6. Jacob
Six
Jacob
We follow the assistant towards the back of the boutique, the wooden hangers clicking together softly as she rolls the cart laden with clothes.
The private dressing room is hidden behind a heavy gold velvet curtain, and when we step through, we’re cocooned away from the rest of the store.
The assistant wheels the rack behind another curtain, and I take a seat on the leather sofa against the far wall.
Full-length mirrors line the space, reflecting the soft, flattering glow of the recessed lighting.
A bottle of champagne sits in an ice bucket, two flutes ready and waiting beside it.
“Wow,” Camryn says, turning in a slow circle as she takes in the luxurious, private space. “You’re going to ruin me, Jacob. I’ll never want to shop at the mall again.”
My blood goes hot at the thought of ruining Cam, and I smirk at her.
“Good.” I reach for the bottle of champagne.
The cork is already popped, condensation running down the chilled bottle.
I pour each of us a glass and hand one to Camryn, nerve endings firing as our fingers brush.
Her eyes snap to mine, and I’m desperate to know if she felt that, too.
If she’s just as swept away by these taboo feelings as I am.
I need a cold shower. Maybe the cold champagne will be enough.
I sink back against the sofa, the leather creaking softly beneath me, and take a long sip.
I can feel Camryn’s eyes on me as I swallow, and she takes a small sip of her own champagne.
Then she gives me a little smile and disappears behind the curtain.
While she’s changing, I do my best to think fatherly thoughts. Because that’s what I am to her, isn’t it? I was married to her mother, and for a few years, she was my stepdaughter. Even though I’m not technically her stepfather anymore, that’s who I am to her, right? That’s my role in her life.
And yet, here I am, leaning forward, listening to the sounds of her undressing, the soft thump of fabric hitting the floor, the slightly labored breathing as she pulls something on.
And now I’m thinking about my stepdaughter’s underwear. Are they lacy and sexy? Simple? Or are they a little sweet, with a cherry print and a bow front and center?
Oh, yes. Very fatherly. I’m doing an excellent job on that front. Christ.
I hear the purr of a zipper, and then Camryn steps out from behind the curtain, wearing the little black dress I chose for her.
The dress clings to her, the neckline dipping just low enough to give a teasing glimpse of cleavage. The fabric hugs her waist, flares perfectly over her hips, with the skirt ending just above her knees.
“Turn for me,” I say before I can stop myself. I take a sip of champagne, hoping it’ll dislodge the grittiness there.
She obeys without question, grinning playfully at me over her shoulder as she turns in a slow circle, letting me see the dress from the back. It’s cut low enough to give me a glimpse of creamy skin, and the way the fabric stretches over her glorious ass is borderline obscene.
My cock twitches, hardening quickly against my thigh. I take another sip of champagne, hoping it’ll douse the fire racing through my veins, but it doesn’t.
I’m going to have to take a handful of those ice cubes and shove them down my pants.
“How does it look?” she asks once she’s done turning, her cheeks a little pink.
“It’s almost perfect,” I manage, and her blush deepens.
I stand from the sofa and set my champagne flute down.
I step behind her, close enough that I can smell the warm, floral scent coming from her skin.
I adjust the thin strap of the dress where it’s slipped slightly off her shoulder, and when I feel how warm, how smooth her skin is, it’s like an electrical current goes through me.
“There,” I say, slipping the strap back into place.
My fingers graze her arm as I take my hand back, and a blush spreads across her chest.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be standing so close, shouldn’t be touching her and marveling at the feel of her skin.
“Now it’s perfect,” I say, and she lets out a shuddery little breath.
“I agree.” She’s biting her lip as she ducks behind the curtain, and I sit back down on the couch.
No more touching. That was a mistake. I hear another rustle of fabric.
Hangers scrape softly on the rack, and I down the rest of my champagne.
I’m just pouring myself another glass when the curtain slides back and Camryn steps out.
Fuck. Me.
She’s wearing a pale blue silk blouse that clings to her in all the right places, the exquisite tailoring highlighting her curves. She’s left the top two buttons undone, showing just a hint of cleavage. The blouse is tucked into a pair of dark-wash jeans that are molded to her hips.
She does a little twirl and then strikes a pose, one hand on her hip. “What do you think of this?”
What do I think? I think I’m going to hell.
I think if she keeps looking at me like that, all playful and confident and gorgeous, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret.
But I keep all of that to myself, because that’s not really what she’s asking. Instead, I lean back against the sofa, schooling my face into a pleasantly neutral expression. It’s one I use for board meetings, when I need to appear interested and engaged without giving anything away.
“Turn around,” I say, amazed at how steady my voice sounds.
She obeys immediately again, and turns in a slow circle, giving me the view of her luscious denim-clad ass. The jeans cup her like a second skin, fitting her perfectly.
My thoughts go dark and filthy, and I shove them away with another long sip of champagne.
“You like?” she asks, tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip.
“You look lovely,” I say, my voice less steady this time. And it’s true. She does look lovely.
Lovely, and so very, very fuckable.
She tries on everything on the rack, with most of the items ending up in the keep pile.
It feels like we’re the only two people in the world, hidden away in this luxurious changing room, and I don’t want this little shopping trip to end.
She likes my attention—I can tell from the way she blushes so sweetly when I compliment her, the way her enthusiasm has grown with every new outfit—and I like giving it to her.
I like it so fucking much.
I’m lost in thought when she steps out from behind the curtain in the emerald green dress.
The shimmery fabric clings to her, the deep V-neckline dipping low enough to show off her glorious cleavage.
The way it hugs her waist then flares over her hips—it’s fucking criminal.
She turns without me asking her, and the back is even worse.
Or better, depending on where your morals lie.
The dress dips low, showcasing the smooth curve of her spine.
I flick my gaze down, biting back a groan at the sight of her ass. Words flit through my head—spank, bite, rub, tease, lick, kiss, fuck—and I’m hard. I’m so fucking hard it hurts.
The things I want to do to my stepdaughter. Fuck. Former stepdaughter.
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and her lips curve into a sweet, flirty smile. “Do you like it?”
I don’t answer. Not only is my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth, but I don’t trust myself to say anything even remotely appropriate. I take another sip of my champagne, holding her gaze as I drink.
She turns again, facing me now, and skims her hands down her body. “This fabric is incredible.” Her eyes snap up to mine, and she flushes, her cheeks taking on a strawberry tint. I glance at myself in the mirror, and I can see the wolfish hunger written all over my face.
She takes a step closer and does another slow turn. “Do you like it?” she asks again, softer, raspier this time.
“You’re killing me, Cam,” I say, my voice low and gravelly. Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that.
Her blush deepens as her smile widens. “Am I?” she asks innocently, biting her bottom lip.
I let out a sharp exhale, setting my champagne flute down on the table. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”
She takes another step towards me, and now she’s close enough that if I reached out, I could pull her into my lap. I could feed her sips of champagne while telling her what a good girl she is for letting me spoil her like this.
My cock jerks in my pants at the thought.
God, this is wrong. This is so fucking wrong. I’m more than twice her age. She’s my—was my stepdaughter.
“Well, seeing as I’d hate for you to die, I’ll get dressed and we can leave.” She turns away, heading back toward the curtain, but not before shooting me a playful look over her shoulder.
I watch her disappear behind the curtain, my cock throbbing, and my mind racing with everything I can’t have and shouldn’t want.