expecting me.”
The clerk nodded her head and said, “Yes, sir,” before she disappeared into the back of the store.
“Lola is my personal shopper. She’ll take good care of us.” He smiled down at me with something that looked like affection. My knees went weak. Still feeling a little vulnerable from my freak-out that morning, I reminded myself to be on my guard with him. We were just having fun. It didn’t mean anything.
“So Melissa doesn’t buy your clothes, too?” I teased. Dylan’s smiled, and the crinkle around his green eyes when he did made me wish we were alone.
“No. She doesn’t have the time. And Lola knows every square inch of Neiman’s. She could assemble a complete wardrobe in twenty minutes if she had to.”
“Dylan, you flatter me.”
I turned to see a mature woman walking toward us, her honey colored hair twisted into a loose bun, her smile friendly. Reaching out, she took Dylan’s offered hand, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. I couldn’t quite place her faint accent. Not Spanish, but close. She released Dylan’s hand and turned to face me.
“What have you brought me this morning?” Her eyebrows lifted, her expression expectant.
“Lola, this is my friend Leigha Carmichael. Leigha, Lola.”
I extended my hand, not sure how to read her. She wasn’t flirting with Dylan, which was a surprise and a relief. They seemed to share and easy, friendly camaraderie. It made me a little shy, though. If she was friendly with him, how would she feel about him buying clothes for some woman he barely knew? Would she think I was a gold digger? Before I could stress out too much about it, I found my hand clasped between both of hers.
“Lovely, just lovely,” she said to Dylan. To me, she leaned closer, as if telling a secret, and said, “You know, Dylan has never brought me a woman to dress. I’ve sent him some bits and pieces over the years, but has he ever introduced me to a young lady? No.” She shook her head, her flair for drama making me smile. “We’re going to have some fun today.”
“Oh, no, I think you misunderstood,” I started to say. Dylan’s hand over my mouth cut me off.
“Leigha needs a dress to wear to an evening wedding. Something appropriate, but I want it to be the best dress in the room. And we’d like to see anything else you have that might look good on her. Anything.”
From the emphasis he put on the last word, I was pretty sure he was asking her to pick out lingerie. I blushed at the thought. Dylan caught my pink cheeks and smiled.
“Lola is right,” he whispered in my ear. “We’re going to have fun.”
And we did, at least for a while. Lola ushered us to the back of the store, through a set of double doors and into a private lounge. After leaving us with a bottle of champagne and asking me a few questions about sizes and preferred styles, she vanished. She returned ten minutes and one glass of champagne later followed by an assistant who struggled to keep up. Hanging several dresses on a nearby rack, she murmured instructions to the assistant and sent her back into the store. To me, she said,
“Alright, miss. Up and into the dressing room please. I have a few selections for us to try.”
Putting down my glass, I followed her into the small room. On the wall, she hung two dresses. One was a color block dress with ivory scalloped lace on top, and black satin from the ribcage down to the high-low hem finished in eyelets. The other was its opposite, a confection of strapless black tulle and satin, embroidered all over with delicate silver daisies. Neither was a dress I would have chosen for myself, and not just because I was sure they cost more than my car was worth. As if she didn’t notice my hesitation, Lola said,
“The de la Renta first, please.” At my blank look, she smiled and gently explained, “The black and ivory, dear.”
She slipped out of the dressing room, giving me privacy to strip off the navy flowered sundress and contemplate the designer dress hanging in front of me. To my surprise, it slipped on easily, fitting itself to my curves as if it had been made for me. I did up as much of the zipper as I could and gaped at my reflection in the mirror. The dress was aggressively sexy. On another woman, one with a straighter, smaller body, it might simply be elegant. On me, it revealed the full curves of my breasts, made my waist look tiny and the hi-low hemline showed off the best part of my legs. I looked modern, edgy, and sexual. I was afraid to look at the price tag. A soft knock on the door startled me.
“Yes?”
“Do you need help with the zipper?” Lola asked.
“Please.”
She slipped in and circled around me, examining the fit of the dress. Without comment, she stopped behind me and pulled the zipper the rest of the way up. Her hands twisted in my hair, doing something that ended up with the thick mass of it piled on my head in a makeshift up-do, secured by a glittery clip she’d snapped into place. Dropping to her knees, Lola eased my bare feet into equally glittery gold heels. A moment later, I looked ready to stroll into a gala. Speechless, I stared at myself in the mirror. Lola stood beside me, grinning.
“I am amazing, am I not?”
I grinned back at her. She was gone ten minutes, and she came back with this?
“Amazing doesn’t cover it,” I said, squeezing her hand in a thank you. Even if I never wore it, getting to play dress up in Oscar de la Renta was the most fun I’d had in ages. Outside of having sex with Dylan.
“Let’s see what Dylan thinks,” she said. I followed her out of the dressing room, eager to see Dylan’s reaction. He didn’t di
sappoint.
As I stepped out of the dressing room, he rose, following Lola and me to the three-way mirror. Much as Lola had, he circled me, examining me. Unlike Lola, his eyes were possessive. Predatory. Standing behind me, he met my eyes in the mirror.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Do you?” I thought it looked fantastic, but I wasn’t confident enough to say so out loud.
“You look gorgeous. Sexy. Powerful. I won’t be able to leave your side or the men will be all over you. But we won’t get it unless you like it.”
“I like it,” I said in a whisper, my head spinning from Dylan’s words. I thought I looked good, but the way he described me melted my heart.
“Then we’ll get it. And the shoes. Go try on the other one.” He kissed the side of my mouth.
“But-” If we were getting this one, I didn’t need another dress.
“Humor me,” he said. “If Lola brought two dresses, you should try on the other one.”
“Okay.” Lola trailed me to the dressing room. After helping me with the zipper, she discretely slipped out, saying,
“If you need help with the bustier, let me know.”
I glanced down at the bench beside the hanging dresses to see a black satin bustier. Looking at the other dress, I realized it was strapless. I’d need something more beneath to hold me, and the dress, in place. Carefully removing the ivory and black de la Renta I was wearing, I replaced it on its hanger before turning to the bustier.
Getting it on was a little bit of a battle, but I wasn’t ready for the svelte Lola to see me mostly naked. She’d been nothing but kind, and I had no reason to think she’d sneer at me. Still, I was too shy to ask for help with my underwear. In the end, I fastened most of the hook and eyes in the front, then wiggled it around and settled it in place. Lola could do the last few once I had the dress on.
And what a dress. If the black and white de la Renta was elegant and sexy, this was a grown woman’s fairytale. An underdress of black satin provided the framework for yards and yards of transparent, shimmering black tulle embroidered with delicate silver daisies. I lowered the zipper, peeking at the label inside the bodice. Carolina Herrera. Wow. I loved her dresses, but had never dreamed of even trying one on, much less owning one. Unable to resist, I looked for the price tag. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised to find it was missing. That was probably for the best. I didn’t really want to know what it cost. I could guess, and the guess was enough to freak me out if I thought about it too much.
Stepping into the gown, I pushed the cost out of my mind. I’d made it clear to Dylan that he didn’t have to buy me anything. He’d made it equally clear that he wanted to. Who was I to argue? I eased the dress up, tugging it gently over the curve of my breasts. When I had the zipper mostly up, I called softly to Lola. A moment later, the door opened, and she stepped inside. Fastening the last hooks of the bustier and the rest of the zipper, she smoothed the fabric over my hips and sighed.
“You look like a princess. All you’re missing are your slippers.”
Avoiding my reflection in the mirror, I took the sparkling sandals from her and slipped them on, admiring the crystal embellished straps and delicate bows setting off the silver spike heels. If Cinderella had a choice other than glass, she would have gone for these shoes. Apt, since I was turning back into a pumpkin in two days. Everything buckled, zipped and hooked into place, I risked a glance in the mirror.
“Oh, wow,” I breathed at my reflection. I looked like a princess. Both dresses were too formal for Christie’s wedding, and I’d never have a chance to wear either one again. But my heart squeezed in my chest as I saw myself in the dressing room mirror. I didn’t look drab, plump, or boring. My skin glowed against the shimmering black tulle, my grey eyes seemed lit from within, my full breasts curving beautifully but contained in the bodice of the dress, my waist nipped in, looking smaller than I knew it was. I met Lola’s eyes as I turned to open the door. Her smile told me I looked as good in the dress as I thought I did. Stepping out of the dressing room, I waited to see what Dylan would say.
15
Dylan
I’d been checking my messages on my phone when I heard the handle turn on the dressing room door. Looking up, I got my first glimpse of Leigha in the second dress. I froze, my usually razor sharp brain on lock down. She stood there, in fairytale crystal heels and a fantasy of a dress, her eyes as open and vulnerable as I’d ever seen them. I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I needed to say something. She was insecure about her looks. That was easy enough to figure out, and a little nervous about letting me buy her expensive clothes. Most women would be trying to see how much they could get out of me, but not Leigha.
She stood completely still, waiting for my reaction. I didn’t know what to say. Every word in my vocabulary was inadequate to describe the picture she made. Beautiful would be true, but not enough. She was grace and elegance, lovely and sexy at the same time. The luscious curves of her tits and ass combined with her clear, intelligent, grey eyes and her smooth, creamy skin, all wrapped in that amazing dress. She was mine. She had to be. I couldn’t let something this precious get away from me.
Lola’s low murmur brought me back to my senses, and I noticed Leigha’s open expression beginning to falter. She thought I didn’t like it. Clearing my throat, I said,
“We’ll take both of them. And we’d like to see a selection of daytime and cocktail dresses. Lingerie as well.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lola and her assistant disappeared, leaving me alone with Leigha. It had only been a few hours since I’d fucked her in the shower. It felt like an eternity. If she was a different women, I’d already be backing her into the dressing room, stripping off that $10,000 dress and fucking her from behind against the full length mirror. I’d let her keep on the fairytale shoes. It would be like fucking an angel. Having been in that pussy, I knew it would feel like fucking Heaven.
Sadly, Leigha was not that woman. Pushing her boundaries was one thing. I planned to do a lot of that. But in her heart, Leigha was a good girl. Trying to fuck her in what was essentially Lola’s office would not go over well. I resigned myself to waiting until we got back to the hotel. My original plan had been to take her to one of the high-end lingerie stores and play with her in the privacy of their dressing rooms. Not anymore. I didn’t want to wait. Lola’s selection was good enough. We could save the trip to Agent Provocateur for another day.
“Dylan?” I heard Leigha whisper. Turning to face her, I reached out for her hand. “Is it okay?” she asked.
I still had no idea what to say. Taking the easy way out, I closed the distance between us and took her face in my hands. Her lips were soft under mine, yielding sweetly to me as I kissed away her doubt. Not trusting myself, I kept my touch isolated to her face, holding her still as our kiss went wild.
I’d meant to reassure her, but once I had her taste it wasn’t enough. Her mouth, the tiny whimpers in her throat as my tongue tangled with hers, it all drove me to the edge. I couldn’t remember the last time a kiss was enough to get me this hard, this fast. I kept her there, teetering on her heels, her mouth feeding from mine, until the scuff of Lola’s shoe betrayed that we were no longer alone. I broke away and whispered in her ear,
“You’re more beautiful than I imagined a woman could be. Try this stuff on fast so we can get back to the Delecta and I can fuck you until you can’t walk.”
After a moment of silence, Leigha fell into me, her body shaking with giggles. She gasped for breath, her shoulders trembling, tits jiggling in the strapless bodice in a way that did not help my cock go soft. When she finally had herself under control, she whispered back,
“That is both the most romantic and the crudest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“If that was the crudest thing anyone has ever said to you, we’re going to have to expand your horizons.”
16
Leigha
The glint in his eye when he talked abou
t expanding my horizons made my knees weak. Before I could think of what to say, Lola was ushering me back into the dressing room. The next hour was a whirlwind of rattling hangers, zippers, and quick trips into the lounge to show Dylan what I was wearing. Cocktail dresses, their fabric fine, colors dark and dramatic, each dress with shoes to match. Day dresses, not unlike the one I’d worn earlier in the day. My head spun. I lost my nerves about Lola seeing me in my underwear, giving in to her relentless urgings to try this and that. Dylan wanted us to move quickly, and it seemed Dylan got what he wanted.
I lost track of how many things I’d tried on or what Dylan liked. I never even saw most of the underwear. Lola had me try on one bra, made of the thinnest pale pink silk, before whisking it off and calling “thirty-six D” to her assistant. I caught sight of the letters ‘erla’ on the bra and knew it had to be La Perla. I swallowed hard. I had no idea what the dresses I’d tried on since the ball gown cost, but I knew about La Perla. I’d drooled over La Perla. Dylan was crazy to be spending this kind of money on a woman he’d never see again after this weekend.
I, on the other hand, was not crazy. Exchanging my body for a wedding date notwithstanding, I wasn’t a fool. He was a billionaire, and he wanted to shower me with a ridiculously expensive wardrobe. I wasn’t going to say no.
When I left him, I’d be walking away from the best sex of my life--amazing, life changing sex with a man who managed to be both domineering and sweet. Just the thought of him touching me got me wet. I knew dating other men after this would be even more of a letdown than dating had been before Dylan. That hadn’t exactly been anything special. At least I’d have an unbelievable wardrobe to console me.
