“Yes, sir,” she answers with a nip on her lower lip, stopping short. “Yes, sirs.”
Fuck yeah. “Good girl.”
Her eyes bloom with pride, and off she goes, ass swaying, flip-flops flapping.
Flint and I move through the aisles, with purpose and precision. The shop girl looks at us suspiciously. We’re moving through the place with as much intensity as two SWAT guys, rifling through the racks, picking out what pleases us immediately, fuck the rest.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?”
Flint sniffs, the cocky quarterback routine now. “Nah. We got this. But bring our girl some champagne.” He nods toward the dressing room curtains.
The shop girl looks understandably confused. “Are you…all together?”
Flint deadpans her. “What does it look like, honey?”
That’s my boy. Fifty-percent asshole; fifty-percent good guy.
The shop girl laughs nervously. “Wait. Are you…family? Or her boyfriends?”
I half-cough out a deep groan. “More or less both. All you need to know is she wears a size twelve. The sexier the better. Money is no object.”
Now the shop girl seems to be picking up what we’re putting down. Her cheeks flush warmly. The light of interest makes her eyes sparkle. “Oh. Oh. Yes, alright. I’m on it.”
Damn right.
Flint and I take our seats by the three-sided mirror, and the platform that sits in the middle of it. The noise of Isabel slipping out of her clothes behind the curtain makes me so fucking hard that I could just about rip this fucking place apart.
We spread our legs wider in unison. This hard-on situation is real, and so is the ache. If I’m feeling it, I know he’s got to be, too.
“I want her so fucking bad,” he growls.
“Not as bad as I do,” I growl back.
“Now is not the time for dick measuring…” he grunts back and he’s right.
The curtain snaps open and Isabel steps out. She’s wearing a black strappy little one piece, all crisscrossing straps, cutting deliciously into her soft curves. She does a little twirl and I feel a molten fire unleash inside me. But I keep my shit together for now. Because spoiling her is serious business.
Flint and I stand together and she takes her place on the platform between the three angled mirrors. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a security camera. And not far away, I hear the shop girl talking on the phone.
But I don’t give a fuck and neither does Flint. Both of us have our hands all over her before she can even say a word. In the three-way mirror, I watch he eyes flutter. He runs his hands down her hips; I check the fit of the breast cups.
I slip my finger under the place where the underwire digs into her left tit. “I don’t like this. The way this bites into you.”
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “One of the downsides of being a curvy girl.”
“Fuck that,” I whisper-growl into her ear. I adjust my cock in my pants, pressing it against her hip. “You see any downside here?”
Isabel swallows hard and lets out a little purr.
“Goddamn, look at this ass,” Flint growls, pulling his head back, running his palm down her partly-bare ass cheek. “Look. At. This. Ass.” He accentuates the last word with a hard smack.
Isabel yelps. A pink outline of Flint’s hand rises on her creamy flesh and the shop girl’s voice stops. I’m sure she’s getting herself an eyeful.
Go ahead. Let your green-eyed monster out. We’re taking what we want and I don’t give a shit who sees.
Flint’s not wrong about her ass. It’s a fucking vision. But I want her comfortable, first and foremost. I snap one of the straps and push her away. “Too much fabric. Too rough on your tits. Try on that little pink one.”
She nods obediently and is about to step away, but I slip my finger into the gap between her spine and the low curve of the back of the swimsuit.
She gasps a little, surprised.
I give Flint the signal to get in close and he takes his position on her other side.
“Touch us,” I tell her. “Feel what you’ve done to a father and son.”
“Hale…” Her eyes flick behind us and I turn to see the brunette that spoke to us gape-mouthed and watching.
“Don’t fucking argue, little girl.” I wink at Isabel then grind my teeth together, shooting daggers at the jealous voyeur, who turns and disappears behind the wall.
Isabel’s body rolls with a wave of submission and calm.
“I like when you call me little girl. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t like it at all,” she whispers.
A pulse of electric need rolls through every cell in my body. “Wrong. You should and you better. So do as you’re told, little girl. Right fucking now. Touch. Us.”
Her eyes sweep the dressing room in the mirror. And then, using both of her hands, one for each of us, she slides her sweet little palms down our chests, our abs, pasts our belts. And grips both our dicks in her hands, right down the shaft, fingertips tracing the heads, drawing out more sticky pre-cum primed and ready for her.