Chapter 14
God forbid a man like Nolan Archer shop at the mall for clothes.
No, too much beneath a man of his stature.
Instead we’re two hours away from Cupid at some boutique with a name I can’t pronounce where the clothes don’t even have price tags.
The store drips in white linen and gold baroque accents, doing its best to trick you into thinking you've been transported to Paris.
Saleswomen flock to Nolan the moment we step through the door.
They fawn over him and if this place didn't also carry men’s clothing, I would be spiraling thinking I'm just one of many women he’s brought here.
But in a shocking turn of events, they didn’t even blink when Nolan told them we’re here for me and not him.
All at once they swarm me, guiding me to the back dressing rooms where measuring tapes are being placed in every crevice and along every limb, around my waist and falling from my hips. And then they’re gone so quickly my head spins.
“Wow,” I say, my voice loaded with shock.
I glance over at Nolan, leaning against the wall opposite of the dressing room now overflowing with tulle, satin and organza.
I’m having trouble believing all this is even happening.
The sex was already hard enough to believe but us together, in the day, running errands, is a fantasy I don’t even let myself have.
“What?”
“Nothing, I just didn’t expect all of…this. I’m used to the mall experience, you know perusing racks of dresses, trying them on myself in front of a mirror, and then stopping by Cinnabon after my inevitable breakdown when nothing fits.”
Nolan pushes off the wall and steps closer to me. “Is it too much?” he asks, dragging a finger down the exposed skin of my arm.
“No, just different.”
In a moment so domestic and so intimate that makes my cheeks burn, he leans down and brushes his lips against my shoulder. “Good. You deserve expensive things, Harper, and I like being the one to give them to you.”
My heartbeat stalls.
“I don’t need things from you, Nolan,” I say the words with blistering honesty. “I just like being with you.”
The world doesn’t halt at my confession, nothing falls from the sky and the ground doesn’t crack beneath us but a look passes over his face. So devastatingly tender, my throat begins to burn.
The spell between us breaks when the saleswoman comes back with a final dress. “Mrs. Archer, we’re ready for you.” With how fast they moved when we got here, they must not have realized I wasn’t his wife.
My mouth opens to correct them, but Nolan leans in, presses a chaise kiss against my cheek and says, “Make sure you come out and show me each one, Mrs. Archer.”
I like the way that sounds. Way too much.
The first four dresses are awful. One doesn’t zip, and the other, I can’t even get up past my hips.
One I don't even bother trying on and another my boobs didn’t fit in, and not in the fun sexy way.
The room was closing in on me, growing into a furnace with every passing second.
What was I thinking, I should have known a high-end boutique carries only sample sizes.
As if trying on clothes isn’t hard enough for me most days, this was the start of a nightmare.
I’m tumbling head first into a panic attack when the door clicks open and Nolan slips inside.
“What are you doing? You can’t be in here,” I whisper as he shuts the door and clicks the lock into place.
“Says who?”
“Uhh, common society?”
He rolls his eyes. “You haven't come out to show me any of them.”
I instinctively cross my arms over my chest, as if that will keep my insecurity from pouring out onto the floor between us. “Yeah, well, none of them fit. Can’t really walk out of here if the top doesn’t cover my nipples.”
He glances down at my chest.
“Not this one,” I swat his shoulder. “This one’s fine.”
More like it was the first one to fit. It’s a stunning deep burgundy, floor-length gown with delicate flower beads in the same color that sparkle with every move.
It doesn’t look terrible, like I convinced myself it would when I slipped into it, but dress shopping is never a straightforward task.
And dress shopping in a place like this, where I’m surprised even one dress fits, makes everything feel like the walls are closing in on me.
“This one is very pretty,” he says freely.
I want to agree with him but that spiraling feeling was still coursing through me.
“Are you okay?”
Looking up, I manage a small smile and nod. He doesn’t buy it. Not even for a second.
“If this isn’t the dress, then we can try another store. We can have one custom made if you want. It doesn't matter, you’re beautiful no matter what clothes cover your body.”
A burning sensation tears through my chest and it doesn't stop. Not when he pulls me in. Not when he presses his lips against mine, and not when he walks me backward until my back hits the mirror and his thickening length presses against me. The burning morphs into a white hot need for more.
“Do you want another lesson?” he breathes against my lips.
I nod feverously.
Nolan spins me, pressing my ass against his front, turning me toward the mirror. “I was thinking exhibitionism.” He drags his hands down the sides of my body. “How does that sound?”
The urge to melt into him pulls at my insides and only deepens as he works open-mouth kisses from my shoulder to my neck.
Each one stamping a further claim on me.
I can’t even grasp a negative word when he starts gathering the thin silk fabric in his hands, dragging it up, exposing my ankles, and then knees, and groans when he realizes I had left my underwear off.
Every touch sends me further away, I’m only faintly aware of the saleswomen talking right outside of the dressing room.
“Nolan,” I try to warn, but it comes out as a needy moan when he cups my entire sex with his palm. There isn’t nearly enough pressure, but his other hand sits like a vice around my hip, keeping me from seeking out any friction.
“Can you be quiet for me?” He slips a finger through as I fervently nod. “So wet already, what a good girl you are.”
This dressing room is not made for two people. With one wall being an entire mirror it feels even smaller but as I stare at his reflection as he works a finger in and out of me I barely even notice. My eyelids fall in heavy blinks as the dress strains around my chest, with each breath.
“Don’t want another?”
I want anything he’ll give me. And it’s a scary sentiment to even think but one that rings true anytime I get around him.
A breathy ‘please’ manages to escape my mouth without me making the decision. As he works a second finger into me, my next breath catches, stalls, and a deep, chest rattling moan follows it.
“Mrs. Archer, I’ve left another dress out here I think you’ll love.”
My eyes fly open. “I—”
He pulls his hand from me and clasps it over my mouth. “Sh, sh, sh, didn’t I say you need to be quiet?”
I nod against his hand; my eyes lock with his in the mirror, and without missing a beat, he slides the two fingers between my lips. The taste of myself fills my senses as he eases them back out.
“Mrs. Archer, did you hear me?”
“Answer her,” he whispers.
I swallow. “O-okay, thank you,” I say, barely able to keep my voice steady.
“You’re welcome.” Her clicking heels fade down the hallway.
Exhibitionism was on my list as interested, but I didn’t really understand it.
The thought of people actually watching me didn’t really seem appealing but this—this sensation of being consumed by a man who wants to watch me fall apart in public and the fact that someone might hear, or know… I’m definitely into.
“I need you, Sweet Girl, will you be good and take all of me?” His voice strains to keep his composure.
Nolan waits for my nod and before pulling the hem of the dress up past my waist. Threads tear as he bends me forward. “Nolan, the dress,” I hiss.
He pushes the head of his cock in, in one fluid motion.
“I don’t care about the fucking dress.” He pulls out and thrusts back in.
“We’ll buy it and then find you one you really want to wear.
I’ll buy you a thousand dresses or a whole fucking store.
” Fingers dig into the soft skin around my hips as he guides my body, sliding back into me.
“Fuck, you feel so good.”
Apparently the quiet rule is only for me.
My mouth may not be making a sound but I was certainly making noise. The wet sounds of my arousal fill the room. I’m too far gone to think about any repercussions of this terribly, fantastic decision.
Each thrust of his hips is rough, our reflection in the mirror is obscene.
It’s dirty. Erotic. It’s like being consumed by a rogue ocean wave, tumbling through the water, gasping for breath and not knowing when you will meet the surface again.
Terrifying and exhilarating. And possibly the most free I’ve ever felt.
My climax washes over me quickly and surprises me. “That’s my girl, you like that people might hear you fucking your husband, don’t you?”
I’m not sure even he knows what he’s saying at this point as he loses himself in the moment.
The most erotic part about this entire thing isn’t fucking in public, or the filth that spills from his mouth, it’s the way euphoria seems to take over his perfect features.
And the fact that I’m the one responsible for it.
Nolan chases his own climax, spilling into me, and stifling his own sounds of pleasure with his fist between his teeth.
It’s quiet as he pulls me upright. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I’ve downed four shots and then tried to stand up. My knees shake, my head is hazy and heavy, but I am so blissfully happy that I almost forget where we are.
Nolan lets go of the gown, letting it fall to the floor and works the straps over my shoulders before looking at me through the mirror.
“This one is very beautiful.” His tone, full of warmth, like stepping out into the summer heat.
Blistering and comforting as it envelopes you, promising better days.
“Should I get it?”
“Only if it’s the one you want, Harper.”
I duck my head. “But I want you to like it too,” I whisper.
His arms snake around my waist, pulling me in closer and resting his chin in the soft dip between my shoulder and neck. Tiny pricks of his beard in my skin cause me to shudder with a laugh.
He squeezes me tighter. “I like you no matter what you have on.”
Our eyes catch in the mirror, we’re so different.
At first glance, we’re pieces belonging to two different puzzles.
Nolan’s six inches taller than me, and even fully clothed, you'd still know he doesn’t have an ounce of fat on his body.
Whereas my body completely conceals his as I stand in front of him.
My hips wider than I’d like, and my chest always the biggest in the room.
Our hair is similar but his is streaked with grey.
His blue eyes are like rouge glaciers that were never meant to meet the vast mountains of my own dull brown eyes.
We don’t look like we belong, but as I study us, there’s nothing that has ever seemed more right or more natural.
Even in this clandestine fitting room, with his cum slowly dripping down my thighs, my soul lights up.
I don’t want this to ever end. If only I could keep him.