Opening her door, I reach for her hand, pulling her up and out of the car, then I place one arm around her waist, using the other arm to part the crowd.
“Come on, guys, give us a little room,” I say.
Cameras flash in our faces. Questions fly at us. How’d you meet? How about a kiss? Mae, are you hoping to score a role in his next movie?
We only have about ten feet between the car and the store, and I manage to get us in without incident. We’re met at the door by the store manager, who shoos the vultures away, then leads us to a private room in the back.
As we make our way, I look over at Mae. She’s taking deep breaths, but no trembling this time. I’m not opposed to fucking her in the dressing room if she needs it, but it looks like she’s handling the craziness much better this time.
The back room is set up specifically for high profile clients. It’s got a couple dressing rooms, a nice waiting area with a sofa and chairs, mirrors, and a bar with drinks and snacks. Mae looks up at me, a little crease between her eyes. “How are we supposed to shop from back here?”
Usually shopping involves looking through racks and racks of clothing, which is just one of the many reasons I hate it. But we don’t have to go through the hassle of that. “The store’s personal shoppers will pick things out for you from the front of the store, and then they bring them back here to you.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” she asks. “I think half the fun of shopping is going through the racks, finding the incredible deal.”
“You don’t need to find deals,” I say, and her eyes widen at me. “I’ve got it covered.”
“Knox, I don’t . . .”
“I want to,” I say, not letting her object further. “I can have them close the store for us, if you’d prefer. Cover the windows. That way, you can roam around and look yourself.”
“So I won’t ever be able to just walk into Target and browse again?”
My heart breaks a little for her. She just wants “normal.” But my life is the farthest thing from normal you can get. This is supposed to be fun. I hadn’t considered that even shopping would be so different and overwhelming for her.
“They have really cute clothes at Target,” she says, flipping over one of the price tags, her eyes going wide. “And their jeans don’t cost five hundred dollars.”
This isn’t about the money, I know that. And this isn’t about the jeans or the store, or even about her wanting to browse or find a deal.
This is about her freedom. She still wants to be her. I want that, too.
“We’ll hit Target up after this,” I say.
Her entire face lights up. “Deal.”
*
Mae’s in the dressing room. Frankly, I’m not sure what I’m doing here. She won’t even show me the clothes when she tries them on. The store’s stylist keeps bringing in and out various items of clothing. I’ve got my ass parked on a chair outside, but it seems my opinion isn’t important.
“The black dress,” I whisper to the stylist as she heads back out to grab some more pieces.
“Hey, I never agreed to letting you dress me!” Mae yells over the door, obviously having heard me.
“Then let me undress you,” I tease.
She peeks her head out the door. “The sizes in this store are wrong!”
“I’m pretty sure sizes are universal.”
“No, they’re not!” Mae says. “I’m like two sizes bigger here than I am at . . .”
“I’m coming in there,” I say, reaching for the handle, but Mae quickly closes the door, leaning against it.
“No, I’m not dressed.”
I can’t help but laugh. Suddenly she’s shy. “You have five seconds to put something on.” I start to count. “One . . .Two . . .”
I hear her shuffling around inside. She’s belting a dress when I get to five and open the door. My jaw drops to the floor. Damn, she looks beautiful, the silk of the dress clinging to her curves. I don’t care if she’s a size two, twelve, or twenty-two, she’s stunning.
“We’re buying that dress.”
“Really?” she says, turning and looking at herself in the mirror, smoothing out the fabric.
I step up behind her, letting her feel the hard length of my dick. “Cock approved!”
“Your penis is going to pick out my wardrobe?”
“No better man for the job.”
Mae laughs, pushing me out