By Amelia Chambers
Copyright ©2024
I always hated shopping. I tell people that it’s because I can’t keep up with trends, but the truth is that I just don’t care. It’s easier to wear the same three all-black outfits until they fall apart. And they do, eventually. That’s when I find myself here, at the boutique down the block from my apartment.
A boutique may seem out of character for a woman who hates shopping, but trust me, it’s better than department stores. All those options are overwhelming. Twelve different sweaters on one table? A whole wall of denim? I can’t. A carefully curated selection of clothing is more my speed.
Slowly flipping through the color-coordinated racks, I’m on the hunt for one new outfit to add to the rotation. I pull a black skirt, a black camisole and a black denim jacket.
“Can I take those to a dressing room for you?” Asks the salesgirl.
“Oh, sure,” I answer and hand over the hangers.
“I love this jacket,” she calls over her shoulder as she places the clothes in a stall at the back of the store.
“Um, thanks.” I don’t usually get complimented on my choice in clothing. But I admit, it feels nice.
She strides back toward me, her heels clicking on the polished concrete floor.
“I can help you find anything?”
“Probably,” I admit. “The problem is that I don’t really know what I’m looking for.”
“I understand. Sometimes it’s nice to just poke around.”
I nod absently as I continue to push hangers around on the all-black rack.
“If you don’t mind me saying,” she interjects after watching me a few minutes. “I think you’ll find more things that suit you over here.” When I turn to face her, she’s standing next to a cacophony of bright greens and deep blues.
“Oh, thank you. But I’m really more of a neutral kind of gal.”
“With your creamy skin tone?” She asks appalled. “I respectfully disagree. You need to offset that gorgeous complexion with some color.”
I blush at more than the description of my skin. I wonder, is this girl flirting with me? She looks twenty-five, tops. I’m more than a decade older than her. She couldn’t possibly be interested.
“We’re not all blessed with the perfect body to pull off patterns,” I reply as she holds up a bold wrap dress. Wait... Am I flirting back?
“Stop it,” she says batting her fake lashes, her cherry-red mouth pulled up in a smirk. “You’re gorgeous.”
I’m still not sure if this is genuine flirtation or a sales tactic, so I turn away to again face the sea of charcoal in front of me. I nervously prattle, “I actually just stick to black because I hate to shop. It seems easier than trying to put outfits together, you know?”
A delicate hand closes over mine as I move a hanger. I turn to find a pair of bright blue eyes locked on mine. I can smell her perfume.
“Well, I happen to love shopping. Why don’t you go into the dressing room and I’ll pull some looks for you?”
I’m too dizzy in her presence to do anything but nod. I walk to the back of the store and into the dressing room.
Once in the safety of the curtained stall, I realize how ridiculous I’m being. I’ve clearly been out of the dating game so long that I’m mistaking basic courtesy for flirtation.
Frustrated with myself, I peel off my shabby clothes and begin to change into the items I had picked earlier. As I slip the silk camisole over my bare breasts I hear a light rap on the door.
“Ready for me?” She cheerily asks.
“Sure,” I respond and slide the curtain to the side.
She barges into the already small space with arms full of vibrant clothes that she begins hanging up on every wall.
“It’s just a few ideas,” she says then turns to look at me, taking in my head-to-toe black outfit. “I don’t hate it. But it feels ordinary. You’re not ordinary.”
My heart races as we locked eyes. I decide to break the tension before I do something stupid like tell her that she’s stunning.
“I really am. Ordinary, that is. But I’m happy to play dress up with some of the things you brought.”
“Wonderful!” She excitedly claps her hands then offers me a tiered crimson maxi dress. “How about this one?”
“Sure,” I say, taking the dress. Then I notice her expectant eyes trained on me.
“Aren’t you going to leave while I change?” I ask tentatively.
“I can if you want me to,” she says coyly. “But I’d like to stay.”
My core turns molten at the sly smile gracing her plump red lips. “Sure, you can stay.”
I put the bright dress to the side and unzip the black skirt I’m in, letting it drop to a puddle at my feet. Her eyes hungrily take in my full hips poured into the black lace of my thong. I can feel myself getting wet at the look. Slowly, I pull the cami over my head revealing my small, pert breasts.
She makes a small, appreciative moan before saying, “See? There’s absolutely nothing ordinary about you.”
My breath quickens as she closes the small gap between us with two steps.
“I’d like to kiss you,” she says softly, her gaze moving from my breasts to my mouth.
I want her so badly that speech evades me. I just nod.
In one movement her lips are on mine and her hand is cradling the back of my head. Her kiss begins soft but as my mouth opens for her, she gently pulls my hair, tipping my head back so that she can deepen our kiss.
I can’t concentrate on any one thing. The press of her lips. Long fingers rolling my hard nipples. Her hand cupping my ass. She is everywhere at once and I can’t get enough.
Somehow, she’s backed me into the corner of the dressing room. I barely notice the clothes that surround us like foliage. All I can think about is her body on mine.
She breaks our kiss and starts to move along my jawbone, then down to the tender spot of my neck. I feel her smile against my skin as I let a moan escape. She’s kneading both my breasts as she works the sensitive area. I arch into the touch and instinctively begin to roll my hips into her.
Then she moves down to gather a hard nipple into her mouth, sucking and letting her teeth lightly scrape. My head rolls back, my breathing erratic. Just as I think I can’t take anymore, she moves down my stomach and to my hips. She lowers herself to kneel in front of me, taking my panties with her.
She lifts one of my legs by the back of my thigh, her grasp surprising firm as she puts my foot on her shoulder. She kisses my inner thigh moving tenderly toward my now throbbing pussy.
Pausing right next to it she looks up and asks, “Can I taste you?”
“Yes,” I say breathlessly. It’s half permission and half desperate plea. I let my leg fall open, my knee resting against the wall of the dressing room, trying to show her exactly how much I need her.
The tip of her divine tongue traces my outer lips, moving toward my apex but not quite to where I need her. I whimper, delirious with desire. She moves down to my entrance, her tongue lapping me up from inside in long luxurious strokes. A deep moan vibrates her mouth against me as her tongue penetrates me, pebbling my skin.
“You taste better than I imagined,” she says against me.
As if that lit a spark, she begins to devour me. Her hands cup my ass, hauling me even closer to her. Her lips close around my clit, which she sucks as she expertly flicks her tongue in perfectly timed movements.
I’m gasping more than breathing. It’s an ecstasy I can’t get enough of. I put my hands into her silken strands and grind myself into her face. I need more of her, more of this. She answers with exactly what I need, sucking harder and moving her tongue faster.
She’s bringing me to the edge. I want to tell her but all I can do is moan, “Yes,” over and over again.
The pressure in my core is spreading down my things and up to my chest. My hands begin to tingle. With one final flick of her tongue, she undoes me, and I come harder than I ever have before. My orgasm ripples through me, sending waves of warmth through my limbs and putting stars in my eyes. As it passes, I realize I am panting and my hands are still in her hair.
I look down to see her eyes shining up at me. Her lipstick is gone, but somehow her swollen pink lips are even more alluring than the red that was there before. I let my legs give out and kneel next to her, lightly kissing that magical mouth.
“You know,” I say softly as my tongue dances over hers and I taste hints of myself. “I think you may have changed my mind about shopping.”
About Amelia Chambers:
Amelia Chambers writes sensuous, character-driven stories from the Pacific Northwest.
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