by Stasia Black
“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s a really admirable way to look at—”
“No,” she cuts me off with a slash of her hand. Her eyebrows furrow in frustration. “I’m not just talking bullshit platitudes.” It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her curse and I suddenly clue in. She’s saying something important here. If it was anyone else talking, these would just be words, but what she’s saying really means something to her. Something very real. The warmth in my chest gets tight. Because no one in my world talks like this. It’s all small talk and self-congratulatory B.S. Nothing that actually matters.
“I lived when others didn’t. It’s criminal if I don’t live my life fully.” She’s staring at me with an intensity that I feel down to my bones. “Do you understand?”
I don’t. Not really. Especially the first part. She lived when others didn’t. What does that mean? Just like in general—people die every day and we’re alive? Or did she survive some kind of plane or car crash and has survivor’s guilt?
But I nod like I do get it. Because in a way, I do. Or at least, I remember the feeling.
She’s saying she has to live each day like she’s fucking alive. And I’ve felt that drive before, though not in a long, long time, and probably not in the same way as Scarlet. But there was a six-month period when I first got free from New York. From my mother. I was living in Europe and I’d gotten into a premiere French chef school on scholarship. I was making friends for the first time. Learning how to talk to girls. I lost my virginity to a very lovely French girl in my class who couldn’t cook for shit but who loved fast cars and the fact that I was American.
Everything was amazing and I felt this duty to live the fuck out of every molecule of every second. It was before… Well, before.
But Christ, I don’t want to think about any of that.
I want to be in this moment. Completely here in the present, in this millisecond with this amazing girl.
I open my mouth to say something, I’m not sure what. Gibberish about how beautiful she is and how I didn’t think people like her actually existed—you know, people who are truly as lovely on the inside as they are on the outside?
“Come on,” Scarlet says suddenly, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me after her as she marches us down the row between racks of clothes.
“Where—?”
“No talking.”
I raise my eyebrows but she can’t see me, intent as she is on wherever the hell it is she’s going. She takes us down another row of clothes and then makes a beeline for the furniture section.
Okay. Maybe she suddenly feels very passionate about acquiring an end table?
She drags me all the way to the corner where several big cabinets stand, the old wooden kind that are heavy as hell, made before they started making everything out of particle board. There’s a glass door on the one she stops in front of. Inside the cabinet are several display shelves and it has a mirror on the interior back wall.
I only notice the mirror because Scarlet looks into it and a sly smile comes over her face. Scarlet’s a smiley person, but this is one I’ve never seen on her before.
She drops the clothing she had over her arm on a home entertainment center that’s off to the side and then her eyes come back to the mirror.
Her eyes are bright and cheeks flushed. What is she so excited about? It’s contagious even though I’m standing here like an idiot, confused. But I can’t stop watching her watch herself in the mirror. Then her eyes move up and meet mine in the reflective surface.
“Cover me,” she whispers, her voice at a lower register than normal. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”
Before I can ask what she means, Scarlet’s hand descends down her stomach toward the boxers she’s wearing.
What the—
Holy fu— She’s not—
I let out a small choked off gasp.
Because she is. She most definitely fucking is.
She’s about to finger herself right out in the open, in the middle of the store.
Chapter 3
Her eyes stay glued on her reflection as her hand slips lower and then disappears inside the boxers she’s wearing as shorts.
Her entire body arches as contact is made. My mouth goes dry in an instant. She stretches her neck, head tilted back just the slightest bit, eyes mere slits as she continues watching herself.
And the look on her face. Christ. Fuck.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my whole goddamned life. And I’ve seen a lot of women try to be sexy for me.
But none of them have ever demonstrated such pure, honest want mixed with the free expression of pleasure. Stripped and vulnerable. Like this is how she touches herself in the privacy of her room in the dark.
But holy shit, she’s just fucking doing it right here out in the open. In the middle of a store. In public. But not, at the same time.
This is a show just for my eyes. I’m the only one she’s really sharing it with.
My dick goes from half-mast to hard in three seconds flat. I want to grab her hips so bad and grind my dick into her ass. I want to reach around and pinch her nipples that are peeking through the thin fabric of my shirt that she’s wearing. I want to whisper in her ear that she’s a Madonna and she’s a whore and I’ve never been so turned on in my entire fucking life.
The tiniest high-pitched little gasp escapes her lips and her brows scrunch together in pleasure, eyelids fluttering as her hand continues moving. Her hips rock slightly back and forth against her hand. Then her rosebud mouth drops open like it’s all getting to be too much, too good. And for a second, just the briefest moment, her eyes flick up to meet mine before dropping back to look at her hand where it disappears underneath the fabric of my too-large shirt that hangs on her delicate frame.
My goddamned hard-on could punch through wood.
I need to fuck.
I need to fuck her.
That look. She wants me in her goddamn pussy. That was an invitation. Why bring me over here if not to fuck her? She might be an angel, but she’s also a fucking dirty little witch. I bet she wants it hard. I’ve got a condom in my wallet. Never leave home unprepared. See, I am a fucking Boy Scout after all.
A shudder racks her body and her eyelids flutter even more. She arches her back and that gorgeous neck of hers elongates.
But she doesn’t lean back into me. She doesn’t grab my hand to put it on her breast.
No, she’s standing two inches in front of me. My cock is thick and painful smashed down the leg of my pants and the sexiest goddess I’ve ever witnessed is fucking herself just a hairsbreadth away from me.
Goddammit, I think this is just a show. A look but don’t touch kind of thing.
Can angels be schooled in the art of torture? Still, it’s such sweet, sweet fucking torture, I don’t want it to end. But maybe not? Maybe I’m reading it wrong? Oh please Christ, let this be a show and touch.
I reach forward to breach that small gap between us.
Her eyes widen in alarm and I have my answer about whether she’s interested in my participation. There’s disappointment, sure. But fuck, I still get to be this close while I’ve got the best damn live show I’ve ever had.
“Okay, no touching. I just want to watch,” I speak softly in her ear as I lift up the too-long shirt she’s wearing. I take a second to glance around us, but of the few patrons browsing the racks this far back in the store, none are paying us any attention. I lift up the front of her shirt so that I can see her wrist and the top of her hand where it disappears down into the boxers.
“Show me, dirty girl. Let me see you fucking yourself.” I’m whispering, but this comes out as a low growl. “Show me how wet you are. Let me smell you.”
She bites her lip hard and again those blue eyes meet mine in the mirror, fogged with lust and the tiniest bit of fear. But also determination.
I open my mouth and slowly mime how I’d lick her cunt, never taking my eyes off hers. Her gaze drops to lo
ok at my mouth.
Her mouth pops open and her breathing gets heavier as she watches my tongue, her chest pumping up and down even harder now. The hand inside her pants slides to the side, and along with the other, she slips the boxers ever so slightly down her hips. She glances around nervously and then slips them lower.
With me positioned as I am, standing behind her, and with us boxed in by the haphazardly stacked furniture on two other sides, there’s not much chance that anyone will figure out what we’re doing unless they come up directly beside us. Scarlet must come to the same conclusion because she lets the boxers drop to the ground. Then she stretches her legs wide and I get to see the prettiest little cunt on God’s green Earth.
I only get a glimpse of trim blonde curls and glistening pink folds before Scarlet’s hand obscures my view. I move to look over her shoulder, which inadvertently causes my hard-on to graze her ass. Oh fuck. I didn’t mean to do it but fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
From my new vantage point, I can see how she rotates her middle finger in tight circles over her clit. Her high, round breasts move up and down with her deep, uneven breaths. Then, aw fuck Christ son of a—
She slips the middle finger into her sweet little pussy and it makes a squelching noise. A fucking squelching noise because she’s so goddamned wet.
So fucking wet and ready for my cock. God she’s ready. She sticks a second finger in and fucks herself, her thumb moving to take over at her clit.
“Fuck,” I speak through gritted teeth. “You’re so fucking hot right now. It’s taking everything in me not to flip you over that dining room table behind us and fuck the hell out of you.”
Her eyes flare in the mirror and she pumps her fingers even harder. “Don’t you dare,” she hisses back. “Look but don’t touch.”
That’s what she says but then she rolls her ass back and forth across my hard-on. “Oh fuck,” she whispers in a high-pitched whine. “Hold me up so I don’t fall.”
I don’t need a second invitation to touch her. I grab her by her waist, though, because I’ll be a gentleman even if it goddamn kills me and my rock-hard dick.
It’s fucking worth it. She slumps back into me, giving me all her weight as she abandons herself completely to the self-fuck, slamming her fingers in and out of herself, rubbing her thumb so furiously it seems like it would hurt, but then—
Her face scrunches up like she’s in agony, her legs stiffen and she just keeps rubbing and circling and rubbing and fuck!
I can’t help pressing my dick against her round ass, releasing pressure, then pressing in again. It’s not the kind of friction I usually require but Christ, I need something, anything, because the agonized look turns to something like shocked worship, her eyebrows high, mouth open and stretched so wide. She’s not looking at me, her gaze is locked somewhere in the distance, beyond this plane of existence, it feels like. One spasm jerks through her body, then another and another. Finally her whole frame stiffens like a board, that intense expression of awed pleasure locked on her features.
Usually in any situation even remotely sexual, all I can concentrate on is seeking my release, but I pause my half-unintentional dry humping and stare at her face. Her eyes go glossy and tears trickle down her cheeks right before her body goes completely slack in my arms.
I blink and breathe hard as I gather her to me. Holy shit. My head feels like a strange mixture of foggy and hyper-focused. Like everything outside of the bubble where Scarlet and I exist is a blur and there’s just her and me.
Her hair brushes against my face as I lean over to help pull up her boxers. Little tufts of hair escape her braid everywhere and Christ, it’s just as soft as I thought it would feel. I inhale and she smells like coconut which makes me think of the beach and sunshine. Which is absolutely perfect for Scarlet. Sunshine. Light. Happiness.
Her body trembles and she takes in several deep breaths before laughing softly and pulling away from me. Not looking in my direction, she smooths her long shirt down and sweeps her braid over her shoulder so it hangs in a long rope down her back.
“All right.” Her voice is a low and husky whisper. As if she notices it too, she clears her throat. She steps away from me and peeks shyly over her shoulder. “We can go check out now.”
Then without another word, she grabs the clothes she set to the side and makes a beeline for the front of the store where the registers are.
And I— I mean— That’s it? We share that insane experience and now she’s moving on like nothing even happened?
Apparently so. She’s halfway to the front of the store and here I am, left hanging with my mouth open and a case of blue balls that I can tell is going to be a bitch. I adjust myself as discreetly as possible but yeah, I’m still pitching a huge tent in the front of my pants.
I untuck my shirt and let it hang to help hide my junk and then start after Scarlet. If anyone wonders why I’m walking weird, well fuck ‘em.
I meet up with Scarlet at the register where the clerk is ringing up the items. The clerk is an older woman with atrociously magenta hair and she’s wearing puffy stuffed reindeer horns on her head even though it’s still two months from Christmas. Scarlet’s not looking at the woman’s outrageous getup, though.
Her eyes are zeroed in on the glowing green number above the register that rises with each item the attendant runs past the scanner. When it hits seventy-five dollars, Scarlet puts out a hand to stop the woman from scanning the next dress.
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I don’t need that one. Just put it to the side.”
I look at Scarlet incredulously. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I tell Scarlet. Then I address the lady behind a counter. “Keep going. We’ll take it all.”
Scarlet swings her head toward me, eyes hard and narrowed. “Don’t be a jackass.” All the soft vulnerability from a few moments ago is totally gone. If the little curls at her temple weren’t still slightly damp, I’d think Scarlet had a much-less-nice twin who has suddenly shown up.
“This is way too much.” Her hand flicks toward the glowing screen by the register where the item line shows $9.99. “They charge more for things at this Goodwill. At the one where I grew up, that wouldn’t have been more than five dollars.”
Then her attention turns back to me. “Tell her to stop. I’m not spending more than fifty dollars of your money. Besides,” she drops her voice to a whisper, her eyes going hard. “This is so not payment for…that.” Her eyes flick back over to the furniture area of the store. “That was just a random impulse I had. I don’t want you thinking you need to spend your money on me now.” She shudders. “I’m no whore. I might be homeless but I never did that to get by.”
My mouth drops open. What the—? This woman—
“Pardon us.” I smile at the woman behind the counter and then put my hand to the small of Scarlet’s back. Firmly, I guide her several steps away from the counter.
“What the hell? I would never think of trying to pay you for—” My outrage is clear. And the fact that she’d think I’d try to buy her off with fifty bucks of Goodwill clothes? That’s literally the craziest shit I’ve ever heard. So, I can’t help adding, “And even if I did, Christ, you’re worth at least seventy-five. No, hands down,” I shake my head and look at her seriously, “I wouldn’t take less than eighty if I was you.”
Her eyes go wide and she gives me a death glare to rival all death glares but she can’t hold it. She busts up laughing. “You’ve got a little bit of evil bastard in you, don’t you?” she asks.
I lift my shoulders. Let’s hope she never finds out how much.
“Guilty. Now.” I gesture back at the register. “This is nothing to me. Less than nothing. You want to know how much I spend on a pair of underwear?”
She looks taken aback but her eyes narrow in curiosity.
“One hundred and seventy-five dollars.”
Her eyebrows jump so high they almost touch her hairline. “No way.”
“Every single pair.”
Her
hands shoot down to the pair that she’s wearing. “Even these?” she squeaks.
I nod solemnly. “Derek Rose pure silk classic boxers. Direct from London.”
She just blinks at me for a moment. “Holy shit,” she finally says. “You’re insane.”
I shrug. “It’s the fabric that touches the most intimate part of my body. I want only the best.”
She apparently can’t stop shaking her head. Then a thought seems to strike her and she leans in again. “How much is the shirt I’m wearing?”
I grin. “A thousand dollars.”
“You’re BS-ing me!” She slaps my arm.
“Nope.”
She jumps up and down in place for a moment with one hand over her mouth like she’s stopping herself from shouting a bunch of curses and then she seems to notice the clerk watching the both of us like we are safari animals that wandered out of a nearby zoo.
“Your total is eighty-six fifty,” says the woman.
Scarlet looks down at the clothes like again she’s deciding what to tell the clerk to put back.
“Don’t you dare.” I meet her eyes. “I spend ridiculous amounts of money every day on things that don’t matter. But you do—matter. Helped me break trend, at least for one day.”
Then I hand over my black Amex.
Scarlet breathes out, then purses her lips, but she lets me do it. As soon as I take the bag from the clerk and hand it to her, she’s already shaking her head.
“Really it’s ridiculous to even have gotten this much. I’m going to have a hard enough time fitting this in a backpack as it is.”
Then her face goes reflective as she pushes through the exit doors and we continue on toward the car. “Or maybe I can find a hidey hole to stash the rest of the stuff. I did that for a while once and it worked okay.” Then her mouth flattens into a line. “At least until someone found my stash and totally cleaned me out.” She pauses. “I bet it was that crazy chick Tracy. I swear I saw her wearing my favorite sweater. And she did used to follow me around all the time. I bet it was her.” She nods, like she’s just now figuring it out and confirming it to herself.
