Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Holy fuck. I never thought I’d be excited to watch someone try on a dress. Then again, I have yet to meet anyone else like Salem. “Has she tried it on yet?”
“Nope. Just been staring at it.” He closes the door, then fixes me with a serious look. “She’s nervous, man. About all of it. Your family, the event …”
“I know.” I adjust my grip on the packages, more determined than ever to ensure she has a good time this evening. “That’s why I’m here early. Thought it might be good to give her some time to process everything. Maybe answer any questions she has.”
Noah studies me for a long moment. Way longer than necessary. “You really care about her, don’t you?”
I don’t even bother answering his question. We both know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care. Thankfully, Salem’s voice drifts down from upstairs before I conjure up an answer.
“Noah? Who are you talking to?”
“Your fake boyfriend brought presents!” he calls back, emphasizing the “fake” in a way that makes me want to punch him.
There’s a squeak of latex from above, then the careful sound of Salem counting steps as she descends the stairs. One, two, three … all the way to twenty-seven. She appears around the corner, already dressed—soft gray sweater, perfect ponytail, fresh gloves.
“Lee?” Shock fills her brown eyes, which only grow wider when she notices the packages in my hands. “You didn’t have to come early.”
“Yes, I did.” I hold up the blue box. “These needed a proper presentation.”
Noah makes a gagging sound and retreats to the kitchen, leaving us alone in the foyer. Salem’s hands twist together, latex squeaking in that way that means she’s fighting anxiety.
“The dress is beautiful,” she whispers. “Too beautiful. Too much.”
“Pantry Girl, prepare to be amazed because you haven’t seen anything yet.” I set the garment bag aside and open the blue box. “These are the real stars of the show.”
Her breath hitches when I slowly pull out the first pair of gloves. The silk catches the morning light, the color of burgundy matched to ensure they look the same.
“May I?” I ask, holding them out.
She nods, extending one trembling hand. I don’t rush her, don’t push. I just wait while she counts her breaths.
One inhale.
Two exhales.
Three seconds of courage.
Her latex-covered fingers brush against the silk, then she gently swipes it across her forearm, and her small gasp is worth every penny I spent on these things.
“They’re so soft,” she whispers, tracing the tiny pearl buttons. “I’ve never …”
“There’s more.” I reveal the other pairs, displaying each of them. “Different lengths, different styles. All of them are yours.”
“Lee …” She looks from the gloves and up at me, then back again. When she speaks, her voice cracks with emotion. “This is too much. The dress, the gloves, all of it.”
“There is no price tag to your comfort.” I hate how rough my own voice sounds, the words are too honest for our fake relationship. “I want you to feel safe. Beautiful. Like you belong.”
Tears glisten in her eyes. I didn’t plan to make her cry, but I won’t lie. I love how happy this makes her. “Help me choose?”
“Always.”
We end up on her living room floor, surrounded by silk and possibility. She touches each pair through her latex gloves, counting the buttons and measuring the lengths against her arms. I demonstrate how each style works, pretending I didn’t spend hours watching videos on YouTube to learn. I don’t give a fuck what the rest of the world thinks about Salem. All I care about is how she makes me feel and how I make her feel in return.
“So what’s it going to be, Pantry Girl?”
“Hmm, they’re all so beautiful.”
“Of course they are. Like I would pick anything that wasn’t for you.”
Two pink spots appear on her cheeks. She has no reason to be bashful, but seeing those spots on her cheeks … they remind me of the pink flush that covered her skin, the dusky-pink color of her nipples, and her pretty pussy.
My cock hardens at the flicker of memories in my head.
“The longest ones,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “With the pearls?”
“Perfect choice.” I collect the gloves. I’m pretty sure I have a boner now. “Want to try them on with the dress?”
She bites her lip, and I already know she’s counting the pros and cons in her head. “Will you … will you stay? While I change? I want you to be the first to see it.”
Even if I couldn’t stay, if I had somewhere else to be, there is no way in hell I would miss this moment with her. I glance around at the empty room, then lean forward, my hand hovering just above the soft skin of her cheek. I’m tempted to touch her, but I always make certain it’s something she can handle. I scan her features for any signs of anxiety or discomfort. When I find none, I gently cup her cheek.