Page 617 of Flirting with Darkness

A certain attitude accompanied wealthy, and that had little changed.

Many of the spectators watched the auctioneer expectantly.

Some watched the black-clad servants.

Those same servants walked back and forth silently, carrying and wheeling out items from the back room. They positioned those items carefully across different parts of the half-moon stage, placing smaller pieces on runners spread over metal shelves on long, sturdy-looking tables. More items stood covered with sheets on tripod stands. Still others were housed in glass cases or on wheeled carts that remained waiting in the background.

The auction would start soon.

Nat had told him it would start in maybe ten minutes.

She reluctantly disentangled herself from his groping hands.

“We have to comport ourselves, husband,” she mock-scolded, mock-shaking a finger at him as she mock-scowled. “Behave. Or I’ll forget the whole reason why we’re here. We really should go down and find a seat.”

He stepped back when she pushed him.

He removed his hands, even more reluctantly.

His cock remained hard, straining the fabric of those tight pants.

She’d purchased pants for him similar to the ones she wore.

“Jeans,” she’d called them.

She left the dressing room not long after they fucked for the first time, telling him to try on the clothes she’d hung up for him on the door. She told him she’d wait for him outside, to keep them both “from temptation,” as she put it.

He tried on several combinations of clothes.

He ended with what he now wore, a black, long-sleeved, collared shirt, the “jeans,” and the brown leather jacket she’d found for him. All the clothes she chose for him were form-fitting yet surprisingly comfortable. Stretchy and easy to move in and not overly hot or stiff.

They all seemed to fit him perfectly.

They all smelled clean.

She’d even purchased him shoes in the end, changing her mind about his once she saw how they looked with the jeans.

“This looks better, I think,” she said decisively, when he came out of the dressing room wearing the black shirt. Ghost had tried on the blue one previously, the one the store’s clerk had chosen for him, but Nat hadn’t seemed satisfied with it.

“The blue matches your eyes,” she said finally. “But the black is more your style. Anyway, you look more like money now, which is what we need for this.”

She’d looked down at his feet.

“No, those are weird,” she pronounced, after looking him over, comparing the 1870 shoes to the rest of the ensemble she’d chosen. “Hang on. I saw something up front that might work.”

That “something” ended up being low-cut boots with heavy soles.

The material of the soles was strange.

Still, he put them on without protest.

He laced them on under the jeans and over a pair of thick socks, and was startled again by how comfortable they were. They were possibly the most comfortable pair of shoes he’d ever worn, seeming to conform to every part of his foot.

Those strange soles gave each step a slight softness to it, cushioning his foot.

He was beginning to understand the appeal of future clothes.

“Can you still wear the sword under the jacket?” she’d asked him next.

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