Page 45 of Dirty Love

“Apologies.”

She laughs, a rolling giggle that makes her shoulders shake. “Oh, Wilson. And what kind of girl did you take me for?”

“A dirty one.”

“In what kind of clothes?”

“No clothes.” I shake my head. Obviously. “I don’t know. I assumed all angsty rock stars shopped at…thrift stores?”

She stops at the top of the stairs and gives me the biggest grin. “You’d totally go to Goodwill with me, wouldn’t you?”

Fucking hell, I’d go to church craft sale for her. “In a heartbeat.”

“Good. But sometimes I do this, too. Want to watch me try things on?”

“Hell, yeah.”

She’s got a really specific taste, and spends more time nope-ing dresses still on the rack than pulling things off to consider. But she’s quick, too, and it doesn’t take long before she has four contenders and is being guided to a private change room by a very solicitous sales woman.

“Would your…would you like to have a seat?” she asks me, after starting to ask Tabitha and aborting hard. Do we look that mismatched? I’m wearing a suit today, because I dropped by Federal Plaza this morning to touch base with an FBI agent acquaintance, and they tend not to let hackers through the door unless they look like lawyers.

“I need his advice,” Tabitha says with a slow wink. “You know how it is.”

“Of course, Ms. Leyton.” And nothing more was said on the matter.

I wait to react until we’re in the…small sitting room, essentially. It has a firm-looking couch across from the mirror, and that’s where I sit. I loosen my tie.

“She knows you,” I say.

“I was here two hours ago. I bought a dress for three thousand dollars. That’s the kind of thing you remember.”

“I bet. So why are we back?”

She peels off her denim vest and tips her head to the side. “Because this room is private and I thought you might want to watch me try on some dresses.”

~

“You are officially a spoilsport,” she says as I haul her into my hotel room. We stopped by her room long enough to forward her phone down here.

Now she’s all mine, and after the last hour of fucking fantastic torture—stripping, teasing, grinding, and a nearly successful plea for me to just take her there on that couch—I have payback to dispense.

On her ass.

In her ass.

I press her against the wall and kiss her savagely as I hike up her skirt, my palm searching for that hot little pussy that begged to be taken in public.

I cover her panties, finding her clit with the heel of my hand as my fingers squeeze around her sex. “You are a bad, bad influence.”

“Me?” She grins wickedly. “Like you’ve never fucked in public.”

“Never where there might be video cameras, no.”

“There aren’t any in those change rooms. That’s against the law.”

“The law?” I bite her lower lip until she gasps. “That has nothing to do with it. Blackmail, humiliation, maybe just someone who wants to get off on it…”

“But you didn’t stop me from teasing you.”

---