Jesse (Damage Control 2)

Besides, she deserves better, and you know it.

***

I’m distracted. Hell, I’m going out of my fucking mind inside the small, stuffy shop with Amber so close and yet so far she could be on the far side of the moon. She holds out pants and shirts for me to check. I grab them from her, give them a cursory glance and throw them on a handy nearby chair.

Why in the holy fuck did I ever think this was a good idea?

“What do you think of this one?” she asks, drawing me out of my latest self-flagellation. She’s holding a gray metallic mini dress to her chest.

“It would certainly flatter my legs,” I say automatically, not even bothering to check if my mouth is connected to my brain. “Don’t know about the cleavage, though. I think I’ll need a Wonderbra to pull it off.”

She gapes at me.

Yeah. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so funny. “Of course, it would suit you, too.” I try to salvage the situation. “You won’t even need a Wonderbra. And you can wear heels, so…”

I wince.

When she claps a hand over her mouth, I’m sure it’s to keep from insulting me and my mother—though who my mother is, I don’t know, so why should I care?

But the sound escaping her is more like laughter.

Okay, cool. I step back, sink onto the chair—on top of all the clothes I’ve been piling.

“Oh my God.” Still laughing, she grabs my arm and attempts to wrestle me back to my feet. I consider pulling her to me instead, onto my lap. Just the image has me hardening again—wait, scratch that, hardening more—and I know it’s a bad idea.

I know, okay?

Which is why I let her tug me to my feet and pretend to study the garments she chose for me while she goes off to the changing room to try on the dress.

I’m in the process of pulling a shirt over my head, a metallic blue fabric that scratches my face, when I hear her voice again.

“What do you think?”

“Give a man a moment to breathe,” I gasp as I struggle to shove my head through the opening. It’s too small. What the fuck?

A light giggle, a light pressure, and the opening widens enough for my head to pop out.

“You didn’t unbutton it all the way to the top,” Amber says, smiling.

I blink at her, and as she comes into focus, I blink again.

Whoa. The little silver dress clings to her body, outlining her curves, from her heavy tits to the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. She isn’t skinny, and I like that. I can imagine filling my hands with her ass and her breasts, and the image has my dick roaring back to life.

Dammit.

But it’s her smile that does me in. A little uncertain, insecure, yet bright as I look at her.

Not sure what she sees on my face, though, because her smile fades and she tugs at the hem of her dress. It only serves to pull it down, so that the cleavage deepens, giving me a glimpse of the pale mounds of her tits.

“Not good, huh?” She looks down at herself, her mouth downturned.

“It’s perfect,” I tell her and mean it. She’s perfect. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Christ.

Her smile returns. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Gah. I forgot I have a new shirt on. Metallic, too, like hers, and I haven’t even glanced at the price tag. “We’ll match.”

Her eyes widen a fraction before she catches herself. She bents to pick up some black pants from the chair, and I ogle her, unable to stop myself.